Archive of Our Own ^beta

Aimee and Remi crowd around Aimee's iPhone, watching their special Henry-Dave Wedding rendition of ‘Nothing Breaks Like a Heart’ intently.

“Come watch, babes.” Remi waves Nick over. “She got you dancing on the table, too."

Nick glances back at Mesh, then ushers him over, too.

"It's alright.” Mesh shakes his head. “You can Airdrop it to me later."

Nick waggles his eyebrows and reaches out for Mesh’s arm. “Don’t want to miss out on Aimee’s fresh moves…”

Mesh goes and joins their little bubble, and Aimee shifts the screen so he can see.

Nick budges over to make room, keeping his hand on Mesh’s back. He watches as Mesh’s eyes flicker over the screen, dancing with amusement as he watches the video of them dancing.

“Can we just discuss that makeup, though?” Remi laughs. “Aims, your skin is flawless.”

“Yeah, your whole look is bomb,” Mesh says, nodding.

“Thanks.” Aimee shrugs. “It’s a miracle I found a dress without baby food stains.”

“Stop…” Remi rolls her eyes. “You’re a bloody dreamboat and you know it.”

And then they start chatting concealers and beauty blenders and while Nick keeps watching them, he mostly stops listening. Aimee props her elbow on Mesh's shoulder, her gaze flitting back and forth from him to Remi as they talk.

As one song fades into the next, Mesh catches Nick’s eyes. It’s a slow song—the Lady Gaga cover of ‘Cheek to Cheek’—and Remi immediately grabs Aimee, pulling her close.

“Guess I’m stuck with you,” Nick says, taking Mesh’s hand.

“Sure?” Mesh grins. “Still time before the bridge to steal Aimee away.”

“Our heights are better suited anyway.” Nick interlocks their fingers. That much he remembers: hands clasped, arms out, elbows bent.

 Nick puts his other hand on Mesh’s shoulder, and they get tangled, with Mesh reaching for his shoulder at the same time.

“Forgot where the hands go.” Nick laughs. “Clearly I’ve not slow-danced in… Well, really, ever.”

“That much is clear.” Mesh smiles at him. “We’ll cope together, yeah?”

Mesh keeps Nick’s hand on his shoulder, and settles his hand on Nick’s waist. Even with Mesh leading, their swaying doesn’t match the music, and Nick can’t stop giggling.

“Is this romantic to you?” Nick makes a face. “Feels like I’m back at year four dance class—short lived, obviously—but worse.”

“Your rhythm was so good with Remi, though,” Mesh says. “Real natural.”

“Yeah, ten years’ practice with her helps,” Nick says, continuing with a sly grin. “Give you a run for your money one day.”

“You’ll be a better dancer than me?” Mesh says. “Because, I mean… I have seen you try.”

“No, I mean, we’ll get better together.” Nick laughs, going all warm inside. “We’ll get to Remi-Grim status in time.”

“I fancy your confidence.” Mesh smiles at him. “Always do.”

I try,” Nick says. He goes in to kiss Mesh’s cheek, and then stays there—cheek to cheek, how predictable—frozen with a gratitude so big, it overwhelms him.

All these years, he’d danced with his mates, with Remi and Pixie and everyone he loves. And all these years he’d watched them go off to their real partners, the ones they chose. It’d seemed like an impossible wish, having his own person to be with. Having love to relax into, arms to feel safe in.

But it’s real now. They’re at Henry’s bloody wedding—God, who knew Henners was such a romantic, everything about the wedding is beautiful, the flowers and the venue and their outfits, especially—and it’s not a dream for Nick anymore.

Nick gets to have this now. He chose Mesh and Mesh chose him.

“You smell like a Macy’s counter, baby.” Nick wrinkles his nose. “All those colognes and stuff. It’s…. not great.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t decide, so I put on half-dozen of yours.” Mesh shrugs. “And mine. Whatever was there in the bathroom.”

Nick pulls away, contemplating. "Actually, you smell more like a wealthy old man combined with Britney Spears."

"That's what I was going for." Mesh laughs.

"Reckon that might actually be a Britney Spears body spray."

"TK Maxx, £8.99."

"That's a steal.”

“I know.” Mesh grins outright. “Had to almost fight a lady for the last one.”

"I'm, like, actually proud right now." Nick wipes an imaginary tear from his eye. “Eileen would be, too. Bargain-hunting tugs at the Grimshaw heartstrings every time.”

"Did you see the glitter, baby?”

"There's glitter ?” Nick gasps. “I didn't even notice. You’re full of surprises.”

"Come look." Mesh laughs. He pushes his jacket away and unbuttons another shirt button, so Nick can see the sheen of glitter catching the light. Nick gets in quite close, for the best view.

"Sick." Nick steps back. "Smells good, too, like those candied oranges from Christmas."

"Weird, but... not no." Mesh straightens his jacket.

"Should see what Pixie thinks," Nick says, waving her over.

"Hiya," Pixie says. She's double-teaming champagne with a flute in each hand. She hands one to Nick. "This is for you guys, anyway."

"Thank you, darling." Nick takes a sip and giggles.

Pixie holds the other flute out to Mesh. He hesitates.

"You don't want it?" Mesh asks.

"Having a dry month, me," Pixie says. "And Henners hooked me up with my own bottle of Cedar's."

"Henners is a very very very good friend," Nick adds, taking a big gulp from the flute. He immediately belches.

Pixie laughs, because they’re both actually twelve.

"Why'd you call me over?"

"No emergency," Nick says, gearing up his jazzhands. "Just wanted to inform you that my boyfriend currently has the newest glitter body spray from Ms. Britney herself."

Mesh rolls his eyes. He does jazzhands, too. He's quite a good boyfriend, isn’t he.

"Ooh, that's sick," Pixie says. "I have all of them. Been collecting before I could even walk."

"We know." Nick gives Mesh a Look. "Baby Pepsi was very hip."

"Still is very hip," Mesh says. "Look at that get-up, fashionista."

Pixie strikes a pose before walking over to Mesh.  "Oof, that mix is pungent."

“It’s not , though,” Mesh protests.

"I see the glitter now," Pixie says, excited.

"S'quite pretty," Nick says. "Britney knows her stuff, doesn't she."

"You look nice. It’s a very natural look.” Pixie giggles.

Mesh rolls his eyes. "Are you lot done examining me?"

"Never." Nick giggles. "I saw it earlier, but just thought, dunno, you're just like that ."

"Sweating glitter, is it?" Mesh says.

"No," Nick says, laughing. "You're just shiny and pretty anyway. Like how I imagine Beyonce’ is at all times."

“Ooh, you have that dream, too?” Pixie says. “Where she’s a literal goddess?”

"Yes!” Nick cackles. "See, you bloody get me. This is why we're best friends."

Mesh looks back and forth between the two of them. "Did you spike your Cedar's, babes?"

"I didn't." Pixie laughs and waves him away. "I wanna try this body spray, you got it with you?"

Mesh makes a face. "Ah, I actually left—"

"The full size is at mine," Nick interjects. "But there's the travel size you brought. We'll go and, uh, check for it."

"It's calm, babes, I really don't think I have it."

Discreetly as he can, Nick grabs Mesh's hand and squeezes. "Come and check with me, would you, please?"

"Alright, weirdo." Mesh laughs. He follows Nick away from Pixie and the crowd and the dance floor.  He’s still holding the untouched champagne flute, clutching Nick’s hand with the other.

