Work Text:
Nick is drunk. Which is obviously the only reason he’s standing outside Harry’s posh mansion at three in the morning, staring up at an illuminated window.
He knows he should go home. It’s late and cold and he’s tired and drunk. But the light means Harry is awake, even though he refused to come out because of early rehearsals in the morning. Rehearsals for the world tour that was starting in just under a week. The world tour taking him away from London for nearly a year.
Not like Nick needed Harry to come out with him every night. He had been having a perfectly fine time without Harry there—enjoying it even. There was no one drunk enough to need supervision getting out of the club, hanging all over Nick and demanding he hold his hand while they crossed the street, like a child. There was no one draped across his shoulders, humming inanely in his ear and trying to give him advice on what songs to play on his show, as if being a popstar also qualified him as a DJ. There was no one presumptuously inviting himself back to Nick’s house, to sleep on his couch and drink his tea, and probably throw up in his bathroom at least once.
It was nice. Really.
So it was nothing but the drink that had carried Nick’s feet here instead of his own flat, even though it’s February and freezing and Nick doesn’t have a warm enough coat because this one looks better with his outfit.
He’s outside the gate of Harry’s house, staring in at the drive (with an expensive vintage car parked in it, no less) and wondering what the fuck he’s doing. He can live without seeing Harry for one night.
Just like he can live without seeing him for ten months.
Really.
But Harry’s house was close, practically just around the corner, not that Nick let himself wonder if that’s why Harry bought it. So it was only a few minutes’ detour to come here and stare up at its sleek modern façade. And Harry’s awake.
Nick knows he could ring Harry, or buzz at the intercom at his elbow, but he’s already stooping and scooping up a handful of pebbles out of the drive.
He knows its ridiculous, even as he plucks up a single small stone and pulls his arm back awkwardly.
He should go home. He should text Harry in the morning for breakfast or something. He most certainly should not throw the stone at the illuminated window, missing by a large margin and striking the house with a small thud.
And yet, as he closes one eye to try and get the landscape to stop spinning and improve his aim, that’s exactly what he’s doing. Because the thing is, he’d really like Harry to peer out the window, and see him, and smile, and invite him inside.
The next stone gets closer, thumping just a foot or so away from Harry’s bedroom window.
There’s no movement from the house, so Nick winds up again, cursing himself for being so damn unathletic. It had never seemed important to learn how to throw, but somehow he knows if Aimee or Pixie, or probably even Harry, were here, they’d hit the window with deadly accuracy.
He steadies himself, tongue poking between his lips in concentration, and throws the largest stone yet…
Just as Harry appears in the window. The stone thunks against the glass loudly in the quiet night and even from here Nick can see Harry’s eyes widen as he steps back from the window.
Nick drops the rest of the stones in his hand in a guilty rush.
Harry steps closer to the glass, squinting into the night, and then the front spotlights come on, flooding the drive and catching Nick hovering in front of the gate.
Nick gives a little wave.
Slowly the window slides up and Harry leans his long torso out. He looks disgruntled and ruffled and not nearly as cheerful at the sight of Nick as Nick had been hoping.
“Nick?” he calls.
“Yes. Hi.” Nick yells back, as if this is a totally normal thing that people do, and not the kind of thing that makes the neighbours call the police.
Harry just blinks at him for a moment, shivering in the night air. “Were you – were you throwing pebbles at my bedroom window?”
“No,” Nick denies.
A grin slowly spreads over Harry’s face. “You were. Were you worried about waking my dad? Did you want to ask me to the big dance, but didn’t know how?”
Nick knows he’s blushing, but he thinks he’s probably too far away for Harry to see. “Yes. I want to take you to grad and dance under crepe streamers and tacky balloons.”
“Well, since you make it sound so romantic…” Harry laughs, and the intercom next to Nick lets out a low buzz as the gate swings open.
Nick hurries inside because it’s bloody freezing and also because if he lingers he might decide to just hightail it out of there and claim he doesn’t remember a thing in the morning.
By the time he reaches the door Harry is there waiting, holding it open with a grin on his stupid popstar face.
