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Objectively, Harry knew that something like this was bound to happen when he started his new job.

He’s met men like Nick Grimshaw before; men with nonsense ideas bouncing around their heads with nothing to hold them down and make them into something that you could grasp. He’s sure, in that regard, that Mr Grimshaw had picked the perfect profession for that. The ad industry was cutthroat; but they were doing something that shaped the very fabric of the American public. Being the head of the Creative Department worked for him; he had people waiting to help him weed through the forest of ideas that was his brain.

But men like Nick Grimshaw were fleeting, and men like Nick Grimshaw were always looking for instant satisfaction; he had no time for courtship or wooing when all he wanted was a quick thrill, something that could spark an idea that could grow into something they could profit from.

So, when Harry got the damned secretarial job, he figured that it was feasible that he’d end up sleeping with the man. He’d heard the rumours about him, about his penchant for men. He wasn’t sure if they were true or not, wasn’t sure if it was just vicious rumours that a competitor was spreading about him (because, it’s the 60’s America. No one is gay), or possibly the big bosses at Fincham and Chaloner. People didn’t want to hire gays, even if they were talented gays. You could only get so far being out of the closet. If by spreading around the rumours kept Nick from having anywhere to go if he left the company, Harry could understand the reasoning behind it.

He hadn’t gone for the secretary job, of course. It was women’s work, and he was in a vague state of outrage every moment he spent behind the typewriter, or fetching people coffee, or taking messages.

No, he had originally applied for a job writing copy, hopeful that he might be one of the people who came up with the ideas, alongside Nick Grimshaw. He’d gotten the interview by a connection of his mother’s; who had assured him that he need not worry about a thing.

When he walked in for his interview initially, he immediately noticed that something was off. He wandered through the beige office after being deposited by the African American man running the elevator on the 46th floor, searching for Nick’s office. The floors were green and the walls were really only partitions; you could see over the tops of them if you stood on a chair. There were phones ringing every which way, women in pink skirts with bright lips and curled hair bustling about, ensuring that the office ran smoothly. Harry noticed, initially, that they looked nervous, glancing over their shoulders towards the far corner, where an empty desk sat beside an open office door. Faintly, Harry could hear a woman’s voice yelling something indistinct.

Harry nervously switched his brand new briefcase (his mum had bought him it, and sent it all the way across the Atlantic for him when she heard about his interview weeks back) from his left hand to his right. It’s warm in the office, and his tie feels as if he’d pulled it too tight against his throat.

He smooth’s back his hair, and approaches the closest secretary, clacking away at a typewriter. Harry takes a moment to watch her type, appreciating how quickly she’s able to do just that. Harry could type, he’d learnt it when chasing after a secretary in London, before he’d relocated. She’d had clever hands; hands that were put to waste simply typing. Harry always ended up doing her paperwork, as she got to work doing… other things.

He clears his throat. “Ehem. Could you please point me to Mr Grimshaw’s office? I’ve an interview with him.”

This secretary looks nothing like the pretty young girl he’d been with back then. She was ancient and decrepit, jowls drooping down and wobbling as she spoke. “Hm,” she twists her body around, peering in the direction that everyone else was looking. “That’s his office there. Don’t know where Laura-May’s gone off to. Just knock on the door, if he’s expecting you, you’ll be fine.”

Harry nods minutely, adams apple bobbing as he swallows his nerves. “Okay, thank you very much…” His eyes flicker across her desk. “Mrs Richards.” He extends his hand to her, impeccably polite.

The secretary (Mrs Richards) stares at him for a moment, as if incredulous that he’s actually trying to shake her hand. Finally, after a moment of Harry keeping his hand steady in front of her, she reaches out and shakes his hand with index finger and thumb.

Harry smiles, flashing a dimple at her, and then collects himself as he sets forth to his future employers office. As he approaches, he can hear the voice yelling more distinctly, and he realizes that it’s actually two voices, instead of the one he initially heard. The second voice, a man’s, is just lot quieter, and a lot less frequent than the woman’s.

Harry peeks his head in the open doorway, hoping he’s not being too intrusive. It’s quite the scene he’s walking into.

He thinks, briefly, that perhaps the rumours he’s heard of Nick’s sexuality are just that, as this is exactly what he’d expect in a spurned secretary. Why else would she be towering over him as he sits at his desk, leaning on his elbows as she shouts about how he’s being unfair? Perhaps the man, who Harry is assuming is Nick Grimshaw, had slept with his secretary, and it had gone up in flames as most inter-office relationships do.

“Laura, please.” The man rolls his eyes, neither of them seeming to notice Harry lurking in the door. Instantly, Harry notices that the man must be from North England, a fact that he hadn’t uncovered while doing his research on the man. He’s not sure how he had missed that. “You’re being over-dramatic.”

“No, I’m actually not, Nick.” The woman has curly hair, so blonde it looks white. She’s wearing pants, which strikes Harry as odd. He didn’t see many women in a professional setting wearing pants. He barely ever saw his own mother wearing anything other than a pinstripe skirt, and he lived with her for 18 years. “I don’t see how I’m being over-dramatic. Niall admitted to you himself that I’ve been coming up with half of his ideas for copy. What makes you think that I couldn’t do it full time? And my name isn’t Laura, by the way, it’s Laura-May!”

Nick shakes his head. He appears more agitated than before, like he’s rapidly losing his patience. “Laura-May, sorry. I’m not saying that you’re incapable. I’m saying that we don’t have room on the payroll for another person on copy.”

Laura-May snorts. “Ha! Fincham’s already lined up a new employee. How do you have money for someone brand new, who you don’t know worth a damn, when you have nothing available for someone who has worked here for nearly 4 years?”

Mr Fincham,” Nick sniffs, “has already made it clear that we’re to hire him.” The man waves a hand, and Harry feels himself flush as they speak about him. “He’s his second cousin’s son, or somewhat. And if I hired you for the job, who would work as secretary? But hey, if you can convince him to take your job, you’re more than welcome to write copy.”