As the music gets softer, Mesh's giggle gets louder. "Where are we going?"

The lounge in the men's toilets is posh here, all these different shades of emerald green, soft ambient music, and cushy sofas. Be great for pushing a certain someone down onto and pouncing on him... 

 "Seriously, you alright?" Mesh says. "You know I don't have the body spray with me."

Nick glances into the other room. All the stalls are empty. They're alone. 

"We need a clearer signal," Nick says, putting his hands on Mesh's waist. 

"That was a signal? I thought you were just holding my hand."

"Exactly. Not like we go and disappear in toilets to cop off all the time, but—"

"I mean..." Mesh starts. He's counting on his fingers. "There was the pub, and the gay bar, and the other pub, and your Auntie Carmel's birthday..." 

"Stop keeping score," Nick says. "I have more important things to—"

"What's your very important thing, Grim?" 

" Finally ," Nick huffs. He puts his hands on Mesh's chest and brings him into a long kiss, like he's wanted to for hours.

Mesh's arms wrap around Nick, and he could all but melt.

"No, no, not here." Mesh pushes him away, giggling. "Too risky."

"Yeah, and Auntie Carmel's do wasn't too risky?" Nick crosses his arms. 

"Everyone was outside…” Mesh says, his eyes going wide and insistent. "There was a live Billie Holiday impersonator. Which we missed most of."

"We can go see Billie Holiday in London.” Nick rolls his eyes. "Just want to snog you a minute."

"Never just a minute with you, is it." Mesh smiles. "Never just snogging, either."

"Alright, that’s true..." Nick perks right up with an idea. "But what if I promise, though? I could do." 

Mesh gives him another one of those pointed looks, and they both know Nick's promise is useless. 

No way he'd be able to promise. Not with Mesh looking such a treat, and not with his own bright booze buzz. 

And certainly not a promise Nick could keep with the warm feeling in his belly that's been there all evening, the one he only gets when he's around Mesh, laughing with Nick's friends and treating absolute strangers like family.

(Maybe one day, they could be family.)

"Ugh, alright, alright. Can't promise." Nick groans. "But I'm not above a compromise."

“Very big of you.” Mesh smirks, but his eyes light right up.

“What have you got?” Nick laughs. “You’ve always got something.”

“Hmm.” Mesh props his chin on his hand theatrically, mulling it over.

Being told what to do usually brings out the rebellious side in Nick, his headstrong independence never too far from the surface. Can’t and shouldn’t and ought are words that make his hackles rise, his chest puff out brazenly. Reminds him of being fourteen and bickering with Pete over the puffy bright yellow anorak his dad insists will draw too much attention, neglecting the fact that drawing attention is the entire point.

So it's different with Mesh. Nick gets choices to pick from, not rules to follow. He’s still free within the structure. And in that trust is empowerment and excitement, the sort Nick’s always wanted.

Nick’s clear-headed as he watches Mesh go extra-quiet in thought, his shoulders relaxing with the freedom of giving Mesh control.

"How about five minutes of snogging now, if no one comes in.” Mesh puts his hands on Nick's shoulders. "Or lots of other things later, when I can take my time more."

“Mm.” Nick exhales. “That’s a tough call.”

“You’ll make the right choice,” Mesh says, breezy as anything.

Mesh turns to the mirror, taking the chance to smooth the collar of his white shirt and straighten his jacket. He looks better in Nick’s suit than he does, but Nick's not salty about it. It takes a certain kind of confidence to pull off a full-on diamond pattern and a green-gold shift in the fabric when the light hits it.

(Turns out, Mesh is that kind of man, with that kind of confidence. Nick quite fancies it.)

Nick heaves a sigh. “Hate saying it, but waiting till later does sound like more fun.”

“Good choice,” Mesh says. “I won’t drink any more. So I can be responsible and stuff.”

“I won’t drink either, then,” Nick says. “I’m… kind of pissed.”

“You know when you’ve had enough. I trust you.” Mesh’s brow furrows. “You can if you want to.”

“Yeah, but should I?” Nick raises his eyebrows, imploring.

“Oh.” Mesh smiles. “You should if you want to. I won’t decide that. But I want to pick your drink.”

“Yes,” Nick says, and he actually sighs, soft and content. “That’s dead romantic.”

“Flowers and chocolates are all overrated, reckon?”

“Um, no.” Nick scoffs. “I want flowers and chocs on all occasions. Even when it’s just a Tuesday.”

“Especially when it’s a Tuesday. I know.”

“But none of the chocs with nuts. And I’m not fussy, but I like roses best. Just so you know.”

“There we go.” Mesh laughs softly. “I’ll make a note for that.”

And Nick knows Mesh isn’t taking the piss. He loves making notes. Practically gets a stiffie over Google Calendar. Gross.

Mesh kisses Nick, long and lingering, with one hand on his throat.

“Mm.” Nick melts, his eyes fluttering. He loves when Mesh gets like this, and he’s so keyed-up it doesn’t much matter how soft the touch is. Just a little graze, a little nod to how Nick’s his, how they’ve made plans. Secret, sexy plans.

Nick doesn’t usually like rules, or plans, or secrets, but he finds himself warming to all three as they sneak a little kiss in the lounge. Not like they couldn’t snog on the dance floor, but certainly not like this—not with hands on throats and deep, delicious little noises and bodies pressed together as if for shelter. This is for the two of them.

Mesh leads Nick out back through the laughing, dancing wedding guests, heading straight to the bar.

The barman nods at them and asks, “What can I fix you?”

“Nothing for me, actually,” Mesh says. “Big night here, and have to be up at crack of dawn tomorrow.”

Nick bites his lip against a sneaky smile. He usually doesn’t encourage lying, either, but this here—It’s hot, having another shared secret with Mesh.

“I know the feeling.” The barman turns to Nick. “Anything for you?”

“He’d fancy a piña colada,” Mesh says.

“Sorry, mate, think we’re all out of coconut rum. Out of season and that.”

Mesh leans his palms on the bar and gives the barman his tried and true bedroom eyes.

“Would you have a look?” Mesh says. “I’d really appreciate the favour.”

The barman smiles back at him. “Aye, I can do. I’ll check.”

“Cheers,” Mesh says, watching as the barman kneels down, bottles clinking as he searches. Probably checking every dusty corner, him.

(Nick would, too, he was behind the bar and Mesh was the one asking.)

“What are you doing?”

“Doing this for you, idiot.” Mesh nudges Nick hard in the side.

“I don’t want a piña colada, though,” Nick says. “It’s December! Tropical drinks are fully out of season. And the barman thinks it strange, too. I can tell.”

“I’d be happy if you would drink it.” Mesh pauses, locking eyes with Nick. It’s a gaze not unlike the one he gave the barman. “You’d make me really happy.”

“Oh, don’t do that,” Nick says, even as he softens. “Don’t bloody charm me into it, Meshach. You know that always works.”

“Lucky day,” the barman says, popping back up. “Found a fresh bottle.”

“Appreciate it, bruv,” Mesh says, digging in his pocket for a fiver.

Nick wrinkles his nose as the barman wipes off the dust from the rum bottle. He’s quite thorough—Mesh does inspire a certain attentiveness—but the bottle is still cloudy and musty-smelling. Hopefully tastes better than it looks.

They watch as he tosses the ingredients in a blender and turns it on. All the strong tropical smells are combining and making Nick’s stomach turn. He’s not much for pineapple.

