“Your face,” Nick breathes into his ear, “is absurd.”
Tom thinks about how he almost spent tonight at the flat on the couch, eating pop tarts and watching X Factor.
“C’mon, be a lad,” Fionn had said, dragging him out the door to Harry’s show, and Tom went against his better judgment.
He’s been to enough of Harry’s gigs to know that tagging along with Fionn is just a front row seat to the two of them trying to get each other off in public. Harry’d sent a car, though, and Tom did a shot of vodka from the freezer before they left to ease the pain of being a constant third wheel.
And now he’s here, Nick Grimshaw whispering in his ear and Fionn somewhere else, probably backstage making moon eyes at Harry even though he’ll deny it later.
“Is that a compliment?”
Nick laughs and his breath smells like gin and lime. Tom doesn’t hate it and he doesn’t hate the way Nick’s hand is feather light at the small of his back, either.
“It’s dead nice,” he says, “and I’ve seen a lot of nice faces, not to sound like a twat.”
Tom lets himself lean back into Nick’s touch. They’re in the front off to the side, just them and some of Nick’s mates and Harry’s mum and manager, so Tom figures it’s okay.
“Guess I’ll take it as a compliment then.”
He can feel Nick laugh more than he can hear him and he wishes they were anywhere but here, tries to figure out how he can subtly but obviously enough signal to Nick that they could and should take this elsewhere. He’s buzzed enough that his brain is moving at half speed but Nick slings an arm around his shoulders an indeterminate number of minutes later so Tom figures he did something right.
Nick starts singing along at some point, horribly out of tune but low and rumbly and Tom leans into it, tucks himself further under Nick’s arm and inhales the scent of Nick’s cologne.
“You smell nice,” he says, craning his neck so his lips brush against Nick’s ear.
He smells even better there, concentrated and clean and faintly like cigarettes and Tom leans in so close that the curls behind Nick’s ear brush against his nose.
Nick pulls back, his arm slipping from its place around Tom’s shoulders and Tom immediately feels cold.
“Buttering me up, are you?”
Nick’s smiling at him but his eyes are huge and dark and Tom can’t read what he’s thinking. He’s not sure if he wants to know, really, judging from the space currently between them.
“Just being honest,” Tom says after a second, shrugging and glancing up to see Harry skipping across the stage in a blur of movement that makes Tom tired just looking at him.
Nick sways back into him, his arm brushing against Tom’s. Tom still feels like he’s on the edge of losing it. Nick’s closeness, the warm weight of his body next to Tom, the smell of him and how Tom’s not sure if he’s lightheaded from Nick or the alcohol. His stomach tries to crawl up and out of his throat when Nick hipchecks him gently.
“Fair enough,” he says, tugging Tom in by the belt loop and making him break out in a sweat he’s pretty sure isn’t attractive.
He lets Nick’s hand slip along his lower back, hands huge and hot against his skin. He doesn’t let himself lean into the touch even though he wants to, wants Nick to dig his fingers in with bruising force so Tom has proof that this happened tomorrow morning.
Tom’s skin feels tacky. He should’ve changed. Shouldn’t have worn a jumper when he’s been to enough of Harry’s gigs to know it’s always sweltering inside. Nick doesn’t seem to mind, though, just splays his hand wide at the center of Tom’s back, rucking up his sweater and making Tom feel like he’s going to sweat right out of his skin. Half of him wants to run away, to excuse himself to the toilets and just take the tube back home. The other half of him wants Nick to swallow him up, pin him into a dark corner and cover Tom’s mouth with his.
Nick starts to drag his thumb in tiny circles against Tom’s spine when the show ends, Harry spraying water into the crowd and Tom rolling his eyes and tensing again under Nick’s touch.
“Could come back to mine for a bit,” Nick bends to whisper in his ear.
His lips are almost touching Tom’s skin but not quite. He’s close but not close enough and Tom feels a rush of adrenaline so sudden it makes him lightheaded.
“Yeah,” he hears himself saying, wiping sweaty palms on his thighs, “all right.”
Nick doesn’t say anything but when Tom turns around in the curve of Nick’s arm, Nick’s fingers dragging stickily down Tom’s back, his lips are curled up in a smile that makes Tom shiver.
