Fic: The Best Kind of Bad Neighbour.
Title: The Best Kind of Bad Neighbour
Pairing: Clameron
Rating: PG
Synopsis: Wherein David is terribly British, Nick is Terribly Liberal, and morning coffee becomes the linchpin in a relationship between two unlikely neighbours.
Authors note: Whilst writing The Rebel I needed something sweet and plain nice to distract me from the continued angst; this is the result. Thanks to the kind 01cheers for giving it the once over for me.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Didn't really happen and is unlikely to.
It was not that he disliked his neighbour - the lean, brown-haired, forty-something fellow who had moved in shortly after the departure of the Millers. The man was amiable enough, never failing to say hello if they shared an elevator or passed in the hallway. It was just that, as he watched the man gesticulate while talking into his mobile phone, David thought, with no small measure of annoyance, that he ought to be able to enjoy his morning coffee in peace.
Occupying the top floor of the building, their flats were the only two residences on this level, and the open terrace that had been part of the design was divided in the middle by a neat black railing of just below waist height, slightly shorter than the similar railing that encompassed the edge of the roof.
“They can't see you, you know,” David commented under his breath, sipping another mouthful of coffee and enjoying the pleasant aroma. At the statement, his pacing neighbour flashed him a look of amusement and silently mouthed 'I know', before resuming his conversation with whomever he was speaking to.
A few minutes later the gravelly tones of the other man ceased and David sighed, happily allowing the silence to calm his nerves and appreciating the soothing sound of birdsong. It did not, however, last long.
“Sorry about that,” his beaming neighbour said, leaning against the railing that separated their respective balconies. “I didn't mean to disturb you.”
“Quite all right, I assure you,” David replied, reluctantly turning his attention from that day's edition of the Telegraph and studying his neighbour with frank curiosity.
“Thought I'd better introduce myself after I ruined your coffee,” said the man, stretching a hand over the railing. “Nick Clegg.” David shook politely, efficiently, and then returned the introduction.
His neighbour - Nick - mumbled another apology as he returned to his phone, silencing the jangling ringtone and stepping back inside his apartment, hand beginning to flail once more.
David thought that that would be the end of the matter. They had shared the customary pleasantry of introducing oneself to one's neighbour and could now go about their separate business.
So the following morning when he carried his coffee pot out onto the terrace and placed it carefully on the wrought iron patio table, David did not anticipate that his neighbour, upon seeing him, would thrust a box that bore the logo of the Hummingbird Bakery under his nose, apologising again for disturbing David the previous morning. He expected even less that his polite but insincere invitation for Nick to join him for coffee would be answered by Nick bounding the railing and settling into the empty chair at David's side.
“Thanks Dave.”
Feeling positively flustered, David left the table to retrieve another coffee cup.
~*~*~
Four days later, David glanced through the patio door that led from the kitchen to the balcony and noticed that it was raining; no coffee outside that morning, for sure, but it did mean that he would not have to tolerate his insufferable neighbour, who seemed to think that David's casual invitation for coffee had meant 'please feel free to jump the railing every morning and disturb me whilst I am reading the newspaper'.
The man was absolutely intolerable.
Moving swiftly about the immaculately kept kitchen, David switched on the coffee machine and busied himself washing the few dishes used for his meal the previous evening. Living alone, he was accustomed to cleaning up after himself, and took some measure of pride in keeping his flat in an orderly state. Rinsing the dishes clean, David dried them thoroughly with a tea towel and settled them in the wall cupboard where they were usually stored. Then he wiped down the long, dark-coloured granite worktop that spanned one side of the room, cleaning away the drops of water that had splashed onto it.
Satisfied that all was in order, he filled his cup with freshly made coffee and moved to the wooden table that sat against the wall opposite the sink. It was small, and had only two chairs, but David preferred to take his breakfast here rather than using the large, formal table in the dining room that was adjacent to the kitchen.
This morning he would have no disruption as he read his paper.
“Morning Dave.”
David choked on his coffee.
“Wow, nice kitchen!” Nick continued, oblivious to David as he placed a box on the counter and began rooting through David's cupboards until he found where the plates were stored. David stared, blinked, and decided he must be hallucinating.
Nick - bloody - Clegg was not waltzing around David's kitchen as though his arrival had been part of a perfectly normal day.
“Brought us some croissants for breakfast. Do you like them?” Nick said cheerfully, putting one on a tea plate and placing it on top of David's forgotten newspaper.
Spluttering uselessly, David could not decide what was worse: that Nick had used the word 'us' as if they were some kind of married couple, or that Nick had started to make himself a cup of tea - without even asking!
Surely the man must possess a rudimentary understanding of social graces? Even if it was not evident in his actions, someone, somewhere must have mentioned that strolling uninvited into your neighbour's house really was not the done thing, not even if you brought pastry.
After considering whether or not to point this fact out, David settled for blocking Nick's interminable smile with the pages of the Telegraph, resolutely deciding that tomorrow he would foil the infernal nuisance by locking the door.
~*~*~
No coffee this morning, Dave? - Nick
Flummoxed by the arrival of this unexpected message, David tried to recall why exactly he had given his bothersome neighbour his phone number. It was completely out of character; he did not tend to hand his details to strangers, especially not ones he found so deeply irritating.
He would certainly have to reply, too, as Nick knew his morning routine. Blast!
With the contemplated lies swiftly dismissed as flimsy, David sat and typed an answer into his blackberry.
Rather thought I might come to your flat today. - David
Oh, but why had he written that? He really had not meant to! Double blast!
Well, it wouldn't do not to go now that he had invited himself, it would be terribly unmannerly, though he suspected that Nick would not care about such impropriety, given his penchant for doing as he pleased. David however was bound by a strict code of etiquette, having been raised in a well-to-do family who expected the best of behaviour at all times.
Patio door is open :) - Nick
David stared at the message in abject horror. Surely Nick was not expecting that he would scramble over the railing instead of using the front door as any decent person would do?
I think I would prefer the front door. - David
Feeling unaccountably troubled at having to explain his preference for normal modes of entering apartments, David waited for Nick to reply.
No problem. I'll put the kettle on. - Nick
Then there really wasn't anything else to do but to put on his shoes and go to Nick's flat via the lobby that held the lift doors and the entrance to the staircase. He knocked politely on Nick's door and waited for the man to answer.
Half an hour later he found himself exiting again, saying goodbye as he stepped toward his own flat.
“See you tomorrow, Dave,” Nick grinned as he closed the door.
David had to admit that the coffee had been rather good and it was hospitable of Nick to have served him a breakfast of warm pain au chocolat; although David was slightly concerned at Nick's fondness for foreign pastry. Nick had definitely decorated the flat to a much better standard than the Millers had managed during their three-year tenancy; with cheerful modern furniture and tasteful décor. It was a touch yellow for his tastes, but pleasing to the eye.
What he found utterly perplexing was why he had agreed to Nick's suggestion that he go over for coffee tomorrow as well.
~*~*~
There was no harm in it, David concluded after two weeks had passed and Nick showed no sign of stopping his daily visitations; perhaps the fellow was just terribly lonely? Certainly David had never seen him bring home any guests, not that he paid much attention to Nick's social habits, or any attention at all, absolutely not!
Besides, his efforts to prevent Nick from feeding him endless continental breakfasts had given David the inadvertent opportunity to flex his culinary muscles, which had atrophied somewhat in the time since he had moved here. Elaborate meals for one weren't really a necessity.
“Mmm, smells nice, Dave!” Nick exclaimed as he entered the kitchen, not bothering to knock as usual; flopping into his customary chair, he picked up the teapot that had become a regular addition to David's breakfast table, along with, of all things, a copy of the Guardian.
As David served breakfast - Eggs Benedict, with the usual ham replaced by salmon - it struck him how very domestic the whole situation was, and he buried himself in his newspaper to banish the idea, succeeding very nicely until Nick poked his head out from behind the Guardian with a frustrated growl.
“I don't know why I read this any more,” Nick said, tossing the offending item to the table and taking up his cutlery.
“Something the matter?” David asked, politeness making him refrain from stating that he did not understand why anyone would read the Guardian in first place.
“I don't know why they fixate on the Liberal Democrats, they're not the only party in the coalition.”