“Did you lose your phone?” he asks.
Nick ducks his head as he pushes past Harry into the lovely warmth of his house. “No.”
Harry trails after him. “Then…?”
“Oh, you know,” Nick says cavalierly, making his way into Harry’s kitchen like he owns the place and putting on the kettle. “I was out…”
“Uh huuh.”
“Walked past. Saw your light on. Thought I’d say hi.”
“You walked past, huh?” Harry leans against the counter at Nick’s elbow, impressive arms crossed over his impressive chest. Stupid popstars. “From the bar that’s on the other side of your flat from here?”
And damn, of course Harry knew where Nick had been, since Nick had spent the better part of the evening texting him and begging him to come out. “Yes,” he agrees.
“Thought mid-February with a chance of snow was a nice time to take a stroll? In the middle of the night?”
“Maybe I did. You don’t know my ways.”
Harry snorts. “Yeah, I have no idea what you do ever second of every day. It’s not like you provide me with a running commentary via text or anything.”
Nick pauses in stirring his tea. Harry’s laughing, but maybe Nick does text him too much. Maybe it’s all just been a bit too much, and showing up now is just making it clear.
“Well, you won’t have to worry about that soon, will you?” He offers, hoping he sounds casual. “Can’t be texting you all the time while you’re on tour. The international rates would kill me.”
Harry freezes, and then he’s nudging his hip against Nick’s, forcing him to look up. “You’re not going to text me while I’m away?”
“Well, you’re going to be busy anyway,” Nick says lamely. And I’m going to have to get used to you being gone.
“Aren’t you going to miss me?” Harry’s eyes are wide like he’s really hurt and Nick just wants to scream at him. I told the paper I was going to cry every night you were gone. Did you think I was lying?
Nick drops his eyes again, takes a resolute sip of tea. It warms his throat as it goes down, just another reminder of how ridiculously long he was out in the cold, obsessing over Harry. “‘Course,” he mutters, because he’s incapable of letting Harry think he doesn’t care. Even if it would be for the best.
Harry grins. “Good.” He knocks his hip against Nick’s again. “I’ll be back before you know it, anyway.”
Nick rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Ten months will feel like nothing.”
Harry’s face softens and Nick mentally curses himself, feeling caught.
“It won’t be ten solid months,” he promises. “We’ll be coming back through the UK.”
For meetings and shows and family, Nick knows. He doesn’t kid himself about how much time he might get in the grand scheme of things. If Harry remembers to call him up for a cup of coffee it’ll be a miracle.
“Yeah, ‘course,” Nick agrees. “I have plenty of other friends to keep me entertained in the meantime.”
Harry smirks at him, the one he uses when he thinks he’s got someone all figured out. “Which is why you were throwing stones at my window at three in the morning.”
Nick shrugs uselessly.
“You miss me already,” Harry practically crows, insufferable as always. “You want to spend every minute with me until I go.”
And really, what’s the point of lying, now? Nick’s here, in the middle of the night, and Harry’s leaving in a few days. “Maybe I do.”
“Oh.”
When Nick peeks up at him, Harry looks a little surprised, but mostly just fond, like he expected Nick to deny it just to be a prat, but always knew the truth of Nick’s answer.
And then Harry’s stepping forward, wrapping him in a hug that’s awkward and potentially dangerous given the hot cup of tea Nick’s still clutching, and that won’t do. If he’s going to have to live without Harry hugs for the next ten months, he’s making the most of this one.
He fumbles the cup down to the counter—leaving a rather large puddle, but without scalding either of them, so he counts it as a win—and winds his arms around Harry, tugging him closer.
He’s still a bit drunk and a bit cold, and warm popstar pressed against him feels like the best thing in the world.
“I’m going to miss you, too,” Harry murmurs, his breath gusting against Nick neck where he’s tucked his head.
Nick touches the back of his neck, the soft curls that cling there, and wishes Harry wasn’t an international superstar. Or, just wishes he was a little braver.
