Work Text:
nick's awake before his alarm goes; a little, wiggly body pushed up into his front and a warm, big hand spread over his top hip, and he shuffles a little to turn it off so it doesn't wake the other occupants of his bed. he dozes next to them for a few moments, tucks his nose into the back of louis' neck and reaches over him to slip his hand over the curve of ian's waist, but he's got work and he forces himself up. his movement wakes louis a bit, just enough so louis is wriggling some more, making little noises of annoyance because the wall of heat upon his back is missing. nick digs his fingers into louis' sides and ushers him closer to ian, tucks the covers in behind him lovingly.
the mess of covers and ian and louis is like a little nest, all wrapped up and warm and incredibly inviting, and nick just wants to climb back into bed, fuck britain needing a wake up call.
with a tonne of willpower, nick makes himself take a step away from his two boys and then another and another until he's at their wardrobe and rifling through it to find something to wear. he keeps the room light off so he doesn't truly awaken the pair of them, and when he finds something sufficient enough for breakfast radio he hooks the clothing over his arms and slithers out the room to go have a quick wake-me-up shower. he pauses a little while in the door way, quietly viewing one lump of entwined boy upon his bed for a few seconds and then a soft, unintentional smile curls up his lips at the sight of them before continuing on his way to the bathroom.
once done in the shower (all clean and fresh and smelling of ian's shampoo) nick sneaks quietly back into his bedroom to put his pyjamas on his bedside table and stretches over the top of his bed to plant a kiss to each of ian and louis' foreheads. a smile slips the curve of louis' lip upwards a little in his sleep and ian's eyes flick open and lazily focus upon nick. he makes a lethargic grab towards nick. with a quick smile nick reaches back over and kisses him again, this time on the warm, slack mouth and ian makes a pleased noise that nick is certain he learnt from louis.
"go back to sleep babe," nick orders and ian nods his head slowly, it's obvious he's really not awake enough for this to actually be processing. and, then nick plants another kiss to louis' forehead, just in case he finds out about ian getting two this morning and sulks because he only got one. (not that he'd even realise it happened, or ian would remember, or be cruel enough, to tell him, but jealousy runs through louis' veins just as much as alcohol and blood does.) nick watches for a moment as ian tucks louis even closer, wraps an arm around louis' waist and his hand slides up the curve of louis' back, and then nick checks the time to see he's running late.
forfeiting coffee, nick hurries out his house to a waiting taxi, driver ready to start blasting his horn. the taxi drive into work is quiet, the radio a buzz of background noise so soft it's like a lullaby and the driver doesn't even bother talking; it's probably too early for him too. nick looks out to the scenery of london, and watches raindrops run down his window, huffs out an almost silent laugh as he thinks about how louis probably still imagines that the droplets are racing to the bottom.
he pays the taxi driver far too little when he arrives at the radio one building, but neither of them really notice until the taxi is lost on the street, horn blaring in the traffic. nick uses his spare money to make a quick stop off at a nearby coffee shop; buys something with too much sugar and double the amount of caffeine for his tastes and sips it on the elevator up. it's barely half finished when he throws it in the bin walking to the studio, but he's certainly properly awake when he walks in, finchy ready to yell at him for being late, again.
(and nick thinks if finchy had something as glorious to wake up to in the mornings like an ian or a louis or both maybe he wouldn't be so tedious like this.)
the show starts off fine, even if nick is a bit (a lot) late, and he blathers on just like he normally does, a little off with the fairies; thinking about when he gets home much later. thinking about curling back into bed with louis and ian, hot cocoas and fluffy socks and crappy television. he counts the seconds down until ian gets in; knows when ian should be approximately coming up the elevators and into their studio, and he thinks fiona notices, but she's far too polite to mention anything about him being distracted. finchy, on the other hand lacks that kind of tact nick loves in fiona, and makes a couple of jibes and lets a caller through who says for approximately ten minutes or something about how nick's not really concentrating.
fuck them all, nick thinks when ian finally gets there, scruffy hair, half up in his normal quiff, and collared shirt with a cute little sweater over it. and holding his hand is a dishevelled louis in one of nick's too big plaid shirts over his own cute sweater, wiping sleepily at his eyes. louis makes straight for nick, who's going on about how ian's here to the people of britain, and clamours up onto nick's lap for a cuddle. ian says hello into a mic, and then goes to set himself up properly whilst nick plays another song and coaxes louis to sit his very own seat.
louis' got a sniffle, he always gets a cold in the winter time. (it's like a genetic default or something, like his excessive love of the holiday season and the infection of christmas spirit he suffers around his birthday.) and he goes to wipe at his nose but he's wearing nick's plaid shirt - all the pretty reds and blues - and the sleeves go on for miles so he just gets a faceful of it. baffled, and probably a little delirious by the looks of it, louis stares at the too long sleeves and this tiny little pleased grin slips up over his lips. nick sighs in a completely fond kind of way, just a little exasperated as well, and then as he's waking up britain some more with a ridiculous story about thurston and a hair brush, he reaches over to roll up louis' sleeves, all the way so his little hands peek through.
and, sleepy louis is vaguely annoyed because he can't wipe his nose anymore on the never ending sleeves so instead he slips off his chair and curls up underneath the desk, by nick's feet. he makes little cooing noises, like he approves of the state under the desk, as if he knows about that kind of thing and he ties nick's shoelaces in funny knots, starts on lmc's doc martens too, and then fuzzily orders finchy to go get him a cup of tea. for a second, finchy looks like he's going to say something rude about louis getting his own tea, but then two sets of eyes round upon him and with a shrug he gets up. fingers curl around nick's knee, into the back of his thigh and a little press of kiss gets placed against the denim. he loses the feeling of warmth there, louis obviously shuffling over to nuzzle his head against ian's thigh if ian's face is any kind of indication.
he spends the rest of the breakfast show down there, expertly tying everyone's shoelaces in strange knots and ordering finchy to get him more and more refills for his tea. at one point, he falls asleep on nick's legs, face buried into the top of nick's calf and warm little fingers pressing into nick's ankle. upon waking, he bites at the denim-clad flesh in front of him and giggles as nick's voice falters for a second, dead air passing out to anyone listening in. nick nudges him over, and louis crawls to rest up against ian's legs and tugs at finchy's jeans to get another hot drink refill.
(for a moment nick wonders how people can't love louis. how they can't love that face peeking out at him and giggling inanely at the pattern of the carpet and then he gets a hot coil of jealousy rise in his stomach, decides he doesn't want to share louis at all if it's not ian he's sharing with. then, he goes back to waking up britain, fingers bruising into his upper calves and brown eyes smiling at him over the top of the desk. and he decides he doesn't want it any other way.)