“That’s not what I mean—“

“Well, that’s what you’re getting at. Go on, ask him if he’d like to take a secretary job. He’s right there, poking about in the doorway.” Nick gestures to the door, and Harry really turns red this time.

Laura-May darts around, not noticing at all that Harry had been there. Harry felt embarrassed, having no idea when exactly Nick had seen him standing there, listening in to their argument.

The only good thing about Harry blushing is that Laura-May is blushing too. She seems flustered, sputtering a bit on her words as she pulls herself together.

“Hi?” Harry squeaks out, scolding himself internally for the squeaking.

Laura-May narrows her eyes, already recovered. “You heard all that?” She demands, the accusation making Harry flinch away.

He just nods.

“Well, what do you think?” Laura-May is a blur of activity, moving in and crowding up too close for Harry’s liking. She’s right in his face, asserting herself and she’s already won.

“I—taking a secretarial job?” He asks, voice feeble and meek. On some level, he’s sure that being a secretary would be right his speed. He’d be awful in creative. He doesn’t know why his mum thought he’d be good at coming up with ideas when he was so very good at organizing them. But, then again, he’s a man. He couldn’t possibly work as a secretary.

Nick’s just watching the confrontation, interest sparkling in his eyes. After a moment of neither Laura-May nor Harry saying anything, he scoffs. “Fine, you can have the bloody job, Laura-May. You’ve got more balls than this one, anyway.”

Laura-May smiles at Harry, then around at Nick. “Thank you, sir.” She departs, as easy as that.

Nick’s shaking his head as he turns back down to the papers in front of him. Seemingly to himself, he mutters, “Americans.”

Harry shifts his weight from foot to foot. He’s not sure what to do right now, having seen the job he’s come here for being filled right before his eyes.

The man senses his confusion. He raises his eyebrows, peering up at him. “Well, are you going to sit down then, Mr Styles?”

Harry bites the inside of his cheek, but then nods sharply. He quickly moves forward, nearly tripping on his own feet in his haste to obey.

Harry’s met men like Nick before, but that doesn’t mean that he’s any more or less used to them. There’s something about the kind of man that Nick is that makes the kind of man that Harry is want to do whatever they say. He supposes that Nick’s got what any great military leader needs; the charisma to lead their men into battle. Harry’d probably go to war if Nick told him to.

Harry sits down in the chair adjacent to Nick’s desk, setting the briefcase down beside him. The briefcase is empty. He doesn’t know why he even brought it, it’s stupid. He’s nervous again, palms sweaty and mouth dry. Plus, now he’s confused.

Nick doesn’t seem to have any of those problems. He crumples up a piece of paper that he’d been looking at, and tosses it carelessly in the wastebasket. At the last second, Harry realizes that it’s his letter of recommendation.

“So. I’m sorry about that.” He gestures to the door, where Laura-May has disappeared. “She’s very hot-headed. And she did probably deserve it quite a bit more than you. I notice you’ve never worked in the ad industry before? Or even worked at all?”

Harry clears his throat, praying to God that he wouldn’t squeak again. “No, I haven’t. It’s alright, I can just go.”

“No, no.” Nick waves again, a smile growing on his face that reminded him, curiously, of Alice and Wonderland’s Cheshire Cat. His teeth were very white. “I couldn’t possibly throw out a fellow Englishman. Where are you from?”

“Cheshire,” Harry supplies immediately, and he chuckles at the fact that that was what he blurted out first. “Holmes Chapel, specifically. It’s quite small.”

“Ah, I know the area.” Nick’s posture is impeccable, Harry notices. His suit jacket has been folded behind him, on his chair, and his grey vest pinches tightly around his thin waist. Harry’d heard people say that Nick resembles a spider, and he sort of sees it. He can see the spindly limbs, folded up neatly, and there’s a feral look in his eyes that makes Harry sure that he’d like to eat him up very much, thank you. He’s not sure what getting gobbled up by Nick Grimshaw would entail, and Harry’s not sure that he would much mind it. “I’ve been through it. Has only got the few little houses, then the big one on the hill…?”

“Yes!” Harry smiles back, genuinely surprised that Nick knew Holmes Chapel. “The big one is my family’s.”

Nick leans back in his chair, still surveying Harry as if measuring him. “Fascinating. I’m from Manchester. Haven’t been there for quite some time, actually. I miss it.”

“Surely,” Harry agrees, knowing the feeling of longing for England well. “But, you must be accustomed to New York by now? I’ve only recently come to the country, and I just always feel as if the rug is about to be swept out from under me.”

“Oh, of course.” Nick nods, licking his lips. “Manhattan is my home, now. But, you never quite forget your roots.” His smile grows, and he tilts his head slightly to the right. “Which is why, the job is open if you’re in need of it. Which, I imagine you might. Being new to the country, and all. Americans are still quite distrustful of the English 200 years later, you know.”

“Which makes no sense at all,” Harry points out. “They’re the ones who rebelled against us. If anyone isn’t to be trusted, it’s them.”

This makes Nick laugh, loud and ringing. His eyes close almost completely when he laughs, Harry notices. “Very true! God, it’d be fantastic to have someone like you in the office.”

“Someone like me?” Harry asks, still smiling, but brows furrowing slightly. “Someone English?”

Nick licks his lips again, laughter still on his face. “Something like that.”

Harry nods, even though he’s getting the strange feeling that that is not all Nick means. “Alright, well. I suppose that I could be your secretary. I mean, men can be secretaries, yes? It’s not only for women?”

Nick laughs. “Of course, they could be.” He stands up, adjusting his tie before he extends his hand to Harry. “Welcome, Mr Styles. I’m sure working with you will be an absolute pleasure.”


It isn’t a pleasure.

Harry’s certain that he’s made the right choice, in that he’s damn good at being a secretary, but he still can’t help but feel like he’s doing something wrong. People give him funny looks, when they walk by. People on the phone are taken aback when a man answers the phone when they call. And the men who write copy, with Nick (Mr Grimshaw, Harry keeps reminding himself) all openly snicker at him.

And Harry can’t do anything, except push his glasses further up his nose, and learn to type faster.