Nick calls them a car. It’s fancier than Tom would’ve expected, leather seats that smell brand new and tinted windows. Tom tries not to breathe too hard, but it’s difficult to maintain a facade of calm when Nick’s pinky is touching his on the seat between them.
None of it feels real, and as much as Tom wants to blame the alcohol, he knows it’s just Nick that’s setting his heart pounding in his chest. Nick. Tall and grown and good smelling and effortlessly casual in a way Tom can’t seem to manage in his company. He thinks distantly about the fact that he could’ve waved Fionn off and stayed home, watched Netflix in bed or called his mum.
“This is me,” Nick says, breaking the silence, and Tom jumps at the noise, the car coming slowly to a stop.
He feels like he might throw up. He watches Nick wink at him before getting out of the car. Nick’s legs are impossibly long and Tom’s pretty sure he has freckles around his eyes and this is going to do him in, he knows.
It takes Nick a minute to get the front door unlocked. Tom lets himself look up at Nick’s house. It’s nice, and if Tom’d had preconceived notions of what Nick’s house looked like before meeting him, the reality would’ve exceeded those expectations. The hallway’s dark when they get in but Nick doesn’t turn the light on, just shuts the door once Tom is in and then backs him up against it, all warmth and lips that Tom wanted on his about three hours ago.
He’s good at it, Tom notes faintly. Nick’s lips are practiced and slick, and his teeth nip at Tom’s lower lip before he licks into his mouth, pressing his fingers into the corner of Tom’s jaw like he’s trying to get him to open his mouth wider. Tom tilts his head, changes the angle and can’t help the sigh he breathes into Nick’s mouth. He’s pretty sure Nick wants to laugh at him. He feels Nick’s sharp inhale but he doesn’t stop kissing Tom even though he drops his hands to Tom’s shoulders.
They kiss there, in the chilly foyer of Nick’s nice house, long enough that Tom starts to wonder if they’re going to relocate or if Nick’s just going to kiss him a bit more and then shove him back out the door with a smile and a wink.
“Mmm,” Nick hums into his mouth, dragging his hands down Tom’s sides and going for his belt, “this all right?”
The noise Tom makes at the ghost of pressure against his cock is embarrassing, but he’s felt Nick hard against him for at least ten minutes, so he knows he’s not alone.
“Yeah,” Tom pants, trying and failing not to arch up into Nick’s touch.
Nick rewards him by palming his cock and letting Tom rub up into his hand for a long second and pressing a kiss to Tom’s forehead when his head falls back and hits the door.
“C’mon then,” Nick says, loud in the quiet of the hall before he drags Tom up the stairs by the hand, turning too quickly for Tom to see what he looks like kissed and worked up.
“Fuck,” he says when Nick pushes open the door to his room, because it’s lovely, Tom can’t think of another word for it.
Nick just rolls his eyes and walks him to the bed until the backs of Tom’s knees hit the edge of the mattress and he falls back, his stomach swooping for a second before he lands on bedding that’s white and pristine and just begging to get fucked up by the trousers Tom hasn’t washed in at least a week.
“Thought we’d start off a bit slower, yeah?”
Nick blinks down at him and his lips are pink and slightly swollen. It makes Tom blush, the knowledge that he did that. That he mussed up Nick a bit, made a mark on him even if it’s temporary.
“Okay,” Tom says, voice strangled, and then Nick’s on him, climbing carefully between his legs and lowering his body down to rest on Tom’s before he kisses him again, soft and sweet on the lips before he starts making his way down Tom’s neck.
He lets Nick peel his shirt off and tries not to blush when he elbows Nick in the shoulder and mumbles an apology. Nick kisses down his chest and sucks a bruise along the line of his left hip and looks up at him from underneath unfairly long eyelashes.
“Quite ready, aren’t you,” he murmurs, dragging a finger down the line of Tom’s cock in his trousers and Tom groans, inching his hips up into Nick’s touch.
“This,” Nick says, unbuckling his belt and pulling his zipper down, the growl of it loud in Nick’s otherwise quiet bedroom, “is my weakness.”
He pulls Tom’s cock out and Tom slams his eyes shut when Nick wraps his fingers around it and starts to jerk him off, steady and too much and not enough. He leaves Tom’s jeans rucked open and doesn’t bother to pull them down and Tom shouldn’t find it hot but he does, like Nick couldn’t wait to get his hands on him despite the fact that he’s slowed now, making Tom groan when he licks the head of his cock.
