magicalrocketships

EASY AS ALL THAT INTERLUDE (NICK/HARRY)

Originally posted here.

So, before I started writing Forever and a Night, the actual sequel to Easy As All That, I started writing this story instead, before I realised I just wanted Forever and a Night to be Harry’s birthday. Here’s a Nick POV interlude, that happens after the end of Easy As All That, and a few weeks before Forever and a Night.

Interlude

Gillian’s text came half way through the evening. Nick was having a cigarette outside the bowling alley, and vaguely keeping an eye on Harry through the sliding doors.

Move to London, she said. Seriously. Anna’s going to Canada next month, there’s a room in the flat going spare. I miss you xx

Harry was at the counter returning his bowling shoes, standing on his tiptoes, leaning forward on his elbows, Liam’s arm around his shoulders. He was laughing, face angled towards Liam, smile wide. He turned around then, clearly searching Nick out. His smile got wider.

Nick took another drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out with the toe of his Converse.

Maybe, he texted Gillian, as he watched Harry say good night to Liam. We’ll see. Miss you too.

“Nicholas,” Harry said, coming over and bumping his foot into Nick’s by way of greeting.

“Harold,” Nick curled his finger into Harry’s belt loop. Harry just grinned at him, and refused to move closer. “Did you win?”

“You’ve seen me bowl.”

Nick had. He’d seen gazelles with more bowling skills. The two of them were equally matched when it came to anything that required any kind of sporting prowess. “Are the others still inside?”

“They’re having another game,” Harry said. “You still up for going into go into town?”

“There’s a Malibu and Coke with my name on it somewhere in this town.” Or two. Or three. Sometimes being with Harry made him want the whole fucking bottle.

“Excellent,” Harry slid his hand into Nick’s.

Nick didn’t look down. He couldn’t. This was so stupid. They’d been doing this for months, and it never stopped. His heart kept pounding. His palms kept sweating. He thought about Harry when he woke up and when he went to sleep and at every point in between.

This boy. This fucking boy.

Harry stood on his tiptoes and leaned in to kiss Nick on the cheek.

Nick didn’t pull him closer and cup Harry’s face in his hands and kiss him until he didn’t have any breath left in his body, so he counted it as a win, overall. He smiled instead, and bumped his shoulder into Harry’s. “Come on, Harold. Let’s go paint that town red.”

“Why red?” Harry asked. “Why not, like, green? Or yellow? Or mauve?”

“Teal,” Nick suggested, as they walked towards the main road, still holding hands. “Let’s paint this town a nice shade of off-white.”

“Let’s paint it beige.”

“Nice.”

“I thought so,” Harry said. “You can’t beat beige.”

“No,” Nick agreed. “You can’t. Let’s go paint this town beige.”

Harry laughed at that, eyes bright. Nick couldn’t look away.

This boy, who held Nick’s heart in his hands and didn’t even know it. This fucking boy.

~//~

“So,” Harry said later, when they were back at Nick’s flat after the pubs had closed, and Harry was making himself a cup of tea in Nick’s kitchen. “It’s my birthday soon.”

“Yes,” Nick said, as if he could have forgotten. Eighteen. “You got any idea what you want to do for it yet?”

Harry dumped the used teabags on the side and reached past Nick for the milk. He shot Nick a glance. “A few, yep.”

Nick bumped his foot against Harry’s, once, twice. “You going to share them, or do I need to engage my mind reading skills?”

“You’ve got mind reading skills?”

“Yep. Mad fucking ones.” He touched his fingertips to his temples and closed his eyes. “Right now you’re thinking that what you really want to do is pass me that cup of tea, and check the cupboard for biscuits.”

Harry pressed his mouth to Nick’s, hand cupping his cheek.

Nick swallowed down a breath, and didn’t open his eyes.

“Nick—“

Nick shook his head. He opened his eyes. Harry was right there, gaze bright. He tilted his chin up, just a little, just enough. They’d been playing this game for months. He closed the distance between them, only changing direction at the last moment, his kiss to Harry’s cheek. “Christ, Harry.”

“Why won’t you,” Harry said. It wasn’t a question. Harry knew the answer as well as Nick did. Nick had told him enough times. He was too old and Harry was too young, and it didn’t matter how they felt, because that was the truth. “I know you want me.”

