Work Text:
2010
nick already despises it. his jeans are soaked up to the knee in mud and he’s freezing, teeth chattering away and matt forgot to bring the fucking kettle to make hot drinks. the only warm place in the whole fucking checkpoint is in the official’s tent where aimee sits all rugged up in her fur coat and fiona next to her, and the only way nick’s been allowed to sit down in there is if he actually does work. (guaranteed, it’s not hard work, but nick didn’t even want to come here so why should he have to do anything?)
“it’ll be fun,” ian had said when matt and lmc had already half convinced him, and aimee alongside harry had been smiling winningly, “there’s a bonfire and hot drinks and lots of people to talk to and you’ll be with all your friends. it’s a fun weekend.” and well fuck the lot of them, it’s a shit weekend, it’s barely even started and nick’s probably going to lose his fingers to frost bite. he’s also never going to trust ian ever again.
“what number’s ian?” he asks aimee because then it’ll look like he’s working flipping through the little course book, but he’s not and he’ll warm up reasonably well before they start to realise he’s doing nothing and throw him out. the chair he’s on is rickety, wobbling on top of the poorly put down cardboard and he nearly topples off it.
“all the manchester motorcycle club members competing have been highlighted love,” amiee waves a hand, shooing him off as matt yells out something and she clocks down a time onto a complex-looking piece of paper.
nick opens the little booklet and peers at the tiny writing, starts to read the introduction about the twenty-four hour cross country motorcycle race, how it came into being and gets bored a paragraph in. motorcycle clubs aren’t really something that interests nick, surprisingly enough, and he tries to think up as many mind-numbing pieces of celebrity gossip as he can to feel a bit better. then, skipping to the registry he scans the pages for brightly highlighted in yellow names, and notes the numbers.
6 zayn malik + niall horan; nick doesn’t know who they are, but he takes note to cheer them on – the next lap they come around in right? 17 louis tomlinson + harry styles; oh, nick thinks, he missed harry. he did say he was going to cheer, surely harry won’t mind and he’ll do it next round, or something. 56 ian chaloner; nick hopes aimee doesn’t get up and try and kiss him or something. there’s a lot of mud and it’s kind of gross out, plus he doesn’t know how the whole helmet thing works. 72 laura-may coope; and nick notes her number hasn’t come through yet so he still gets a chance to clap her on or something. 89 liam payne; nick thinks he remembers him from the start pitch before they drove off to set up the checkpoint. 136 josh devine; that’s the last name that’s been highlighted on the list, and it’s still unfamiliar to him, as are most, which is completely not a surprise because nick hates motorcycles.
never even thought to care a smidgeon about them before, or races or anything and now he hates the entire idea of it. whoever came up with this – he probably could find out if he read the booklet properly – is out of their mind and nick’s about ninety-four per cent certain that they’ve been put away. insanity and all that. who even thought of motorcycles? that was a dumb idea too, and like when nick heard there was going to be sidecars in the race he’d automatically though of eighteen-whatever style glamorous sidecars. with the little pod as the sidecar and fancy googles and caps and scarfs blowing in the wind, not a bit of wood strapped to the side of a dirt bike with a handrail and boys muddy to head to toe in full racing padded gear.
for a minute, nick thinks about leaving early. yes he knows it’s only a weekend, only one night and the bikes only go past four times, and it can’t be that bad, can it? there’s a fire that’s going to be started up, but it’s horrid and he wants to go home to a warm shower. he shuffles a little, and then puts the booklet down, getting up out of his chair and the thing fucking rocks again, nearly toppling over. that attracts fiona’s attention from where she’s sitting at her own bits of paper. she glares, and nick sighs, sinking back into the wobbly chair.
**
apparently, the bikes go through the night and nick’s not getting any sleep. someone forgot to tell him, and aimee just laughs when he points it out because isn’t it obvious, it does go for twenty-four hours after all. every time he thinks he’s just about to drift off the roaring engine of another dirt bike comes huffing and spluttering down the road and into the checkpoint. they idle for a minute or so, it depends on when they come in fiona says, and then go back-firing off onto the winding track into the creek or whatever.
groggily, he gets up from where he’s sprawled out in the back of his car, slipping his grossly muddy wellingtons on and shivers as he tramps back to the tent. he hangs back for a second as a rider speeds off from their checkpoint and then slides across the mud into the warmth. pouting, he sits on the least-muddiest part of the cardboard and puts his head on aimee’s lap, moaning about his hair and his complexion and his bones. aimee pets at his hair in between her keeping times for the bike riders and ushers someone to get nick a hot cup of tea quickly.
