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‘I went to New York, Gav.’
‘Woah.’ Gav looks up from drawing tobacco down the centre of the Rizla. He presses both sides together, rolling the cigarette into shape between his pursed fingers. He always took his time. ‘Was it the pictures? Did you find out who it was bought them?’
‘Was it him?’ Gav puts the cigarette in his mouth.
‘Fuck,’ Gav says muffled, as he lights the fag. ‘You found him. You found the fucker.’
- Part 3 of An Englishman's Travels
It’s loud and he’s not supposed to be here. It’s a school night but Daisy had said ‘Just one, Grim, promise. Show our faces and home in bed for pumpkins?’
Harry Styles’ hand is on his dick. Well, not directly. It’s on his crotch, or his groin, he supposes, if you wanted to get technical.
Harry said he'd always be there for Nick. Sometimes it's harder than he expected.
Whatever else happened between them, however complicated it got, however fucked up, it always came down to this: they fancied the arse off each other.