“I want you to be a fucking adult,” Nick leaned forward, his forehead to Harry’s cheek. It didn’t matter that it was legal; he wanted it to be right.

“I’ll be eighteen soon.”

Yeah. “I know.” He slid a hand into the small of Harry’s back, feeling him tremble beneath his fingertips. He plucked at the hem of his shirt. Christ, he wanted. The age difference wouldn’t be any smaller with Harry’s birthday, but maybe it would make a difference to the voice in Nick’s head which kept telling him no.

Harry kept stroking Nick’s cheek with his thumb. “Liam wants to throw me a birthday party.”

“That’s a good idea,” Nick said. He should pull away, take his cup of tea, lead the way into the living room, put the telly on and get some actual distance between him and Harry. Instead Harry was stepping closer, his arms going around Nick’s shoulders, his chin resting on the top of Nick’s head. Nick swallowed, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist, and pressing his cheek to Harry’s chest.

“Liam wanted to know if you’d planned anything. For my birthday, you know.”

“Nothing that’s better than his party, I’m pretty sure.” He had to pull away. He had to.

The middle of the night was always the hardest to say no in.

“All right,” Harry said. “I’ll tell him to arrange something, then.”

“Yeah,” Nick pulled back. “Sounds good. That tea’s going to be cold, you know.”

“Can’t have that.” Harry stepped back, out of Nick’s embrace. He lost himself in one of Nick’s cupboards for a moment, rooting about. The biscuits weren’t in there, but Nick didn’t tell him not to look. He needed a moment too.

“Here,” Nick stood up and opened the cupboard by the fridge. He came out with half a packet of ginger biscuits. He held them out for Harry to take, and Harry took advantage of the moment to sneak under Nick’s arm and press himself to Nick’s side.

“I love you,” Harry says, into Nick’s skin, and Nick loves him right back; he just can’t say it. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to. He just feels it, feels it with every part of him. He loves him. He just can’t tell him.

ANONYMOUS ASKED: Larry 5. Lonely

Originally posted here.

(AU where Louis and Harry meet by accident in a youth hostel one weekend. I had this whole story planned out but it never went anywhere, so here, have an attempt at the beginning of it)

“Why aren’t you with your friends?” Louis asks, sinking down onto the grass next to the boy with the curly hair. He’s just bought a Calippo from the shop down the road, and the juice is running down his fingertips and over the back of his hand. It’s so, so hot, and the ice lolly isn’t doing anything to reduce Louis’ body temperature to anything even vaguely beneath boiling fucking hot. Who’s fucking idea was this holiday, honestly. He’s just watched a group of lads troop onto a bus, laden down with rucksacks and walking socks. When they’d shown up last night, Louis had been sure this boy had been with them. Rather them than him, honestly. Walking, in this weather? Well, walking in any weather, but today was hot as hell.

“Dunno,” the boy says. He shrugs, and wraps his arms around his knees. They’re on the little hill round the back of the youth hostel, the pitiful shade from the apple tree over the back wall hardly stretching as far as their shoulders. “Didn’t fancy it?”

It’s not that a boozy post-A-level weekend in a youth hostel had been a bad idea exactly, more that when Louis and his friends had booked it back in May, it had been raining outside and really fucking miserable. The total lack of air conditioning or windows that didn’t actually open hadn’t made that much of an impact when they’d booked their beds.

Stupid, all things considered, because now, instead of a cheap alcohol fuelled weekend away, they were all slowly baking in their own skins, like potatoes in a campfire. Which, coincidentally, it was far too hot to actually have.

Louis never could sleep when it was hot, so whilst all of his mates snored away last night’s hangover, Louis was stuck trying to entertain himself in the arse-end of fucking nowhere, whilst slowly burning up from the inside.

“I’m Louis,” Louis says, holding out his sticky hand.

“Harry,” the boys says. He doesn’t grimace at Louis’ handshake.

“It’s your lucky day,” Louis says, “because I’m so bored my head might fall off, and it looks like you’ve got precisely nothing to do either, if your friends have all fucked off.”

“They’re not my friends,” Harry says, but he doesn’t look too distraught about it. Sad, perhaps.

Louis cocks his head to one side. “Really?” he asks. “Who goes away with people who aren’t their friends?”