Ah.
They had skirted around the subject of political allegiance during the previous weeks, establishing that they sat firmly on opposite sides of the floor, but never venturing further. Politics was not a suitable topic of conversation for the breakfast table, David thought. Apparently, and entirely unsurprisingly, Nick did not agree; most definitely did not agree if his expansive gesturing was anything to go by. David felt suddenly worried for his china.
“I mean, they came third - third! Why does everybody expect that they would get everything in their manifesto implemented? And don't get me started on Labour, the wretched lot that left us in this mess anyway.”
“Maybe you should...” - calm down - stop threatening my teacups - be quiet!
But it was too late.
With one last frantic movement of his arm, Nick sent his teacup over the side of the table to the floor, where it smashed to pieces. David dropped his fork.
“Oh! Dave, I'm so sorry!” Nick cried, aghast, immediately stooping to the floor and sending David's sense of duty into overdrive. Guests should not be picking up broken china, not even if they were the ones who broke it.
“Don't trouble yourself, Nick. Let me get it,” David said, moving to retrieve the dustpan from the cupboard beneath the sink and sweeping the shards of crockery deftly into it. They could not be thrown out as they were, David thought, he would have to find a box to put them in later. He placed the pan back beneath the sink without emptying it; then he noticed that Nick's hand was bleeding.
“You've hurt yourself,” David said, striding over to where Nick was standing.
“Oh,” Nick replied. “It's nothing, just a scratch, really.”
David grabbed Nick's hand, firstly to look at it and secondly because Nick had begun to move it toward his mouth, which was frankly unhygienic. Oh, but holding Nick's hand did set David's stomach fluttering in the most unusual fashion, and it was terribly warm in his kitchen suddenly.
“I'll get you a plaster,” David said, carefully releasing Nick's hand and retreating to the bathroom to gather the first aid kit and collect his scattered wits.
This was certainly unexpected.
Peering sternly at his reflection in the mirror he told himself sharply: David Cameron, you ridiculous fool, you do not have a crush on Nick - bloody - Clegg.
~*~*~
Can't make breakfast this morning; early meeting. Left something for you on the terrace. - Nick
That something, David discovered when he crept onto his balcony with nervous anticipation, was a mid-sized box covered in metallic blue wrapping paper and tied with a neat-looking bow. David regarded it with unabashed curiosity, hesitantly teasing the gift card from beneath the ribbon.
Dave,
Sorry again for breaking your teacup.
Nick
Well, now he was intrigued as to what the contents might be, and plucked it gingerly from the floor, placing it atop the patio table. After a brief struggle with the bow, which seemed reluctant to part company with the wrapping paper, David finally succeeded in opening the box and peeked inside, only to gasp in wonderment, for the box contained the most exquisite tea set he had ever laid eyes on.
The delicately wrought china cups and saucers were accompanied by a teapot, each coloured a deep sapphire and decorated with the finest swirls of gold; graceful and yet not overtly feminine.
David gaped at it uncomprehendingly. Surely Nick did not intend this as a replacement for one diminutive teacup? It was so grand, so beautiful, and left him wondering when it was that Nick had taken the time to find out David's taste in crockery; they had only known each other three weeks.
Perhaps it was a skill acquired through years of having to replace broken china?
He ought to say thank you, but David's upbringing had not covered the appropriate way to thank gift-giving neighbours who you might possibly want to court, something which had never worried him until that moment but which he now found entirely bothersome.
Fumbling clumsily with his phone, David considered his options.
It is wonderful. Thank you. Would you care to join me for dinner tonight? - David
Dinner, yes. It seemed fitting enough as a thank you; he could prepare a nice Italian pasta and perhaps they would have a glass of wine. Oh, but that was starting to sound suspiciously like...
Sure, Dave. It's a date. - Nick
Oh dear.
~*~*~
It - was - not - a - date.
Quite beside the fact that he had not yet established if Nick thought of him as anything more than the tolerant neighbour with whom he took breakfast, well, it just was not proper to have a 'first date' in such an intimate setting as your own home; such a thing required a much more formal proposal and a restaurant. Therefore, David told himself for the sixth time, it was nothing more than him having a friend over for dinner. He did not dwell on just when he had begun to consider Nick a friend.
Reducing the heat below the saucepan of pasta, David endeavoured to ignore the nervous churning of his stomach and concentrate on the task of chopping onions.
The tea set Nick had given him was stowed safely in one of the cupboards and David had vowed that it would only be brought out on exceedingly special occasions, and never when Nick himself was around, for the thought of one of those charming teacups lying broken on the floor filled him with unexpected woe.
He was chopping rosemary when Nick arrived cheerfully into the kitchen.
“Mor... Er, evening, Dave.”
David turned his face to the rosemary, chiding himself for his grin, reminding himself for the seventh time that it was not a date, and then returning to self-reproach for forgetting his manners.
“Good evening,” he replied, placing the knife on the chopping board and wiping his hands. “Would you like something to drink?”
“You carry on, Dave. I can make my own tea,” came the reply. Nick's hand found and then stopped at the handle to the cupboard which held - thankfully - the informal crockery. “Which reminds me, did you... really like the tea set?”
“I did! I do!” David chimed, unable to contain his enthusiasm. “Thank you. It is quite stunning!”
Nick smiled, wide and happy and carefree, hand falling back to his side; then he asked, voice unusually hesitant, “Could I... Well, could I see it?”
David's brow creased at the request, and his notion that Nick had picked the thing himself seemed foolish as it was swiftly replaced with the thought that, of course, Nick would have had his secretary choose it.
“Only,” Nick continued, “I saw a picture when I chose it but it came wrapped and I didn't want to open it before I gave it to you.”
Oh.
“I promise I won't touch it, Dave. I just want to see if the colour is what I had in mind,” Nick finished with a flourish, thrusting his hands into his pockets as if to emphasise what he had said, his demeanour giving him the air of a repentant child.
David was unable to suppress his grin.
Opening the cupboard where he had placed the tea set, David watched as Nick examined it with his eyes and, true to his word, his hands stayed firmly at his side.
“Oh, it's the perfect colour, just what I wanted,” Nick declared, turning to David.
Lost for a moment in Nick's happy, twinkling eyes, David did not reply, but he was uncomfortably aware that he was behaving like a teenage girl who had just received her first handkerchief, and returned to preparing dinner without further comment.
Nick closed the cupboard and slipped the jacket from his shoulders, placing it over the back of his chair.
David pondered just when that chair had become 'Nick's chair' as he finished preparing dinner; reminding himself for the eighth time that this was not a date.
It was going to be a long night.
An unspecified time later, David realised that the second glass of wine he had consumed was beginning to affect his senses and he should probably go to bed.
Nick was stretched languorously on David's settee, having accepted David's offer of watching a re-run of The Godfather that was showing on Film Four, but his usual unending chatter had ceased some time ago. David approached, carefully weighing whether he should wake his neighbour or leave him, and finally deciding that, since Nick would undoubtedly turn up for breakfast anyway, it was better to let him sleep where he was rather than attempt to rouse him. David covered Nick's sleeping form with the blanket he usually reserved for his own nights spent sleeping on the settee and made his way to the bedroom.
~*~*~
“Morning, Dave,” Nick said as David, feeling a little drowsy from their late night, entered the kitchen.
“Good mor...” David began, then stopped, eyeing Nick in horror, for Nick was standing at the worktop, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he was actually washing - David's - dishes! “You didn't have to do that,” he said, trying not to sound as flustered as he felt.
“Least I could do after you let me sleep on the sofa, Dave.”
David walked over to Nick's side, determined that he would say something because guests should not do the dishes, not even guests who had spent the night.
“Yes, but...” David stopped, struck dumb because Nick had curled suds onto his index finger and deposited them neatly on the end of David's nose. The man was an absolute menace to polite society, David thought as he wiped the bubbles away with his thumb, ignoring the way his stomach had clenched when Nick had touched him.
Resigning himself to letting Nick finish the dishes, David switched on the coffee machine and contemplated what to serve for breakfast as he moved to the refrigerator. Deciding to make fruit cups, David was struck once again by how very homely the situation he had found himself in was; Nick doing the dishes while David made breakfast for them both, it was almost as though they were a couple.
