Chapter Text
It starts in Paris because of course it does.
They aren't, technically, sharing a room- but they might as well be. Alex only ever returns to his own for a change of clothes. He says it's because Miles' room has got a better view which... is true, actually, but Miles suspects that's not the only reason. The first night Alex did try and stay in his own room, but he came knocking on Miles' door at three in the morning and he's been hanging around ever since. Miles doesn't know if bad dreams are to blame or if Alex just doesn't like being alone, but either way the prolonged proximity is doing funny things to Miles' head.
The thing is, Alex has been his best mate for a while but they've never spent a week solid in each others company, much less practically living on top of one another. Alex is there when Miles wakes up now, either still fitfully asleep on the loveseat by the window or sitting at the foot of the bed, there to greet Miles with a soft, sleepy smile and a murmured good morning. He's there when Miles goes to sleep, too. Sometimes Alex falls asleep first but sometimes they trade whispers in the dark until one of them dozes off. Miles now knows that Alex's voice makes a lovely lullaby which is, quite frankly, information he could've done without.
Alex is there at all other times of the day, of course. If they aren't in the studio (which, granted, is rare) then Alex can usually be found reading in the armchair or sitting on the floor watching telly. Most nights they order takeout or room service and eat it on the bed, less careful than they should be about making a mess. One night they get drunk and giggly and the next morning Miles can't even remember what was so funny, just the way Alex looked when he was laughing and how badly he wanted to kiss him.
The rest of their time is spent in the studio. That's not any better. The studio is where Alex shines. Watching him fucking kill it on the guitar, or sing his heart out, or fret needlessly over a lyric or a line of melody, or get completely lost in the music when it's played back to him, is practically a new form of torture. Miles catches himself in a naughty fantasy more than once and has to shake himself out of it.
He's definitely blaming his sudden attraction to one Alex Turner all on the proximity though. On how much time they've been spending together- to the exclusion of nearly everyone else. Who wouldn't start entertaining a few fantasies here and there, right?
All this taken into account, it's probably a bad idea to get drunk together again but Saturday night finds the two of them at a pub nonetheless. At the start of the evening Miles determines to have a single pint and leave it at that but then he starts noticing the way Alex's trousers fit rather sinfully well, and how he's got his top buttons undone to show a bit of collarbone, and how his lips looks ridiculously soft, and suddenly one beer doesn't seem like nearly enough. By the time they're stumbling back to the hotel he's lost track of how many he's had.
Miles fumbles with the keycard a bit before finally getting the door open. He collapses straight onto the bed and, to his mild surprise, Alex settles right next to him, close enough that their shoulders are pressed together. They both stare up at the ceiling in silence but after the noise of the pub and the laughter on the way back the silence seems wrong. Miles opens his mouth to break it, to comment on how much fun he's had or how great Paris is or the bloody fucking weather, anything but what actually comes out of his mouth.
“Why didn't you bring that bird back?”
He regrets it as soon as he's said it because, honest to god, he doesn't actually want to know. In fact, there's a long list of things he'd rather do than talk about women with Alex, and that list includes jumping into a volcano. But since it's already out there he tries to play it off, shrugging when Alex doesn't immediately answer. “Just wondering, you know. She had her hands all over you.”
He gives it a full three seconds before he turns to look at Alex for a reaction. Alex is still gazing up at the ceiling, brow furrowed.
“Dunno,” he says after a bit. “Didn't wanna.”
Miles snorts. “Looked like you were plenty into it at the pub, mate. I figured I wouldn't see you until morning.”
Alex shrugs. “I know me and Alexa have an understanding about, like- being abroad, and all, but I'm still not much of one for sex with strangers. 's always better if you're like... if you're-” He gestures. Miles has no idea what he's getting at, honestly, but he nods along anyway.
He's more caught up in how Alex's hair, a bit long and shaggy now, is mussed and messy in a way that shouldn't be sexy but is, and how he's got one hand resting on his own chest, idly toying with a button. Miles is so drunk he doesn't even fight it, just lets himself imagine what Alex would do if he leaned over and kissed that spot just below his jaw or, better yet, if he left a mark there.