“Thought I might try and make some new ones,” Harry says. He plucks at the grass by his feet with his fingertips. His hair falls into his eyes, and he pushes it back out of the way with one grubby finger. “This lot were my first attempt.”

“Take it from me,” Louis says sagely, because you can be sage if you’re doling out advice to good looking boys who are clearly younger than you, “if you’re in the market for new friends, you don’t want to pick the ones who decide to go rambling. That should be your first fucking sign they’re the wrong ones. Nobody likes a rambler, Harry.”

"I bought walking socks especially,” Harry says. He looks a little bit less sad, though.

Louis has achieved greatness, and it’s only nine-thirty on a Saturday morning. “A terrible waste of money,” he says. “Think how many Calippos you could have bought for the price of those socks.”

“I know that now,” Harry says. “What are you doing in the middle of the lake district if you don’t like walking, anyway?”

"Post A-levels drinking weekend with the lads,” Louis says. “Except they’re all passed out like losers, and I can’t fucking sleep.” He bumps the toe of his Vans into Harry’s bare foot. “What happened to your old friends, if you’re in the market for new ones?” He always had been inquisitive.

Harry shrugs. “You know,” he says. “You think everything’s great, but it’s not.”

That isn’t an answer. “That’s a terrible story,” Louis says. “I was going to give you the end of my Calippo, but you don’t deserve it now.”

“Fine,” Harry says. “I agreed to this stupid dare, and the police came, and everyone lied and said I did it by myself. Didn’t much feel like being friends with them after that.”

“Hence the ramblers,” Louis says.

“They’re practicing for their Duke of Edinburgh,” Harry says. “They practice all the time. I think they just like it."

"That’s a bit creepy, that,” Louis says. “Do you think they’re secretly pod people, out there right now, plotting our destruction?”

“Maybe,” Harry says. “Did you know there’s a stream at the bottom of the hill?”

“No,” Louis says. The very idea of a stream is quite delightful, because there’s the smallest possibility that it might be colder in the stream than it is everywhere else. He can only hope.

“I wanted to build a dam across it last night,” Harry says, “but the lads wanted to plan their route for today.”

“Literally the worst potential friends in the world,” Louis says. “Do you want to dam it now?”

When Harry smiles, his whole face lights up.

There’s a queer sort of feeling in the pit of Louis’ stomach. He clambers awkwardly to his feet, and holds out his hand to help Harry up. “Come on,” he says, trying not to show his confusion on his face. “Let’s go.”

“All right,” Harry says, and he doesn’t look quite so sad anymore, so Louis counts it as a win.

originally posted here.

ANONYMOUS ASKED: I'm not sure if you're still taking prompts, but if you are I'd love to hear about Louis and Harry from your Won't Get To Space verse taking Liam to see the new Captain America movie.

Now, there is a sequel in the works for Won’t Get To Space, so this probably doesn’t quite fit with that timeline, but WHO CARES.



“What time do you finish work?” Louis asks, as soon as Liam picks up, and Liam’s so used to Louis and Harry constantly using each other’s phones that it doesn’t bother him that it’s Harry’s name that flashed up on his screen. It’s a picture of all three of them that comes with it, anyway, Harry in the middle with Louis on his back with his arm in the air, Liam holding the camera out and pressing in so that he’s in shot. It’s one of Liam’s favourite pictures.

“Half five, why?” Liam asks. He’s supposed to be seeing them at the weekend, but it’s only Thursday. There are half-arsed plans to go and see the new Captain America film, and Liam’s desperately trying to cover up his desire to see it sooner rather than later.

“We’re coming to pick you up,” Louis says. “We’ve got plans for you.”

“It’s Thursday, though,” Liam says, puzzled. He had plans for tonight that involved putting a load of washing on and eating beans on toast in front of the telly. It’s the part of his life he tries to hide from Louis and Harry, who are surely only here for the exciting bits.

“We know,” Louis says. “You’re not busy, are you?”

“Nope,” Liam says, although he’ll have to figure out when to do the washing now, so he’ll have clean pants for work on Monday. He’s very much in love with Louis and Harry, but he does have a Monday to Friday job he has to work the two of them around, which they don’t.

“Brilliant,” Louis says. “We’ll see you at half five. Love you.”

“Right,” Liam says, but Louis has already hung up.