David Cameron you get such nonsense out of your head this instant, he told himself.
But it persisted, and was joined by the thought of slipping his arms around Nick's waist and kissing his neck; then maybe Nick would twist his head to catch David's lips with his own and breakfast and dishes alike would be forgotten in a hurry - and with that he was suddenly furnished with several vivid images of just how his dining table might be used in pursuit of an aim that was entirely unrelated to food.
Oh dear.
“Earth to Dave, come in please?”
Nick was grinning at him, waving his hand in front of David's face as David stood with his hand on the refrigerator door staring blankly at its contents. “Sorry,” David said, “I couldn't decide what to make.” That was a close call, and it was fortunate that he had not slipped into a daydream somewhere other than here, because he would be at a loss to explain - wait, was he blushing? Heavens, he was!
Nick had not appeared to notice. Thank heavens for small mercies, David thought, edging his head further into the refrigerator than was strictly necessary and hoping that by the time he had gathered the things he wanted he would not look quite so red.
This was utterly ridiculous; fantasising about his neighbour like a hormonal teenager. It was all kinds of inappropriate as he had no idea if Nick was even interested in him that way. Why didn't he just ask the man on a date? A proper date, in a restaurant, where David could declare his interest in a way that satisfied the rules that governed this kind of thing; then he would be free to properly court Nick, if Nick agreed to it, of course.
David quickly prepared two fruit cups, drizzling them with some apple juice and placing them on the table along with the tea and coffee pots. He bit his lip, thinking that he would never be able to look at his dining table again without blushing, but resolutely pushed the thought away and sat down.
“Did you sleep all right?” David asked, picking up his spoon and beginning to eat his breakfast.
“Great, thanks. You should have woken me though,” Nick answered cheerfully.
“I didn't want to disturb you, you looked so comfortable.”
“You have a surprisingly comfortable sofa! I'm sorry for falling asleep on you though, I really didn't mean to. And thanks for the blanket,” Nick rambled.
“Quite all right. You must have had a long day,” David said, thankful that Nick appeared his usual animated self.
Breakfast passed amidst comfortable chatter, David feeling much calmer by the end of it.
When he was finished eating his food and complaining about the articles in the Guardian, Nick stood up and slipped his jacket on. Bidding David goodbye in his customary fashion, he then exited through the patio door and hopped over the railing to return to his apartment.
~*~*~
It was mid-afternoon and David was busy writing an article for the Times, where his work as a freelance journalist was often published, when Nick's message arrived.
Know anything about assembling furniture, Dave? - Nick
David scratched his temple. Nick's frequent text messages were not usually this cryptic.
Not really. Why? - David
Bought a new desk and didn't realise it was flat packed. - Nick
Oh.
David knew nothing about assembling furniture and he had no idea how to answer; he was still pondering his reply when another message arrived.
These instructions don't make any sense at all. - Nick
Feeling sorry for his friend, David typed:
Would you like some help in deciphering them? - David
The article for the Times could wait, David decided; would most definitely wait if it meant he could spend some time with Nick.
I thought you'd never ask ;) - Nick
In spite of Nick always leaving the door to his kitchen open, David left his flat and knocked on Nick's front door, to be met by a flustered looking Nick, who beckoned him inside with an expression of dismay.
“Thanks, Dave. I could really use your help here. I swear these instructions are in a language I don't know!” David laughed, well aware that Nick worked as a translator and spoke several European languages. He followed Nick into the flat, surveying the pieces of desk that were laid out on the carpet in the living room.
“It doesn't have pictures?”
“It has a picture of the desk,” Nick said. “But it says I should affix part A to part B using screw X, and none of them are labelled.”
“Right,” David said, picking up the instructions and studying them carefully, only to find that Nick was correct in his confusion. They made absolutely no sense. The curved bit looked like the side of the desk and was definitely part E, but everything else was a jumble.
After assembling and de-assembling the desk several times, they finally managed to make it remotely resemble what was shown in the picture.
David sighed, tired of instructions that made no sense. “I give up,” he said. “If it's not correctly assembled now then you should send it back.”
Glancing out of the window, Nick appeared to notice for the first time that it was dark. “Sorry, Dave. We've been at this so long that you've missed dinner. I'll cook something!”
Well, he should go, but Nick's face looked so eager and he could stay a while longer before heading home. “Okay,” David said; Nick's smile took his breath away.
Nick's dinner, a microwaved jacket potato with baked beans, proved more filling than David anticipated, and he soon found himself reluctant to leave and accepting Nick's offer of watching a Dutch film.
I really should go soon, though, David thought as he sat on Nick's settee and attempted to keep up the intermittent conversation with Nick. He was having a conversation with Nick, even if they differed in their opinions and even if Nick's head had dropped sleepily against David's shoulder some time ago without David saying anything. And - dear Lord - David was considering wrapping his arm around Nick's shoulder and dragging him closer.
David Cameron, you stop that! He is tired and sleeping and this is hardly the time!
But stuck somewhere between need and propriety, David let Nick sleep on his shoulder and found himself waking a few hours later with Nick wrapped in his arms; Nick leaning heavily against him, arms thrown casually about David's waist and head resting on David's chest.
David lay awake, resisting the temptation to run his fingers through Nick's hair.
“Sorry, Dave,” Nick mumbled when he woke at around 2am - not that David had been staring at the digital display on Nick's DVD player, watching as the minutes passed. Nick untangled himself and sat upright. “Keep falling asleep on you, don't I?” David tried not to dwell on how literal the on part of that sentence was.
“I should be leaving.” David stood up and smoothed his trousers, then turned back to Nick intending to say goodnight. Nick was rubbing his eyes and yawning, his hair mussed and his shirt creased, and suddenly David found that he did not want to leave, he wanted to curl Nick's sleepy frame into him and go back to sleep, preferably in bed.
Nick nodded. “Night, Dave.”
Giving a nod of his own, David hastily retreated to the door, thinking that his neighbour was probably embarrassed at having woken up cuddling him.
As David put his head on the pillow, he tried not to let his thoughts linger on how comfortable he had been with Nick resting against him, or how he had given in to temptation and, just once, let his hand stroke lightly on Nick's back before scolding himself for how wrong it was to take advantage of his sleeping neighbour.
When he woke in the morning, David's phone beeped at the arrival of a text message.
Been called to the office, can't make breakfast today. - Nick
Well, that settled it. Nick was clearly embarrassed, so much so that he had decided to avoid David for the day. David did not expect that the thought of Nick not coming over would hurt quite as much as it did.
~*~*~
“Morning, Dave,” Nick smiled as he entered the kitchen the following day. David was so surprised to see him, thinking that Nick might well avoid him for a few days, that he jumped, hand knocking his coffee cup, which tipped over and swished its contents over the tie David had left on the table.
“Sorry, didn't mean to startle you,” Nick said as David picked up the tie and made his way to the sink to rinse the coffee from it. As he did so, Nick made himself a cup of tea and sat down.
“You look smart today, Dave. Going somewhere nice?”
“I have a meeting with my editor at eleven,” David answered, frowning as he realised he would have to choose another tie, and this was his favourite one, too! Leaving his now clean but very wet tie on the worktop, David walked to his bedroom and selected a blue tie that was a different shade from the one he had intended to wear. He turned up his collar and efficiently tied a half Windsor before returning to the kitchen to find Nick with his head in the fridge.
“Are you hungry?” David asked, realising that he had not yet offered Nick breakfast.
“A little,” came the reply, muffled a tad by the fridge door . “Thought I'd have a yoghurt or something.”
Truthfully, it disturbed David a little to have Nick rifling casually through his refrigerator; he did not mind that Nick felt compelled to do so, and he had grown used to Nick's unfailing informal attitude, what bothered him was that Nick had gone to his fridge because David had been a bad host due to his unexpected need for a new tie.
“I can cook something, if you'd like?” David offered, eager to amend his errant behaviour.
“It's okay, Dave. This will be fine,” Nick answered, pulling a yoghurt from David's fridge and closing the door. “I just need a...” Nick stopped, an amused look appearing on his face, then he began chuckling and put his hand over his mouth to smother the sound.