He rolls over onto his side, facing Alex, who blinks at him and just... smiles. It's not a smile a lot of people get to see. It's his private smile. His real one.
Miles can't help himself. He's blissfully drunk and he just wants to touch. So he reaches out, ever so slowly, until his fingertips come to rest on the curve of Alex's cheekbones. Alex does nothing to stop him, doesn't even question it. His eyelids flutter once, so quick Miles' might've overlooked it were he not paying so much attention, and then he's meeting Miles' gaze with a startling intensity that was missing just a moment ago.
None of this feels real, Miles thinks as he draws his fingertips down, along the line of Alex's jaw, and then down further. Down the length of his neck, across his collarbone, raising goosebumps as he goes. He stops where the buttons on Alex's shirt begin.
Alex doesn't even seem to be breathing.
“Al?” Miles whispers, looking for some guidance. A distant part of him is screaming at him to play it all off as a joke- that this is his last chance to pretend it's nothing and back away. But a much more present part of him doesn't want to stop. Alex's skin is smooth and soft and warm beneath his fingers and Miles wants more than anything to kiss him right now.
Alex doesn't say anything. Instead, he nods, just a slight bob of his head, but it's enough.
Miles closes the distance between them in what must be record time. Alex meets his urgency with a fervor of his own, bringing his hands up to grasp at Miles' hair. The noise he makes when Miles bites at his bottom lip is sinful. He opens up after that, deepening the kiss of his own volition and putting his tongue to good use. They're drunk so it's sloppy and hurried but still probably the best damn kiss Miles has ever had, solely because it's Alex. Miles has really only wanted to kiss Alex for about a week but it feels like he's been waiting a lifetime.
When Alex pulls away for air, Miles doesn't give either of them time to question it or change their minds. He moves his attentions to Alex's neck- and that spot just under his jaw he'd been thinking about earlier. To his delight, biting down there gently has Alex gasping and writhing.
“Mi,” he breathes, fingers tightening in Miles' hair. It sounds a lot like a plea.
In answer, Miles straddles him and sets to work on his buttons. He's not disappointed to find Alex more than half-hard in his trousers. It is a little startling, though, how much Miles' mouth waters at the thought of getting his hands on him.
Miles doesn't bother discarding Alex's shirt, just lays it open, exposing his chest and stomach, and leans down to close his mouth over one of his nipples. Alex moans then, his first proper one of the evening, and arches into it. The sound makes Miles positively dizzy and has him palming himself through his own trousers, desperate for friction. God, but Alex is a thing of beauty. How they've been friends all this time without Miles realizing is beyond him. Looking at Alex now, flushed and wanting, it's amazing that there's anyone on the planet who doesn't want to lay him out and have their way with him.
Alex tugs on Miles' hair again, drawing him up. At first Miles is confused but then Alex slides his hands up Miles' inner thighs, then up higher until they're resting at the button of his trousers, and Miles realizes he's asking permission.
“God, yes, fucking do it,” he urges, which has Alex grinning up at him.
From there it's all a bit hazy. Miles will later remember the feel of Alex's callused hands on his cock and a sort of desperate, impatient feeling throughout. Alex finishes him off in what would be an embarrassingly short time under different circumstances but Miles is a) too drunk and b) too incredibly turned on to care much in the heat of the moment. And it's not like Alex fares much better. Miles barely has time to get his mouth on him before he's whispering a warning and tugging Miles off by his hair.
Alex kisses him again, afterward. Miles definitely remembers that part.
The next morning, Miles wakes up and immediately has the notion that something is wrong. Or, not wrong, necessarily, but different. Through the haze of his hangover it takes him a moment to figure out that that something is the fact that there's a warm weight on the other side of the bed and he's got someone else's scent in his nose.
He knows it's Alex, of course, before he even opens his eyes, because he hasn't so much as dreamed of bringing anyone else home since this whole Paris adventure began, but the events of the previous night don't come back to him until he sees the state of Alex's hair and the angry looking mark in the shape of teeth on the side of his neck.
