Nick gave himself a six drink limit. He wanted to make it four, but he knew himself well enough to know that he'd always need something in one hand while talking to the other guests for lack of something else to do with his hands; otherwise they'd just be flailing about. And he knew that inevitably he'd keep drinking out of said drink because he'd be talking constantly and he'd be thirsty. And also who sticks to drinking water at a wedding with an open bar, really.
"You could still switch to water now," Harry had said, after Nick had given up keeping track of drink numbers, a bit of cran vodka splashed on his jacket sleeve. Nick hadn't been sure Harry was in a place to give advice, given the drink in each hand he was sporting.
Nick's pretty sure one of the drinks was for him, in the end, and that he drank it.
Nick had also given himself a six dance limit with Harry Styles.
"There are plenty of other people here for me to gallivant around with," he'd said. "An entire wedding full of friends who don't have their faces in their phone all the time and don't care if I'm distracting them from their important conversation with someone not me."
"Nick Grimshaw, distracting me? Well I never," Harry'd joked, then grinned and pulled Nick in for dance number seven.
Nick's already forgotten dances one through three, really. Neither one of them is very good at doing much beyond swaying back and forth or flailing like an idiot, but they both seem to be doing a good job of blending in with the rest of the more than slightly drunken crowd also flailing haphazardly on the dance floor. Song number seven happens to be a song Nick vaguely remembers Harry mentioning how much he liked it when it first came out, so he supposes he can be bothered to sway a little longer.
"I'm trying to make plans for a big family thing while I'm back in London," Harry says after bit, "like, everyone, but my schedule is so full right now it's hard, plus everyone has their own stuff, of course."
"Life of a solo artist," Nick mock-laments, thinking about how hard it is for them to schedule time together as well. "Sorry I'm stealing you away from it this weekend, really."
Harry shakes his head, then smiles. "You didn't steal me, Pixie and George did. Can't believe they finally got married, you know? Wouldn't miss it for the world. I love weddings. All the flowers and the cake and how people are all overwhelmed with love, and the ones that aren't get drunk enough that it doesn't matter? Weddings are good. Plus you're here. It's all so good."
"You're bonkers, you know that?" Nick says, poking at one of Harry's dimples with his free hand.
"Am I?" Harry's hand is a warm and familiar pressure on Nick's back now, tucked right in the curve.
"I fucking love you, you know?" Nick practically shouts it at Harry's grinning face, can't help it. He's certain it turns a couple heads on the dance floor, but not enough for him to care; they've probably been turning heads all night what with the drunken singing and Harry having that face he has. Most of these people are friends or friends of friends anyway, and like Harry just said, it's a wedding. People should be expecting declarations of love, and boy does Nick have one.
Harry just keeps smiling, his hand still pressing firmly against Nick's lower back, the heat of it a gentle reminder of how long they've been swaying on the dance floor together. He has a drink in his other hand, too, although he's been holding that same drink long enough the ice has melted. The song changes again, and then again, but they've given up changing the speed of their sway, or really even their position on the dance floor, just barely on a corner. Once or twice Nick has belted out a line or two just to see Harry's startled barking laugh, but most of the songs the DJ is playing now are unfamiliar to Nick beyond a listen or two. "Pixie's odd music taste," he mumbles, when Harry asks him why he wasn't the wedding DJ. "Plus I wouldn't have been able to spend all my time with you."
Harry tucks his head down a bit like he's actually bashful about Nick's declaration, but then says, making the air quotes to emphasize his teasing, "I thought you didn't want to do that, anyway. That I'm gonna 'monopolize' your time and we should spend 'no more than six songs dancing together'."
"Wanted no more than six drinks, too, you heathen," Nick mumbles, finishing his off and stretching his arm over to sit it on the nearest table, never losing contact with Harry. Harry holds out his mostly full drink for Nick to take and sit on the table as well. "Clearly all my well-laid plans are off the table when it comes to you, Harold," Nick says, and not for even the tenth time in his lifetime. Nick pats at Harry's chest, the skin warm and a bit sweaty under his touch. He starts to play with Harry's buttons again now that both his hands are free. It's the only thing he's done all night to make Harry frown, unbuttoning Harry's jacket over and over again and messing with the shirt buttons, because he secretly likes how Harry's face looks when he pouts.
"You should marry me,' Harry says, after a bit, watching Nick's fingers.
"Should'a had a double wedding with Peppo," Nick instantly replies. "That way I wouldn't be so bummed about George being off limits now."
"Please, he's never off limits to you, is he?" Harry quips back.
"Oooh, is someone jealous?" Nick's got all the buttons on the jacket but the last one undone. Harry's started grabbing for his hands, but the effort is halfhearted at best, as Nick keeps sliding through. "You have really large hands, you know?"
