Work Text:
Fab was distracted the second Nick stepped onto set.
Julian beamed when he saw him, flipping Nick off from where he was trying to convince Albert to let him bite him out of boredom while Fab egged him on. Nikolai was watching and doing nothing to help any of them. “Eat shit, Nick, I fucking win this time.”
Nick rolled his eyes, returning the gesture as he sprawled out onto the couch, leaning on Fab, and kicked his legs up onto Albert’s lap. Nikolai made a resigned sound as the action pressed Fab further into Nikolai’s side and Nikolai further into the couch’s arm. “You probably got here like, two minutes ago, it doesn’t count.”
“Dude, how did you know?” Albert said, holding his wrist up out of reach. “We were about to start betting on who’d get here first.”
“I bet on Jules,” Fab chimed in.
Julian pointed at him. “Like hell you did. This is fucking, revisionism.”
Ryan appeared before anyone could reply or Julian could make another lunge for Albert, clapping his hands to get their attention. His curls were frazzled, matching the usual harried exasperation in his eyes. “Everyone here? Yes? Fucking finally, I know NME loves you guys but I think they’re gonna start writing hit pieces if we make them wait any longer.”
Julian shrugged. “Good.”
He took the hand Ryan offered to haul him up with a sigh, scrubbing a hand through his hair until Albert batted his hand away and fixed it for him. Then Albert fisted a hand in his hair to plant a showy kiss on his cheek, so what even was the point?
Nick turned to offer Fab a hand, quirking an eyebrow at him. It put Fab at eye level with Nick’s stomach, which reminded him exactly of what he’d been so distracted by. Because Nick’s shirt today was just a little too short for his jeans riding low on his hips, jeans which were worn and ripped in more than a few places on his thighs and knees. Like this, it was modest enough, especially with his open button up offering more cover, but he’d stretched when he’d walked in and Fab had caught a flash of bare, bare skin.
Fab took his hand and stumbled along with a laugh as Nick wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Maybe he could get away with putting his hand up Nick’s shirt as a joke.
The photographer was already shaking hands, though, introducing himself with an affable smile that gave Fab hope that Julian’s good mood would last throughout the shoot. He arranged them into a line, pretty standard, though the lurid red backdrop was new. He realised he’d forgotten about Nikolai when he saw him line up beside Julian and shot him a guilty wince, but Nikolai just waved him off with a good-natured eyeroll, leaning back on his heels.
Nick was still holding him close, so Fab put an arm around his waist, his other hand on Nick’s stomach to toy with the hem of his shirt, stroke surreptitiously along the thin strip of exposed skin. More Strokes weirdness, he knew the photographer and the rest of the crew would write it off as. He didn’t care as long as he got to confirm that yes, Nick’s hips were bare under his jeans as usual, and the waistband was low enough that anyone looking would be able to tell. He prayed no one was looking at his own too-tight jeans.
Fab’s nails scratched through thin, coarse hair, and he felt Nick shiver. Nick shot him a wry look, arm squeezing around his shoulders.
“I’m not really a public sex kind of girl,” Nick whispered.
Fab burst into giggles, flushing at the memories that popped up at how profoundly untrue that statement was.
“Perfect, lads, just like that,” the photographer called, snapping a few shots. Fab made an effort to keep smiling and could feel how awkward it was turning by the second.
“Bullshit,” Fab whispered back as the photographer fiddled with his camera. “Who asked you to wear your jeans that low, anyway? One slip and you’re getting arrested, man.”
Nick waggled his eyebrows. “Arrest me, officer,” he drawled, apparently loud enough that Julian snickered into Albert’s neck right as the flashbulb went off.
“No groping on camera, guys,” Ryan sighed. None of them ever adhered to that, not even Ryan, but he seemed to think he was obligated to say it every once in a while as part of his managerial duties.
Nikolai said, quietly, “I’m sure NME wouldn’t mind.”
