employment, ricky wilson/nick hodgson, nc-17
Title: Employment
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Ricky Wilson/Nick Hodgson (and a bit of Ricky/Simon Amstell and Nick/Simon Amstell, just because if I can randomly insert Simon Amstell into my fic and still have it make sense, then WHY NOT.)
Rating: NC-17 in parts
Warnings: Real person slash
Summary: Ricky and Nick's relationship in twelve pieces.
A/N: I'm afraid I can't say I know all that much about these two, or the band in general, so I hope it works anyway. I might do another one based around the second album, I left it open for that. Various things are referenced, including this interview on Popworld, and this photo.
1. The doctor says all I need is some rest
It starts much later on in their lives than one would expect. People would assume, Ricky thinks, that the two of them were already shagging when he said that thing about the sexual tension in the interview to that one magazine. Or that they'd been together since the start of the band, or since they'd first met, like it'd been love at first sight or something soppy and pathetic.
It's not even a big deal, when it happens. There should be fireworks and heart attacks, he thinks, or at the very least he should be getting all sweaty and nervous or something.
But it's Nick, and it's been building up for so long that they both knew it was inevitable, and so when they finally kiss-in the otherwise-empty tourbus, taking shelter from the rain with tea and digestive biscuits and a half-arsed game of gin rummy-it's more of a relief than anything else.
He actually feels this huge release inside him, some loosening of something like a tight knot in his chest coming unravelled, being set free.
They fuck later that night, and Ricky feels like some stupid giggly teenager as they try to get it right and-more importantly-keep quiet. It's not awkward like he'd expected. When things go wrong they can laugh about it, and when they go right, they're bloody amazing. And when he rolls over afterwards and lights a cigarette, Nick just nuzzles into his shoulder and murmurs, "That was nice."
2. Walking through town is quite scary, and not very sensible either
They weren't actually trying to get drunk and stupid, but it's happened anyway. They're in Leeds, which is always a problem-everybody knows them in Leeds-but for some reason it loses its name and all its connotations except 'home' tonight.
"Christ," says Nick, stumbling into a wall. "You're pissed. You are-you are pissed off your head."
"You," says Ricky steadily, "just walked into a wall."
"Yes," Nick agrees. He pauses to consider this. "Yes. Well, maybe I'm kind of pissed too."
"Only a little?"
"Only a little."
Another pause. Nick looks around and discovers that they are in some alleyway near the pub. He can't even remember what they're doing here in the first place, which is vaguely worrying. Why would they wander into a dark alleyway?
"Are you pissed enough to let me suck you off in a dark alleyway?" Ricky asks him suddenly.
Ah, yes, Nick thinks happily, as he answers by undoing his jeans and flattening himself against the wall, that'd be why.
He can't even look at Ricky at first. He knows that if he does, he'll come right away-or explode or something-so he stares upwards, but looking into the night's sky makes him feel dizzy and sick. So he tries looking down instead, and sees Ricky with his lips all red and wet and stretched around his cock, and his eyes bright blue and innocent staring up at him as he sucks, down on his knees on the dirty pavement.
"Ricky-nngh-fuck," is more-or-less what he groans as he spills into Ricky's mouth.
A minute or so later the two of them head back into the street in search of a taxi.
"That," says Ricky, still wiping his mouth, "was probably, er. Not very sensible."
Nodding in agreement is all that Nick is capable of.
3. My brain is not damaged, but in need of some repair
"This is kind of insane," Ricky murmurs.
It's one of their rare moments alone, and Ricky seems to have decided to fill the time waxing thoughtful on their relationship.
"Hmm?"
"Us," Ricky clarifies, as though Nick didn't get that. "Here we are, in a band, becoming famous, doing interviews, making music videos, releasing singles...having girlfriends..."
"Yeah?"
"...and we're shagging."
A pause. Nick nods, but then changes his mind and stops nodding. "I guess," he says, "but to me it's more like-here we are, best friends who happen to be in a band, and yes, have girlfriends, which does make things a little more difficult but really, I'm not sure what you're suggesting we do about it...and we're shagging."
"I don't think I followed that, mate," says Ricky, laughing.
"I just meant-don't always focus on the fame," Nick says, words coming out before he can actually think about them. Ricky stiffens next to him. "We're just us."
4. She's not the kind of girl that I like
Ricky's kissing Fleur when Nick wanders into the dressing room. He'd like to turn around and leave again, but figures that might be a bit obvious, so he grabs a magazine and flops down onto the sofa next to them instead.