Looking upon his neighbour, who had gone from chuckling to outright laughter, David wondered what was so funny. He ran a hand through his hair, checking that it was in order; there was one tuft of hair that continually drifted out of place in spite of his efforts to tame it.
“Sorry, Dave,” Nick chuckled. Putting his unopened yoghurt on the table, Nick walked over, hands reaching for David's tie. “You've got your tie on backwards,” he said turning up David's collar and proceeding to first untie, then retie the strip of silk, smoothing it down with his hand when he was finished. David stood perfectly still, heart thudding in his chest.
Nick fixed David's collar, leaning a little closer so he could reach to the back of David's neck, the action filling David's nostrils with the scent of shampoo, aftershave, and Nick. David bit his lip, suppressing a shiver as Nick's fingers brushed along his neck, and was almost overwhelmed by the desire to kiss Nick right now, right this second. Nick's hands came to rest on David's shoulders as he concluded, “There, much better.”
“Yes, thank you,” David said quietly.
“Can't have you leaving the house with your tie on backwards, can we,” Nick grinned, giving David's shoulders a squeeze and then moving back to the table to retrieve his yoghurt.
“No.”
We? Oh, David you fool he does not mean it like that, stop thinking such nonsense.
“Well, Dave. As much as I'd love to stay until you leave for your meeting, I have a translation due in at noon and I'm nowhere near finished,” Nick sighed. “See you later.”
“Goodbye,” David called as Nick jumped over the railing, clutching the yoghurt in one hand.
~*~*~
Since it was not raining, David decided that he would serve breakfast on the terrace this morning and opened the door. Loading the tea and coffee pots onto a tray, he picked it up and made his way outside.
“Good morning,” said a woman sitting at Nick's patio table. She smiled widely at him and added, “You must be Dave.”
David stared at her, wondering how she knew who he was and - more importantly - what she was doing sitting on Nick's balcony at such an early hour. Gulping back a good measure of worry, David replied, “Good morning. I don't think we've met.”
“Susan,” she said, by way of answer to his unspoken question. “Sorry, it's just that I've heard so much about you.”
Obviously she had heard about him from Nick. Where was Nick, anyway? It was not like him to miss breakfast, not without sending David a message. In the course of the past three months, David had grown quite fond of their mornings together and although he had not yet worked up the courage to ask Nick out to dinner, he had ascertained that Nick was not romantically involved with anyone.
“Oh,” David said, struggling to be polite to the woman - Susan - and not wanting to offend her, but anxiety had robbed him of his usual composure. Was she Nick's girlfriend?
“Don't worry, Dave; nothing but good things. You've really turned his head,” Susan chuckled, taking a sip of the beverage before her.
“Sorry?” David asked, slipping swiftly into confusion at the woman's words.
Susan appeared not to notice, and continued rambling in a way that reminded David very much of Nick himself.
“He's thoroughly besotted with you, to tell the truth. All I ever hear from him these days is 'Dave this' and 'Dave that'.” She shook her head in happy bemusement.
Besotted? Surely she must be mistaken. Nick was so outspoken that he would certainly have indicated, or very likely said outright, that he wanted more than a platonic relationship with David. She did not seem too put out by the idea, though, which meant she could not be Nick's girlfriend but once again left David in the position of not knowing who she was. He shuffled his feet, trying to think of a response.
“Gosh, he's right. You are very formal. I'm sorry.”
“Quite all right. It's just that...” - I do not know who you are - I had no idea - he likes me!
David found himself grinning widely at Susan, which prompted her to laugh again. “Seems the feeling is mutual,” she said, and winked at him cheekily. David blushed to his ears, casting his eyes to the floor.
“Is he..?” asked David shyly.
“He went out early this morning, some kind of mix up at work that needed to be fixed. Asked me to give you his apologies for missing breakfast.” Susan leaned a little closer to the railing. “To tell you the truth, I'm rather glad. Nick is a terrible cook and I'm sick of the sight of French pastries.”
Laughing, David replied, “Yes, I agree. That's why I cook most of the time.”
“He seems well for it; glad I don't have to worry about him eating out of boxes all the time.” Susan drained her cup and stood up. “Well, I'm afraid I have to be going, my flight is in a few hours and I can't afford to miss it. It was nice to meet you, Dave.”
“Likewise, Susan.”
Susan moved away from the table, making for Nick's door, then she stopped and turned around. “And Dave.”
“Yes?”
“Look after my brother.”
With that she strolled back into Nick's flat, leaving David feeling positively elated.
~*~*~
David spent the rest of the day nervously thinking about what he would say to Nick when he saw him the following morning whilst trying to work on his most recent article for the Times, a task that he could not quite keep his mind on. Nick liked him, was apparently besotted with him, and David could hardly contain himself amidst the heady excitement and the butterflies in his stomach.
He would ask Nick to dinner, tomorrow, as soon as Nick walked through the door David would invite him on a date, and yes, he would court the man properly by taking him to a restaurant. Perhaps even invite him in for coffee afterwards and... A spark of desire shot through him at the thought of kissing Nick goodnight.
With a sigh, David gave up on the article, his mind was too occupied to fully concentrate on it anyway. He shut down his computer and turned on the television, flicking through the channels of mindless garbage until he found a cooking show with Jamie Oliver. Leaning back on the sofa, David smiled to himself, letting his pleasant daydream draw him in until he felt his stomach twinge with hunger and decided he had better make dinner.
Noticing that he had left his coffee cup on the balcony, David opened the door and walked outside to retrieve it, humming merrily to himself - and was caught off guard by the sight of Nick standing at the railing looking as though he was about to climb over.
“Evening, Dave,” Nick said.
David grinned, forgot all thoughts of coffee cups and dinner, and walked over to his neighbour. “Hello,” he said cheerfully. “Didn't expect to see you until tomorrow.”
“Thought I'd drop by, since I missed you this morning.”
I missed you too, David thought, but said, “I met your sister.”
“I heard, she called me about half an hour ago and told me she thinks you're lovely,” Nick replied. “I hope she didn't chatter you to death, she can go on sometimes.”
“Not at all, she was most agreeable.”
“Right,” Nick said, looking unconvinced. He glanced at the floor, suddenly shy. “She said the two of you had an interesting conversation about... my cooking.”
The secondary meaning was not lost on David and he cleared his throat, fully intending to formally ask Nick out to dinner. “We did. And it made me realise that... well... Nick, would you care to go out to dinner with me on Friday?”
Nick looked up again and smiled. “Honestly, Dave, you are so prim sometimes. We've been courting each other for months now. I don't know why you think you need to take me to some stuffy restaurant.”
“What?” David replied, and oh dear it was nothing more than a squeak.
Nick, having apparently decided to do away with all semblance of proper conduct, said softly, “Yes, Dave, courting. Or do you think I make a habit of gifting tea sets that match people's eyes?”
“But you broke my cup,” David gasped, grasping for normality and finding it completely lacking; finally understanding that Nick, in his own unconventional way, had been declaring his affections all along and David had missed it entirely.
Nick put his hand on David's shoulder and tugged David forward until he was pressed against the railing. “I've broken lots of cups, Dave, and I never felt the need to replace them.”
“Oh.”
David held his breath as Nick slid one arm around his waist; gazing at him, eyes close, so close that David could see himself reflected in them. Then Nick's free hand slid into David's and held as Nick whispered, “Ah, David.” David shivered at the low, seductive tone of Nick's voice speaking his proper name for the first time since they had met and closed his eyes.
It slowly dawned on David, through his light-headed daze, that he was indeed being kissed by his neighbour over the railing that separated their respective balconies; was returning that kiss and moaning most enthusiastically as Nick's tongue swept its way inside his mouth; his hands were entangled in Nick's soft hair, holding him in place with gentle insistence. And yes, oh yes, Nick was as good a kisser as he had imagined.
Nick, with an effort that clearly bordered on heroic, untangled his tongue and, as was typical of him, said the first thing that popped into his head.
“Come inside?”
To David's astonishment, he found he did the same.
“Yes.”
As Nick moved toward the open door that led to his flat, David hesitated for a fraction of a second and then, throwing caution to the wind and violating umpteen social conventions, climbed over the railing and followed.
