More Than Hope Can Claim (R; Harry/Nick; One Direction-ish)
This is how it all started, on the day of Nick's last night time show:
Rhiannon was nice enough to let me run with the idea, which I set out to make light and fluffy. But instead I ended up with 1,500 words of FEELINGS because, well, that’s how I roll.
Also on AO3 if you want to read it over there.
Thank you so much to Ro (
littlerhymes) for letting me Stockholm her into the fandom (YAY!) and for being the best beta as always. :D All remaining mistakes are most definitely mine.
MORE THAN HOPE CAN CLAIM
Nick wakes up to darkness, to the mattress dipping beside him, to a warm, naked body snuggling up behind him.
He opens one eye and peers at the clock on the bedside table beside him, registers the neon numbers, but it still takes a few moments to click that it’s only been two hours since he stumbled into bed. He’d thought he’d be too keyed up after his last night time show to fall asleep; but it turns out being exhausted and then getting regular drunk with his friends still beats drunk on excitement when it come to crashing.
And once he remembers that, it sort of solves the mystery of who’s just crept into bed with him.
“Really subtle, jailbait,” he says. His voice is middle-of-the-night, smoky-bar kind of hoarse. He clears his throat, and feels the rumble echoed in Harry’s chest, pressed up against his back.
“That’s a lie,” Harry’s voice is syrup slow and warm, and he’s speaking the words directly onto Nick’s skin, his mouth sliding across the back of his neck.
“Yeah,” Nick sighs. He’s right. It’s not subtle, and Harry’s old enough. But Nick doesn’t give an inch, and Harry stays the gentleman, as much as onecan be, naked and uninvited. He keeps his cheek pressed to Nick’s back, tucking one hand into the crook of his waist and drawing his other arm around his shoulder, fingers skimming the collar of Nick’s worn, faded shirt.
But he doesn’t slip his hands under the material, doesn’t cross the final line. And some part of Nick thinks, a touch cruelly, that though he know he’d be Harry’s first guy it’s not sweetness and inexperience that stays him.
But all Nick says out loud is, “Why are you here? You’ve got a proper bed and everything in the other room.”
“Ah, but I’ve finally thought of something to give you,” Harry says. He laughs, low and delighted, shifting his hips forward so Nick can feel that he’s hard.
“You said before I didn’t deserve anything,” Nick says. “That it wasn’t even my last show, really.”
“I didn’t know you were going to be such a sook about it,” Harry says. “I turned up anyway, didn’t I?” But he runs his thumb in warm, soft circles just above the waistband of Nick’s trousers, an overture waiting for something to happen. “So here we are, one impromptu gift, a little late. Already unwrapped.”
“So, an offer I can’t refuse?”Nick says with a snort. But he keeps his hands balled into fists at his side. He doesn’t trust himself to move, because he’s thought about this, too often and too much, about the things he wants and shouldn’t have. The way things would be if Harry was his, the sounds he would make, broken and lush, with Nick inside of him.
And Harry knows it, what they’ve been dancing around. He whines, frustrated, and grinds his hipsagainst Nick, pulling them closer at the waist. “So you’ll fuck hot young models but not me?”
“I see you’ve chosen to ignore the fact Henry also called them stupid,” Nick says dryly. “Also, that’s mighty modest of you.”
“You have eyes,” Harry says, voice muffled as he tucks his face against the back of Nick’s neck. “C’mon, you want to, right?”
Maybe Nick was right to hold off all these weeks; impatience spurs Harry further than he’s ever dared before, beyond flirting and the teasing touches. His hand drifts to the front of Nick’s underwear, and he squeezes Nick hesitantly, gently, checking that yeah, Nick’s hard for him too.
“You’re impossible,” Nick says, sighing again. He shifts, feels Harry’s fingers slipping away from him, and turns until he can see Harry’s face, half hidden in the crevice between the pillows.
“But, god help me, I do,” he adds, and laces his fingers with Harry’s, drawing his hand back under the edge of his briefs. Harry makes a noise as he inhales sharply, but he keeps his hand on Nick’s cock and looks up at Nick, eyes wide. Nick doesn’t push him any further, doesn’t give him any further direction, just waits to see what Harry will do.