Mesh squeezes Nick’s arm and catches his eyes over the blender’s loud, rhythmic droning.

Nick’s face goes warm with the pleased little flush that comes from feeling looked-after. Being looked-after.

Nick isn’t keen on a tiki drink in the dead of winter; it just doesn’t make sense. Mesh knows, too, because he pays attention. He knows what little things Nick fancies and doesn’t fancy—and he fancies Nick enough to remember. And Nick goes weak in the knees for his attention most of all.

So when Nick is handed his drink, he takes a big, eager sip, and laughs despite himself.

“Alright, so it’s actually good.” Nick rolls his eyes. “Still don’t support it, as I’m not a savage, but decent enough. Refreshing.”

“Good.” Mesh plucks the maraschino cherry and the pineapple wedge from the rim of the glass. With his mouth full, he says, “That’s bare fresh.”

“Greedy,” Nick mutters, sipping his drink obediently.

Mesh holds the pineapple wedge out for Nick to eat the other half.

Nick rolls his eyes, but he leans in and takes it, letting Mesh’s fingers linger on his lips. He can be greedy, too.

There’s a throbbing beat overhead and the music gets louder, thrumming the opening bars of an unfamiliar Madonna song. It’s not a hyped single, much as a Madge song can be a deep cut. 

“You know this one?” Nick calls to Aimee.

“No clue,” Aimee says, dancing over to them with a big grin on her face.

Nick shrugs and grabs her hand, swaying with her and bringing Gillian in.

“Figures Alexa would pick this one nobody knows,” Gillian says in Nick’s ear, leaning in to be heard.

“Yeah.” Nick laughs. “S’good, though. Bouncy. Good vibes.”

And Nick’s buzzing, to be around all the people he loves, rubbing shoulders out of rhythm and making a show of it with them. He blows kisses to Alexa behind the turntable and nearly knocks over an actual table, which reminds him how much he likes being all high up, seeing everything and being seen.

Nick’s eyes lock on the long, sturdy table he and Aimee had hopped on earlier. He can’t hop on anything now with the drink in his hand, but there’s one problem with a simple solution.

Nick drinks every drop of the piña colada—slurping down to the crushed ice at the bottom—and hands the empty glass to Mesh, proud.

                                                                                                                                  --

The dogs are with Collette, so it’s nice, isn’t it, coming home to a quiet house.

Nice, and a bit strange, too—having the first floor so quiet Nick can hear every lulling thought in his head, like moths fluttering around a lightbulb.

“Here, keep still,” Nick says, grabbing onto Mesh’s shoulder to brace himself while he takes off his jacket. He holds it out to Mesh.

“So I’m just a coat rack now?" Mesh says. “Got it.”

“No, not just a coat rack.” Nick says. “A handsome, special coat rack with, um, oh—with stellar bone structure. Could go pro if dance don’t pan out.”

“Nice to know I’ve options,” Mesh says, taking Nick’s coat and shrugging off his own. “Wait, what are we talking about, again?”

“I’ve actually no idea.” Nick giggles. He reaches down to untie his trainers, and as he kicks them off, he staggers sideways.

Mesh grabs Nick round the middle, laughing, and steadies him. “Can’t bring you anywhere.”

“Aw, you caught me,” Nick says. “Is this a meet-cute now?”

Mesh doesn’t let go, even though Nick is feeling exceptionally steadied. “I think four months is too late for this to be a meet-cute.”

“That’s a rubbish rule.” Nick makes a face.

“Well, dunno, we’ve met and we’re quite cute, so maybe that counts.”

“Awww.” Nick reaches over his shoulder and pats Mesh’s cheek clumsily.

“Do you know the rules of meet-cute?” Mesh asks. “Because I don’t.”

“No,” Nick says, sighing as Mesh fumbles one of his shirt buttons open. “But I’ll, um, l’ll ask Gells.”

“Seems like she’d be the expert,” Mesh says, resting his hand on Nick’s belly through the gap in the buttons. It’s very distracting.

“Yeah, she’s the expert on lots of things.” Nick puts his hand over Mesh’s hands, swaying gently in place.

Gillian was there with them earlier, when ‘Nothing Breaks Like a Heart’ was playing. Nick had flounced up the stairs and into Mesh’s arms.

Mesh held him, and Nick had held him back, them both pressed against each other—the exact way they are now. Nick can’t remember what anybody had to say about it, but he remembers Remi’s blurry, beaming grin, and Aimee’s enthusiastic shouting.

It meant a lot to have Mesh there at the wedding, and they knew, of course they knew. They'd been there with him through the solo years, the slag years, and everything in between. And now this. 

Mesh tilts his head and kisses Nick’s neck. Maybe they’re thinking the same thing.

Nick sighs, leaning into it. When he sighs again, it ends in a big yawn. “Wow, s’got real late.”

“Yeah, it’s half two.” Mesh unwinds himself from Nick and turns to face him. “Still on, are we? For the plan.”

“The grand plan.” Nick giggles. “Yes, though—Very yes. Very keen, I am.”

“I won’t wear you out too much, promise.”

“Oh, go right on. We’ll need to have words if you don’t.”

Mesh snorts a laugh. “Your eyes are always bigger than your belly, swear down.”

“I certainly would hope so…” Nick says, scoffing. 

“Not what I meant.” Mesh groans. “Come on.”

Nick follows Mesh downstairs to the kitchen, holding onto the wall for balance.

Mesh flicks the lights on and turns to Nick, pushing him up against the wall with both hands on his shoulders.

Nick goes breathless as Mesh kisses him, dizzy at the thought of finally, finally having him. Mesh likes to build up in intensity, starting small, so it strikes Nick whenever he shifts from that. It’s nice, though—safe here to be disoriented and dizzy and a bit off his head.

But maybe the whole night’s been their slow burn. Maybe this all started when Mesh held Nick’s hand in church for the ceremony, and passed him a box of tissue before he had to ask, catching wind of his quiet, joyful weeping before anybody else had.  

Maybe it started when Mesh offered his seat beside Nick in the dining room to Agy, who’d not seen Nick in absolute yonks—her words—and wanted to catch up. Or maybe it started when they’d both made faces at Peggy, Henry’s dog, to get her looking towards the camera, so she could be included in the official wedding photos.

Hard to say, really, where Nick’s longing for Mesh had truly started. It’s always there with him, like his shadow or his fingerprints. The way they’re drawn to each other, the way it’s just easy—it’s hard to believe he’d ever been without.

Nick kisses Mesh in kind, open-mouthed, with both hands around the back of his neck and cradling his head to keep him close. Mesh is strong, but he’s slight and slender, so it’s kind of amazing how contained and quiet Nick feels being held, kept in place by the bracket of Mesh’s arms.

Mesh’s touch is firm and unwavering, a touch that isn’t asking, and it makes Nick go all soft to be taken care of, the racing thoughts in his head ebbing so he can focus on the slow, hot rhythm of their mouths and the arch of his own back, adjusting his posture instinctively so he’s tilting up to meet Mesh, the way he should be. Nights like these, he should be humble. Or at least try.

Mesh touches the flower in Nick’s lapel, the carnation pedals scratching softly between his fingers.

“It’s a fake boutonniere,” Nick says, pulling away. “So you could gag me with it and it’d just taste like fabric. In case you were wondering.”

“Such a pervert.” Mesh laughs. “Not subtle, either.”