The other secretaries are absolutely lovely to him. Whenever he gets Nick’s papers mixed up (and Nick has a lot of papers), they’re only too happy to help him out. They seem delighted that Harry’s there in the first place; that he’s even attempting to their job, and that he’s gracious about it.

Harry won’t admit it, but he’d been getting pretty desperate for a job. He’d come to America with a limited amount of money, and he’d been rapidly running out of it just paying the rent in his Manhattan apartment. He’d been considering moving from something a bit less posh if he hadn’t been able to find a job that gave him a decent pay check.

Harry’s day went like this: he’d wake up at 6, the sounds of traffic outside his lower floor apartment having replaced his old wake up call of a cock crowing. Waking at 6, he has enough time to go for a quick jog if it suited him, picking up the morning paper at the stand at the street corner, and then go to his favourite café for his (first) cup of coffee. He’d go back to his place for a fast shower, and he’d be dressed and ready in his pressed trousers and starchy shirts by 7:30, when he’d have to catch a cab to the office.

He had to arrive well before Nick did, as did most of the other secretaries in the office. They’d all gather around the table that doubled as a lunch area and a place for writers to throw around ideas, and they would gossip about who has slept with whom, and who is up for a promotion.

At around 8:20, Harry would have to return to his desk, set right outside the doors to Nick’s office. Harry would organize the new papers for Nick that always managed to stack up since Harry had left the night before. He’d answer the phone if it rang, and he’d arrange Nick’s schedule, and make sure nothing was overlapping, and that Nick knew when he had meetings that he could skip. He also kept a notepad of Nick’s clients and their immediate family, with stars next to the names that were more important.

Around 9, the copywriters would start dragging themselves in (Nick not included). They’d taken to lingering around Harry’s desk, throwing him nasty looks that Harry assumed was meant to make him feel inferior to them. Like they were better than him just because they got a few more digits on their pay checks. Harry found them easy enough to ignore, for the most part, and they dispersed as the day went by, to flirt with the female secretaries and sometimes, to even do their job. Harry only saw Laura-May a handful of times; she spent the majority of the day locked up in her office.

The copywriters also always eventually left Harry be because they didn’t dare do or say anything once Nick was around, which wasn’t usually until 10:30, even 11. Nick wasn’t under contract with the firm, which meant that he could come and go as he pleased, although mornings were usually the only time he skeeved off. He was often the last to leave every night, staying way past dark. But he was brilliant, and he had a fiery, explosive temper, and a way of talking to a person that made you feel as if you were in primary school and being told off for pulling pigtails, if you upset him. No one wanted to make him angry, and after Nick threatens to fire one of the men who lurked beside Harry’s desk, people thoroughly backed off.

When Nick arrived, Harry was to stand up, and take Nick’s coat and hang it on the stand beside Harry’s desk. He was to fetch Nick coffee, or tea, or water, or whatever it was that Nick wanted. Nick was generally kind to him, but on days when Nick came with an obvious hangover, it wasn’t uncommon for Nick to send Harry on errands around the city.

But that was his job. It was what he was being paid for. He had it good, really. There were so many people without jobs, Harry had noticed, walking the streets in ragged clothes. Most of them were African Americans, and most of them were ignored by all the well to do white men bustling down the streets. Harry was thankful for his opportunity to work in such a prestigious company; Fincham and Chaloner was one of the biggest ad agencies in New York. It wouldn’t matter what his job description was after this, as long as he could brag about the company.

Nick would often pop out of his office just to chat with Harry. He’d have lost his suit jacket at that point, and his tie would always be thrown behind his head. Nick wore unique ties; never wearing the same one twice. They all had unique patterns, with bright colours that made Harry’s head spin. All his ties were black. His mum bought him a vivid red one last Christmas, and he had been too anxious about standing out to wear it. Nick didn’t seem to have that problem. Nick would lean onto Harry’s desk on his elbows, his long body extending out behind him, and getting in anyone trying to get by’s way. He had wild hair, looked like Harry’s did a bit when he didn’t gel it into submission. Nick looked as if he used gel, but instead of gluing it down, he glued it up. Harry quite liked it. Nick looked brave and unpredictable and slightly dangerous. He looked like he went out all night after work, doing drugs with his friends and drinking copious amounts of alcohol. Harry didn’t know why it made him feel so smug that Nick talked to him every day, making small talk about the weather and about England, but it did. Nick would lean, with his cigarette dangling in one hand, sucking the nicotine from the stick, and he’d blow the smoke just far enough away from Harry’s face that he’d smell it, but that it wouldn’t be rude.

But besides being an endless source of conversation for Nick, Harry answered phones and ran errands and typed up documents and memos that Nick needed typing. Harry was very good at everything he did, he was naturally very precise and organized. He was good with numbers, and he was doing most of Nick’s busywork within a few months of him starting there. He’d finish the paperwork, put his coat back on, and head home at 5:30 every night, peeking his head through Nick’s door to bid him a good night. He’d go home, make himself a dinner, and turn on his new, colour television, which he’d watch until bed. He liked his schedule. He enjoyed the routine.

Around the sixth month mark of Harry starting at the company, Harry’s schedule was interrupted. Thanksgiving weekend was approaching, and with it came a new client that wanted a last minute campaign to somehow make Atlantic Salmon a more popular holiday dish. Because of the short notice, everyone was working extra hard to try and create and produce an advert to dethrone turkey as a staple of Thanksgiving. Everyone, especially Nick.

Harry was staying particularly late one night, busy trying to type up a seemingly endless pile of memos. He almost didn’t notice that Nick hadn’t left, and that the office was draining of all of it’s occupants one by one. Soon enough, all of the lights except Harry’s little desk lamp, and the larger one in Nick’s office were off, and his workplace was eerily quiet except for the sound of his typewriter.

“Harry? Could you come in here, please?”

Harry startles a bit at Nick’s voice, but quickly fumbles out of his chair and into Nick’s office, as if he had been waiting for that exact instruction.

He stepped inside, lingering in the doorway. “Yes? Do you need anything?”