Tom knows that the noise he makes when Nick swallows him down will embarrass him later but it’s too much now, Nick’s fingers wrapped around the base of his cock and his throat tight around him. He’s pinning down Tom’s hip with one hand, thumb rubbing over the mark he’d left a few minutes ago and Tom leans into the sting.
Nick’s good at this, Tom can tell. He’s been sucked off by enough people to realize that Nick clocks what he likes quicker than most, pays attention to the head and lets Tom twitch up into his mouth, his breath hitting the thin skin of Tom’s lower stomach.
He pulls off when Tom starts to whine and lets him come in his hand, flopping on the bed and leaning over to the nightstand for a tissue. Tom feels wrung out and oversensitive but also like he could probably come again if Nick were up for it.
“Let me, yeah?”
Nick looks at him, lips swollen red now and tissue still crumpled in his hand, and Tom feels stripped bare, like he’s crossed a line he didn’t realize was there.
“Yeah,” Nick says after a minute, voice low and fucked out, and all Tom can think about is the fact that he did that, “yeah, all right.”
Tom drops to his knees hard enough that he’ll probably have bruises later. One more thing to remind him this actually happened he thinks, nosing at Nick’s cock through his jeans.
Nick doesn’t lay back, just brings a hand up to Tom’s face and traces along his cheekbone.
“Fuck,” he says, voice still rough, and Tom takes that as his cue to pop Nick’s button and drag his zipper down.
He mouths over the line of Nick’s cock through his pants. Pulls out everything he’s got in his admittedly small bag of tricks, gets the fabric nice and wet and starts to jerk Nick off after a minute. Nick threads his fingers through Tom’s hair and stills his hand for a second like he’s asking Tom if it’s okay.
“Go on,” Tom says, dragging his thumb over the head of Nick’s cock and listening to the sharp hitch of breath, “I like it.”
Nick smirks and Tom pulls Nick’s cock out, swallows nervously, then presses a kiss to the head. Nick’s skin is hot and slick and he scratches his fingernails gently against Tom’s scalp and Tom slides down, digs his fingernails into Nick’s thighs and exhales harshly through his nose when he’s taken in all that he can.
He can feel the muscles of Nick’s thighs jumping and he pulls back far enough to let the head of Nick’s cock rest on his bottom lip. Nick’s still got a hand in his hair and his eyes are closed when Tom looks up at him, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.
He can’t quite manage to take all of Nick in, but he must be doing well enough because Nick groans deep in his throat and tries to tug him back by the hair but Tom hangs on until Nick comes in his mouth, almost more than he can swallow and more bitter than Tom remembered.
“Didn’t have to do that,” Nick pants when Tom pulls off and wipes at his mouth.
His lips feel like they’re twice their normal size and he wishes Nick hadn’t said that.
He shrugs and sits back on his heels until Nick gives him a hand up and pats the spot on the bed next to him. Tom sits gingerly, his cock still sensitive and his throat scratchy. Nick runs a hand through his hair and huffs out a laugh to himself before standing up and heading for what Tom assumes is the toilet.
Tom waits for Nick to shut the door most of the way before he lets himself fall back, the smell of Nick and sex filling his nose.
He stares at Nick’s bedroom ceiling, his skin buzzing and Nick fucking around in the bathroom. He hears the sink running and Nick brushing his teeth and he wonders if he should get up and leave. If that’s his cue, Nick rolling out of bed with nothing more than a smirk and not looking back, sequestering himself in the bathroom and leaving Tom alone with his thoughts.
Tom counts to three hundred and Nick’s still in there. He hears the shower sputter on and gets up slowly, back cracking on his way out. He locks the door behind him like Nick asked and puts his headphones in the second he gets on the tube to drown out his thoughts.
He should take a shower. Should scrub the smell of Nick’s cologne and the sweat off of his skin, but Tom’s too tired, his legs wobbly and his lips aching where he’s bitten them to death. He’s too tired so he crawls into Fionn’s bed and buries himself under the covers in Fionn’s arm and swallows hard when Harry’s large, warm palm lands on his shoulder and stays there.
Your best mate’s kind of a prick, he wants to say, but here, in Fionn’s bed with both of them, would probably be the worst place to say it. Not that Tom thinks there’s a best place, but this is decidedly not it.