“Were you not thinking that, too?” Nick says, tilting his head.

“I wasn’t, but now I am.” Mesh laughs. “Speak more French to me.”

“I know no other French words. Literally, that’s all. Aside from, maybe, how to say ‘More wine, please’.”

“Of course.” Mesh laughs, and he lets it fade out into a devious little smirk. “So, tell me: what have you been thinking?”

“Just, you know, standard thoughts. Blowjobs in the loo, blowjobs in the cab, blowjobs in the front hall and maybe the garden, if it wasn’t December…”

“Got a one-track mind, don’t you.”

“Maybe, but I’m flexible, too.” Nick shrugs. “So long as it’s with you, I’m keen.”

“Oh.” Mesh softens. The sincerity has Mesh taken aback, the surprise clear in his wide eyes. “You’re so sweet.”

“Show you how sweet I am…” Nick waggles his eyebrows.

Mesh groans. “Ruined it.”

Nick laughs, low in his throat. He reaches for Mesh’s belt, but he fumbles, and it gives Mesh just enough time to pause Nick’s progress.

“Not yet, baby,” Mesh says. “Didn’t ask permission.”

“Can I, then?”

“There’s a few things to do first, love.”

Nick’s face falls. "But I’ve been waiting so long."

"You’ve been waiting ages, I know, and you’ve been so good. I also know how much you really fancy that suit. It’s white, and you just got it."

“Eggshell or cream, more like. But whatever, you’re right.” Nick scoffs. "I take in my dry-cleaning twice a week, though.”

“There’s no way I’m letting you get your fave cream Gucci suit all dusty.”

“But I sweep,” Nick says. “All the time. I’m such a proper housewife.”

Mesh rolls his eyes. “If you want to play like that, at least be honest. You just clean what’s obvious.”

“I’ll be careful. Sooo careful,” Nick says, routing the conversation away from chores. “Ugh, you look so good and I just want to—”

“I’ll still be here in five minutes.” Mesh is infuriatingly composed as he says it.

“We don’t even have to shag right here,” Nick says, a note of desperation in his voice. “I don’t have to be on the floor.”

"So you're bargaining now?" Mesh crosses his arms, smiling.

"I’ve got a whole house full of other places—couches and chairs, and—oh, how about the Bowie chair? Bet Bowie’s ghost would be proper keen on us doing things in his chair.”

 “You know Bowie didn’t die, love, he just went back to his home planet."

"I agreed." Nick laughs. "We talked about this."

"Yeah." Softer, Mesh says, "You're missing the point, baby."

“Oh.” Nick goes quiet as it hits him. "You're not asking."

"Nope." Mesh smiles. "I'm not asking."

“Right.” Nick nods, relaxing as he remembers his place—remembers that here, for once, he doesn’t call the shots. Nick asks, “What should I do?”

“That’s better,” Mesh says. He takes Nick’s hand and leads him across the room, to the armchairs and the dining table.

“Are we going outside?” Nick asks, glancing through the French doors at his garden. Pitch-black out there. “Should get a jacket.”

“Oh, my god. You’re ridiculous.” Mesh laughs. “We’re staying right here. I’m gonna take off your clothes, piece by piece, and you’ll fold them. Neatly.”

Nick nods and swallows hard, his mouth watering. An excited buzz of electricity goes through him, at the same buzz he’d felt at the wedding. They’re even closer to the scene Mesh had promised. All on the horizon, if he’s good.

“Alright?” Mesh says. He’s still got a hold of Nick’s hand, and he sways it between them.

“So, like I work at Topshop, is it?” Nick lets out a breath, still buzzing a bit.

"Yes, but a sexier version, if you can imagine.”

“I’ve imagined it many times, actually.” Nick laughs. “Chores isn’t what I signed up for tonight.”

“Oh, is it not?” Mesh huffs a laugh. "So you want all the reward without having to earn it.”

Nick hums. “Essentially, yes.”

"Are you gonna be good, or are you gonna be greedy?"  

"Can’t be both?"

"Nope." Mesh laughs, low in his throat.

“That’s unfortunate.”

Mesh hums smugly and closes the space between them. His mouth meets Nick’s neck, his hands settling on Nick’s chest as he goes for the top buttons of his shirt.

“Maybe you have a point,” Nick murmurs, going soft and appreciative at the attention. He fidgets with his cufflinks, uncertain.

“You can touch me if you want,” Mesh says. He’s attentive like that, even when he isn’t looking at Nick. “But talk, too. Tell me about tonight.”

“What about tonight?” Nick asks, closing his eyes and settling his hand on the back of Mesh’s neck. “I have a lot of opinions on the food.”

“Tell me why you were so bloody keen earlier.” Mesh is going slow with the buttons, like he’s well serious about Nick earning his keep.

Nick goes quiet again as he tries to put it into words—what it was like to see Mesh’s charm and chatter play out as it did, how it was to witness him in his element here just as much as when he performed at Sadler’s.

Mesh allows it, nuzzling and sucking softly at the side of Nick’s neck. After a few seconds, he says, “And then you can tell me about the food.”

“Fair do.” Nick laughs, relieved. It doesn’t have to be perfect. Mesh doesn’t want it to be perfect—he just wants Nick.

“Well, first off, your whole look tonight was just … perfect. I mean, you always are perfect—sort of gross, actually—but you go for a sporty butch thing, with maybe some pink for colour, you know?”

“Definitely Sporty Spice,” Mesh says, nodding. “Go on.”

“But tonight, like, you pulled it off, and you made it look sexy, and—and not everybody can pull off an outfit like that, but you bloody nailed it, and—It just made me really, almost proud of you? Proud to be with you.”

“Thanks.” Mesh hums. “Proud of what?”

“Like, your confidence, in wearing what you did and making it look so good, and that I was with you, that I got to be, since you’re so fit and sexy and, like, amazing—”

Mesh stops, and he meets Nick’s eyes. “You are, too, though.”

“Oh, I know. But we’re not talking about me, for once.”

“Yeah, it’s a change.” Mesh laughs softly. He goes in and kisses Nick, unclenching his hands to let the shirttails of Nick’s unbuttoned, floral-print dress shirt fall loose.

And maybe Nick does know all those things Mesh thinks of him, and maybe he forgets, but it’s always nice to be reminded, and he feels warm inside as he kisses Mesh back, cupping his face.

Mesh moans softly and closes the space between them, coming closer and wrapping his arms around Nick. He clutches Nick’s waist, under the jacket but over the shirt, so Nick can feel the warmth of his hands through the thin fabric, the intensity of his grasp, the way the warmth fades as Mesh lets him go.

“Your clothes still need folding…” Mesh reminds him, pulling away. He slides Nick’s shirt and suit jacket off.

Nick’s been gearing up for another sassy comment, but he goes quiet when Mesh slides his top and jacket off.

Nick lays it out on the dining table, knowing full well a proper suit should be hung up instead. But maybe this is part of what Mesh finds joy in—the obedience of it, same as the tiki drink from earlier. Overcoming his prior notions for the greater good, or whatever.

“Great corners, you did,” Mesh says, running his hand over Nick’s handiwork, appraising like a snobby Topshop customer would. It doesn’t feel like that, though. “Good job.”

“Thanks,” Nick says. He goes fuzzy at the praise, and he grabs the edge of a chair to steady himself. The rum buzz has faded, so he knows it’s all Mesh. Hard to not be captivated—downright eager and willing—when it comes to him.