Nick was sitting behind his desk, legs crossed at his ankles and splayed across the surface of it. Nick wasn’t wearing his shoes, and his bright coloured socks were endearing to him. He gestures for Harry to come closer. “Come in, come in. Don’t be shy.” He points at the chair that he had interviewed Harry in a few months previous, but doesn’t wait for him to sit down. Nick stands as Harry sits, padding around his desk in his socked feet to the little bar he has by his window. “Would you like a drink?”

“Er, no thank you.” Harry murmurs, as he takes his seat. He fiddles with tie, which he’d loosened earlier in the day, but he makes sure to tighten it again. He doesn’t know what this is about. What if Nick’s sacking him?

Nick makes a noise, as if he’s dismissing Harry’s reluctance for drink. He pours himself a glass of scotch, ice that Harry collected for him still good. He pops the cap back into the flask, as he picks up the glass with his other hand. He stares out the window for a moment, at the dark sky just outside. Harry was envious of Nick’s view from his office window; it was tall enough that you could see the moon and the stars, if it wasn’t too cloudy like tonight. In Harry’s apartment, the buildings around him completely obscured his view of anything but the apartments of the elderly couples who all seemed to live across the way.

Nick sighs. “Nice night, innit?”

Harry follows his view, brows still furrowed in confusion. “Yes, it is, Mr Grimshaw.”

The older man takes another swig of his drink, and his eyes close almost imperceptibly at the taste, before he turns back around to look at Harry. “I told you, call me Nick. Mr Grimshaw sounds horrid and formal.”

“Sorry, Nick.” Harry nods. “If you don’t mind me asking, what is this about?”

Nick sips from the glass, surveying Harry curiously. He takes a moment, as if considering his reply, before stepping forward. He almost looks as if he meant to walk right by him, but at the last moment he’s pulled Harry back to his feet, set the scotch down beside them, and has positioned Harry against the desk. He has a grip on Harry’s shoulder, firm but by no means tight.

Harry leans back against the desk, feeling his heart rate start to pick up. He feels like he knows where this is going, but he’s not sure he knows what to do. “What are you doing?”

Nick’s face is partially obscured by the low lighting in the room, the only lamp behind Nick’s back by the door. But Harry is pretty sure that he can see something in his eyes that is different from what they looked like two minutes ago. “What do you think I’m doing?” He starts to close in, moving slowly as if giving Harry plenty of opportunity to push him away if he wanted to.

Harry sucks in a shallow breath. “Are you… are you going to kiss me?” He asks, incredulously. He’s surprised, but he’s not really. He wraps his fingers around the desk behind him, squeezing it tight. He folds his legs daintily, resting his one leg behind the other.

“I don’t know,” Nick said, non-chalant. Harry envied how levelheaded he sounded. Harry could never manage banter while aroused. “Would you like me to kiss you?”

Harry pauses, and he releases a long, hissing breath that he’d been utterly unaware that he’d been holding since asking his question. “Yes,” he says, before even realizes that he’s said it. “Yes, I want you to kiss me.”

Nick just smirks. “Good. Because I want to kiss you.” He says quietly, and then he does.

Harry’s kissed loads of girls before. Well, maybe not loads, but a couple. He’d enjoyed it all right; girls are nice and soft and he wouldn’t mind kissing girls. He’d been planning on doing it for the rest of his life, anyways.

But kissing Nick is different. Nick is a man, and Harry is hyper-aware of it every single millisecond of the kiss. Nick’s tall, and he’s broad, and he’s built much differently than a woman, and he hasn’t got tits where Harry’s used to tits being. But he thinks that’s quite nice; it gives him a flat, smooth plain of body, muscle twisting under skin under clothes to run his hands over on their way to Nick’s shoulders. He feels firm and warm and thick and masculine, and there isn’t a chance that Harry could close his eyes and pretend it was a girl he was kissing (not that he’d even want to).

Nick keeps that first kiss short, and he pulls away almost as quickly as he had gone in. He leaves his mouth slightly open as he looks at Harry’s face, seemingly looking for any traces of doubt or disgust.

Harry licks his lips, and watches as Nick’s eyes follow the movement of his tongue on his pink lips. He’s filled with a sudden flash of confidence, and this time it’s him moving forward to initiate the kiss.

Nick makes short work of his lips, quickly building up from short little pecks, to licks, to bites, until he’s nibbling at the younger man’s lips. Harry can feel his mouth heating up, blood rushing to the area at the same time as it’s rushing to another one beneath his trousers.

Nick pulls away for a second time, but this time it’s to place kisses down Harry’s neck, swirling his tongue across his skin as he nibbles his way down to Harry’s collared shirt.

“So fucking hot,” Harry gasps, tilting his head back to better allow Nick to leave purple marks on his neck. He doesn’t see anything but the ugly fluorescent lights, switched off, above them. “Mr Grimshaw—Nick— we shouldn’t.”

“Oh, shut up.” Nick pulls away from Harry’s neck for a split second, eyes ghosting over his face, as if seeing if Harry was really going to say no. Harry isn’t, but the fact that Nick would stop if he said so makes Harry all the more enthusiastic. Harry darts forward, cupping at Nick’s jaw as he captures the man’s lips. They taste like blood and good scotch, scotch that Harry himself had checked the age of and bought from the liquor store. Harry kisses Nick’s mouth open, and licks in greedily, trying to suck the taste of alcohol off his tongue.

Sensing this, Nick pulls away and reaches to his drink beside them and takes a deep gulp. He stares over the rim of the glass at Harry, adams apple bobbing as he swallows.

He drinks half, then places the glass in Harry’s hand, taking care to wrap the younger boys hands around it. “Drink,” he commands, and he extracts himself from in between Harry’s legs as he walks to his door.

Harry does as he is told, gulping it down faster than he was used to. He couldn’t help but wince at the taste; the only time he drank was at holidays, and that was mostly just champagne and wine.