"D'you mind, mate?" Ricky grumbles, elbowing him in the ribs. "We were kind of in the middle of something here."
"Get a room," Nick retorts, flicking irritably through the pages of an old NME, not actually reading it.
They ignore him, and after only a few seconds he can't stand it, so he does leave after all, tossing the magazine over his shoulder and pretty much storming out. Behind him he hears Fleur murmur, "What's his problem?" but he doesn't hear Ricky's answer.
After the gig, the drinks are flowing and Nick finds himself right back in the same position, sitting on a sofa next to Ricky and Fleur, who are so wrapped up in each other that they seem to have forgotten they're in a crowded room. Nick takes a swig from his beer, and looks away from them, pretending to be interested in whatever it is that Whitey's rambling on about.
He knows Ricky hasn't seen Fleur in ages, and he knows he loves her. He especially knows that he's not in a position to complain or be jealous. He's the other woman, really. He's the mistress. He can't do anything. Probably, this shouldn't even bother him, but it does.
The night goes on, the room grows darker.
At some point Nick becomes aware of a hand on his thigh. He glances down sharply, expecting Ricky to jerk his hand away immediately (assuming he touched him by mistake), but he keeps it there. Fingers stroke his thigh gently, rubbing against the denim. Nick risks a look to the side, seeing that Ricky and Fleur are still kissing, and his heart leaps into his throat. He looks around the room, anxiously, but nobody is paying any attention to them.
He places his own quivering hand over Ricky's, and squeezes it once, tightly, before moving it away again. But Ricky is oblivious. His fingers slide over to Nick's crotch and Nick draws in a sharp breath. Ricky's thumb traces his fly, and Nick feels his jeans tightening, his cock stirring inside them. He slaps Ricky's hand away as discreetly as possible and leaves the room without looking back.
Wanking frantically in the toilets, Ricky is all he can see.
5. You can never hold my hand in public
Nick begins to regret his earlier advice. He remembers telling Ricky not to focus on the fame, remembers telling him that the two of them were just that-them-but Ricky seems to have taken this as permission to take him for granted.
He knows they've got to keep it secret, got to make sure nobody knows. And he's pretty sure that it's been working, though there've been some close calls and for some reason Whitey never likes to leave them along together.
But Ricky seems to go out of his way to make sure nobody suspects. Nick can't stand seeing him with Fleur, especially since he broke up with his own girlfriend. He made up some crap about her being a golddigger, too scared to admit to Ricky that he just couldn't cope with the guilt. And it was more than that, too...whenever he was with her, he was thinking of Ricky, and it just didn't feel right. Ricky was the one he wanted to be with.
For some reason, the guilt doesn't seem to be a problem for Ricky, and if he likes Nick more than he likes Fleur, he certainly doesn't show it.
6. Drifting apart like a plate tectonic
"Rainy weather and tea," snorts Ricky. "How excessively English."
Nick shrugs. It seems stupid to complain; it's only a photoshoot after all, and surely, by now, they ought to be used to people making a big deal out of the fact that they're English?
Ricky shakes his damp fringe out of his face and stamps his feet in the cold, looking around. "Where're the others, anyway?"
"Dunno."
"You could at least share the umbrella, seeing as I was the only one who wasn't given one."
You're the lead singer, Nick wants to say, they wanted you to stand out. Instead, he says, "Whitey didn't get one."
"He had his hat."
Nick shrugs and tilts the umbrella slightly, and Ricky ducks beneath it, sipping from his teacup and making a face.
"'s gone cold."
Nick frowns. "Ricky..." he begins, but even as he speaks he doesn't know what he's planning on saying.
Ricky turns and looks at him expectantly, still sipping the cold tea. There's something strangely infuriating about his expression, and Nick wants to grab the fucking teacup and saucer right off him and smash them on the ground before he shoves Ricky up against the wall and just-kisses the hell out of him.
When he does, though, neither the teacup nor the saucer smashes. They just clatter to the floor and the saucer sort of rolls around in a few circles, making Ricky snigger and giggle against Nick's lips. Nick tightens his grip on Ricky's pinstriped blazer and kisses him harder, kissing the laughter away.
7. Do you know what I've been thinking?
It's hard to find any time alone once they start touring again. And it's weird, really, because it's the time Ricky gets the most lonely. He knows that doesn't make sense, considering that he's constantly surrounded by his band, and half the time he's in front of a massive crowd of people.