Finis.
But not actually finished, because it spawned a sequel...
Pairing: Clameron
Rating: PG
Synopsis: Wherein David is terribly British, Nick is Terribly Liberal, and morning coffee becomes the linchpin in a relationship between two unlikely neighbours.
Authors note: Whilst writing The Rebel I needed something sweet and plain nice to distract me from the continued angst; this is the result. Thanks to the kind 01cheers for giving it the once over for me.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Didn't really happen and is unlikely to.
It was not that he disliked his neighbour - the lean, brown-haired, forty-something fellow who had moved in shortly after the departure of the Millers. The man was amiable enough, never failing to say hello if they shared an elevator or passed in the hallway. It was just that, as he watched the man gesticulate while talking into his mobile phone, David thought, with no small measure of annoyance, that he ought to be able to enjoy his morning coffee in peace.
Occupying the top floor of the building, their flats were the only two residences on this level, and the open terrace that had been part of the design was divided in the middle by a neat black railing of just below waist height, slightly shorter than the similar railing that encompassed the edge of the roof.
“They can't see you, you know,” David commented under his breath, sipping another mouthful of coffee and enjoying the pleasant aroma. At the statement, his pacing neighbour flashed him a look of amusement and silently mouthed 'I know', before resuming his conversation with whomever he was speaking to.
A few minutes later the gravelly tones of the other man ceased and David sighed, happily allowing the silence to calm his nerves and appreciating the soothing sound of birdsong. It did not, however, last long.
“Sorry about that,” his beaming neighbour said, leaning against the railing that separated their respective balconies. “I didn't mean to disturb you.”
“Quite all right, I assure you,” David replied, reluctantly turning his attention from that day's edition of the Telegraph and studying his neighbour with frank curiosity.
“Thought I'd better introduce myself after I ruined your coffee,” said the man, stretching a hand over the railing. “Nick Clegg.” David shook politely, efficiently, and then returned the introduction.
His neighbour - Nick - mumbled another apology as he returned to his phone, silencing the jangling ringtone and stepping back inside his apartment, hand beginning to flail once more.
David thought that that would be the end of the matter. They had shared the customary pleasantry of introducing oneself to one's neighbour and could now go about their separate business.
So the following morning when he carried his coffee pot out onto the terrace and placed it carefully on the wrought iron patio table, David did not anticipate that his neighbour, upon seeing him, would thrust a box that bore the logo of the Hummingbird Bakery under his nose, apologising again for disturbing David the previous morning. He expected even less that his polite but insincere invitation for Nick to join him for coffee would be answered by Nick bounding the railing and settling into the empty chair at David's side.
“Thanks Dave.”
Feeling positively flustered, David left the table to retrieve another coffee cup.
~*~*~
Four days later, David glanced through the patio door that led from the kitchen to the balcony and noticed that it was raining; no coffee outside that morning, for sure, but it did mean that he would not have to tolerate his insufferable neighbour, who seemed to think that David's casual invitation for coffee had meant 'please feel free to jump the railing every morning and disturb me whilst I am reading the newspaper'.
The man was absolutely intolerable.
Moving swiftly about the immaculately kept kitchen, David switched on the coffee machine and busied himself washing the few dishes used for his meal the previous evening. Living alone, he was accustomed to cleaning up after himself, and took some measure of pride in keeping his flat in an orderly state. Rinsing the dishes clean, David dried them thoroughly with a tea towel and settled them in the wall cupboard where they were usually stored. Then he wiped down the long, dark-coloured granite worktop that spanned one side of the room, cleaning away the drops of water that had splashed onto it.
Satisfied that all was in order, he filled his cup with freshly made coffee and moved to the wooden table that sat against the wall opposite the sink. It was small, and had only two chairs, but David preferred to take his breakfast here rather than using the large, formal table in the dining room that was adjacent to the kitchen.
This morning he would have no disruption as he read his paper.
“Morning Dave.”
David choked on his coffee.
“Wow, nice kitchen!” Nick continued, oblivious to David as he placed a box on the counter and began rooting through David's cupboards until he found where the plates were stored. David stared, blinked, and decided he must be hallucinating.
Nick - bloody - Clegg was not waltzing around David's kitchen as though his arrival had been part of a perfectly normal day.
“Brought us some croissants for breakfast. Do you like them?” Nick said cheerfully, putting one on a tea plate and placing it on top of David's forgotten newspaper.
Spluttering uselessly, David could not decide what was worse: that Nick had used the word 'us' as if they were some kind of married couple, or that Nick had started to make himself a cup of tea - without even asking!
Surely the man must possess a rudimentary understanding of social graces? Even if it was not evident in his actions, someone, somewhere must have mentioned that strolling uninvited into your neighbour's house really was not the done thing, not even if you brought pastry.
After considering whether or not to point this fact out, David settled for blocking Nick's interminable smile with the pages of the Telegraph, resolutely deciding that tomorrow he would foil the infernal nuisance by locking the door.
~*~*~
No coffee this morning, Dave? - Nick
Flummoxed by the arrival of this unexpected message, David tried to recall why exactly he had given his bothersome neighbour his phone number. It was completely out of character; he did not tend to hand his details to strangers, especially not ones he found so deeply irritating.
He would certainly have to reply, too, as Nick knew his morning routine. Blast!
With the contemplated lies swiftly dismissed as flimsy, David sat and typed an answer into his blackberry.
Rather thought I might come to your flat today. - David
Oh, but why had he written that? He really had not meant to! Double blast!
Well, it wouldn't do not to go now that he had invited himself, it would be terribly unmannerly, though he suspected that Nick would not care about such impropriety, given his penchant for doing as he pleased. David however was bound by a strict code of etiquette, having been raised in a well-to-do family who expected the best of behaviour at all times.
Patio door is open :) - Nick
David stared at the message in abject horror. Surely Nick was not expecting that he would scramble over the railing instead of using the front door as any decent person would do?
I think I would prefer the front door. - David
Feeling unaccountably troubled at having to explain his preference for normal modes of entering apartments, David waited for Nick to reply.
No problem. I'll put the kettle on. - Nick
Then there really wasn't anything else to do but to put on his shoes and go to Nick's flat via the lobby that held the lift doors and the entrance to the staircase. He knocked politely on Nick's door and waited for the man to answer.
Half an hour later he found himself exiting again, saying goodbye as he stepped toward his own flat.
“See you tomorrow, Dave,” Nick grinned as he closed the door.
David had to admit that the coffee had been rather good and it was hospitable of Nick to have served him a breakfast of warm pain au chocolat; although David was slightly concerned at Nick's fondness for foreign pastry. Nick had definitely decorated the flat to a much better standard than the Millers had managed during their three-year tenancy; with cheerful modern furniture and tasteful décor. It was a touch yellow for his tastes, but pleasing to the eye.
What he found utterly perplexing was why he had agreed to Nick's suggestion that he go over for coffee tomorrow as well.
~*~*~
There was no harm in it, David concluded after two weeks had passed and Nick showed no sign of stopping his daily visitations; perhaps the fellow was just terribly lonely? Certainly David had never seen him bring home any guests, not that he paid much attention to Nick's social habits, or any attention at all, absolutely not!
Besides, his efforts to prevent Nick from feeding him endless continental breakfasts had given David the inadvertent opportunity to flex his culinary muscles, which had atrophied somewhat in the time since he had moved here. Elaborate meals for one weren't really a necessity.
“Mmm, smells nice, Dave!” Nick exclaimed as he entered the kitchen, not bothering to knock as usual; flopping into his customary chair, he picked up the teapot that had become a regular addition to David's breakfast table, along with, of all things, a copy of the Guardian.
As David served breakfast - Eggs Benedict, with the usual ham replaced by salmon - it struck him how very domestic the whole situation was, and he buried himself in his newspaper to banish the idea, succeeding very nicely until Nick poked his head out from behind the Guardian with a frustrated growl.
“I don't know why I read this any more,” Nick said, tossing the offending item to the table and taking up his cutlery.
“Something the matter?” David asked, politeness making him refrain from stating that he did not understand why anyone would read the Guardian in first place.
“I don't know why they fixate on the Liberal Democrats, they're not the only party in the coalition.”
Ah.