Nick looks outside the office, searching for anyone who might overhear them. With a satisfied nod, he backs into the office again, shutting the door firmly behind him and locking it with a click. Harry didn’t even know the offices could lock from the inside. Probably for this reason exactly. Harry wonders, briefly, just how many pretty young secretaries Nick had locked in here with him. He wondered if all of them were as eager for it as he was.

Harry set the glass down on the desk beside him, having drained it completely. He glances behind him at everything on the desk, wondering if he was supposed to just hop up and spread his legs. How was this supposed to work? He thinks that he’d much rather prefer it on the couch beside the door, but he wouldn’t mind either.

Nick’s lit a cigarette, and Harry watches as he holds it on his lips while loosening his tie. He pulls it off over his head, and tosses it thoughtlessly on the floor. He takes the cigarette out of his mouth, and he gestures at Harry with the hand holding the fag. “You, take it all off.”

Harry jumps up, nearly knocking a stack of papers to the floor in his haste to undress. Nick just laughs, as he mirrors Harry’s movements in stripping. After he sees Harry’s finished down to just his pants, he nods at the tower of drawers he has in the corner. “Top drawer, c’mon. Haven’t got all night.”

Nick’s still wearing his pinstriped shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’s removed his trousers, folded them neatly up on the couch. He has the cigarette held loosely between his two fingers, staring speculatively at Harry rummaging through the drawer. Something about it makes Harry unable to stop throwing glances at him, tearing his attention away from his search for whatever Nick’s had him looking for, and back at the man. Nick’s smouldery and sexy and Harry wants to have his cock in him more than he wants to breathe air (Which is strange, in itself. Harry has never had— nor particularly wanted— another man’s penis inside of him).

Harry’s hands finally close in around a bottle, which he can only assume is what he’s looking for. It’s KY brand lube. Harry lets out a breathless chuckle. He tries to envision Nick, wheedling a doctor into giving him a prescription for this. You couldn’t get this even over the counter. Harry’s not sure what to do with it.

Nick, sensing his hesitation, moves towards Harry. He closes the drawer for the younger man, and then pulls him back to the center of the room. “Have you ever done this before?”

Harry shakes his head, still clutching the bottle in his hands. “No, not with.” He clears his throat. “A man.”

Nick smiles, and it feels encouraging. “That’s alright,” he coos comfortingly. “I’ll teach you.” He reaches out again, movements slow as if not to spook Harry, and he takes the bottle of KY out of his hand and tosses it behind them onto the couch. “Have you ever…” He raises his eyebrows expectently, but Harry doesn’t follow. “So you’ve never had your mouth on a man’s dick?”

Harry feels himself flushing, but the warmth grows low on the back of his neck and he’s sure that it’s not from embarrassment. He shakes his head again.

Nick’s hands are breezing down Harry’s bare chest, fingering lightly at the indent at his hips. The pads of his fingers seem huge. “Would you like to give it a try?”

Biting his lips, Harry’s eyes flicker down to where Nick’s briefs are tenting out. He hadn’t even noticed, but their erections, concealed beneath their pants, are barely an inch away from each other.

He nods, fingers feeling twitchy. He was nervous, but eager. Very, very eager.

Nick smiles, and captures Harry’s lips for another kiss as he pulls the boy backwards with him. He stands before the couch, before decisively pulling down his pants, allowing his cock to pop up, and he sits down onto the couch.

Harry sinks down to his knees, eyes not leaving Nick’s member for one moment. Nick’s got a big, gorgeous cock that Harry can’t help but compare to his own. He supposes that they’re pretty similar in length, but Nick’s got more girth than Harry does.

Nick strokes himself slowly with one hand, pushing Harry’s hair back with the other. He’s watching him, as if curious as to what he would do.

The carpeted floor isn’t very comfortable on his knees, but he barely gives it in any thought. His heart is pounding much faster than usual, as he leans down over Nick’s dick.

He’s had his own dick sucked, of course. He remembers what the girls did (how could he forget?), and he remembers what had personally worked for him. He liked it went it had gotten sloppy, and he had especially liked it when one of the girls had slipped a hand down behind his dick.

He felt like, now, he hadn’t truly appreciated the girls who had sucked him off. Faced with a cock right now, Harry felt like this was a particularly daunting task. Harry looked up to see Nick’s face. Nick grinned at him, and Harry nodded and set to work.

Nick’s cock felt strange; it was a sensation that he had never before experienced. It tasted heady and strong, maybe a little salty if he thought about it. It was thick and heavy, and Harry found that he couldn’t take much of it in his mouth at all. He was sucking shallowly on the tip, several itches still not even close to being in his mouth. But he didn’t really know what to do with his tongue. It was difficult to move his tongue around when his mouth was so full already.

Harry looked up again, to see if Nick looked into it, or if he was about to toss him out for giving a shit blowjob. He didn’t look like it was the best he’d ever gotten, but he also looked like he was enjoying himself. He let out a soft moan, and Harry sucked particularly enthusiastically, trying to swirl his tongue while keeping as much as he could in his mouth.

Nick jerked back, wincing in pain. Harry quickly pulled back, realizing in horror that he’d just bitten down. “Shit, sorry. So sorry,” Harry said hurriedly, cheeks burning in shame. He still held himself up with his hands on Nick’s thighs, and he squeezed apologetically.

"It’s okay," Nick assured him, a kind of painfully amused expression on his face. "Maybe we should just stick to your hands this time, then?" He picks up the previously discarded lube on the cushion beside him, and hands it to Harry.

Harry nods, more determined than ever to make this good for Nick. His own cock lay forgotten in his pants; he had softened a bit in his panic after biting Nick, but he could feel himself getting harder again as he flicked open the bottle of lube, and squeezed a bit on his fingers. He was only vaguely sure of what to do with it; the only lubricants he ever really used was Vaseline. There wasn’t anything else available, unless you gathered the courage to ask the doctor. The KY was a lot different than Vaseline.

It was cold and drippy, and it slid down his hands and down onto Nick’s crotch. Nick shivered. Harry smirked.

"Does that feel good?" He asks, wrapping one lube covered hand around the base of Nick’s cock. His hands slid over his shaft easy enough, slipping and squelching.