But inside, he still feels lonely. He misses his girlfriend, mainly because that makes more sense than missing Nick. How can he miss Nick when he's with him 24/7?
It's not like that, though. He's with him all the time, but never in the ways he wants to be. And it's almost worse. He can miss Fleur all he wants, miss the way she touches him, miss the way she kisses him, but she's not there to tempt him. She can fade into a distant memory if he so chooses.
But Nick is there, all tall and thin, all strong arms and sharp teeth and shiny hair, all the fucking time.
8. We're going to hell anyway, let's travel first class
"I'm exhausted," Ricky tries to say as he throws himself down on the sofa, but his voice is worn hoarse from singing and shouting all night, and Nick can hardly even make out any words.
It doesn't really matter that the room feels about a hundred degrees, and that he has a sneaking suspicion that the slightest bit of bodily contact will send him bursting into flames-Nick leaps onto the sofa on top of Ricky anyway, and smashes their mouths together with such force that Ricky makes a little whimpering sound against his lips, and grips his shirt tightly behind his back.
This is when Nick likes Ricky best, when he's worn-out and can barely speak, and his skin tastes like salt-sweat, and the two of them are both still running high on adrenaline from the show. And when Peanut wanders past the open door in his boxers, saying something about the heating being broken, he doesn't even look in, so he doesn't see them there, all wrapped around each other on the sofa.
A door shuts somewhere and they assume it's Peanut leaving, though it could be Simon or Whitey coming back from wherever they've buggered off to. In that moment, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that someone could walk in at any second, it doesn't matter that they could be discovered, that it could be the end of everything.
It's far too hot for any of this, they know that, but that doesn't stop them either. Ricky presses him into the far corner of the room and they unzip each other's jeans, pushing, grinding against each other. When Ricky's fist closes round Nick's cock he swears out loud and gets a hand clamped over his mouth in response. He reaches for Ricky's cock, fingers curling tight around it, and Ricky gasps, his hand slipping and coming to rest, trembling, on Nick's chest.
Nick lunges forward, licking sweat away from the curve of an exposed clavicle, teeth grazing gently along the hot, slick skin of Ricky's neck.
"Fuck," Ricky hisses in his ear as he comes, and whether it's too soon or not soon enough, Nick isn't sure. It's been too long for both of them. He feels Ricky splashing hot over his fist and he holds him tighter. Ricky looks him right in the eye, his face all smudged-eyeliner and sweaty fringe and stubble, and it pushes Nick over the edge.
They've only just cleaned up and are sitting up unconvincingly straight and still when Peanut wanders back in, holding a broken-off radiator knob and looking vaguely concerned.
9. I treat you like you're see-through
"I didn't fuck Simon Amstell," Nick says, but he's lying through his teeth.
"Uh-huh," says Ricky.
Nick does not really understand why this is such a big deal. They've both had girlfriends-indeed, Ricky still does, so this makes his behaviour even more unreasonable-and have, technically, been being unfaithful since the beginning of this whole affair.
Why, he wonders, does Simon Amstell matter?
He mattered to him, for that one night, sure. But they'd been introduced backstage somewhere, Simon was there to interview people, Nick was drunk and tired and mad at Ricky, and then someone told him Simon was gay, and-as they say-one thing led to another. It wasn't meant to mean anything.
"I think you did," Ricky says matter-of-factly, after a long pause. He takes another crisp out of the packet in his hand and swivels on his chair, waiting for Nick's response.
Nick throws his hands up in the air. "What do you want me to say?" he cries.
Brilliant. That's his response, that's the best he can do. He couldn't possibly bring up his previous thoughts about girlfriends and such, could he? No, no, that would be ridiculously insignificant. Asking Ricky what he wants him to say is surely a much more superior plan of action.
Ricky snorts derisively. "You could admit it, for one."
Nick throws down his drumsticks and leaps up, running his fingers back through his hair. "Fine," he snaps. "Fine. I fucked him. Is that what you want? I fucked him."
Ricky sort of twists his mouth around, contemplating this, leaning back in his chair. He's almost smiling and it makes Nick want to punch him in the face.
"Yeah, actually," he says, and breaks into a grin. He pauses to pour the crumbs of his crisps into his mouth and crumples up the packet, throwing it across the room towards the bin and missing. "Thank you."
10. I pity the fools who don't recognize the rules
They all joke about calling the new album Retirement, but Nick's worried people will think that means it'll be the last, and if that's what people think, they might end up being right.
He confesses his concerns to Ricky, but Ricky only laughs and says, "We've barely even written any songs yet."