Harry pulls back a little, keeping his arms around Nick and tips his head back, wide green eyes meeting Nick’s own. Nick’s been looking at him a lot over the last year or so, and he still can’t get over how ridiculous Harry’s face is—how big his eyes are, how long his lashes are, how horribly, awfully pink his lips always are.
Nick’s wanted him since he first saw him on the X-Factor—guiltily then, looking at his soft child’s body and his innocent twinkling eyes. He wanted him more when he met him at the Brits and realized that under the curls and the smile there was an intelligent, interesting, fun person, who shared his taste in music and trousers. He wanted him even more when they started spending every moment together in the summer, long lunches stretching all the way into dinner and then drinks out, and then stumbling back to Nick’s flat to sprawl on the couch and laugh at nothing.
But he’s never wanted him more than he does now, knowing he’s about to lose him.
Harry tips his face up and Nick’s terrified that Harry can see it in his eyes.
“Harry,” he chokes.
“If I’m wrong, we can just forget about it,” Harry says quickly. “Just pretend we’re both drunk. But…you were throwing stones at my window.”
And he leans in and even though Nick knows on an intellectual level what’s coming, he can’t process what’s happening as Harry’s lips meet his. Despite what he always tells his friends, he hasn’t actually drunkenly snogged Harry before. His lips are as soft as they always look. They move over Nick’s gently, like Harry’s afraid of scaring him away.
“What are you doing?” He murmurs, because he has to know.
“I’m going to miss you, too,” Harry repeats, pulling back the slightest bit. He fixes Nick with a knowing stare—far too mature and together for a nineteen year old. “When I saw you standing out there—you looked like you wanted more than to just come inside.”
There’s a dirty joke on the tip of Nick’s tongue, and he’s ready to laugh the whole thing off. But Harry’s here, putting himself out there for Nick, and he deserves the same in return.
“I always have,” he admits.
Nick doesn’t do feelings or relationships, or anything that can make him feel vulnerable and out of control, but the grin Harry rewards him with more than makes up for it.
Harry kisses him again, happy pecks all over his lips, never lingering enough for Nick to catch him. “I can’t believe you waited until right before I’m leaving,” he groans, but he’s still smiling.
“How was I to know you’d be dumb enough to want me back?” Nick complains. He never even let himself imagine that Harry might mean something by all the looks and touches.
Harry snorts. “Please. I’ve had a crush on you since before X-Factor. Everyone knows that.”
“Everyone most certainly does not know that,” Nick protests.
“Everyone but you,” Harry promises, biting his lip happily. And Nick can’t do anything but kiss the expression off his face.
They stumble against the counter and Nick gets his hands on Harry—finally—stroking down the length of his sides to curl his hands around the boy’s hipbones. He’s put on weight in the last few months, eating and drinking and being happy, and Nick knows it’s going to melt away on tour, on the long days and the longer nights, the hours spent running around on stage, and being shuffled from interview to interview, where they never seem to remember to feed the band. So he enjoys the slight padding he feels, squeezing at Harry’s flesh to hear him groan.
Harry kisses just like Nick always imagined he would—slow and wet and smooth. He licks deep into Nick’s mouth, pliant in his arms, and Nick just wants to bend him back over the counter and bite at his soft flesh.
Harry pulls back before he can. “So, when you said you want to spend every minute with me until I leave?” He smirks. “Does that include spending the night?”
“It’s three in the morning and freezing, Styles. Would you really send me back out there?”
“No,” Harry smiles. “I wouldn’t.”
He grabs Nick’s hand and tugs, pulling him out of the kitchen and stumbling towards the stairs.
Nick would tell him to slow down, but he’s wanted this for years, and they only have a few days. He’s a few seconds from just tossing Harry over his shoulder and carrying him off to the bedroom.
As if he can tell what Nick’s thinking Harry glances over his shoulder, a wicked smirk on his red lips.
There’s really nothing for Nick to do but reach out and pinch his arse, through the soft cotton of his pajama pants, making him yelp.
“Oh, you’ll pay for that, Grimshaw,” Harry threatens, tripping over his own feet on the stairs.
He’s all puppyish eagerness and Nick can’t help the way his heart thumps in his chest. “Gladly,” he gulps, following after him.