"Yeah," Nick says, unabashedly. Nick’s unapologetic in his pleasure, sinking into the couch but pushing his hips out at the same time. Harry doesn’t, by any means, feel in control of the encounter, but he feels confident enough that he can be… sexy. Nick’s still in charge, but Harry’s sort of in charge of Nick, if that makes sense.

Harry speeds up his hand, jerking Nick off quicker and quicker. Nick’s hands are fisting the couch cushions below him, squeezing as he’s worked closer and closer. Harry’s hand that’s not sliding up and down Nick’s cock, has drifted down to his own dick, pulling it up and out of his pants, but not all the way. He’s thumbing the head of his cock, ghosting over the slit, and he can feel his right foot start to twitch, like a dog who is being scratched right on the sweet spot. He doesn’t think he’s going to last much longer, kneeling in between Nick’s legs with each hand jerking off a different cock, but then Nick suddenly grabs at his hand. Harry looks up, confused. His other hand putters to a stop.

Nick’s lips twist into a smile. “Don’t wanna come yet. Wanna see you.”

Harry smiles sweetly, pulling his hands back into his body. Nick stands and Harry does with him. Harry’s shy again, keeps flashing between shy and confident. Nick notices, and he kisses Harry on neck, right below his jaw. The man touches the top of Harry’s pants, and then pushes them down. They fall at Harry’s ankles, and Harry steps out of them. Nick looks down at Harry’s cock as he spins them, so Harry can sink down onto the couch. “You’ve got a great cock, love. Can’t wait to get my hands on it.”

Harry doesn’t know what to do with his hands, he reaches out to Nick’s shoulders, but then down to take hold of his dick. Nick’s taking off his shirt now, finally, unbuttoning it slowly, then pulling his undershirt over his head. Puzzled, Harry watches as Nick steps backwards, and grabs one of the chairs from the desk. He places it a meter away from Harry, seated on the couch. Nick tilts his head towards the bottle of lube Harry had set down, expectantly. Harry realizes with a start, that Nick wants a show.

His cheeks redden, and the flush travels down his chest. Nick nods at him.

Harry tightens his grip on his cock, and he curves his back and sinks down in his seat so that Nick has a better view. His hands are still slick from jerking Nick off, but he squeezes some more on the tip of his cock for good measure. He tilts his head back, exposing the sharpness of his jaw. His glasses are askew, and his hair has long since came free from its carefully gelled perfection.

Harry peeked down his nose to see what Nick was doing. He had a lazy grip of his own dick, but he doesn’t look like he’s trying hard, or like he’s particularly aroused. Harry clenches his jaw, shifting his hips to try and capture the man’s interest.

Nick sighs, sounding almost bored. Harry narrows his eyes, speeding up his pace. Then, he lets his other hand drift down, towards his hole.

He glances up, again. Nick’s paused his stroking altogether, and he’s watching Harry intently. He has his full attention now.

Harry smiles again, and he spreads his legs further. He slows the hand around his cock to pay attention to his fingers near his hole. He’s done this a few times before, in the shower twice, with Vaseline a couple times.

He takes a deep breath, teasing his entrance with his index finger, pushing just enough in that Nick could watch the tip disappear behind the ring of muscle. Nick’s not moving his hands at all, but there is no doubt in Harry’s mind that he’s not aroused.

Harry let’s go of his dick now, and grabs the lube and squirts more directly onto his fingers near his ass. Some of it dribbles onto the couch, and Harry’s sure that it’ll leave a weird mark on the upholstery, but he’s unconcerned. He gradually pushes his index finger in further and further, until he’s sunk in to the joint in the middle of his finger. He twists it around, trying to stretch it out enough so that it wouldn’t be too uncomfortable when he added another.

As if thinking the exact same thing, Nick murmurs, “another,” just as Harry’s considering slipping another one in. He looks up at Nick, grinning smugly at the older man. Nick’s hands are clenched onto the arms of the chair, as if he’s trying his hardest to not jack himself off and be done with it. His cock is pressed up against his stomach.

Harry obliges, only because he thinks another finger would feel quite wonderful right now. He’s never used real lube before, and it makes fingering himself divine. He pulls his index out, only to plunge his index and middle in. Nick groans. Harry’s breath is hitching, as he repeats the process of stretching himself.

"Want you to come," Nick says, and his voice is low and grisly. "Want to see you come, so I can make you come again later."

Harry nearly chokes on his tongue. He wraps his hand around his cock again, tugging at himself as he slips a third finger in. He’s never masturbated like this, never with anyone watching, never with three hands up his arse and covered in lube. He’s never come twice in one sexual encounter before. He’s breathless, he’s aching to find out if he can.

He curls his toes as he speeds up, trying to keep eye contact with Nick, who is eerily still. His leg is twitching again, pushing himself a bit off of the couch as he speeds up. His hand on his cock is speeding up, and the hand with three fingers plunged in his hole is pushing in deeper than ever.

"Come on, Harry." Nick growls. "Come."

And Harry does. He spurts out come, squirting up all over his slippery hand, and landing on his chest. He keeps pumping his cock and his ass until he’s finished, until he’s trembling with the best orgasm he’s ever given himself. He’s panting, and sweating, and he thinks a bit of his own come has spattered onto his spectacles.

"You look ravishing," Nick breathes, and he’s biting the inside of his cheek, Harry can tell. "You did amazing." He rises to his feet, taking a step towards Harry. "Do you think you can do it again?"

Harry is flopped out on the couch, body totally relaxed. He feels sated, but Nick’s words spark a feeling in the pit of his stomach that almost make him feel like he could possibly go again. But he shakes his head. “I… I don’t think I can.”

Nick raises his eyebrows. “No?” He’s still creeping closer. “You don’t want to, or you can’t?”

"I don’t think I can," Harry lies, even though he doesn’t know why he’s lying. "I don’t think it’s possible."

Nick sits down beside Harry, perched on the edge of the couch primly. “I think you can. I think you can do better. Or was that the best you’ve got?”