The whole time, Fab was hyper-aware of that strip of skin that kept showing no matter how many times Nick tugged his shirt carelessly down, the fabric shifting as the photographer directed them into different positions, different lineups, Nick slouching on the floor or away from Fab onto Julian’s shoulder. It was pale under the blinding lights, bracketed in white by his shirt and the frankly unnecessary belt. His jeans were digging into the scant fat of his hips well enough on their own, and the dark stripes of his overshirt did nothing but highlight it. Fab had to keep dragging his eyes away.
He was practically buzzing out of his skin with it, bouncing on his toes and shoving Albert playfully, too hard for anyone else but them. Nikolai just blinked when Fab shoulder-checked him, slanting his on-camera poker face at him just long enough for Fab to catch the longsuffering amusement in his eyes. Nikolai was totally a hypocrite. Fab remembered what he and Julian had been like in high school.
Nick kept catching him looking, holding his gaze with a cocked eyebrow and small smirk. Fab let Albert catch him in a headlock and ducked his head down, biting his lip.
“Okay, guys, I think we can call that a wrap,” Ryan finally announced after murmuring over the monitor with the photographer.
“Smoke break?” Fab asked hopefully, stuffing his hands in his skinny jeans as much as he could just to keep them to himself. Nick was separated from him by Albert and Julian, but he could feel him in his head like a radar ping.
Ryan waved his hand at them. “Ten minutes.”
“You know that means twenty,” Nick told him.
“That’s why I said ten,” he said, mouth slanting into a smile. “Now go before the interviewer gets here.”
Albert was patting his suit jacket down for his cigarettes, frowning. If Fab wasn’t so busy grabbing Nick’s wrist, he’d have told him that Julian had stolen them five minutes into the shoot, but as it was he just dragged Nick towards the side door he’d glimpsed earlier and let Nikolai stop them from following.
“Eager,” Nick teased.
“It’s your fault, man,” Fab said, aware that he was already a little warm all over and not caring. “How am I not supposed to be when you’re standing there looking like that?”
Nick laughed as Fab fumbled with the door. “You’re so cute, Fab,” he grinned, letting Fab push him up against the alleyway wall. “Like a little puppy.”
Fab fisted his hands in Nick’s stupid T-shirt and kissed him hard. He had to tiptoe to do it.
Nick hummed and tangled his fingers in Fab’s mess of curls, tilting his head so he could run his tongue along Fab’s lower lip. Fab was already parting his lips for him, sighing with relief as Nick licked into his mouth. He rolled his hips against Nick’s, swallowing Nick’s moan at the delicious friction, filling his head with cotton.
They broke apart for air, Fab blinking dazed at Nick’s spit-slick lips shining in the afternoon light. Then he remembered why they’d come out here and leaned in to nip at Nick’s earlobe, wanting so badly to bite at his jawline instead.
“Wanna suck you off,” he breathed, the words coming out underscored with a whine.
Nick exhaled, tipping his head back. He was smiling. “Yeah, I could tell.”
He gave Nick another nip in retaliation, stomach flipping with pleased embarrassment at being so easily read. He dropped to his knees and nuzzled his face in against Nick’s tummy, breathing in the heavy scent of him; smoke and sweat and the barely-there soap of his detergent. Fab licked, finally, at that maddening glimpse of hair, rough and ticklish against his tongue, the faint tang of salt. Nick shivered.
“We don’t really have that much time,” Nick said, but he didn’t sound all that hurried.
Fab said, “Who cares,” and licked a stripe up the cut-glass jut of his hip.
It was risky, stupid, but he couldn’t resist biting him, right where dark hair gave way to pale, warm skin. Nick tugged reflexively on his hair in surprise.
“You know we still have an interview, right?” Nick’s grin was audible. “Those journalists are fucking eagle-eyed vultures.”
Fab sucked on the bite mark, just once, not hard enough to leave any kind of mark. “That’s what the shirt is for, right?”
“Maybe,” Nick drawled, then made an impatient sound when Fab nosed higher up under his T-shirt. “Fab, come on.”
“Yeah,” Fab said. He unbuckled Nick’s belt, then the straining button of his jeans, pressing a kiss under his bellybutton as it popped free. “Yeah.”