Nick's written quite a few of his own, actually, but none of the band will ever know.
"Get your girlfriend to name it like the last one," Ricky adds, and there's a hint of malice in his voice that Nick can't ignore. Ricky never refers to her by name.
At the release of Modern Way, they go on Popworld, and it's none other than Simon Amstell who interviews them. He can hardly tell if Simon's messing with him or not when he starts asking about the 'sexual tension' between him and Ricky. He doesn't know if he's being spiteful and disguising it all with his interviewer persona, or if he's just having some fun.
He tries to play along, but is careful not to go too far. Pretending nothing's going on between him and Ricky isn't difficult, considering it's what he spends most of his life doing. But pretending he hasn't slept with Simon is much more difficult, especially when-even off-camera-Simon acts as though this is the first time they've met.
He somehow accidentally catches the interview on TV a few days later, and is aghast at the bits between Simon and Ricky that he never saw or heard about. He finds himself trying to interpret their body language, watching the way Simon flirts (it can only be referred to as flirting) and the way Ricky flirts back, and trying to work out what it means.
He remembers that Ricky disappeared for a few hours after the interview, and that when he met up with them for a drink later, he seemed different in a way Nick couldn't put his finger on.
11. You are everything I wanna be
A couple of days after Nick confesses about Simon Amstell, out of the blue, he introduces them all to his new girlfriend.
It's really stupid, Ricky knows that. But he feels like he's got to make a point, got to prove something. And so when they go on Popworld, and Simon Amstell starts flirting shamelessly with him, it seems to make perfect sense to just go ahead with it and try get him into bed.
He invites him out for a drink once the interviewing's over. Simon's going through a rough patch with his boyfriend, and, although he jokes about it, Ricky can tell it's really tearing him up.
They check into some grotty little motel in some part of Birmingham neither of them even know, keeping their heads down and giving fake names, and Ricky fucks him like he knows what he's doing.
"You've done it with two of the Kaiser Chiefs now, then, eh?" he says afterwards as he gets dressed. He expects Simon to be surprised that he knows about Nick.
"Three," says Simon, still curled up, naked, under the dirty sheets.
"What?"
Simon laughs. "Joking."
Ricky throws a balled-up sock at him and pulls on his jeans.
"So there isn't any sexual tension, then," Simon observes, grinning. "Because the two of you are already having sex. That was some clever question-dodging you did, there. Nick wasn't so good."
Ricky doesn't reply. He finishes getting dressed.
"You're just going to leave, then?" Simon asks.
"Yeah," says Ricky with a shrug.
His phone beeps and he checks it, seeing he has a text from Nick saying that he and the others are meeting up at a pub later, and does he want to meet them there? He texts back 'yeah, c u soon' and turns back to Simon.
"Not used to one-night stands with pop stars, then?"
Simon laughs hollowly, kicking off the sheets and sitting up. "Not exactly."
Ricky gives him some money for the room and heads for the door. "Hey, two Kaiser Chiefs, though," he says, standing in the doorway, "that's a pretty good start, eh?"
12. We used to hold on tightly, and you relied on me
Modern Way comes on the radio in the dressing room, and Ricky throws down his bottle of water, getting up and starting to pace the room.
"I'm starting to get really fucking sick of this song," he snaps.
It's the first time either of them have spoken since the others left the room about-Nick checks his watch-seven and a half minutes ago. This, he thinks, cannot be a good thing.
"Turn it off," Ricky says. Nick doesn't move. At least with the radio on, there's noise, even if they aren't speaking.
...this is the modern way, faking it every day... Ricky's voice sings from the radio.
"Turn if off!" Ricky yells, eyes shut tight, and Nick flips the switch on the radio, plunging them into silence.
The silence lasts another two minutes, during which Ricky sits back down and sips from his water, scribbling on a notepad. Nick doesn't move.
Eventually, he says, "Ricky-what's going on with us?"
Ricky shrugs. He doesn't look at Nick when he answers. "Dunno," he says. "But I guess this is the end of Employment for good, now."
Nick laughs hollowly. What does he mean? What's he trying to say-that what they had was a one-album thing? He looks down at the scrawled lyrics on the notepad, plans put into place for the new album.
"Want to work on 'Ruby' again, then?" Ricky says suddenly, tossing Nick his drumsticks. Nick catches them and nods. "I'll go get the others."
Nick watches him go. He flicks the radio back on and listens to Ricky's voice singing the final single from their first album.