Alex is, thankfully, still asleep, so he misses the look of abject horror on Miles' face.
It's not so much horror at what's already happened as it is horror at what's surely to come.
Because Alex has Alexa. And sure they have this... arrangement and Alex is technically allowed to sleep with whomever he pleases if he and Alexa aren't in the same country but Miles highly doubts he's who Alexa- or even Alex- had in mind when they reached that agreement. Has Alex even been with a bloke before? Miles has no idea. Sure, Miles remembers his handjob technique as being pretty up to par but that's not exactly rocket science. Any straight bloke could probably pull off a decent handie-
And all of that is so beside the point. The point is, this could ruin their friendship. Probably will, in fact.
Miles can see it now. The speech he's likely to receive. It'll be all, that can't happen again, and, drunken mistake, and, I don't feel that way about you. And Miles will inevitably play along. He'll agree that it was just a mistake, he'll say his feelings for Alex are entirely platonic, because it's the only chance he'll stand at resuming a normal friendship with him. And their friendship definitely isn't worth risking for sex.
Maybe, Miles thinks optimistically as he dresses quickly and quietly, careful not to wake his sleeping friend, it's all out of my system now. Maybe everything will be fine.
He's too scared to stick around and find out. He doesn't even bother with a shower, as disgusting as it is, just heads straight out of the hotel and around the corner to the nearest breakfast joint. He orders a muffin and a tea and takes his sweet time eating, drawing it out until it's time to head to the studio.
His hands are actually shaking as he pulls the door open so he stuffs them in his pockets and tries to play it cool. It turns out his nerves were premature anyway as Alex isn't even there yet. Miles tries not to read into it- Alex is late on a pretty regular basis, after all- but he still finds himself wondering if Alex is avoiding him, if he'll show up at all or if, in addition to their friendship, last night made things so awkward they won't even be able to finish the record.
Alex does show, though, about an hour after he was meant to be there, with his hair still damp from the shower. He says his alarm didn't go off. He doesn't so much as mention Miles' absence from the hotel this morning, thank god. Miles' stomach nearly bottoms out when Alex looks at him, and then again when he notices that Alex has done absolutely nothing to hide or disguise the hickey Miles left on him.
Of course James notices as well and has to tease him about it. It's all Miles can do to keep a straight face. What's weird is how Alex practically lights up when the blemish is pointed out. He doesn't seem embarrassed in the slightest. Instead, he beams, claims he doesn't remember who gave it to him and jokes that it was “that kind of night”.
Miles closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. Does he really not remember? And if he doesn't, is that good or bad? What if he does remember but this is his way of offering them both an out? Which option would be worse? Either one leaves Miles feeling like shit. If Alex was so drunk last night he really doesn't remember a thing then Miles is definitely a terrible friend for taking advantage. And if he is just saying that to spare them both some embarrassment then that means Alex regrets it in which case, yeah, Miles is still a piece of shit for acting on his desire.
Miles watches him closely throughout the day to try and glean the truth but it's pointless. Alex isn't acting any different, he doesn't drop hints either way. Although he's acting so normal that Miles is tempted to believe he really doesn't remember.
Until near the end of the work day, anyway, when Alex makes it clear he very much remembers.
There's not much left for Miles or Alex to do for the day, they're mostly just hanging around in case they need to be consulted on something or other, so Miles is sat on the couch in the corner, staring off into space and worrying his lip between his teeth. Trying not to look at Alex, if he's being honest with himself. Turns out he needn't have bothered. Alex settles right next to him. It's a big couch, there's room for at least four people, but Alex sits so close their thighs are pressed together. He slings an arm over Miles' shoulders so his hand rests at the curve of his neck, his fingertips slipping just under the collar of Miles' shirt.
Alex is warm. Miles feels every point of contact between them keenly. He can't help but lean into Alex, craving his touch and, at least just as much if not more so, craving comfort. Personal space has never been in their friendship lexicon so no one bats an eye at them, not even when Alex leans close to whisper to him, his breath ghosting over the shell of Miles' ear and making him shiver.