“What you said was good, too,” Mesh says. “Go on, but maybe more slowly. You’re all running together when you speak. You don’t need to be anxious.”

“I don’t need to be...” Nick smirks. “But I can be, if I want to.”

“You can be whatever you’d like.” Mesh laughs. “I just think maybe you’d have more fun doing things my way.”

“I do trust you.” Nick hums, thoughtful. “And your imagination.”

“Show me that you do, then,” Mesh says, reaching for Nick’s trouser flies. “Keep talking, love.”

And it’s not the easiest thing for Nick to do, to speak slow and clear past the lump in his throat he’s gulping around as Mesh’s hands skate over his hips, lingering at the top of his trousers. But he tries, because being vulnerable the way Mesh is asking—well, it’s the only thing standing between him and their sneaky, sexy plans.

“The other thing, also, is like—being someone’s plus-one, to a wedding especially, it can be sort of—It’s a weird thing, isn’t it? It’s a weird place to be. But I asked you to go with me, and you were so keen, like you’d been mates with Henry for ages, instead of meeting him at a dinner once, and in Amsterdam—”

“Henry and I got deep in Amsterdam, alright. Dave, too,” Mesh adds, his hands still hovering on Nick’s thighs, keeping his trousers up with his zip down.

“Yeah, suppose we all got pretty deep.” Nick snorts a laugh. “So I was a bit surprised you said yes—but, like, dead happy you were going. Obvs. And then, just, being with you all night and having so much fun, and seeing how much fun everyone was having with you—if I’m honest, that made me proud, too. It’s sort of—been a while since I’ve been with someone who brings that out in me, if that makes sense? And I had a proper good time with you.”

“Oh, you’re getting me all emo now…” Mesh says. He goes in to hug Nick, releasing his hold on Nick’s waist. Nick’s trousers fall to the floor, pooling at his ankles.

“Sure the trousers getting on the floor eventually was part of the plan,” Nick says, stepping out of them, still with his arms around Mesh.

“Just keeping you on your toes,” Mesh says. “Can’t be too predictable.”

Nick snorts a laugh. He feels heat rising to his face, too much for even a snide return comment. Stood here in his pants, with Mesh fully dressed, it’s starkly clear that Mesh is in control here.

Still, Nick feels powerful, the way Mesh’s affection always makes him feel. He also feels small. Small and taken care of.

“I wasn’t really expecting you to say so much,” Mesh says. “That’s more my thing, you know? But I’m glad you did, and glad I went and… I always have a good time with you. Tonight was just extra good.”

“Was that good, then?”

“So bloody good,” Mesh says. “Better than I’d have asked for.”

“Doing chores is fun and that…” Nick starts out, gesturing vaguely to his lower half. “Can we get to the sexy bits?”

“Yes, but—” Mesh says. “You really you didn’t like slowing down a minute?”

“Ugh, yes, fine.” Nick scoffs. “Fine, I did, you’re right that I needed it. I’m ready for other things now.”

“You’ve been ready.” Mesh scoffs, too, but he looks pleased.

“Bowie chair, then.” Nick’s already turning in the direction of the stairs.

“No, you lunatic.” Mesh laughs. “You have the armchairs here, I’ve preed it out.”

“I’ve proper committed to the Bowie chair now, Meshach.”

“That’s too bad,” Mesh says. “Seeing as you don’t get to pick.”

Nick huffs, but holds his gaze. “Rude.”

“What’s your vibe?” Mesh asks.

“Sorry, my what?” Nick says.

“What are you thinking? Or, like, what mood?”

Nick thinks for a second. “Slutty.”

"Like a slag, then.”

“No, a slut."

"What’s the difference, baby?”

"A slag just, like, has loads of sex,” Nick says. “And a slut does, too, but being slutty means enjoying the fact of it, more? Owning it, you know?"

“Oh, yeah. I know. And I like how you say slut. All deep and stuff.” Mesh leans in closer. "Tell me what sluts fancy."

Nick shrugs. "Sucking cock, mostly."

Mesh laughs. “Go on, then. You’ve earned it.”

“Right here?” Nick asks.

“Yeah.” Mesh shrugs, like finally giving this to Nick this isn’t a big deal, like right here isn’t what he’s gone ages asking for. 

Nick scrambles down to his knees. His fingers twitch, but he remembers, so he stills them.

“Good boy,” Mesh says, laughing softly. “No hands just yet.”

Preening so much at being called good, Nick’s not even bothered. He stays quiet and good, watching Mesh reach for his belt, listening close to the swish of the leather from the belt loops, as satisfying and mouth-watering as the crack of a cold can of lager.

Mesh sits in the blue armchair, still fully dressed in Nick's patterned suit.

Nick swallows hard, heat pooling in his belly. "You know, I met Diplo in this suit.”

“Is it your good luck charm, then?" Mesh says.

“Well, now it definitely is.”

“Ha.” Mesh clutches Nick’s shoulder. “Come closer.”

Mesh pats his thighs, urging Nick closer like he’s a pet, and it’s patronizing, and kind of ludicrous, but—like flipping a fucking switch, Nick’s instantly hard and squirming. 

Nick feels weird and hazy and distant as he brings his hands to Mesh’s thighs. He does it without thinking, blinking slow and relaxed.

"Tease me," Mesh says, confidence in his voice.

“You’re so demanding.” Nick grins, eyeing the bulge in Mesh's trousers.

"You comfy down there?" Mesh says. Topping and that, but he’s still taking the mick.

"Dead comfy,” Nick says, shifting to take the strain off his knees. "Are you, though? You're like, on the edge of the cushion."

"I could be more comfy." Mesh shrugs.

"Why don't you sit back?" Nick reaches out with a hand on Mesh’s knee; the encouragement comes as naturally as that smirk in Mesh’s voice.

"Didn't want you to get a crick in your neck."

"I haven't even started, Mesh.”

“Don't worry about me, okay?” Mesh laughs. “I'm good. Just enjoy yourself."

But Mesh does sit back, knees spread, back against the cushion. It’s a blatant encouragement for Nick to go ahead, if Nick’s ever seen one, so he reaches for Mesh, unzipping his flies and pulling Mesh's cock out.

“No teasing over the pants?” Mesh says. “That’s your thing, isn’t it.”

“Oh, no—sluts hate pants.”

"Just one more thing," Mesh says. "Open your mouth."

Nick's mouth waters as Mesh rubs his cock over his lips, his whole body poised in anticipation. He sticks out his tongue to taste, and there's the bitter slick of precome, making his mouth water even more.

"Ugh, that's so fucking hot, Nick." Mesh laughs, breathless. "You're so good."

Nick replaces Mesh's hand with his own, stroking his cock with a tight grasp. He sighs dreamily. "You're so hard already."

"It's all you." Mesh laughs. "Seeing you vulnerable gets me all keyed up."

"No kidding." Nick finally takes Mesh's cock in his mouth, reveling in the weight on his tongue and the stretch in his jaw as Mesh's cock hits the back of his throat. He feels it in his gut when Mesh's breath catches, and that spurs him on to take Mesh deeper, wanting more. Nick's knees ache, but he's exactly where he needs to be: on his knees in front of Mesh, confessing his love.

"There's so much texture that I, like, never really thought about," Nick says, still stroking Mesh's cock.

"I reckon you're actually being mindful,” Mesh says. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Nick grins. “Mocking me, are you, darling?”