He’s been in Harry’s room countless times, but never with the intention of having his way with him, which, as it turns out, makes all the difference.
He stops in the doorway, nerves alight, as Harry saunters in, a little sway to his narrow hips. He’s a horrible temptress and always has been, but now Nick finally has the chance to follow through on all Harry’s teases. Harry turns once he’s next to the bed, raising a challenging eyebrow at Nick. “Are you coming, or should I just start without you?”
Nick very intentionally leans up against the doorframe.
“Oh really?” Harry laughs. “Alright, then.” He reaches for the neck of his t-shirt, tugging it unceremoniously over his head. It’s not the sexiest of stripteases, but Nick still gulps as Harry’s heavily-inked torso is revealed. He’s all long and lean, pale against the black of the tattoos. Harry smirks up at him, tugging at the drawstring of his pajama bottoms teasingly.
It’s no more than Nick’s seen a thousand times before, but now he can actually touch and he finds he can’t wait any longer.
Harry laughs as Nick strides to his side. “Well, that didn’t take long.”
“Yes, yes, you’re very alluring,” Nick rolls his eyes, the effect somewhat ruined by the way his hands are running greedily over Harry’s chest, brushing fondly over the sparrows before dropping down to his nipples, thumbing over them enough to make Harry gasp before roaming lower, touching the birdcage and the masks before settling right over ‘Might as well…’
Indeed, Nick thinks. He tugs Harry in, loving the way the boy follows his lead, lax in his arms, head tilted back invitingly. Nick stoops to kiss him, a slick wet slide of tongues as he dips his thumbs just under the waistband of Harry’s trackies.
Harry gets his hands between them, fumbling with the button of Nick’s jeans, fingers clumsily eager. He pushes uselessly at them once he’s got the button undone and Nick groans, pulling back from the kiss. Stupid skinny jeans. He shimmies out of them as quickly as possible and shucks his t-shirt as well, because what the hell.
He gathers Harry back into his arms, groaning at the brush of skin against skin. Harry’s belly presses against his as they kiss and Nick runs his palms down the planes of Harry’s back.
Harry melts into him and Nick can’t do anything but press him back, lower him to the bed and crawl over him. Harry spreads invitingly under him, his curls a messy halo around his head, and Nick can’t believe he’s really here. Harry’s pajamas are tented slightly and Nick runs his hand over the swell just to hear him gasp. His hips lift automatically into the touch and Nick tugs his trousers down.
And of course, of course, he’s not wearing anything underneath. Harry just grins at him, the cheeky scamp.
“Insufferable,” Nick mutters, startling a laugh out of the boy. To quiet him more than anything else, Nick ducks down and licks at the head of Harry’s cock, smiling at the way it immediately starts to fill under his touch.
He suckles lightly, feeling Harry get harder in his mouth, loving the power he has to make Harry feel good.
“Grimmy,” Harry’s hand slides through his hair, not pushing, just touching, anchoring himself against Nick.
Nick sucks down, taking him in a long, practiced slide. He’s good at this, good at teasing reactions from his partners, and he’s glad of it when Harry muffles a groan into his own fist, his hips inching up off the bed under Nick’s grip.
Nick holds him down, thrilled at how Harry just lets him, and presses his tongue hard against Harry’s shaft. He’d known, intellectually, that Harry was big (hell, the whole internet knew), but it’s different feeling it in his mouth, feeling it stretch his jaw and make him ache. He squeezes Harry’s hips and slurps loudly over him, eager and wet.
“Grimmy, Nick…” Harry tugs at his hair. Nick pulls off reluctantly, feeling his stomach tighten at the sight in front of him. Harry is flushed and naked and hard and Nick’s for the taking.
“Come up here. I want you,” Harry mumbles.
Nick crawls over him, pushing his own boxers down as he goes. He takes a moment to just look at Harry, look at how beautiful and wrecked he is, before lying down on top of him, covering the long length of Harry’s body with his own.