“Do you regret it?” Alex asks.
The question surprises him. He has an intense urge to flee the room, actually, and avoid this conversation altogether (because surely this is the it can't happen again speech he'd been dreading this morning). Alex must sense it because he pulls Miles even closer unconsciously, until Miles might as well be sitting in his lap. The proximity is not helping him think straight.
“It depends,” he admits. His first instinct is always to be honest when it comes to Alex. He looks at his friend as he says it, which is a mistake. Alex is gorgeous, is the problem, and they're so close it wouldn't be any effort at all to close the distance and kiss him. Miles definitely remembers how wonderful it was to kiss him. And, god, if Miles ever got Alex's soft, beautiful lips round him he could die happy. He can picture it a little too well, how Alex would look on his knees, gazing up at him, trying to take him as deep as he can, one of his huge hands wrapped round what he can't reach with his mouth.
“Well,” Alex says abruptly, no longer whispering, bringing Miles back into the real world where a friendly blowjob is probably pretty unlikely to occur. “Do you fancy a smoke break, Miles?”
Miles nods before he can think better of it, well aware that he's almost certainly just agreed to have that talk he doesn't want to have. Alex pulls him up by his wrist and leads him from the room. Instead of heading for the exit, though, he makes a sharp turn, drawing the two of them into the loo and locking the door.
He still doesn't let go of Miles' wrist.
“Al?” Miles asks when it becomes apparent Alex isn't going to start the conversation off. “Did you want to talk or did you have to piss, because if it's the second one then I don't see why I had to accompany you.”
“I do want to talk,” Alex says in his usual slow drawl. His cheeks have gone the slightest bit pink, though. “We need to talk, I think. But first...”
He gives Miles plenty of time to protest. He brings his free hand up and places it on the back of Miles' neck, then he closes the distance between them, pausing just before the kiss. Miles doesn't take any of the opportunities given to him to call it off even though he definitely should. By the time their lips meet his heart is practically beating out of his chest and he moans into it. Can't help it. After last night he never thought he'd get to kiss Alex again.
Alex takes the moan as the encouragement that it is and, without breaking the kiss, backs Miles up until he's against the wall. He slides his thigh between Miles', eliciting another moan.
Miles doesn't think he's ever gotten so turned on so quickly in his life but his conscience is still nagging at him. He breaks the kiss but that doesn't deter Alex, who moves his attentions elsewhere. He kisses down the line of Miles' jaw, and then down his neck. Miles means to stop him, to push him away just long enough to say what needs to be said, but he finds his hands fisted in Alex's shirt instead, drawing him closer. Keeping him close.
Still, he manages to ask, “What about Alexa?” It comes out entirely too breathy, his voice betraying him.
If he thought bringing her up might throw a wrench into the proceedings he's surprised to find that it doesn't. Not really. Alex does pull back, but only to give him a look like he's incredibly daft. Then he says, slowly, as if he's explaining something simple to a child, “We're in Paris.”
Miles should follow up with something like, are you sure it's okay with her, but he's a bit scared of the answer. Instead what comes out is, “Does that mean you're going to blow me? 's only polite to return the favor, mate.”
Alex laughs, low and rough. “God, yeah,” he breathes. “Been dying to, Mi.”
“Really?”
Alex nods, bites his lip. “Really. Wanted to last night. I'd have done it in the shower this morning if you'd stuck around. Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are? Nearly jumped you in front of everyone, I did.”
All of Miles' blood is rapidly being relocated from his brain. Instead of trying to come up with a response, he pulls Alex into him again, crushing their mouths together. But Alex only indulges him for a moment before he's pulling back and dropping to his knees. He looks just as good there as Miles imagined, looking up at Miles through his lashes, his hair tousled and cheeks pinked, his full, glistening lips parted as his breathing comes quicker.