It never stopped driving Fab a little crazy to know that Nick’s cock was just right there, separated only by one layer of skintight denim and nothing else. Sometimes when they were just hanging out in a diner, or someone’s apartment, he’d look over at Nick and think, I could touch him right now. Barely anything to get in the way. He wondered if Nick ever thought the same.
Nick groaned and rolled his hips gently as Fab took him into his mouth. Fab made an effort to take it slow so he wouldn’t choke, sucking lightly at the tip before sliding incrementally down. The first time, Nick had laughed so hard at the way Fab choked and flailed back that it had taken five minutes of apologetic, still snickering kisses over Fab’s face to make him stop sulking. Honestly, Nick didn’t even give a shit about deepthroating, but Fab was stubborn about it anyway. It itched at him like a particularly troublesome drum beat; he could do it, he knew he could, he just had to practice until he actually did.
He had to brace one hand on Nick’s thigh, the other wrapped around what he couldn’t fit in his mouth. He settled into a rhythm, his focus narrowing down to the weight of Nick on his tongue, a little bitter and salty and so fucking heady, the stretch of his lips around him, taking more and more until he could feel his eyes watering. The sound was obscene.
“Yeah,” Nick breathed, hips rolling languidly. Fab moved with it, let himself relax into the motion. “Just like that. Fuck, you’re so good at this, baby.”
Fab squirmed, whimpering around Nick. He ground the heel of his palm down against himself where he was straining against his jeans so hard it was almost painful, just to take the edge off, feel a little less like he was going to explode.
“Hey, no,” Nick said sharply, tugging at his hair. “I didn’t say you could touch yourself, did I?”
Fab had to pull off, then, rest his forehead against the junction of Nick’s thigh and pelvis and just breathe for a bit through the desperate need for more. He couldn’t stop the little whines that came out on the tail end of every ragged breath as he rubbed his cheek against Nick’s cock, smearing spit and precum all over his skin, needing the contact anywhere he could take it.
“Please,” he whispered. “Please, please.”
Nick soothed a thumb at the corner of his eye, brushing away the tears.
“You can do it, baby,” Nick told him, softer. Fab felt the truth of it buzz through him. For Nick, yes, anything, anything.
“Anything,” he said hoarsely, and let Nick pull him back down onto him.
It was even easier now. He kept both hands on Nick, didn’t even think about touching himself even though he still desperately wanted to. He just drank in every sound Nick made, every gasp and moan and breathless word of praise.
I did that, he thought, fizzing like champagne. He swirled his tongue around the head, felt Nick twitch in his mouth.
“God,” Nick bit out, voice strained. “You’re not- not any better, you know. Those fucking jeans. I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you since I saw you sprawled out on that couch like a fucking- fucking whore, you know what you fucking look like.”
Fab moaned and his hips bucked up without his conscious input. He hadn’t. He really hadn’t, but he saw himself in his mind’s eye from Nick’s perspective, slouched on the couch and leaning carelessly on Nikolai, and felt his blood burn at the thought that Nick had wanted to touch him the second he’d walked in.
“Shit,” Nick gasped, hips snapping into the tight, wet heat of Fab’s mouth, hitting the back of his throat and making him gag with an awful sound. Fab tried to jerk back, stomach muscles seizing, but Nick fisted his hands in his hair and held him down so there was nothing he could do but fight his own instincts, drool dripping down his chin. Salt flooded his mouth, down his throat. He wanted to stay still, be good, but he had to smack Nick’s thigh frantically, squeezing his eyes shut. Nick let him go immediately. Fab coughed hard off to the side, shoulders shaking, digging his nails into his palms.
Nick dropped to his knees and carded his hand through Fab’s hair, cooing. He realised he was crying, tears streaking down his cheeks and hitching his gasping breaths as the coughing tapered off.
“There we go,” Nick was saying. He pulled Fab out of his jeans, the sudden skin-to-skin contact almost too much. “Jesus, look at you.”