“Only a little.” Mesh stifles a laugh. “Tell me about the sensation, though."

"You want me to write you an essay on the feel of your dick, is it?"

“No, but that’s a good idea.” Mesh giggles. “Just want some input from my very good boyfriend.”

Nick’s face goes pink and hot. "Maybe you should write me an essay on how it feels. Since you're the one getting the MA."

"Yeah, I’ll work on that," Mesh says. "What were you saying?”

"All's I'm saying is… dicks are amazing. And yours is, like, especially amazing."

"No need to flatter me, already got my pants off."

"Unbutton your shirt," Nick says. "I want to touch you."

"I will." Mesh is already reaching for his top button. "But I'm going to tie your hands."

"No fun." Still, Nick goes soft inside at the confidence in Mesh's voice; Mesh knows he needs structure to fully sink into the moment.

Mesh grabs the tie he'd laid over the chair when they'd got home. It's silk and Mesh ties it tightly around Nick's wrists, finishing with a flourish: a bow.

"I needed that," Nick admits, tucking his hands down in his lap. There's still enough room for him to touch himself, when it's time.

"I know. You're not as mysterious as you reckon you are."

Nick snorts a laugh. "Here I thought I was."

Nick goes quiet as he watches Mesh undo his buttons, drinking in his beautiful bare skin with just his eyes. Mesh's abs ripple, framed by the open white shirt.

Mesh reaches out, cupping the back of Nick's head. "Go on."

Nick lets Mesh guide him down, back to his cock. He sucks him slower this time, wanting Mesh to feel the same sense of anticipation he does. Nick moans round Mesh's cock, covered in goosebumps as Mesh strokes his hair. Mesh's cock throbs as Nick gets into his rhythm, going deep and pulling back, over and over. Nick grins through a shaky breath, chest soaring with the feeling of true submission.

Mesh scratches the top of Nick’s head, and the itchy sensation breaks his focus. Nick brings Mesh’s hand down to the back of his neck for some pressure.

“Harder,” Nick says, before he remembers to add, “Please.”

"I've got you," Mesh says, affirming Nick's request.

“Would you, um—gag me more, maybe?” Nick asks. “I know I usually don’t like it, but.”

“Sure, yeah,” Mesh says, putting his hand back on the crown of Nick’s head.

It’s a welcome, guiding, heavy pressure, and Nick goes in, sucking down the length of Mesh’s cock, going as far down as is comfortable. And then he lets Mesh do the rest, thrusting deeper than that, hitting Nick right in the back of his throat. The loss of control is dizzyingly good, magic there even in the wet sound of Nick retching and the sharp, reflexive way he pulls back to breathe.

Nick grabs Mesh’s knees to steady himself, and outright grins up at him.

“More?” Mesh says, cupping Nick’s chin gently.

Nick nods, swallowing a mouthful of spit and wiping his mouth off with the flat of his palm.

“You can be sloppy,” Mesh says, carefully guiding both of Nick’s hands back down. “If you want to. Can always clean up later.”

Nick shrugs and nods his head, yes. There’s something more confident, more intentional about the way Mesh cradles his head, like this is the place his hand has always belonged. And it’s soppy—sentimental, even—to think, but maybe this is the place Nick has always belonged: knelt in front of Mesh with knees bruised from the hardwood, grazing the velvet of the blue armchair and clutching Mesh’s thighs, with his cock buried deep, taking what he can and then some; taking what Mesh can give, and then some.

Nick’s stomach churns as he pulls back to suck in a breath, spit smeared on his cheek, grabbing Mesh’s knee for stability.

“You want more?” Mesh says, beginning to shift in the chair. “Here, I’ll move, for, like, leverage.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Nick murmurs. There’s a big silly grin all of a sudden, lighting up his face. “That was good. That was all I wanted.”

Nick gazes up at Mesh, catching his eyes as he kisses the head of Mesh's cock with an open mouth. His chest flushes hot with the vulnerability of it, looking straight up with his mouth wide round the head of Mesh's cock.

"Do it again?"

"Quite porny, isn't that." Nick bugs his eyes out, eager to distract from his own pink cheeks.

"Oh, my God." Mesh laughs. "Can you chill for once in your life?"

"I'm never chill, Mesh."

"I'm not talking about looking at me the entire time," Mesh says. "Just a little, you know, a little glance."

Nick gets his mouth back on Mesh, glancing up toward those big brown eyes that make him melt.

"You like it, too," Mesh says.

"I do," Nick admits, laughing weakly. Mesh has this gentle way of getting him to admit to things. It doesn't feel awkward, just safe and true. 

“Yeah? Feeling slutty?”

“Mm, so slutty.” Nick’s eyes glaze over, his mouth all slack and wet and eager. And it’s ridiculous and obscene how it makes him feel—how just the word, just hearing it from Mesh’s mouth—makes all other thoughts leave his head.

Nick feels Mesh's cock go soft in his mouth, just a little, but enough that Mesh huffs softly in frustration. Nick ducks down to his bollocks, gently sucking one and then the other. Usually, it makes Mesh's legs shake. Nick's eager to please, so he sucks a little harder, and even so, Mesh goes soft.

"Too much," Mesh says.

"Should I do something different?" Nick says, fidgeting with the silk bow on his makeshift handcuffs.

"No, it's no use," Mesh says, an edge to his voice. He reaches down to stroke himself, his shoulders tense. He lets out another quiet sigh of frustration.

"It's alright," Nick says, nuzzling against Mesh's knee. The wool is scratchy against his face, but he can feel Mesh's warmth. 

Mesh goes quiet, his brow furrowed and his mouth set in a hard line.

Nick makes an executive decision. He loosens his restraints and stands up. There's enough room on the velvet loveseat for them both, so he curls up beside Mesh and kisses him. He lays one hand on Mesh's chest and sets another on Mesh's thigh without expectation.

Mesh kisses him back, just once before he turns his head away.

Nick follows, kissing him behind his ear and down his neck. Mesh shudders before he relaxes into it, turning back for another kiss.

"I'm going to try something." Nick spits in his palm and gently touches Mesh's cock, meandering over the veins and curves, trying to remind him that soft cocks are fun to play with. "Doesn't that feel good?"

"It's not working." Still, Mesh's eyes are glazed-over and there's a smile teasing his lips.

Nick laughs softly. "That wasn't what I asked."

"Yeah, it does," Mesh says. 

Mesh reaches for Nick's other hand, entwining their fingers as Nick strokes him softly with his other hand with a teasing sort of touch. His breath catches when Nick licks his ear, lingering on his earlobe and exhaling right against his skin. Nick traces a line down with his tongue, wandering along the curve of Mesh's neck. Slowly, Nick brings his hand lower, cupping Mesh's bollocks, holding them gently in his hand. He caresses Mesh's cock with the tips of his fingers, careful not to add too much pressure. This is about enjoyment, not a destination.

Mesh moves his leg, pressing right up against Nick's crotch, where he's so hard he's squirming. The friction is welcome, and Nick sighs as he rubs up against Mesh, face tucked in against his neck.

"You can touch yourself," Mesh says, sitting up straighter. "I want you to touch yourself. Slow, at first. But don't stop kissing me."

"I never will," Nick says, grinning. He so fancies being told what to do.

Nick gets a hand round his cock and moans at his own touch, bringing Mesh in for another long kiss.

Mesh replaces Nick's hand, wrapping his own hand around his cock. "Feel good to touch yourself, baby?"