"There are so many replies to that comment I don't know where to start," Harry mumbles, finally getting a good hold on Nick's wrists and firmly holding him in place. Nick huffs, clearly defeated, and stills, letting go of the final button.
"Could get used to this," Harry says.
"What, holding me in place? I'm not against it, though I think you'd like it to be the other way around." Nick might be drunk but he doesn't miss the subtle way Harry's entire body stiffens for just a split second. He tries very hard to file the idea away in his memory for a later date, or perhaps for later this evening. They've tried a lot of things in their on and off five years together, probably up to and including holding each other in place, but Nick's always happy to try again.
"You should marry me," Harry repeats, even slower than before. His hands tighten around Nick's wrists and wrap them back around him, pulling Nick into him. He puts his hand in exactly the same spot on Nick's back as it was before, so they're standing so close Nick can feel Harry's breath against his cheek. "Marry me, Nicholas Grimshaw," Harry whispers.
"You're a cliche, Harry Styles," Nick whispers in response, his heart kicking its thumping up a few levels instantly. "You've seen too many romcoms. You can't just ask people to marry you at other people's weddings."
"I am, though."
"So you are."
"You always said you'd wait for me."
He's waited through boyfriends, girlfriends, a hundred jokes. He's suffered through a thousand throw-away comments from people trying to hurt him, to get a rise out of him. He'd even sort of given up on waiting there for a bit and gone and did his own thing, only for Harry to circle back around to him in the end. "I did. I have."
"Plus George is proper taken now."
Nick pokes a finger gently into Harry's side, his hands still resting where Harry put them. "You know that was always mostly a joke, right? Even though he is a good kisser."
Harry laughs. "Yes, Nick, I know. On both counts."
"Oh? That's definitely a story you've never told me." The song changes, reminding Nick of the rant Harry went on one night after a late dinner, exhausted from flying three times zones and rambling on even slower than usual, mimicking the offbeat rhythm of the bass drum in the song to emphasize his point. It’s a fond memory, that whole night. Harry had set off the next day, barely in Nick’s bed for a full eight hours. "I do get lonely, though. You're never around."
"You'd get bored of me if I were."
Harry places a gentle kiss on Nick's cheek. "I know. And I'm still not going to be around much. But I'll be yours. And you'll be mine."
Nick hopes no one’s looking at them in this particular moment, wondering what they’re discussing, why they’re standing so close for so long. He wants the moment frozen just for him, wants to pretend that it’s not shared with anyone, not even friends and especially not the rest of the world, like so many of their moments have been. He wonders if he’ll ever get over that feeling of paranoia that comes with being around The Harry Styles. "Think that's already the case, much to my chagrin."
Nick loves Harry's little frown when he teases him. "Stuck with me for life, popstar."
"Is that a yes?"
Nick also loves the way Harry's expression can change from gentle hurt to excited joy in an instant. "Well I'd say I want it done proper but I'm afraid you'd drop to one knee right here on the dance floor and I’m not prepared for that, so I suppose that yes, that's a yes. I'll marry you, although I don't know why. It can't be your good looks or large wealth or charming personality. I've got all of that, what do I need you for."
"Is it my large hands?"
"Hmm, no, I've got those too," Nick says, bringing one up between them and waggling his fingers back and forth. His gaze gets caught on his ring finger, stuck in the moment daydreaming about what type of ring Harry would get him, if they'd wear rings or get tattoos or just stay as subtle as they can contain themselves to be.
Harry asks, one of his hands wrapping around Nick's, "Would you like to put them to use elsewhere?"
Nick scoffs. "Christ. How much did you drink to think that line would work?"
"Not as much as you, and it is, isn't it?" Nick can feel Harry trying to slowly tug them towards the door, but his feet refuse to move, like they don't want the spell to be broken and the people on the outside to reenter their perfect little world on the dance floor.
"Are you judging me for the fact that being at a wedding is making me want to have sex with my fiance?" Harry has to shout a bit for Nick to hear him over the music. Nick hopes everyone is drunk enough not to hear Harry's word choice or notice that they've started to make a beeline for the door without saying goodbye to the bride and groom. He'll have to text Pixie a "sorry we left early without saying goodbye" later and somehow make it sound like Harry's fault without making it sound like he was also a willing participant.
The song changes again, heavy bass shaking loose the mild headache already forming into something more irritating, and he stumbles a bit, Harry’s anchorline on his wrist pulling him off balance slightly, coupled with flashing lights and the much talked about overindulgence in alcohol. He “oomphs” as he crashes into Harry's solid back. Harry just grips his wrist tighter, pulling him through the crowd and out the door into an absence of sound and a wave of heat.