“They're waiting on us out there,” Alex reminds him, voice already rough, giving away just what this is doing to him. Miles has been with a few blokes but none who were so turned on just at the idea of blowing him. It's incredible. It's overwhelming. “How long do you reckon before they get suspicious?”
Miles laces his fingers together behind his head, emboldened by Alex's very clear willingness. It's a rush, finding out his attraction isn't one sided. “Best get on with it then,” he urges, smirking down at his friend.
Alex pops the button on Miles' trousers and tugs them down just far enough to get his cock out. Miles is already hard in his hand but, time limit or not, Alex can't seem to resist a bit of teasing. He pauses just before his lips make contact, breath ghosting over the tip of Miles' cock and driving him mad. He can't help the desperate whine that escapes him. “C'mon, Al,” he practically begs, pushing his hips forward insistently. He fleetingly remembers his thoughts this morning, about whether or not Alex has ever been with another bloke, but when Alex finally takes pity on him and starts to suck him in earnest that question is quickly put to rest. He sucks cock like a pro- and bloody well enjoys it too, if the way he moans is any indication.
Miles reaches down to grab Alex's hair, to hold it out of his face. Alex looks up at him then, meets his eyes, and Miles' knees nearly give out. He's so fucking gorgeous, Alex is. The way his cheeks hollow around Miles' cock is mesmerizing. He's putting his hands to use, too, with one on Miles' hip, squeezing hard enough to leave bruises in the shape of fingerprints, and the other wrapped entirely around the base of his cock. Just watching him, how fucking enthusiastic he is, how gorgeous, has Miles on the edge in minutes.
It's not long before Miles is tugging on Alex's hair, trying to warn him, but Alex doesn't pull off. No, instead, he swallows.
“Fuck,” Miles breathes, blinking down at him in awe. He feels boneless, wobbly-kneed, but mostly he feels really damn lucky.
Alex looks dazed, himself. He licks his lips, eyes half-lidded. Miles sinks the floor and pulls Alex to him so that Alex is straddling him. He's still painfully hard, Miles can see the outline of his cock through his trousers. He quickly undoes the button and zip and gets a hand on him. Alex moans so loudly at the contact that Miles is momentarily worried someone might hear them. Then he decides he doesn't care. Not when Alex is muttering curses under his breath and coming apart above him.
Alex drops his head to Miles' shoulder, bites at him through the fabric of his shirt, moans like he can't help it, like Miles is pulling the noises from him with every flick of his wrist and swipe of his thumb. Miles can't help but wonder, is it me or is he always like this?
It only takes a few quick, rough pulls to finish Alex off. He cries Miles name as he falls over the edge and it's possibly the best sound Miles has ever heard.
Alex slumps forward, resting his forehead on Miles' shoulder while he collects himself. Miles reaches blindly above his own head until his hand comes into contact with the paper towel dispenser. He takes a couple and uses them to clean off his hand, at which point Alex starts giggling a bit deliriously.
He sits back, tucking himself back into his trousers as he says, “We just had a quickie in the loo.” Then again, “We just had a quickie in a bathroom, Miles.” His voice is rough. Wrecked in a way Miles' couldn't have imagined he'd ever get to hear.
“You don't have to tell me, Alex. I was there.”
That makes him laugh again. Alex isn't as stoic as he makes himself out to be but his laughter, in Miles' mind, is still something rare and precious and it always makes him sort of proud when he manages to coax one out, however it happens.
“Did you ever think...” Alex begins, but he must think better of it. He shakes his head at himself, still smiling crookedly, and shakily gets to his feet. “I'll head out first. Follow in a few, yeah?”
Miles nods. Alex pauses to try and flatten his hair in the mirror but it's hopeless. Besides, it's the flush in his cheeks and the smell of sex that'll give him away if anything. And Miles is sure he's not in any better shape. He feels loose and satisfied and barely capable of forming complex thought.
Well, the day certainly went an entirely different direction that he'd thought it would. But in the back of his mind he knows the two of them still need to talk. To clarify what exactly this is if nothing else. It's not a conversation he's looking forward to but he knows it's necessary.