"So good," Nick says, panting against Mesh's neck. His face goes hot at the tenderness in Mesh's voice. The way he's confident and in-control makes him melt. Nick squeezes his cock on the upstroke, careful not to go too fast. He wants to be obedient and good.

"You've such a nice cock," Mesh says, cupping Nick's cheek. He kisses Nick slow and lingering, heat pooling in Nick's belly. "I wish I could feel it in my mouth."

"There's still time," Nick says, wagging his eyebrows.

"Cheeky." Mesh smiles. "No, this is better. I fancy you touching yourself this way. It's hot."

Nick's cock throbs as their lips touch again, his mouth opening for Mesh's tongue to rub against his. He moans against Mesh's mouth as he strokes himself, steady, spit-slick, with a tight grip.

"A little faster," Mesh says, and Nick can see he's touching himself faster, too. It's weirdly romantic, to touch himself at the same pace as Mesh. Feels like they're in-sync at every level.

Mesh leans forward and bites Nick on the shoulder, hard enough to bruise. The pain is wonderful, making Nick's chest flush pink and his mind go blessedly blank.

"More," Nick says. "Please."

Mesh bites a path down Nick's shoulder, each bit of pain making Nick ever more hard as he squeezes his eyes shut from the intensity.

"Looks like you're close," Mesh says, a smile in his voice. Nick can only whimper. "Go on, then. Come for me."

Nick moans as he feels his orgasm start to build. Mesh kisses him through it, Nick panting into his mouth as he comes.

"You're the best boyfriend." Nick grins. "Best Top, too."

"Only because you're the best boyfriend and best Bottom."

"Don't deflect..."

"I'm just being honest. You are." Mesh smiles. "Speaking of, ah—I'm getting close, reckon."

"Would you come..." Nick trails off, his throat tight, his face hot. He can't get the words out.

"Sorry, what?"

"Not begging." Nick scoffs, blushing even more.

"No, I just." Mesh laughs softly. "I genuinely didn't hear you, baby."

"Right, right." Nick drops Mesh's eyes. "Would you, um—on my face?"

"Of course," Mesh says. "Get down, then."

Nick scrambles down to the floor, stood up on his knees.

Mesh stands up and Nick moves closer, his hands behind his back.

"Oh, wow, you're dead into this." Mesh laughs. He cups the back of Nick's head with authority, bringing him closer.

Mesh comes with a startled little sigh, his moans joining Nick's as he shudders through it. Wound tight, Nick's entire body relaxes at Mesh's orgasm, savoring the feeling of warm spunk spurting on his face. It's filthy and magnificent. 

Nick sighs contentedly as he catches his breath. Mesh strokes the back of his neck with a gentle hand.

"Where did that come from?" Mesh says, breathless. "I mean, not like I'm complaining."

"I've no idea,” Nick says, keeping his eyes squeezed shut.

“You can tell me when you figure it out, if you want."

“Can do,” Nick says. He tries to open his eyes, and they’re burning, bad. And watering, somehow, at the same time. “See, I knew there was a reason I didn't do facials."

“Did you close your eyes?” Mesh says, walking over to the sink.

“Of course I closed my eyes, idiot.” Nick huffs, clutching his face.

“Here, I’ll…” Mesh gets up, tousling Nick’s hair as he walks toward the sink.

Nick gives a half-hearted scowl in his direction, watching him pad past the marble kitchen counter. "Better cuddle me like a real man."

"A real man, is it?" Mesh scoffs a laugh. "I do feel a little more manly."

"Well, good, because there goes the career. Fun while it lasted, wasn't it..."

"You're not gonna go blind." Mesh laughs. “How d’you reckon think porn stars do it, then?”

“I don’t know, Meshach.” Nick scoffs. “Take their contacts out first, maybe?”  

“You’ll be fine. I’m sure.”

Nick wrinkles his nose, wiping off his face. “Hey, would you google what to do if spunk—”

“I’m not googling that.”

“Hey, Alexa,” Nick calls, clutching the paper towels. “Open Google, please, and tell me what to do if sp—”

“Fucking hell.” Mesh groans. “I’ll get my phone.”

“Thank you.”

Mesh sits down on the floor across from Nick, phone in hand.

“Alright, so, like I thought…” Mesh hums. “Just flush your eyes out, like you normally would, and you’ll be good. Okay?”

“Okay.” Nick laughs weakly, more relieved than he’d like to admit.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah.” Nick shrugs. “Never mind the going blind thing, then.”

Mesh scoffs softly and offers a hand to help Nick up. He wraps his arms around Nick, tucking his face in against Nick's neck.

"Do you need anything?" Mesh says.

“I’ve got it,” Nick says, waving him away.  “I, actually—Could I have a minute alone?”

“Sure. Be up soon?”

“Yeah.” Nick nods. “Thanks.”

Nick goes up the stairs, breathing a sigh of relief at being alone for a moment. It had taken a bit for them to catch on, but Nick fancies a moment to himself after nights like these.

Nick pads over to the en-suite and fumbles out his contacts. His eyes are a little blood-shot, but he knows it’ll pass, and he breathes easier knowing he’ll have Mesh to make excuses for him at brunch tomorrow. He puts on some sweats and climbs into bed. In the quiet, he can hear Mesh coming up the stairs, and he stretches out underneath the duvet.

“Would you grab the paracetamol for me?” Nick asks.

“Yeah,” Mesh says, walking over to the en-suite. As he comes back, he says, snorting, “You want a cuppa and a snack, too?”

“Nah, good,” Nick says, swallowing the pills with a swig of water.

“I’ll fix something if you want.”

“Oh, I know.” Nick laughs. He goes a bit soft inside, too, and reaches out, hauling Mesh down into a clumsy cuddle. “C’mere.”

Mesh laughs and nuzzles him anyway, kissing him all over his face.

Before the lights even go off, Nick's asleep.

                                                                                        --

 Nick wakes up to the dogs jumping on the bed.

"Hi, babies." Nick gives Pig an enthusiastic back rub and waves off Stinky's fervent licking.

Mesh sits on the edge of the bed. "Collette came by and dropped them off early." 

"You should have invited her up."

"Don't be ridiculous." Mesh laughs. "You were asleep, I didn't want to wake you."

"Dead considerate of you." Nick yawns.

"What are you thinking for brekky?" Mesh looks so cute, all sleep-rumpled with his kerchief askew, Nick has half a mind to wrangle him in for round two. 

"Can't we just have protein shakes and call it a day?”

"We’ve got to eat something real, baby."

"There might be enough for salmon toast."

"So… you didn't do a shop, but you had time for Whole Foods?"

"Do you want breakfast or not?"

"Yes, please." Mesh grabs Nick's hands and pulls him out of bed.

Nick dresses in some jeans and a brightly-patterned shirt, ready to face the day.

"Did you sleep alright?" Nick asks, following Mesh down the stairs.

"I slept like a rock, actually."

"Me, too." Nick grins. "Tired me right out last night."

Nick switches on his radio to the welcome sound of Clara, her voice bright and her laugh warm.

Mesh pours himself a glass of water. "You want some?"

Nick's fiddling across the kitchen with the espresso machine. "No, it'll dilute my palette."

Mesh rolls his eyes. "Right, your perfect palette."

"I fancy my coffee strong, and my men even stronger."