Fab whimpered, grinding up into his touch. He fisted his hands in Nick’s shirt, sniffling, head dropping down as Nick tightened his grip and the pleasure finally crested and peaked, the press of concrete against his knees melting away under the sensation washing over him.
Nick clicked his tongue, holding his hand up to Fab’s slack mouth. “Clean up the mess you just made, baby.”
Fab let his eyes slide shut, lapping his come off Nick’s palm, sucking gratefully at the nimble length of his calloused fingers. Slowly, he became aware of the tackiness drying on his skin; he whined around Nick’s fingers and shook his head hard, blinking in discomfort.
“Okay, okay, good job, you can stop now,” Nick laughed.
He wiped his fingers dry on Fab’s sleeve, cupping Fab’s jaw fondly before pausing abruptly.
Oblivious, Fab leaned into the touch. “Thank you,” he rasped.
Nick huffed, smiling. “You’re welcome. You’re a mess, man.” He wiped Fab’s face gently with the hem of his button up, patting his now-dry cheek affectionately when he was done.
“Mm,” Fab smiled stupidly up at Nick. “You could lick it better.”
Nick gave him a look, then pressed a chaste kiss under his eye. “Do I look like Julian to you?”
Fab gave Nick an exaggerated once-over. “Hey, man, now that you mention it…”
Nick rolled his eyes and hauled Fab up to his feet, steadying him with an arm around his waist when his knees buckled for a second. The scrape of denim on his oversensitive skin as Nick tugged Fab’s jeans up made him hiss, but he was too sated for it to be anything but a momentary discomfort.
Fab stretched and leaned into Nick’s chest. “Think we’ve got enough time for a cig?”
The second the words left his mouth, someone started banging on the side door, making them jump.
“If you assholes are done fucking out there, Ryan wants us back five minutes ago,” Albert yelled cheerfully through the door.
Fab laughed, scrubbing at his burning cheeks. He exchanged a grin with Nick.
“Tell him to suck my dick,” Nick yelled back.
“Don’t let Fab hear that,” Albert replied breezily, voice getting more indistinct.
Nick cocked an eyebrow at Fab, straightening his shirt ineffectively. Fab shrugged, grinning. “I get it, you have a type.” He combed a hand through his hair. “Ryan works hard enough to deserve a bonus.”
“He does have great hair,” Nick said thoughtfully, tucking a hand into Fab’s back pocket. “But that’s probably not the kind of bonus he’d want.”
“More for me.”
Julian wolf-whistled when they walked back, his own hair looking more disheveled than usual. He had an arm slung around Albert’s shoulders, practically sitting in his lap and rumpling Albert’s jacket. For once, Albert didn’t seem to mind, one leg bouncing seemingly more out of habit than actual restlessness. Ryan raised his watch pointedly at them as they approached. Nick pulled him into a hug and Fab kissed his cheek, fixing his skewed glasses.
“Thanks,” Fab beamed.
Ryan narrowed his eyes at them, but his cheeks were a little pink. “You had your fun, now behave. I already checked the questions, they should all be pretty easy, okay? Just…don’t give them too much to write about.”
“Yes, mom,” Nick said, dragging Fab towards the couch before Ryan could respond.
Julian didn’t budge, forcing Nick and Fab to squeeze into the remaining space.
“Where’s Nikolai?” Fab whispered.
Albert burst into laughter instead of answering his question. “Holy shit, dude, you sound awful.”
“Shut up,” Fab said, too loud. His voice cracked. He tried to punch Albert, but he was too far and ended up hitting Julian instead, so close enough.
“Sorry I’m late,” Nikolai appeared behind the couch. “Illy called.”
“Oh, did she?” Nick smirked.
Julian forced Albert to scoot over and patted the couch for Nikolai, just in time for a woman with a notebook and pen in hand to hurry over.
“Here we go,” Julian muttered.
“Hello boys, it’s so nice to meet you,” the journalist beamed, cheeks a little more flushed than her makeup would warrant. “Shall we get started?”
Fab laced his fingers with Nick’s and let the others do the talking.