Then he feels Harry start to stroke him, hesitant at first, but it’s enough to make Nick groan because, fuck, finally, and it seems to bolster Harry’s courage because he wriggles closer and tightens his grip. His face is right by Nick’s now so Nick can watch the way Harry frowns, eyes cast down, intent on working out what Nick likes. Then Harry flicks his thumb over the tip, biting down a smirk, and Nick’s hips jerk involuntarily toward Harry, his voice stuttering as he says, “Fuck, I’ve created a monster.”
Nick tips Harry’s head up with a finger under his chin and Harry looks at him, a half-lidded look more from drowsiness than seduction. Nick feels his chest seize up with want anyway, and kisses him with the full intent of his desire. He can hear the hitch in Harry’s breathing. Nick draws his knees up to tangle his legs with Harry’s, his thigh sliding up between Harry’s legs. Harry moans against Nick’s lips and Nick lets Harry ride him for a bit, working himself up, but then he pulls away, and Harry whines at the lack of contact.
“I want to suck you off,” Nick says, and Harry’s eyes, already blown, seem to get darker. But when he takes Harry’s cock in his mouth, Harry’s hips buck up helplessly and Nick has to back off, coughing a little, eyes watering.
But even as Harry says sorry, looking contrite, Nick’s taking Harry in his mouth again, this time holding him down with an arm across his hips. He’s got a good rhythm going when he feels a flutter at the back of his head. He lifts his head up, just as Harry makes a noise of protest and his hands fall away again onto the bed.
“You can put them in my hair, I don’t mind,” Nick says. “Just lightly, though.”
Harry starts to really squirm underneath his hold not long after, hips nudging forward, both hands cradling Nick’s head, fingers slipping and sliding against his scalp. Nick’s sure he’s close, so close, when he lets Harry slip out of his mouth and presses his mouth to the crease of his thigh and kisses him there. Harry growls, a low desperate sound, and he pulls impatiently at Nick’s hair, just enough to pinch.
“I’ve thought about this before, you know,” Nick says instead, casually, resting his cheek against smooth skin of Harry’s thigh. “And the other way around too, with your mouth on me, my hands in your hair.”
Harry lets out a gasp then, almost a sob. “Nick, please,” he says, voice breaking on the second word.
Nick takes pity on him then, swallows him down again and Harry comes moment later. Nick closes his eyesas Harry shakes through his comedown under him; He barely has a moment to catch his breath before Harry’s tugging him up beside him again, so he can snuggle up, curling in against Nick naked and sated. And when Harry looks up at him there’s a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Knew you couldn’t resist me,” he says. He opens his mouth and Nick braces himself for more teasing, but then Harry just yawns, eyes fluttering closed.
Nick brings his other hand up to cup Harry’s cheek, stroking the skin to watch Harry curl into the caress. There’s something so peaceful about it, watching the way Harry’s face smooths out and loses its frown, that he’s not sure how long he’s been doing it for when he finally says, quietly and more to himself, “Wasn’t it enough, what we already had? What we were?”
There’s no answer for a long moment and Nick thinks Harry’s actually fallen asleep. But then Harry says, voice rough, “Nothing’s ever enough.” His voice is deeper, more distant, as he adds, “You get what you can, for now.” He’s losing a fighting battle with sleep, the words slurring into one as his breathing starts to even out.
Nick bites back any response, just waits until he’s sure Harry’s deep in sleep before he slides out from under him to sit up against the bedhead, knees drawn up. He’s still uncomfortably hard but as he looks down on Harry so peacefully asleep in his bedhe can’t quite bring himself to reach down and palm himself to release, but he can’t get his mind to shut up and let him rest either.
“Get what you can,” he repeats to himself softly as he sits in the dark. There’s that tight, terrible feeling again, still beating just under the surface of his chest, and Nick wonders if even now he’s given too much for too little in return.
END
Title and summary from 'To Ianthe' in Byron's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage.
"Of him who hailed thee, loveliest as thou wast / Such is the most my memory may desire / Though more than Hope can claim, could Friendship less require?"