“i’m glad we’re in an in,” fiona remarks in a quiet space, whilst they’re waiting for the bikes to come along, it seems whoever they are, they are behind, “outs are so much more stressful.”
“agree with you there,” amiee replies in time to her fingers scraping along nick’s scalp, rubbing through his hair calmingly, “particularly because it’s not precise, and how with last year we were an out and our in didn’t let the bikes leave properly.”
“oh that was a disaster,” lou teasdale looks up from where she’s sitting up the back with her baby, nodding very seriously about it.
“same,” nick says to be a part of the conversation, and the pair of them go into great detail as to what ins and outs are and nick’s already heard this – didn’t really get it then either.
(“we’re in a in checkpoint,” matt explains like that means something and nick’s about three seconds away from hitting someone, “an in, as opposed to an out.” and nick still doesn’t know what the fuck fincham is talking about but he doesn’t find that all that unusual. “like, the riders come into our checkpoint and we take their time and then their leaving time from our point, and out there is a course previously ridden and marked. they follow the course and when they come to the next checkpoint – an out – they get their time recorded again. this time is for how long that stretch of the course took them.”
“what about between out’s and in’s,” nick says and he still doesn’t really get why it isn’t like a whole big race or something, and he really doesn’t care but he’s good at pretending he does.
“they just have to ride it,” matt shrugs, tugging back on his hi-vis jacket because it’s nearing the time that the next riders will come through, “that’s mostly the road section, or the easier stuff. the in through to the out is the important part.”)
a radio crackles with words, nick can’t make them out and there’s a collective gasp inside the tent. fiona’s eyes widen, and aimee’s fingers freeze in nick’s hair, matt leans into the tent to listen properly and some other chap increases the volume. the radio fizzles and white noise bubbles through the speakers and nick’s just about to make some lame half-asleep joke about how it’s a terrible show when the words begin to pour out.
“sidecar number seventeen has crashed; there have been no reported injuries but the motorcycle has been badly damaged. ambulance of closest checkpoint needs to be sent along, just in case. the bike trailer will need to pick up bike. accident happened between checkpoints four and five.” the voice trails off, crackles of static buzzing around the words and the checkpoint is silent aside from the faint humming of a dirt bike.
“fuck,” fiona says, her voice sounding rather eerie in the silence of the group of people, and there’s almost an echo of it, not the sound bouncing back but the group swearing in some kind of freaky motorcycle club unison.
“someone call harry or louis to see if they’re okay,” lou speaks up, looking around for a phone, and then stands up to pull hers out of her pocket, baby in one arm. she throws it over to nick, to fumbles with it for a second and taps out harry’s number and holds it up to his ear.
first try the phone rings out, message bank cheerfully telling him to leave harry a voice mail or try again later and nick shakily tries again. the second, harry’s answering voice is so cheery that nick almost thinks it’s the voice mail again and tries to hang up.
“harry?” nick asks, a little confused and suddenly he’s got an audience of patiently listening scary bikie-looking people, “are you okay?”
“grimmy? why have you got lou’s phone?” harry sounds so chipper that nick almost wants to throttle him, “but yeah, i’m cool. louis’ ok too, but like he’s pretty angry.”
“thank god the both of you are okay,” nick says mostly because his audience is scaring him and it gives them their answer, there’s almost a sigh of relief audible enough that harry hears it.
“we’re going to need someone to pick us up though, like a car and our bike trailer if you don’t mind,” he asks sweetly like anyone in the world could actually say no to harry styles and nick finds himself standing up, ready to hook up a trailer and drive to pick harry, louis and the motorcycle up. Nick doesn’t know how to hook up a trailer, or where they are, or who louis is and not a thing about bikes.
“sure, a couple of us will come and pick you up,” he promises and passes the phone over to lou so she can talk to harry.
and by a couple of us, nick hadn’t really meant himself included, he just meant some of the dirt bike junkies who knew what they were doing. still, they include him, and get him to drive through the churned up dirt roads in the dark. his knuckles are clenched so tight they’re white and the person in the passenger sheet is chatting like they’re going for a picnic or something. their navigator gives directions right as nick’s on the corner of the turn and he’s never going to do this ever again.
in the end, nick gets them to the crash site safe and sound, the bike resting peacefully on the road and harry by it on the phone. he’s got his helmet off, and there’s a compact, muddy boy on his knees swearing loudly as he inspects the bike. “fucking thing, fucking choke, fucking dodgy mechanics, i’m fucking never going to listen to another shit thing niall says ever again,” the boy gets up, and nick thinks back to the registry, knows his name must be louis tomlinson, and then actually kicks the bike, “such a piece of shit harold,” he turns to harry, frowning and nick’s not sure but he doesn’t think he can breathe.
the boy – louis – is gorgeous. muddy, and grotty and there’s grime from the motorcycle across one perfect cheek bone, his unappealing racing suit as messy as the feathery helmet-hair atop his head. there’s a crease between his brows, and piercing blue eyes that glance at harry still chittering away on the phone, and then dart over at their saviours and over at nick, standing awkwardly at the back.