Harry’s up for it, but he doesn’t know if his cock is. He looks down at Nick’s prick. Maybe he’d just let him jerk him off, and be done with it. He doesn’t think he can do it. He can see Nick, and he can see what Nick wants from him. He wants to fuck him. He’s had fingers, obviously, but a dick is much bigger than his fingers. He doesn’t know if he can.

Nick is casually unaware, of he refuses to acknowledge. “Harry, in this business, you don’t quit when you’re ahead. You don’t quit when you reach your goal. You keep pushing. You keep going until you can’t go anymore. This industry isn’t for quitters.” Nick leans forward, and he runs a finger up Harry’s soft cock. Harry instinctively twitches, trying to get away before he can stop himself. Nick kisses down on Harry’s collarbone, biting the skin there as he makes his way up to Harry’s earlobe. “Are you a quitter?” He whispers.

"No?" Harry says uncertainly. Nick’s hand is still drawing designs on his dick. Half of him is flinching away, desperate to push Nick’s hand off of him, but the other half is aware that his blood is already rushing down again. Nick’s going to milk every last drop of come out of him.

"You don’t sound too sure, Harry." Nick is nibbling a bruise onto the base of Harry’s neck. "Are you a quitter?"


"Harry," Nick pulls away, and he grabs Harry’s jaw with his free hand. "Are you a fucking quitter?"


"Show me you’re not a fucking quitter, Harry." Nick keeps repeating his name, and he’s staring him dead in the eyes as he wraps one large hand around his miraculously thickening cock. "Show me, Harry."

Harry’s got tears in his eyes, and he thinks that he’s going to bite through his lip if he isn’t careful. “Christ, Nick.” His eyes roll to the back of his head as he thrusts his hips up, jerking his cock into Nick’s hand. He’s pulsing with heat, still trembling and sensitive, but he’s on his way to being full erect again, and Nick’s smiling down at him.

"Look how good you’re doing," he murmurs down at him, low in his ear. "Look how fucking good you’re doing, and look how good you look. Your own come still all over your chest, and you’re gonna come for me again soon, yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry whimpers. He’s shaking. "Nick?"

"Yes, love?"

"Are you going to fuck me?"

Nick squeezes his cock a bit. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

Harry nods before he thinks himself down. “Want you to fuck me, I think. Yeah, yeah I do. On your desk, maybe.”

A smile is growing on Nick’s face. “On my desk? You naughty boy.”

Harry’s panics momentarily. Is Nick making fun of him? “Will you— I mean, if you want.” There’s still a hand on his dick, and it’s very hard for him to think straight.

"Of course." Nick laughs, as if surprised that Harry would think he possibly didn’t want to. He releases Harry’s dick, leaving him almost fully up again. He stands, and pulls Harry gently to his feet. "Come on, love."

Harry furrows his brow. He’s having none of this ‘gentle’ shite. Though his knees feel like they’re made of the same stuff as jello, he scampers to the desk. Nick’s only got a few papers on it, a few bits and bobs, and they’re each enough to push to the other side so Harry can jump up onto it. He sets his bottom down on the surface, impatiently gesturing for Nick, who is laughing, to hurry up.

When Nick gets close enough, Harry hooks his ankles around Nick’s back, and pulls him flush into his body. Their lips connect, and Harry lies back, so Nick comes down with him.

Immediately, a few things that Harry had overlooked go flying to the floor from Nick’s hand as he tries to steady himself over Harry. The empty glass of scotch falls down near Harry’s elbow, bouncing on the carpeted floor. Neither notice, both of their dicks are covered in lube, and they’re rubbing against each other’s, and it feels slippery and incredible. Nick is slotting their cocks together, fucking the space between Harry’s thighs, and his balls.

"Shit, fucking shit." Nick curses, falling down onto his elbows, situated on either side of Harry’s head. Neither of them are even touching the floor anymore, Nick supporting himself on his knees and elbows, grinding against Harry. Harry’s busy running his fingers through Nick’s pretty hair, with his legs folded behind Nick’s bum. "God, Harry. Hold on."

"No," Harry grumbles, tightening his ankles so Nick couldn’t pull away. "Not allowed. Feels so good."

"You’ve got to let me go if you want me to fuck you, idiot." Nick grunts, with no malice in his voice. Harry freezes, but then puts his legs down, resting his feet on either side of Nick’s thighs.

"Now, take a deep breath. You’re stretched enough, but this might hurt," Nick warns him. Harry nods, following Nick’s instructions and bracing himself.

Nick pushes Harry’s legs back, and Harry’s grateful that he’s always been so flexible. Nick’s got his strong hands hooked under his knees, bending Harry’s body so that his arse is exposed. Nick blows on the area and Harry shivers in anticipation. He can feel Nick adjusting his whole body, lining himself up without even using his hands. Harry feels the cock near his entrances, and he releases a breath, allowing his body to go loose and pliant.

That’s when Nick starts to press in. It’s definitely different than fingers.

Harry won’t lie, it hurts. Hurts a lot. Even though Nick’s cock is lubricated generously, and Harry’s already had his wet fingers inside, it’s still hard to push even the tip of Nick’s huge cock in. Harry’s breath hisses through his teeth, as he tries to adjust to the dick making it’s slow way inside. His hands have moved from Nick’s hair to his back, and he’s sure that his nails are leaving crescent shaped marks in his skin.

"You okay?" Nick grunts. He sounds breathy, trembling from the effort of not just pushing further in.

Harry just nods, eyes squeezed tight. His fingers are scratching down Nick’s back, but he doesn’t even notice. Even nerve, every fibre of his body is focused on encompassing Nick’s cock.

Nick continues pushing in, and Harry’s body protests and he’s stretched further and further. He didn’t even know that his body could do this, didn’t know that he could possibly take something this long and thick into him without just splitting in two. Tears are steaming down his cheeks, but Nick’s pushed all the way in, he’s fully sheathed inside of him.

Nick stays there for a moment, giving Harry a moment to fully adjust to the feeling of being completely full. Harry breathes deeply, remembering Nick’s instructions, and wills himself to calm down, to stop being so tense.