The end of Employment.
Author: likecharity
Pairing: Ricky Wilson/Nick Hodgson (and a bit of Ricky/Simon Amstell and Nick/Simon Amstell, just because if I can randomly insert Simon Amstell into my fic and still have it make sense, then WHY NOT.)
Rating: NC-17 in parts
Warnings: Real person slash
Summary: Ricky and Nick's relationship in twelve pieces.
A/N: I'm afraid I can't say I know all that much about these two, or the band in general, so I hope it works anyway. I might do another one based around the second album, I left it open for that. Various things are referenced, including this interview on Popworld, and this photo.
1. The doctor says all I need is some rest
It starts much later on in their lives than one would expect. People would assume, Ricky thinks, that the two of them were already shagging when he said that thing about the sexual tension in the interview to that one magazine. Or that they'd been together since the start of the band, or since they'd first met, like it'd been love at first sight or something soppy and pathetic.
It's not even a big deal, when it happens. There should be fireworks and heart attacks, he thinks, or at the very least he should be getting all sweaty and nervous or something.
But it's Nick, and it's been building up for so long that they both knew it was inevitable, and so when they finally kiss-in the otherwise-empty tourbus, taking shelter from the rain with tea and digestive biscuits and a half-arsed game of gin rummy-it's more of a relief than anything else.
He actually feels this huge release inside him, some loosening of something like a tight knot in his chest coming unravelled, being set free.
They fuck later that night, and Ricky feels like some stupid giggly teenager as they try to get it right and-more importantly-keep quiet. It's not awkward like he'd expected. When things go wrong they can laugh about it, and when they go right, they're bloody amazing. And when he rolls over afterwards and lights a cigarette, Nick just nuzzles into his shoulder and murmurs, "That was nice."
2. Walking through town is quite scary, and not very sensible either
They weren't actually trying to get drunk and stupid, but it's happened anyway. They're in Leeds, which is always a problem-everybody knows them in Leeds-but for some reason it loses its name and all its connotations except 'home' tonight.
"Christ," says Nick, stumbling into a wall. "You're pissed. You are-you are pissed off your head."
"You," says Ricky steadily, "just walked into a wall."
"Yes," Nick agrees. He pauses to consider this. "Yes. Well, maybe I'm kind of pissed too."
"Only a little?"
"Only a little."
Another pause. Nick looks around and discovers that they are in some alleyway near the pub. He can't even remember what they're doing here in the first place, which is vaguely worrying. Why would they wander into a dark alleyway?
"Are you pissed enough to let me suck you off in a dark alleyway?" Ricky asks him suddenly.
Ah, yes, Nick thinks happily, as he answers by undoing his jeans and flattening himself against the wall, that'd be why.
He can't even look at Ricky at first. He knows that if he does, he'll come right away-or explode or something-so he stares upwards, but looking into the night's sky makes him feel dizzy and sick. So he tries looking down instead, and sees Ricky with his lips all red and wet and stretched around his cock, and his eyes bright blue and innocent staring up at him as he sucks, down on his knees on the dirty pavement.
"Ricky-nngh-fuck," is more-or-less what he groans as he spills into Ricky's mouth.
A minute or so later the two of them head back into the street in search of a taxi.
"That," says Ricky, still wiping his mouth, "was probably, er. Not very sensible."
Nodding in agreement is all that Nick is capable of.
3. My brain is not damaged, but in need of some repair
"This is kind of insane," Ricky murmurs.
It's one of their rare moments alone, and Ricky seems to have decided to fill the time waxing thoughtful on their relationship.
"Hmm?"
"Us," Ricky clarifies, as though Nick didn't get that. "Here we are, in a band, becoming famous, doing interviews, making music videos, releasing singles...having girlfriends..."
"Yeah?"
"...and we're shagging."
A pause. Nick nods, but then changes his mind and stops nodding. "I guess," he says, "but to me it's more like-here we are, best friends who happen to be in a band, and yes, have girlfriends, which does make things a little more difficult but really, I'm not sure what you're suggesting we do about it...and we're shagging."
"I don't think I followed that, mate," says Ricky, laughing.
"I just meant-don't always focus on the fame," Nick says, words coming out before he can actually think about them. Ricky stiffens next to him. "We're just us."
4. She's not the kind of girl that I like
Ricky's kissing Fleur when Nick wanders into the dressing room. He'd like to turn around and leave again, but figures that might be a bit obvious, so he grabs a magazine and flops down onto the sofa next to them instead.