Rhiannon was nice enough to let me run with the idea, which I set out to make light and fluffy. But instead I ended up with 1,500 words of FEELINGS because, well, that’s how I roll.
Also on AO3 if you want to read it over there.
Thank you so much to Ro (
littlerhymes) for letting me Stockholm her into the fandom (YAY!) and for being the best beta as always. :D All remaining mistakes are most definitely mine.
MORE THAN HOPE CAN CLAIM
Nick wakes up to darkness, to the mattress dipping beside him, to a warm, naked body snuggling up behind him.
He opens one eye and peers at the clock on the bedside table beside him, registers the neon numbers, but it still takes a few moments to click that it’s only been two hours since he stumbled into bed. He’d thought he’d be too keyed up after his last night time show to fall asleep; but it turns out being exhausted and then getting regular drunk with his friends still beats drunk on excitement when it come to crashing.
And once he remembers that, it sort of solves the mystery of who’s just crept into bed with him.
“Really subtle, jailbait,” he says. His voice is middle-of-the-night, smoky-bar kind of hoarse. He clears his throat, and feels the rumble echoed in Harry’s chest, pressed up against his back.
“That’s a lie,” Harry’s voice is syrup slow and warm, and he’s speaking the words directly onto Nick’s skin, his mouth sliding across the back of his neck.
“Yeah,” Nick sighs. He’s right. It’s not subtle, and Harry’s old enough. But Nick doesn’t give an inch, and Harry stays the gentleman, as much as onecan be, naked and uninvited. He keeps his cheek pressed to Nick’s back, tucking one hand into the crook of his waist and drawing his other arm around his shoulder, fingers skimming the collar of Nick’s worn, faded shirt.
But he doesn’t slip his hands under the material, doesn’t cross the final line. And some part of Nick thinks, a touch cruelly, that though he know he’d be Harry’s first guy it’s not sweetness and inexperience that stays him.
But all Nick says out loud is, “Why are you here? You’ve got a proper bed and everything in the other room.”
“Ah, but I’ve finally thought of something to give you,” Harry says. He laughs, low and delighted, shifting his hips forward so Nick can feel that he’s hard.
“You said before I didn’t deserve anything,” Nick says. “That it wasn’t even my last show, really.”
“I didn’t know you were going to be such a sook about it,” Harry says. “I turned up anyway, didn’t I?” But he runs his thumb in warm, soft circles just above the waistband of Nick’s trousers, an overture waiting for something to happen. “So here we are, one impromptu gift, a little late. Already unwrapped.”
“So, an offer I can’t refuse?”Nick says with a snort. But he keeps his hands balled into fists at his side. He doesn’t trust himself to move, because he’s thought about this, too often and too much, about the things he wants and shouldn’t have. The way things would be if Harry was his, the sounds he would make, broken and lush, with Nick inside of him.
And Harry knows it, what they’ve been dancing around. He whines, frustrated, and grinds his hipsagainst Nick, pulling them closer at the waist. “So you’ll fuck hot young models but not me?”
“I see you’ve chosen to ignore the fact Henry also called them stupid,” Nick says dryly. “Also, that’s mighty modest of you.”
“You have eyes,” Harry says, voice muffled as he tucks his face against the back of Nick’s neck. “C’mon, you want to, right?”
Maybe Nick was right to hold off all these weeks; impatience spurs Harry further than he’s ever dared before, beyond flirting and the teasing touches. His hand drifts to the front of Nick’s underwear, and he squeezes Nick hesitantly, gently, checking that yeah, Nick’s hard for him too.
“You’re impossible,” Nick says, sighing again. He shifts, feels Harry’s fingers slipping away from him, and turns until he can see Harry’s face, half hidden in the crevice between the pillows.
“But, god help me, I do,” he adds, and laces his fingers with Harry’s, drawing his hand back under the edge of his briefs. Harry makes a noise as he inhales sharply, but he keeps his hand on Nick’s cock and looks up at Nick, eyes wide. Nick doesn’t push him any further, doesn’t give him any further direction, just waits to see what Harry will do.