Soon enough, it seems to pay off. The pain has started to drift into something different. Something less sharp, and more… sweet. He stretched his feet, and sucked in another, super deep breath, and he felt himself relax. It felt less like a foreign body was being shoved up his arse, and more like genuine sex.

Nick could feel the change in Harry, and soon he was pulling out a bit, and pushing back in. He let go of Harry’s legs, and they drift automatically to hook behind Nick’s shoulders. The older man braced himself on his hands, resting his head against Harry’s forehead as he picked up speed, thrusting in and out with increasing ferocity.

Barely moment after Harry was crying from the pain, he was being slammed into the desk, Nick’s hips snapping and skin slapping together loudly. Harry hands were now thrown behind his own head, splayed haplessly across the desk, tired from scratching down Nick’s back. When he pulled his hand back to wipe at his hair, he could see a bit of blood underneath his index finger nail. Harry’s stomach twisted, but he was in too much of a fucked-out daze that he just threw his hand back again.

Nick’s face was barely an inch away from Harry’s and he could see every single emotion, could feel each little breath of exertion that Nick grunted out. Nick’s eyes were closed for the most part, but after a particularly loud moan escapes from Harry, Nick’s eyes bore into Harry’s. It’s like he’s determined to watch Harry get fucked, watch the pinkness of his cheeks turn red, watch his eyes roll into the back of his head at a particularly well aimed thrust. Harry tries to come up for a kiss, but can’t find the energy to move his head. Nick manages to push down a bit, and they both extend their tongues, licking and swirling the other’s as Nick rocks into him.

"Nick," Harry whines, after a few more moments. "Wanna come. Gonna come."

Nick answers Harry by adjusting his position slightly, so he’s angled up. It’s uncomfortable to Nick, but it allows him to fuck against Harry’s prostate. Harry thinks he sees stars; he’s bouncing up and down, his back sweaty and he’s sort of squeaking on the wooden desk. As Nick’s cock slams against his prostate, again, and again, and again, Harry can’t help the moans that get steadily louder. His cock rubs against their stomach, slick with lube and with Harry’s come, that had never been given the chance to dry.

"God, fuck! Fuck! Nick, shit! Fuck! Right there!" Comes garbled out of Harry’s throat, though he’s not aware of him saying it. He’s panting, and whining, and writhing, and his moans are so loud that he’s practically screaming. He wouldn’t doubt if the people in the buildings around them could hear him, keening and pleading for Nick to fuck him, right there, over and over again.

The force of Harry’s second orgasm is explosive, feels like he’s been shaken to his bones. There’s not as much as the first time, but he’s sure that he’s being emptied this time. He coats their stomachs with his come, spurting until he’s dry but still trying to come some more. Nick’s eyes look rabid, like he’s been driven insane by just watching Harry’s orgasm, and he shifts back down to a more comfortable position as he goes faster than ever.

Harry’s so, so fucked out, as he lies there as Nick finds his own orgasm. The desk is moving underneath them, and Harry’s sure that the force of Nick’s thrusts are actually sliding them across the floor. Nick’s breathing heavy, gasps punctuated with small curses mixed with Harry’s name.

Harry clenches his hole, and with a last burst of effort, sinks his teeth down onto Nick’s collar. And that’s enough for Nick, who comes with a strangled cry as he shoots into Harry. Harry’s heart rate starts returning to normal as he waits for Nick to finish, slowly removing his ankles from the man’s shoulders. He hadn’t noticed before, but he had lost his glasses at some point. He could see alright without them, but he was very near sighted.

Nick finally pulls out with a slight wince, and he sighs happily. He kneels in between Harry’s thighs, for lack of a better place to go. Nick’s watching Harry’s arse still, maybe watching the come that dripping from his pulsing hole. It’s a weird sensation. Harry feels like a having a bath, especially since there’s this strange pain settling in his lower back.

"Well," Nick finally says. "You’re no quitter."

Laughter gushes out of Harry’s mouth. He convinces himself to sit up, his face screwing up in pain at the soreness in his bottom. He sits up, legs still around Nick. He doesn’t say a word, just mashes their lips together in a breathless kiss, hoping it would get across both his thanks for two amazing orgasms, the best fuck of his life, and a request to do it again later.

Nick’s right hand comes up, to softy caress Harry’s cheek. Harry thinks it’s a good sign.

Nick pulls away, smiling goofily at him. There’s something distant growing in Nick’s eyes, like his mind is already starting to drift elsewhere. He pushes back, to stand back up on the ground.

Before Nick gets too far, Harry reaches forward and tugs at Nick’s cock. He winces away, an outraged look on his face.

"That’s what you get," Harry smiles, fluttering his eyelashes.

Nick barks a laugh, rolling his eyes at the boy. He turns around to collect his towel he has tucked into a drawer, and Harry takes a moment to admire his handiwork on Nick’s back. It’s a mess of bright red scratches, and Harry doesn’t feel bad about it for a second.

Nick wipes himself down, as best as he can, before tossing the towel at Harry to copy. Harry stands, and they dress in silence, but it’s not exactly awkward. Nick seems like he’s thinking hard about something, and Harry’s in a state of freshly fucked bliss. He can barely remember his name.

Harry quickly surveys the room when he’s finished getting dressed. It’s an absolute mess, the couch spattered in come and lube, but Nick’s already somehow straightened up his desk for the most part. He hasn’t put his dress shirt back on, but he’s otherwise dressed and presentable, if you excused the deflated hair. He’s sat down behind his desk, already scribbling something down on a piece of paper that Harry can’t see.

Harry stands once again in the door way. “Erm,” he says, already reverting to his regular, shy self. “I’ll get the paperwork finished tomorrow.”

Nick looks up from his paper. “It’s alright, take your time.” He smiles, tightly. “Have a nice night, Harry.”

"Yeah, you too Nick." Harry waits for another moment, to see if Nick would say anything else. But the man has already started writing again, so Harry departs.

When Harry’s safely tucked into a cab outside, he looks back to their floor. He can still see the light on in Nick’s window.