"D'you mind, mate?" Ricky grumbles, elbowing him in the ribs. "We were kind of in the middle of something here."
"Get a room," Nick retorts, flicking irritably through the pages of an old NME, not actually reading it.
They ignore him, and after only a few seconds he can't stand it, so he does leave after all, tossing the magazine over his shoulder and pretty much storming out. Behind him he hears Fleur murmur, "What's his problem?" but he doesn't hear Ricky's answer.
After the gig, the drinks are flowing and Nick finds himself right back in the same position, sitting on a sofa next to Ricky and Fleur, who are so wrapped up in each other that they seem to have forgotten they're in a crowded room. Nick takes a swig from his beer, and looks away from them, pretending to be interested in whatever it is that Whitey's rambling on about.
He knows Ricky hasn't seen Fleur in ages, and he knows he loves her. He especially knows that he's not in a position to complain or be jealous. He's the other woman, really. He's the mistress. He can't do anything. Probably, this shouldn't even bother him, but it does.
The night goes on, the room grows darker.
At some point Nick becomes aware of a hand on his thigh. He glances down sharply, expecting Ricky to jerk his hand away immediately (assuming he touched him by mistake), but he keeps it there. Fingers stroke his thigh gently, rubbing against the denim. Nick risks a look to the side, seeing that Ricky and Fleur are still kissing, and his heart leaps into his throat. He looks around the room, anxiously, but nobody is paying any attention to them.
He places his own quivering hand over Ricky's, and squeezes it once, tightly, before moving it away again. But Ricky is oblivious. His fingers slide over to Nick's crotch and Nick draws in a sharp breath. Ricky's thumb traces his fly, and Nick feels his jeans tightening, his cock stirring inside them. He slaps Ricky's hand away as discreetly as possible and leaves the room without looking back.
Wanking frantically in the toilets, Ricky is all he can see.
5. You can never hold my hand in public
Nick begins to regret his earlier advice. He remembers telling Ricky not to focus on the fame, remembers telling him that the two of them were just that-them-but Ricky seems to have taken this as permission to take him for granted.
He knows they've got to keep it secret, got to make sure nobody knows. And he's pretty sure that it's been working, though there've been some close calls and for some reason Whitey never likes to leave them along together.
But Ricky seems to go out of his way to make sure nobody suspects. Nick can't stand seeing him with Fleur, especially since he broke up with his own girlfriend. He made up some crap about her being a golddigger, too scared to admit to Ricky that he just couldn't cope with the guilt. And it was more than that, too...whenever he was with her, he was thinking of Ricky, and it just didn't feel right. Ricky was the one he wanted to be with.
For some reason, the guilt doesn't seem to be a problem for Ricky, and if he likes Nick more than he likes Fleur, he certainly doesn't show it.
6. Drifting apart like a plate tectonic
"Rainy weather and tea," snorts Ricky. "How excessively English."
Nick shrugs. It seems stupid to complain; it's only a photoshoot after all, and surely, by now, they ought to be used to people making a big deal out of the fact that they're English?
Ricky shakes his damp fringe out of his face and stamps his feet in the cold, looking around. "Where're the others, anyway?"
"Dunno."
"You could at least share the umbrella, seeing as I was the only one who wasn't given one."
You're the lead singer, Nick wants to say, they wanted you to stand out. Instead, he says, "Whitey didn't get one."
"He had his hat."
Nick shrugs and tilts the umbrella slightly, and Ricky ducks beneath it, sipping from his teacup and making a face.
"'s gone cold."
Nick frowns. "Ricky..." he begins, but even as he speaks he doesn't know what he's planning on saying.
Ricky turns and looks at him expectantly, still sipping the cold tea. There's something strangely infuriating about his expression, and Nick wants to grab the fucking teacup and saucer right off him and smash them on the ground before he shoves Ricky up against the wall and just-kisses the hell out of him.
When he does, though, neither the teacup nor the saucer smashes. They just clatter to the floor and the saucer sort of rolls around in a few circles, making Ricky snigger and giggle against Nick's lips. Nick tightens his grip on Ricky's pinstriped blazer and kisses him harder, kissing the laughter away.
7. Do you know what I've been thinking?
It's hard to find any time alone once they start touring again. And it's weird, really, because it's the time Ricky gets the most lonely. He knows that doesn't make sense, considering that he's constantly surrounded by his band, and half the time he's in front of a massive crowd of people.