Then he feels Harry start to stroke him, hesitant at first, but it’s enough to make Nick groan because, fuck, finally, and it seems to bolster Harry’s courage because he wriggles closer and tightens his grip. His face is right by Nick’s now so Nick can watch the way Harry frowns, eyes cast down, intent on working out what Nick likes. Then Harry flicks his thumb over the tip, biting down a smirk, and Nick’s hips jerk involuntarily toward Harry, his voice stuttering as he says, “Fuck, I’ve created a monster.”
Nick tips Harry’s head up with a finger under his chin and Harry looks at him, a half-lidded look more from drowsiness than seduction. Nick feels his chest seize up with want anyway, and kisses him with the full intent of his desire. He can hear the hitch in Harry’s breathing. Nick draws his knees up to tangle his legs with Harry’s, his thigh sliding up between Harry’s legs. Harry moans against Nick’s lips and Nick lets Harry ride him for a bit, working himself up, but then he pulls away, and Harry whines at the lack of contact.
“I want to suck you off,” Nick says, and Harry’s eyes, already blown, seem to get darker. But when he takes Harry’s cock in his mouth, Harry’s hips buck up helplessly and Nick has to back off, coughing a little, eyes watering.
But even as Harry says sorry, looking contrite, Nick’s taking Harry in his mouth again, this time holding him down with an arm across his hips. He’s got a good rhythm going when he feels a flutter at the back of his head. He lifts his head up, just as Harry makes a noise of protest and his hands fall away again onto the bed.
“You can put them in my hair, I don’t mind,” Nick says. “Just lightly, though.”
Harry starts to really squirm underneath his hold not long after, hips nudging forward, both hands cradling Nick’s head, fingers slipping and sliding against his scalp. Nick’s sure he’s close, so close, when he lets Harry slip out of his mouth and presses his mouth to the crease of his thigh and kisses him there. Harry growls, a low desperate sound, and he pulls impatiently at Nick’s hair, just enough to pinch.
“I’ve thought about this before, you know,” Nick says instead, casually, resting his cheek against smooth skin of Harry’s thigh. “And the other way around too, with your mouth on me, my hands in your hair.”
Harry lets out a gasp then, almost a sob. “Nick, please,” he says, voice breaking on the second word.
Nick takes pity on him then, swallows him down again and Harry comes moment later. Nick closes his eyesas Harry shakes through his comedown under him; He barely has a moment to catch his breath before Harry’s tugging him up beside him again, so he can snuggle up, curling in against Nick naked and sated. And when Harry looks up at him there’s a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Knew you couldn’t resist me,” he says. He opens his mouth and Nick braces himself for more teasing, but then Harry just yawns, eyes fluttering closed.
Nick brings his other hand up to cup Harry’s cheek, stroking the skin to watch Harry curl into the caress. There’s something so peaceful about it, watching the way Harry’s face smooths out and loses its frown, that he’s not sure how long he’s been doing it for when he finally says, quietly and more to himself, “Wasn’t it enough, what we already had? What we were?”
There’s no answer for a long moment and Nick thinks Harry’s actually fallen asleep. But then Harry says, voice rough, “Nothing’s ever enough.” His voice is deeper, more distant, as he adds, “You get what you can, for now.” He’s losing a fighting battle with sleep, the words slurring into one as his breathing starts to even out.
Nick bites back any response, just waits until he’s sure Harry’s deep in sleep before he slides out from under him to sit up against the bedhead, knees drawn up. He’s still uncomfortably hard but as he looks down on Harry so peacefully asleep in his bedhe can’t quite bring himself to reach down and palm himself to release, but he can’t get his mind to shut up and let him rest either.
“Get what you can,” he repeats to himself softly as he sits in the dark. There’s that tight, terrible feeling again, still beating just under the surface of his chest, and Nick wonders if even now he’s given too much for too little in return.
END
Title and summary from 'To Ianthe' in Byron's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage.
"Of him who hailed thee, loveliest as thou wast / Such is the most my memory may desire / Though more than Hope can claim, could Friendship less require?"