Harry spreads his legs willingly, letting Nick cradle in between them, and Nick can’t do anything but bury his face in the side of Harry’s neck and just breathe him in for a moment, just feel him, solid and warm beneath him. It’s everything he’s wanted from the moment he met Harry—from the moment he saw him, cheeky and sure of himself even under the steely gaze of the X-Factor judges.
He strokes a hand down Harry’s side to his thigh, tugging his leg wider just because he can, making Harry bend for him. Harry ruts up against him, slick already, and Nick has to have him.
“Do you have?”
“In the drawer.”
Nick snakes a long arm out to fumble in Harry’s bedside table, pulling out a condom and a half-used bottle of lube. “You’ve done this before?” He knows about the women—hell, he introduced Harry to most of his girlfriends—but Nick’s never had the nerve to ask Harry if he’d been with a man before.
Harry bites his lip and nods slowly. Nick wants to ask, wants to demand to know, but he knows better. It doesn’t matter who Harry has been with before. What matters is that it’s Nick now.
And it’s a relief to know he doesn’t have to be so careful, move so slowly, when desperation is burning through him.
He reaches between them with slick fingers, feeling out the heat of Harry’s body. Nick watches Harry’s face while touches him, the way his eyes are hazy, his lower lip sucked hard into his mouth. He cants his hips, letting Nick in.
Harry gasps as Nick eases one, two, and then three fingers in, his body rutting up eagerly against Nick’s hand as he rubs gently at his walls. His forehead is slick with sweat, his curls plastered to his face, a flush spread down the length of his chest. Nick has never seen anyone so gorgeous.
“Can I?” He asks, looking down to where his fingers disappear inside Harry, feeling like if he doesn’t get inside him now he’ll die.
“Yes, please,” Harry chokes out.
Nick fumbles the condom on and positions himself between Harry’s legs. He can’t help but stroke the curls back from Harry’s face, thumbing at the curve of his cheek. Harry grins at him, slow and sweet, and Nick presses inside.
“Nick,” Harry pants, his hips lifting to meet Nick’s.
It’s hot and tight and overwhelming and perfect. Nick meets Harry’s eyes, pupils blown wide with pleasure. He’s something Nick never thought he could have, and now that he’s here beneath him, all Nick can do is thrust into him, again and again and again, pulling Harry’s legs up to wrap around his waist and burying himself deep.
Harry mumbles encouragement, a low rumble of continuous praise and demands as Nick moves over him.
He snakes a hand between them, gripping himself with a groan.
“Nick, I’m close,” he moans, his hand moving frantically between their stomachs. Harry’s back arches when he comes, his head thrown back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted on a gasp.
It’s an image that Nick wants to replay again and again and again—and hopes he’ll get the chance.
But right now all he can do is helplessly follow, shaking as he drops his face into Harry’s neck and breathes him in.
Harry’s strokes down his back, gentling him down from his orgasm. Nick sucks in a shaky breath and slowly pulls out, discarding the condom in the bin by the bed.
Harry blinks up at him, cheeks pink and eyes sparkling.
“And of course just shagged looks incredible on you,” Nick complains, knowing that in comparison he probably just looks sweaty and dishevelled.
Harry’s grin turns smug and Nick huffs as he drops down onto the pillow at his side. “Wretched.”
“You love it.”
Harry sounds confident but his eyes are uncertain as he settles against Nick, tucking himself into his side.
“So,” he traces abstract patterns on Nick’s chest, “I know I leave in a few days…”
His lip is clenched between his teeth, his eyes fixed on his fingers moving over Nick’s skin.
“Hey,” Nick says. “If you think going on a ten month international tour is going to get rid of me, you’ve got another thing coming.”
Harry’s smile is wide as he looks up to meet Nick’s eyes. “Yeah?”
“I don’t freeze my arse off throwing pebbles at just anyone’s window, I’ll have you know.”
“No, only a lunatic would do that.”
“Well…” In for a penny. “I am pretty crazy about you.”
Harry guffaws into his chest, because Nick’s never met a boy who liked a pun more than Harry.
Nick settles back into the pillows with a smile as Harry curls warm and sweet into his arms. Maybe he should make reckless decisions more often.