~*~

Half five shows up, but Louis and Harry don’t. Liam sits outside the garage with his jacket zipped up, and passes his phone from hand to hand, waiting for them. He doesn’t want to ring in case they’re driving, so he sits outside and hopes that he hasn’t got the day wrong.

They don’t show up until ten to six, by which point Liam is already about ready to leave to go home. Harry pulls his Range Rover up in front of the garage though, parking it totally skewiff, and Louis is already tumbling out of the passenger door even as Liam is standing up to meet them.

“Hello,” Louis says, bounding over and pushing Liam up against the wall. “Happy Captain America Day, Steve.”

“What?” Liam says, but Louis is kissing him hello. Liam can’t quite bring himself to be bothered about who might see.

“Captain America Day,” Harry says, carefully pushing Louis out of the way and kissing Liam gently. “Here, we got you a t-shirt in honour of the occasion.”

Louis pulls open his denim jacket to display a t-shirt with Captain America’s shield right there in the centre. Harry is wearing one with a giant Avengers A in the middle. The one they’re holding out for Liam is royal blue, with a white star in the middle and red and white stripes at the bottom.

“What—”

“Suit up,” Louis says. “Here, preferably. Where we can stare at how hot you are.”

Liam swallows, and looks down at his t-shirt. “Why are you here?” he asks, because ninety-five per cent of the time, he has no idea why Louis and Harry even bother with him.

“Because Steve’s your favourite, and because you’re our favourite, and because we wanted to take our boyfriend out,” Harry says. “We’ve got tickets for the eight o’clock showing, we’ve got a table at that burger place near that bowling alley that we went to first, and then we’re all going to go back to yours afterwards and let you talk about how hot Captain America is whilst we fuck you.”

“That last part’s my favourite,” Louis says, leaning in. “That was my idea, that bit. You can talk about how you’d like Steve to fuck you, if you like. Whilst we jerk you off. Make you come all over yourself.”

“Oh,” Liam says. Luckily he works on a nice, quiet road. It’s good, that, because he’s sporting a semi. “Right. That’s good, then.”

“Brilliant,” Harry says. “Now, are you going to change your top, or what? It’s been a whole week since we’ve seen you topless, and we’re getting withdrawal symptoms.”

“All right,” Liam says softly, and pulls open his jacket.

originally posted here.

LOVERAVE ASKED: harry/nick/liam, first time

“What are you even doing here?” Nick asks, once Liam and Harry have crawled into his bed and Harry’s arranged the covers over them all like the three of them in bed together is completely normal. He’s still not entirely sure why Liam and Harry turned up at his flat with a DVD and a Chinese takeaway, but the evening was nice, up to and including the part where they refused to go home and took up residence on his fold out sofa for the night.

“It’s cold,” Harry says, and he nestles his way into Nick’s side, arm across his waist.

“But there’s two of you,” Nick says, a little dazedly, because he’s fairly sure that five minutes ago he was the best part of asleep, until they knocked on his door and woke him up. “How can the two of you together be cold?”

Liam is a little shyer with how he curls up against him, but he tentatively slides his hand over Nick’s stomach and strokes his fingers over Nick’s hip.

“Nicholas,” Harry says, quite patiently. “We’re trying to seduce you. Will you just shut up and let us?”

“Um,” Nick says, since they’re both looking at him like they’re waiting for an answer, but Nick’s still not entirely sure what the question was. “Like, all night? That’s what tonight was?”

Harry frowns. “Have you really not noticed we’ve been trying to date you for, like, months?”

“Months,” Liam echoes. “Did you really not know? We kept bringing you flowers.”

“I thought you just liked flowers,” Nick says.

“We’ve practically taken out shares in Hotel Chocolat,” Liam says.

“Oh,” Nick says, feeling a bit stupid. He lets Liam slide his hand into Nick’s. His heart’s pounding.

“Anyway,” Harry says, shifting position so that he’s kneeling up over Nick, “so, what do you say?”

Liam leans in and kisses Nick’s cheek. “I really like you,” he says.

“We both do,” Harry says. He leans in to kiss Nick’s other cheek.

Nick’s heart pounds. “God,” he says. His other hand, the one that isn’t in Liam’s, comes to rest on Harry’s hip.

“So,” Liam asks.

Nick smiles, and lets himself be kissed.