They had skirted around the subject of political allegiance during the previous weeks, establishing that they sat firmly on opposite sides of the floor, but never venturing further. Politics was not a suitable topic of conversation for the breakfast table, David thought. Apparently, and entirely unsurprisingly, Nick did not agree; most definitely did not agree if his expansive gesturing was anything to go by. David felt suddenly worried for his china.
“I mean, they came third - third! Why does everybody expect that they would get everything in their manifesto implemented? And don't get me started on Labour, the wretched lot that left us in this mess anyway.”
“Maybe you should...” - calm down - stop threatening my teacups - be quiet!
But it was too late.
With one last frantic movement of his arm, Nick sent his teacup over the side of the table to the floor, where it smashed to pieces. David dropped his fork.
“Oh! Dave, I'm so sorry!” Nick cried, aghast, immediately stooping to the floor and sending David's sense of duty into overdrive. Guests should not be picking up broken china, not even if they were the ones who broke it.
“Don't trouble yourself, Nick. Let me get it,” David said, moving to retrieve the dustpan from the cupboard beneath the sink and sweeping the shards of crockery deftly into it. They could not be thrown out as they were, David thought, he would have to find a box to put them in later. He placed the pan back beneath the sink without emptying it; then he noticed that Nick's hand was bleeding.
“You've hurt yourself,” David said, striding over to where Nick was standing.
“Oh,” Nick replied. “It's nothing, just a scratch, really.”
David grabbed Nick's hand, firstly to look at it and secondly because Nick had begun to move it toward his mouth, which was frankly unhygienic. Oh, but holding Nick's hand did set David's stomach fluttering in the most unusual fashion, and it was terribly warm in his kitchen suddenly.
“I'll get you a plaster,” David said, carefully releasing Nick's hand and retreating to the bathroom to gather the first aid kit and collect his scattered wits.
This was certainly unexpected.
Peering sternly at his reflection in the mirror he told himself sharply: David Cameron, you ridiculous fool, you do not have a crush on Nick - bloody - Clegg.
~*~*~
Can't make breakfast this morning; early meeting. Left something for you on the terrace. - Nick
That something, David discovered when he crept onto his balcony with nervous anticipation, was a mid-sized box covered in metallic blue wrapping paper and tied with a neat-looking bow. David regarded it with unabashed curiosity, hesitantly teasing the gift card from beneath the ribbon.
Dave,
Sorry again for breaking your teacup.
Nick
Well, now he was intrigued as to what the contents might be, and plucked it gingerly from the floor, placing it atop the patio table. After a brief struggle with the bow, which seemed reluctant to part company with the wrapping paper, David finally succeeded in opening the box and peeked inside, only to gasp in wonderment, for the box contained the most exquisite tea set he had ever laid eyes on.
The delicately wrought china cups and saucers were accompanied by a teapot, each coloured a deep sapphire and decorated with the finest swirls of gold; graceful and yet not overtly feminine.
David gaped at it uncomprehendingly. Surely Nick did not intend this as a replacement for one diminutive teacup? It was so grand, so beautiful, and left him wondering when it was that Nick had taken the time to find out David's taste in crockery; they had only known each other three weeks.
Perhaps it was a skill acquired through years of having to replace broken china?
He ought to say thank you, but David's upbringing had not covered the appropriate way to thank gift-giving neighbours who you might possibly want to court, something which had never worried him until that moment but which he now found entirely bothersome.
Fumbling clumsily with his phone, David considered his options.
It is wonderful. Thank you. Would you care to join me for dinner tonight? - David
Dinner, yes. It seemed fitting enough as a thank you; he could prepare a nice Italian pasta and perhaps they would have a glass of wine. Oh, but that was starting to sound suspiciously like...
Sure, Dave. It's a date. - Nick
Oh dear.
~*~*~
It - was - not - a - date.
Quite beside the fact that he had not yet established if Nick thought of him as anything more than the tolerant neighbour with whom he took breakfast, well, it just was not proper to have a 'first date' in such an intimate setting as your own home; such a thing required a much more formal proposal and a restaurant. Therefore, David told himself for the sixth time, it was nothing more than him having a friend over for dinner. He did not dwell on just when he had begun to consider Nick a friend.
Reducing the heat below the saucepan of pasta, David endeavoured to ignore the nervous churning of his stomach and concentrate on the task of chopping onions.
The tea set Nick had given him was stowed safely in one of the cupboards and David had vowed that it would only be brought out on exceedingly special occasions, and never when Nick himself was around, for the thought of one of those charming teacups lying broken on the floor filled him with unexpected woe.
He was chopping rosemary when Nick arrived cheerfully into the kitchen.
“Mor... Er, evening, Dave.”
David turned his face to the rosemary, chiding himself for his grin, reminding himself for the seventh time that it was not a date, and then returning to self-reproach for forgetting his manners.
“Good evening,” he replied, placing the knife on the chopping board and wiping his hands. “Would you like something to drink?”
“You carry on, Dave. I can make my own tea,” came the reply. Nick's hand found and then stopped at the handle to the cupboard which held - thankfully - the informal crockery. “Which reminds me, did you... really like the tea set?”
“I did! I do!” David chimed, unable to contain his enthusiasm. “Thank you. It is quite stunning!”
Nick smiled, wide and happy and carefree, hand falling back to his side; then he asked, voice unusually hesitant, “Could I... Well, could I see it?”
David's brow creased at the request, and his notion that Nick had picked the thing himself seemed foolish as it was swiftly replaced with the thought that, of course, Nick would have had his secretary choose it.
“Only,” Nick continued, “I saw a picture when I chose it but it came wrapped and I didn't want to open it before I gave it to you.”
Oh.
“I promise I won't touch it, Dave. I just want to see if the colour is what I had in mind,” Nick finished with a flourish, thrusting his hands into his pockets as if to emphasise what he had said, his demeanour giving him the air of a repentant child.
David was unable to suppress his grin.
Opening the cupboard where he had placed the tea set, David watched as Nick examined it with his eyes and, true to his word, his hands stayed firmly at his side.
“Oh, it's the perfect colour, just what I wanted,” Nick declared, turning to David.
Lost for a moment in Nick's happy, twinkling eyes, David did not reply, but he was uncomfortably aware that he was behaving like a teenage girl who had just received her first handkerchief, and returned to preparing dinner without further comment.
Nick closed the cupboard and slipped the jacket from his shoulders, placing it over the back of his chair.
David pondered just when that chair had become 'Nick's chair' as he finished preparing dinner; reminding himself for the eighth time that this was not a date.
It was going to be a long night.
An unspecified time later, David realised that the second glass of wine he had consumed was beginning to affect his senses and he should probably go to bed.
Nick was stretched languorously on David's settee, having accepted David's offer of watching a re-run of The Godfather that was showing on Film Four, but his usual unending chatter had ceased some time ago. David approached, carefully weighing whether he should wake his neighbour or leave him, and finally deciding that, since Nick would undoubtedly turn up for breakfast anyway, it was better to let him sleep where he was rather than attempt to rouse him. David covered Nick's sleeping form with the blanket he usually reserved for his own nights spent sleeping on the settee and made his way to the bedroom.
~*~*~
“Morning, Dave,” Nick said as David, feeling a little drowsy from their late night, entered the kitchen.
“Good mor...” David began, then stopped, eyeing Nick in horror, for Nick was standing at the worktop, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he was actually washing - David's - dishes! “You didn't have to do that,” he said, trying not to sound as flustered as he felt.
“Least I could do after you let me sleep on the sofa, Dave.”
David walked over to Nick's side, determined that he would say something because guests should not do the dishes, not even guests who had spent the night.
“Yes, but...” David stopped, struck dumb because Nick had curled suds onto his index finger and deposited them neatly on the end of David's nose. The man was an absolute menace to polite society, David thought as he wiped the bubbles away with his thumb, ignoring the way his stomach had clenched when Nick had touched him.
Resigning himself to letting Nick finish the dishes, David switched on the coffee machine and contemplated what to serve for breakfast as he moved to the refrigerator. Deciding to make fruit cups, David was struck once again by how very homely the situation he had found himself in was; Nick doing the dishes while David made breakfast for them both, it was almost as though they were a couple.