But inside, he still feels lonely. He misses his girlfriend, mainly because that makes more sense than missing Nick. How can he miss Nick when he's with him 24/7?
It's not like that, though. He's with him all the time, but never in the ways he wants to be. And it's almost worse. He can miss Fleur all he wants, miss the way she touches him, miss the way she kisses him, but she's not there to tempt him. She can fade into a distant memory if he so chooses.
But Nick is there, all tall and thin, all strong arms and sharp teeth and shiny hair, all the fucking time.
8. We're going to hell anyway, let's travel first class
"I'm exhausted," Ricky tries to say as he throws himself down on the sofa, but his voice is worn hoarse from singing and shouting all night, and Nick can hardly even make out any words.
It doesn't really matter that the room feels about a hundred degrees, and that he has a sneaking suspicion that the slightest bit of bodily contact will send him bursting into flames-Nick leaps onto the sofa on top of Ricky anyway, and smashes their mouths together with such force that Ricky makes a little whimpering sound against his lips, and grips his shirt tightly behind his back.
This is when Nick likes Ricky best, when he's worn-out and can barely speak, and his skin tastes like salt-sweat, and the two of them are both still running high on adrenaline from the show. And when Peanut wanders past the open door in his boxers, saying something about the heating being broken, he doesn't even look in, so he doesn't see them there, all wrapped around each other on the sofa.
A door shuts somewhere and they assume it's Peanut leaving, though it could be Simon or Whitey coming back from wherever they've buggered off to. In that moment, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that someone could walk in at any second, it doesn't matter that they could be discovered, that it could be the end of everything.
It's far too hot for any of this, they know that, but that doesn't stop them either. Ricky presses him into the far corner of the room and they unzip each other's jeans, pushing, grinding against each other. When Ricky's fist closes round Nick's cock he swears out loud and gets a hand clamped over his mouth in response. He reaches for Ricky's cock, fingers curling tight around it, and Ricky gasps, his hand slipping and coming to rest, trembling, on Nick's chest.
Nick lunges forward, licking sweat away from the curve of an exposed clavicle, teeth grazing gently along the hot, slick skin of Ricky's neck.
"Fuck," Ricky hisses in his ear as he comes, and whether it's too soon or not soon enough, Nick isn't sure. It's been too long for both of them. He feels Ricky splashing hot over his fist and he holds him tighter. Ricky looks him right in the eye, his face all smudged-eyeliner and sweaty fringe and stubble, and it pushes Nick over the edge.
They've only just cleaned up and are sitting up unconvincingly straight and still when Peanut wanders back in, holding a broken-off radiator knob and looking vaguely concerned.
9. I treat you like you're see-through
"I didn't fuck Simon Amstell," Nick says, but he's lying through his teeth.
"Uh-huh," says Ricky.
Nick does not really understand why this is such a big deal. They've both had girlfriends-indeed, Ricky still does, so this makes his behaviour even more unreasonable-and have, technically, been being unfaithful since the beginning of this whole affair.
Why, he wonders, does Simon Amstell matter?
He mattered to him, for that one night, sure. But they'd been introduced backstage somewhere, Simon was there to interview people, Nick was drunk and tired and mad at Ricky, and then someone told him Simon was gay, and-as they say-one thing led to another. It wasn't meant to mean anything.
"I think you did," Ricky says matter-of-factly, after a long pause. He takes another crisp out of the packet in his hand and swivels on his chair, waiting for Nick's response.
Nick throws his hands up in the air. "What do you want me to say?" he cries.
Brilliant. That's his response, that's the best he can do. He couldn't possibly bring up his previous thoughts about girlfriends and such, could he? No, no, that would be ridiculously insignificant. Asking Ricky what he wants him to say is surely a much more superior plan of action.
Ricky snorts derisively. "You could admit it, for one."
Nick throws down his drumsticks and leaps up, running his fingers back through his hair. "Fine," he snaps. "Fine. I fucked him. Is that what you want? I fucked him."
Ricky sort of twists his mouth around, contemplating this, leaning back in his chair. He's almost smiling and it makes Nick want to punch him in the face.
"Yeah, actually," he says, and breaks into a grin. He pauses to pour the crumbs of his crisps into his mouth and crumples up the packet, throwing it across the room towards the bin and missing. "Thank you."
10. I pity the fools who don't recognize the rules
They all joke about calling the new album Retirement, but Nick's worried people will think that means it'll be the last, and if that's what people think, they might end up being right.
He confesses his concerns to Ricky, but Ricky only laughs and says, "We've barely even written any songs yet."