Mesh snorts a laugh. He rummages through the fridge, pulling out salmon and cream cheese. He takes a slice of salmon directly from the package.

"You're a savage, and I don't mean in the cool way." And then Nick takes a piece himself, because he's famished.

Nick gets brekky started, popping four slices of bread in the toaster, and shimmying his shoulders to the song Clara's playing. He reaches for the wet dog food in the fridge to feed Pig and Stinky.

"Need any help?" Mesh asks, so close to Nick their feet are nearly bumping. His face is open and kind, but his body is weirdly tense, and he's not dancing to the song, even though Nick knows he loves it.

"You need to sit down," Nick says, handing Mesh the last organic yoghurt because he's a good boyfriend.

Mesh doesn't sit down, but he opens the yoghurt and reaches for some berries, and Nick reckons that's a start. Something is wrong, though, and Nick can't place it.

"Are you feeling alright?" Nick turns. He's just about to put his hand on Mesh's forehead, when he backs off.

"Sorry."

"No, it's alright." Nick hums a beat as he spreads the cream cheese on their toast, grabbing some tiny pickles for the garnish.

“Last night was good, wasn’t it?” Mesh says.

“Oh, for sure.” Nick says. “Had me wrapped around your finger, if I’m honest.”

“Yeah?” Mesh says. Just that one word, but his voice tips up with such uncertainty, it makes Nick look up at him. “Nothing you’d change?”

“It was all dead good.” Nick shrugs. “More snogging and less waiting next time, maybe. But other than that—not a bad way to top off the night. Already major night, happy we stayed up, made it even better.”

"Yeah." It's all Mesh says, but there's a weight to his voice.

“Why? S’there something you’d change?”

“Just checking in.” Mesh shrugs. “Being the proper good Top you go on and on about.”

“You’re very responsible…” Nick purrs. His burnt-coffee breath is quite the aphrodisiac, Mesh has informed him on many occasions.

“Really on it with the compliments this morning.”

“I mean it.” Nick huffs. “You are.”

There's a yawning silence, the absence of Mesh's voice made all the more clear by the music echoing throughout the room.

"Been awful quiet, you."

"I'm fine, Nana,” Mesh says. “Maybe your music's just too loud."

"Oh, complaining means it's not loud enough." Nick reaches over to the boombox, and then pauses. He turns back toward Mesh, lays a hesitant hand on the counter. "What's going on, baby?"

Mesh mumbles into his yoghurt and pretends he hasn't heard Nick.

"I'll guess," Nick says. "You know I will."

"Least till your attention span runs out."

"I’ll do my best till then, yeah." Nick shrugs and reaches for a bowl of grape tomatoes, trying to look casual. "Your choice. I don't have to guess. It's a democracy here."

"Nothing gets past you, is it?" Mesh is smiling with his eyes, all playful laugh crinkles and eyelashes you could ski off, whatever that means.

"Nope." Nick smiles back at him, smug.

Mesh shifts to better face Nick, his hands fidgeting on his thighs. He doesn't sit down, though, just kind of hovers, standing with his hand on the table.

“So, um, about last night, the thing that happened when we were, you know…”

“Is this about the willie thing?” Nick asks. “Because it’s okay if it is.”

“Fuck’s sake.” Mesh laughs, going pink in the cheeks, and it’s a relief to see him smile. “I’m trying to get through a thing here.”

“I’m sorry.” Nick claps his hand over his mouth. “Sorry, sorry. I won’t interrupt.”

Mesh shrugs. “You’re right, though. It is, sort of. About that. It is, and it isn’t.”

“Very clear communication, baby.” Nick covers his mouth again. 

“You’re the most impatient person in the world.”

“I know, I know. Go on. I’ll put the napkin in my mouth if I have to.”

“Appreciate it.” Mesh laughs softly. “Anyway, um. I’m alright, like, about the willie thing. It’s not a thing, really. Happens to everyone. So’s not really about that. I just… I shouldn’t have gotten stroppy about it. And I didn’t mean to, especially since you were just trying to help. You were lovely.”

“W as lovely, but not anymore, s’that right?” Nick tilts his head and smirks.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying, Nick.” Mesh scoffs softly. “Good job.”

“Okay, okay, real talk, though.” Nick puts his hands on Mesh’s shoulders, meeting his eyes. “It’s really alright that it happened, and it’s alright how you reacted. It’s a stressful thing, believe me. Especially when you’re neurotic like, ahem, one of us here.”

“Oh, I didn’t make you neurotic, did I?” Mesh clicks his tongue sympathetically. “Or stressed?”

“No, you didn’t. Really. These things—willie things, especially—they’re all in your head, usually. Just like things are only in my head, sometimes. It’s not personal.”

“You’re not neurotic, though. You’re just… particular, sometimes. That’s all.”

“No, I am.” Nick laughs. “And that’s okay. We’ve all got our things. You don’t need to apologise for anything. But I do appreciate it—sweet of you, that.”

“Thanks,” Mesh says softly, dropping Nick’s gaze. He steps forward to wrap Nick in a hug.

Nick’s brow furrows, confused, the unspoken question poised in his mouth. Mesh doesn’t need to thank him just for being supportive. Nick likes being fussed over, sure enough, but not for nothing. Not when he hasn’t earned it.

And this is sort of his job, isn’t it—so there’s no thanks necessary, not at all.

But Mesh is quiet and clinging to him, and this seems like a moment they both ought to stay quiet in. So Nick bites his lip and stays quiet, too, just cuddles Mesh back in silence.

“I just thought you’d be disappointed,” Mesh says, taking in a deep, unsteady breath.

“Why would I be disappointed?” Nick says, warm and sympathetic, the way he feels.

Mesh shrugs a little, buries his face in Nick’s neck. He doesn’t say anything more.

The way their bodies are pressed so close, so consuming—Nick’s head reels with it. And then he understands.

Last night, that was all about confidence and swagger, about masculinity and power and everything in between. Last night was about sex, but it wasn’t just about that. Maybe the masculinity was where Nick’s desire started, but it wasn’t where it ended. Nick’s desire for him feels like the highest mountain or the deepest ocean, or something else just as overdramatic. Or romantic.

(Same difference, isn’t it.)

Nick’s desire feels wild, insurmountable, reckless to try navigating—and naïve to even think he could reach the end. Nick doesn’t anticipate ever reaching the end of it, willie things or not. Three months in and he’s so far gone. Mesh deserves to know it.

"I like that you're vulnerable,” Nick says. “I like that you trust me—that we trust each other, yeah? You don't need to be perfect all the time, or anything all the time. I don't want you feeling like you have to be, because you don't have to with me. You can just be you, no matter what it is. I like everything you’ve shown me, ‘cause it’s all you. Dead honest. I fancy you, and all of this is you.”

Mesh bites his lip. “And now you’re gonna say something like emotional intimacy is the biggest turn-on.”

“I told you that in confidence, Meshach!” Nick hits Mesh on the shoulder.

“If by confidence you mean in Amsterdam after four martinis, then yes, you did.”

“I still stand by it,” Nick says, crossing his arms. “And I know you do, too, even if you won’t admit it.”

“I’m coming around, reckon, to your side of things.” Mesh smiles softly at him. Lets Nick know he’s feeling a bit better. “Thanks, baby.”

Nick hugs him again, cradling his head. "You know I'm not just gassing you up, right? I mean it."

"Yeah, I know." Mesh nuzzles at Nick’s cheek, kisses him. “You need a wash.”