David Cameron you get such nonsense out of your head this instant, he told himself.
But it persisted, and was joined by the thought of slipping his arms around Nick's waist and kissing his neck; then maybe Nick would twist his head to catch David's lips with his own and breakfast and dishes alike would be forgotten in a hurry - and with that he was suddenly furnished with several vivid images of just how his dining table might be used in pursuit of an aim that was entirely unrelated to food.
Oh dear.
“Earth to Dave, come in please?”
Nick was grinning at him, waving his hand in front of David's face as David stood with his hand on the refrigerator door staring blankly at its contents. “Sorry,” David said, “I couldn't decide what to make.” That was a close call, and it was fortunate that he had not slipped into a daydream somewhere other than here, because he would be at a loss to explain - wait, was he blushing? Heavens, he was!
Nick had not appeared to notice. Thank heavens for small mercies, David thought, edging his head further into the refrigerator than was strictly necessary and hoping that by the time he had gathered the things he wanted he would not look quite so red.
This was utterly ridiculous; fantasising about his neighbour like a hormonal teenager. It was all kinds of inappropriate as he had no idea if Nick was even interested in him that way. Why didn't he just ask the man on a date? A proper date, in a restaurant, where David could declare his interest in a way that satisfied the rules that governed this kind of thing; then he would be free to properly court Nick, if Nick agreed to it, of course.
David quickly prepared two fruit cups, drizzling them with some apple juice and placing them on the table along with the tea and coffee pots. He bit his lip, thinking that he would never be able to look at his dining table again without blushing, but resolutely pushed the thought away and sat down.
“Did you sleep all right?” David asked, picking up his spoon and beginning to eat his breakfast.
“Great, thanks. You should have woken me though,” Nick answered cheerfully.
“I didn't want to disturb you, you looked so comfortable.”
“You have a surprisingly comfortable sofa! I'm sorry for falling asleep on you though, I really didn't mean to. And thanks for the blanket,” Nick rambled.
“Quite all right. You must have had a long day,” David said, thankful that Nick appeared his usual animated self.
Breakfast passed amidst comfortable chatter, David feeling much calmer by the end of it.
When he was finished eating his food and complaining about the articles in the Guardian, Nick stood up and slipped his jacket on. Bidding David goodbye in his customary fashion, he then exited through the patio door and hopped over the railing to return to his apartment.
~*~*~
It was mid-afternoon and David was busy writing an article for the Times, where his work as a freelance journalist was often published, when Nick's message arrived.
Know anything about assembling furniture, Dave? - Nick
David scratched his temple. Nick's frequent text messages were not usually this cryptic.
Not really. Why? - David
Bought a new desk and didn't realise it was flat packed. - Nick
Oh.
David knew nothing about assembling furniture and he had no idea how to answer; he was still pondering his reply when another message arrived.
These instructions don't make any sense at all. - Nick
Feeling sorry for his friend, David typed:
Would you like some help in deciphering them? - David
The article for the Times could wait, David decided; would most definitely wait if it meant he could spend some time with Nick.
I thought you'd never ask ;) - Nick
In spite of Nick always leaving the door to his kitchen open, David left his flat and knocked on Nick's front door, to be met by a flustered looking Nick, who beckoned him inside with an expression of dismay.
“Thanks, Dave. I could really use your help here. I swear these instructions are in a language I don't know!” David laughed, well aware that Nick worked as a translator and spoke several European languages. He followed Nick into the flat, surveying the pieces of desk that were laid out on the carpet in the living room.
“It doesn't have pictures?”
“It has a picture of the desk,” Nick said. “But it says I should affix part A to part B using screw X, and none of them are labelled.”
“Right,” David said, picking up the instructions and studying them carefully, only to find that Nick was correct in his confusion. They made absolutely no sense. The curved bit looked like the side of the desk and was definitely part E, but everything else was a jumble.
After assembling and de-assembling the desk several times, they finally managed to make it remotely resemble what was shown in the picture.
David sighed, tired of instructions that made no sense. “I give up,” he said. “If it's not correctly assembled now then you should send it back.”
Glancing out of the window, Nick appeared to notice for the first time that it was dark. “Sorry, Dave. We've been at this so long that you've missed dinner. I'll cook something!”
Well, he should go, but Nick's face looked so eager and he could stay a while longer before heading home. “Okay,” David said; Nick's smile took his breath away.
Nick's dinner, a microwaved jacket potato with baked beans, proved more filling than David anticipated, and he soon found himself reluctant to leave and accepting Nick's offer of watching a Dutch film.
I really should go soon, though, David thought as he sat on Nick's settee and attempted to keep up the intermittent conversation with Nick. He was having a conversation with Nick, even if they differed in their opinions and even if Nick's head had dropped sleepily against David's shoulder some time ago without David saying anything. And - dear Lord - David was considering wrapping his arm around Nick's shoulder and dragging him closer.
David Cameron, you stop that! He is tired and sleeping and this is hardly the time!
But stuck somewhere between need and propriety, David let Nick sleep on his shoulder and found himself waking a few hours later with Nick wrapped in his arms; Nick leaning heavily against him, arms thrown casually about David's waist and head resting on David's chest.
David lay awake, resisting the temptation to run his fingers through Nick's hair.
“Sorry, Dave,” Nick mumbled when he woke at around 2am - not that David had been staring at the digital display on Nick's DVD player, watching as the minutes passed. Nick untangled himself and sat upright. “Keep falling asleep on you, don't I?” David tried not to dwell on how literal the on part of that sentence was.
“I should be leaving.” David stood up and smoothed his trousers, then turned back to Nick intending to say goodnight. Nick was rubbing his eyes and yawning, his hair mussed and his shirt creased, and suddenly David found that he did not want to leave, he wanted to curl Nick's sleepy frame into him and go back to sleep, preferably in bed.
Nick nodded. “Night, Dave.”
Giving a nod of his own, David hastily retreated to the door, thinking that his neighbour was probably embarrassed at having woken up cuddling him.
As David put his head on the pillow, he tried not to let his thoughts linger on how comfortable he had been with Nick resting against him, or how he had given in to temptation and, just once, let his hand stroke lightly on Nick's back before scolding himself for how wrong it was to take advantage of his sleeping neighbour.
When he woke in the morning, David's phone beeped at the arrival of a text message.
Been called to the office, can't make breakfast today. - Nick
Well, that settled it. Nick was clearly embarrassed, so much so that he had decided to avoid David for the day. David did not expect that the thought of Nick not coming over would hurt quite as much as it did.
~*~*~
“Morning, Dave,” Nick smiled as he entered the kitchen the following day. David was so surprised to see him, thinking that Nick might well avoid him for a few days, that he jumped, hand knocking his coffee cup, which tipped over and swished its contents over the tie David had left on the table.
“Sorry, didn't mean to startle you,” Nick said as David picked up the tie and made his way to the sink to rinse the coffee from it. As he did so, Nick made himself a cup of tea and sat down.
“You look smart today, Dave. Going somewhere nice?”
“I have a meeting with my editor at eleven,” David answered, frowning as he realised he would have to choose another tie, and this was his favourite one, too! Leaving his now clean but very wet tie on the worktop, David walked to his bedroom and selected a blue tie that was a different shade from the one he had intended to wear. He turned up his collar and efficiently tied a half Windsor before returning to the kitchen to find Nick with his head in the fridge.
“Are you hungry?” David asked, realising that he had not yet offered Nick breakfast.
“A little,” came the reply, muffled a tad by the fridge door . “Thought I'd have a yoghurt or something.”
Truthfully, it disturbed David a little to have Nick rifling casually through his refrigerator; he did not mind that Nick felt compelled to do so, and he had grown used to Nick's unfailing informal attitude, what bothered him was that Nick had gone to his fridge because David had been a bad host due to his unexpected need for a new tie.
“I can cook something, if you'd like?” David offered, eager to amend his errant behaviour.
“It's okay, Dave. This will be fine,” Nick answered, pulling a yoghurt from David's fridge and closing the door. “I just need a...” Nick stopped, an amused look appearing on his face, then he began chuckling and put his hand over his mouth to smother the sound.