Nick's written quite a few of his own, actually, but none of the band will ever know.
"Get your girlfriend to name it like the last one," Ricky adds, and there's a hint of malice in his voice that Nick can't ignore. Ricky never refers to her by name.
At the release of Modern Way, they go on Popworld, and it's none other than Simon Amstell who interviews them. He can hardly tell if Simon's messing with him or not when he starts asking about the 'sexual tension' between him and Ricky. He doesn't know if he's being spiteful and disguising it all with his interviewer persona, or if he's just having some fun.
He tries to play along, but is careful not to go too far. Pretending nothing's going on between him and Ricky isn't difficult, considering it's what he spends most of his life doing. But pretending he hasn't slept with Simon is much more difficult, especially when-even off-camera-Simon acts as though this is the first time they've met.
He somehow accidentally catches the interview on TV a few days later, and is aghast at the bits between Simon and Ricky that he never saw or heard about. He finds himself trying to interpret their body language, watching the way Simon flirts (it can only be referred to as flirting) and the way Ricky flirts back, and trying to work out what it means.
He remembers that Ricky disappeared for a few hours after the interview, and that when he met up with them for a drink later, he seemed different in a way Nick couldn't put his finger on.
11. You are everything I wanna be
A couple of days after Nick confesses about Simon Amstell, out of the blue, he introduces them all to his new girlfriend.
It's really stupid, Ricky knows that. But he feels like he's got to make a point, got to prove something. And so when they go on Popworld, and Simon Amstell starts flirting shamelessly with him, it seems to make perfect sense to just go ahead with it and try get him into bed.
He invites him out for a drink once the interviewing's over. Simon's going through a rough patch with his boyfriend, and, although he jokes about it, Ricky can tell it's really tearing him up.
They check into some grotty little motel in some part of Birmingham neither of them even know, keeping their heads down and giving fake names, and Ricky fucks him like he knows what he's doing.
"You've done it with two of the Kaiser Chiefs now, then, eh?" he says afterwards as he gets dressed. He expects Simon to be surprised that he knows about Nick.
"Three," says Simon, still curled up, naked, under the dirty sheets.
"What?"
Simon laughs. "Joking."
Ricky throws a balled-up sock at him and pulls on his jeans.
"So there isn't any sexual tension, then," Simon observes, grinning. "Because the two of you are already having sex. That was some clever question-dodging you did, there. Nick wasn't so good."
Ricky doesn't reply. He finishes getting dressed.
"You're just going to leave, then?" Simon asks.
"Yeah," says Ricky with a shrug.
His phone beeps and he checks it, seeing he has a text from Nick saying that he and the others are meeting up at a pub later, and does he want to meet them there? He texts back 'yeah, c u soon' and turns back to Simon.
"Not used to one-night stands with pop stars, then?"
Simon laughs hollowly, kicking off the sheets and sitting up. "Not exactly."
Ricky gives him some money for the room and heads for the door. "Hey, two Kaiser Chiefs, though," he says, standing in the doorway, "that's a pretty good start, eh?"
12. We used to hold on tightly, and you relied on me
Modern Way comes on the radio in the dressing room, and Ricky throws down his bottle of water, getting up and starting to pace the room.
"I'm starting to get really fucking sick of this song," he snaps.
It's the first time either of them have spoken since the others left the room about-Nick checks his watch-seven and a half minutes ago. This, he thinks, cannot be a good thing.
"Turn it off," Ricky says. Nick doesn't move. At least with the radio on, there's noise, even if they aren't speaking.
...this is the modern way, faking it every day... Ricky's voice sings from the radio.
"Turn if off!" Ricky yells, eyes shut tight, and Nick flips the switch on the radio, plunging them into silence.
The silence lasts another two minutes, during which Ricky sits back down and sips from his water, scribbling on a notepad. Nick doesn't move.
Eventually, he says, "Ricky-what's going on with us?"
Ricky shrugs. He doesn't look at Nick when he answers. "Dunno," he says. "But I guess this is the end of Employment for good, now."
Nick laughs hollowly. What does he mean? What's he trying to say-that what they had was a one-album thing? He looks down at the scrawled lyrics on the notepad, plans put into place for the new album.
"Want to work on 'Ruby' again, then?" Ricky says suddenly, tossing Nick his drumsticks. Nick catches them and nods. "I'll go get the others."
Nick watches him go. He flicks the radio back on and listens to Ricky's voice singing the final single from their first album.
The end of Employment.