He takes his time getting the villa door open when they get back, still really too drunk to figure out the key. He’s also too distracted by Harry's hand gently rubbing back and forth underneath his shirt, the back of it sticking to his skin where Harry's hand has been laying for the past few hours.
"I need you to take a few steps back and keep your hands to yourself for a moment," he finally says.
"I have my own key, you know. I could open it."
Nick considers letting him for just a moment before the tumbler finally slides into place and the door swings open. A blast of cooler air hits Nick in the face from inside, where they'd left the ceiling fans on before leaving for the wedding in hopes that it'd keep the warm summer at bay; it had been Harry's idea, and Nick is grateful for it. Now that they're not in their own little bubble on the dance floor, he can feel that it's more than just that spot on his back that's gotten a little too warm.
"I'm all sweaty," he says, following it up with, "No comments."
"I was just thinking the same thing about myself," Harry says, already haphazardly tossing his jacket over a chairback.
"Could go for an ocean swim, sex on the beach after?"
"And hear you complain about getting sand everywhere? No thanks."
"But it would fill your romcom fantasy dreams, wouldn't it? Propose at a wedding, go for a swim in the ocean, have sex on a beach, maybe fall asleep under the stars? Got you a Nicholas Sparks movie all in one day."
"But then one of us would have to have a tragic backstory or like, die, and I'm not up for that this week, I don't think."
"Try again next week, then."
"Hmm, maybe." Harry's started to take off the rest of his clothes, his shirt already half unbuttoned as it is. Nick never tires of watching him do it, the way he just lets his shirt slide off his body, how he always struggles just a bit to unbutton his pants and how his abs tighten as he carefully pulls the zipper down and steps out of his pants. He always likes to get undressed in wholes, never just a shirt off or just trousers off; he'll get dressed that way, walk around wearing no shirt for hours before he finally decides to throw something on, but never in reverse. "If I'm gonna make an effort to undress I might as well just have the full freedom of it, right?" he said once when Nick asked him. Nick didn't complain then, before they were, well, engaged, and he certainly wouldn't bother now.
"What about a nice shower, then," Nick says, watching as Harry balances easily on one leg while pulling off a sock.
"You gonna complain about your old man knees again?"
"That happened once and only because I had a scratch from where Pig's nails dug a little hard."
Nick struggles getting his shirt off a bit, the sleeves rolled up just slightly too tightly to slide right off, so by the time he's ready to unbutton his own pants Harry's there doing it for him, small smirk on his face. He presses a gentle kiss into the side of Nick's neck, sending a chill all the way down to Nick's (still socked) toes, then steps back to watch Nick pull his pants down. Nick's never stopped feeling self conscious standing naked in front of Harry while Harry's standing naked looking back him, some sort of 'lesser human specimen' head trip, but he's also never gotten used to the way Harry looks at him like this, like he's the only thing in the entire world that there could ever be to look at. It overwhelms him every time. "Shower, then?" he struggles out, vividly aware of how his sweaty shirt and pants had stuck to him in awkward places, and how he definitely smells like he spent mumble number of dances under hot spotlights.
It's Harry who's ended up on his knees in the shower, in the end, water dripping off the long pieces of his hair as he looks up at Nick, blinking slowly like a slowmo shot in an eighties action montage. Nick tries to freeze frame the moment in his mind, store it in the box labeled "the night Harry proposed to me," but Harry doesn’t seem to care about Nick’s picture perfect moment, shaping his mouth around Nick’s cock, forming one Kodak moment after another rapidfire as he works Nick toward orgasm.
Nick takes a moment to cup Harry’s cheek, gently pushes on the side of it, feeling the outline of his cock inside with his fingertips. He adds another snapshot to the pile, then says, "You can take it back now, if you want, you know? I know you were caught up in the moment."
Harry frowns and pulls off quickly enough the sudden loss of warmth from his mouth makes Nick shiver. "Nick. Come on. I'm not taking it back. I’m not ever gonna take it back. I've dreamed about marrying you for years."
Harry eyes sparkle with their own moisture as he looks up, looking earnest as hell with Nick’s cock three inches from his face, and Nick’s on his way to being forever floored at how Harry can just destroy him with a look, in the best possible way. "Dreamed about blowing my fiance in the shower, too," Harry adds.
Nick laughs. "Does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Fiiiiaaaance.”
“I don't know, I was just trying it on for size. It's kind of a mouthful," Harry says, tongue in cheek. Nick snorts unexpectedly. “We’ll have to work on that ring bit, too.”
Nick groans. "You're the worst."
Harry wraps a hand back around the base of Nick’s cock, lining his mouth up with the tip. "But you love me.”
"Yep. I do."