Looking upon his neighbour, who had gone from chuckling to outright laughter, David wondered what was so funny. He ran a hand through his hair, checking that it was in order; there was one tuft of hair that continually drifted out of place in spite of his efforts to tame it.
“Sorry, Dave,” Nick chuckled. Putting his unopened yoghurt on the table, Nick walked over, hands reaching for David's tie. “You've got your tie on backwards,” he said turning up David's collar and proceeding to first untie, then retie the strip of silk, smoothing it down with his hand when he was finished. David stood perfectly still, heart thudding in his chest.
Nick fixed David's collar, leaning a little closer so he could reach to the back of David's neck, the action filling David's nostrils with the scent of shampoo, aftershave, and Nick. David bit his lip, suppressing a shiver as Nick's fingers brushed along his neck, and was almost overwhelmed by the desire to kiss Nick right now, right this second. Nick's hands came to rest on David's shoulders as he concluded, “There, much better.”
“Yes, thank you,” David said quietly.
“Can't have you leaving the house with your tie on backwards, can we,” Nick grinned, giving David's shoulders a squeeze and then moving back to the table to retrieve his yoghurt.
“No.”
We? Oh, David you fool he does not mean it like that, stop thinking such nonsense.
“Well, Dave. As much as I'd love to stay until you leave for your meeting, I have a translation due in at noon and I'm nowhere near finished,” Nick sighed. “See you later.”
“Goodbye,” David called as Nick jumped over the railing, clutching the yoghurt in one hand.
~*~*~
Since it was not raining, David decided that he would serve breakfast on the terrace this morning and opened the door. Loading the tea and coffee pots onto a tray, he picked it up and made his way outside.
“Good morning,” said a woman sitting at Nick's patio table. She smiled widely at him and added, “You must be Dave.”
David stared at her, wondering how she knew who he was and - more importantly - what she was doing sitting on Nick's balcony at such an early hour. Gulping back a good measure of worry, David replied, “Good morning. I don't think we've met.”
“Susan,” she said, by way of answer to his unspoken question. “Sorry, it's just that I've heard so much about you.”
Obviously she had heard about him from Nick. Where was Nick, anyway? It was not like him to miss breakfast, not without sending David a message. In the course of the past three months, David had grown quite fond of their mornings together and although he had not yet worked up the courage to ask Nick out to dinner, he had ascertained that Nick was not romantically involved with anyone.
“Oh,” David said, struggling to be polite to the woman - Susan - and not wanting to offend her, but anxiety had robbed him of his usual composure. Was she Nick's girlfriend?
“Don't worry, Dave; nothing but good things. You've really turned his head,” Susan chuckled, taking a sip of the beverage before her.
“Sorry?” David asked, slipping swiftly into confusion at the woman's words.
Susan appeared not to notice, and continued rambling in a way that reminded David very much of Nick himself.
“He's thoroughly besotted with you, to tell the truth. All I ever hear from him these days is 'Dave this' and 'Dave that'.” She shook her head in happy bemusement.
Besotted? Surely she must be mistaken. Nick was so outspoken that he would certainly have indicated, or very likely said outright, that he wanted more than a platonic relationship with David. She did not seem too put out by the idea, though, which meant she could not be Nick's girlfriend but once again left David in the position of not knowing who she was. He shuffled his feet, trying to think of a response.
“Gosh, he's right. You are very formal. I'm sorry.”
“Quite all right. It's just that...” - I do not know who you are - I had no idea - he likes me!
David found himself grinning widely at Susan, which prompted her to laugh again. “Seems the feeling is mutual,” she said, and winked at him cheekily. David blushed to his ears, casting his eyes to the floor.
“Is he..?” asked David shyly.
“He went out early this morning, some kind of mix up at work that needed to be fixed. Asked me to give you his apologies for missing breakfast.” Susan leaned a little closer to the railing. “To tell you the truth, I'm rather glad. Nick is a terrible cook and I'm sick of the sight of French pastries.”
Laughing, David replied, “Yes, I agree. That's why I cook most of the time.”
“He seems well for it; glad I don't have to worry about him eating out of boxes all the time.” Susan drained her cup and stood up. “Well, I'm afraid I have to be going, my flight is in a few hours and I can't afford to miss it. It was nice to meet you, Dave.”
“Likewise, Susan.”
Susan moved away from the table, making for Nick's door, then she stopped and turned around. “And Dave.”
“Yes?”
“Look after my brother.”
With that she strolled back into Nick's flat, leaving David feeling positively elated.
~*~*~
David spent the rest of the day nervously thinking about what he would say to Nick when he saw him the following morning whilst trying to work on his most recent article for the Times, a task that he could not quite keep his mind on. Nick liked him, was apparently besotted with him, and David could hardly contain himself amidst the heady excitement and the butterflies in his stomach.
He would ask Nick to dinner, tomorrow, as soon as Nick walked through the door David would invite him on a date, and yes, he would court the man properly by taking him to a restaurant. Perhaps even invite him in for coffee afterwards and... A spark of desire shot through him at the thought of kissing Nick goodnight.
With a sigh, David gave up on the article, his mind was too occupied to fully concentrate on it anyway. He shut down his computer and turned on the television, flicking through the channels of mindless garbage until he found a cooking show with Jamie Oliver. Leaning back on the sofa, David smiled to himself, letting his pleasant daydream draw him in until he felt his stomach twinge with hunger and decided he had better make dinner.
Noticing that he had left his coffee cup on the balcony, David opened the door and walked outside to retrieve it, humming merrily to himself - and was caught off guard by the sight of Nick standing at the railing looking as though he was about to climb over.
“Evening, Dave,” Nick said.
David grinned, forgot all thoughts of coffee cups and dinner, and walked over to his neighbour. “Hello,” he said cheerfully. “Didn't expect to see you until tomorrow.”
“Thought I'd drop by, since I missed you this morning.”
I missed you too, David thought, but said, “I met your sister.”
“I heard, she called me about half an hour ago and told me she thinks you're lovely,” Nick replied. “I hope she didn't chatter you to death, she can go on sometimes.”
“Not at all, she was most agreeable.”
“Right,” Nick said, looking unconvinced. He glanced at the floor, suddenly shy. “She said the two of you had an interesting conversation about... my cooking.”
The secondary meaning was not lost on David and he cleared his throat, fully intending to formally ask Nick out to dinner. “We did. And it made me realise that... well... Nick, would you care to go out to dinner with me on Friday?”
Nick looked up again and smiled. “Honestly, Dave, you are so prim sometimes. We've been courting each other for months now. I don't know why you think you need to take me to some stuffy restaurant.”
“What?” David replied, and oh dear it was nothing more than a squeak.
Nick, having apparently decided to do away with all semblance of proper conduct, said softly, “Yes, Dave, courting. Or do you think I make a habit of gifting tea sets that match people's eyes?”
“But you broke my cup,” David gasped, grasping for normality and finding it completely lacking; finally understanding that Nick, in his own unconventional way, had been declaring his affections all along and David had missed it entirely.
Nick put his hand on David's shoulder and tugged David forward until he was pressed against the railing. “I've broken lots of cups, Dave, and I never felt the need to replace them.”
“Oh.”
David held his breath as Nick slid one arm around his waist; gazing at him, eyes close, so close that David could see himself reflected in them. Then Nick's free hand slid into David's and held as Nick whispered, “Ah, David.” David shivered at the low, seductive tone of Nick's voice speaking his proper name for the first time since they had met and closed his eyes.
It slowly dawned on David, through his light-headed daze, that he was indeed being kissed by his neighbour over the railing that separated their respective balconies; was returning that kiss and moaning most enthusiastically as Nick's tongue swept its way inside his mouth; his hands were entangled in Nick's soft hair, holding him in place with gentle insistence. And yes, oh yes, Nick was as good a kisser as he had imagined.
Nick, with an effort that clearly bordered on heroic, untangled his tongue and, as was typical of him, said the first thing that popped into his head.
“Come inside?”
To David's astonishment, he found he did the same.
“Yes.”
As Nick moved toward the open door that led to his flat, David hesitated for a fraction of a second and then, throwing caution to the wind and violating umpteen social conventions, climbed over the railing and followed.
Finis.
But not actually finished, because it spawned a sequel...