“paul, can you and the lads put her in?” louis says, directing it to one of the rowdy crew nick had brought over, “she’s fucked at the moment, got some serious work to be done to her. i’m pretty exhausted from repairs all fucking night.”
“sure, what else are we here for?” paul smiles and louis kicks at the bike once more, before retreating and letting the lads take over. he swipes a kick at harry’s shins as he walks past, right up to nick and looks him over for a minute or two.
“you one of haz’s hipster friends?” louis asks, and he’s completely gorgeous and covered in gross mud and the whole situation is so completely ridiculous that nick bursts into laughter, can’t believe he’s getting asked this, can’t believe any of it.
“yeah,” he says when he’s stopped embarrassing himself, “that’s me, or something. i’m assuming you know aimee, and the rest, that’s my lot basically.”
“bunch of hipsters,” louis agrees, nodding his head a little and nick wonders if that’s his real hair colour or maybe the mud’s made it dirtier, “the lot of them. don’t even know how they got into bikes. i hope they’re not playing whiny hipster music that all sounds the same and complaining when anyone thinks it’s not different artists back at the checkpoint.”
“probably,” nick snorts, he really wouldn’t put it past any of them, “they do have to be listening to the radio though, so i think we’re safe.”
“thank god. i don’t think i could handle that right now,” louis says, a little smirk up his lips and nick already adores it, already adores louis, “oh, how rude of me, i’m louis, tomlinson that is.” he holds out a grubby hand, and although it’s mucky and nick doesn’t want to be he takes it.
“nick grimshaw,” nick replies and louis’ hand is warm and tiny inside his one, shaking firmly.
2011
“so,” pixie says with a smile that’s unbecoming because it’s very evil-looking, nick thinks, “going to tell me about your crush on louis tomlinson?”
“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” nick sniffs and pulls his parker around him tighter, humming as aimee’s making him a tea. pixie laughs a little, rich in her accent, and puts a hand on nick’s thigh in some kind of supportive act.
a bike roars down the road and the pair of them fall silent waiting for matt to yell out “in” once again, times written out once again and the sidecar goes on its away. it churns up mud, the people on it revving the engine too much and nick tugs his beanie down, tries not to get mud in his hair. aimee clinks a spoon against the edge of a mug and brings over cups for pixie and nick. she goes back and gathers another couple to bring over to the people working at the checkpoint.
“why is it always so fucking cold,” nick says quickly to change the subject, knowing pixie can go on for hours if she wants to and he does, also he doesn’t fancy louis they’re just friends and stuff.
“it’s winter,” pixie shrugs and they sit there, sipping at their too hot drinks while the warmth is still there, trying to steal as much into their bodies as humanly possible.
there’s more humming of an engine, another sidecar coming up to the checkpoint and as it comes through the gate to the area, the number proudly says 14 on the bike’s side and nick whispers “louis,” just as a cheer comes through the checkpoint. people go to pat harry and louis on the back and wipe their googles so they can see. harry gets offered a sip of someone’s rum and coke, and louis pouts dramatically because he doesn’t get anything. he catches sight of nick, and makes the face even more dramatic, the riding goggles and helmet distorting his expression. nick snorts and gets up to lean over the top of the fence to grip hands all bro-like or something.
“tea?” louis asks, pointing at nick’s hot drink in his hands, and nick nods and hands it over so louis gets a drink of the hot liquid. he grins, giving it back a lot muddier than when nick gave it over. “thanks mate,” he says and then harry’s getting back properly onto the sidecar piece, gloved hands holding onto the rail and they’re being let off. nick watches until he can’t see their tail lights and sits back down, taking a sip of his drink, being careful not to put his lips in mud.
“what was that about you not knowing what i was talking about in regards to louis?” pixie asks with a raise eyebrow and nick ignores her, looking straight ahead.
“when the fuck is ian going through so i can sleep before the next lap happens?” he replies and purposely looks away when those eyebrows raise even higher.
2012
nick puts a seat out next to his own, pats it to make sure it’s dry and rugs himself up into his own as he waits. the sun’s just setting and the second round of motorcycles are coming through, fiona hurrying back from the toilet to get into her seat at the paper work. nick thinks about getting up and making teas, so he stands up and puts the kettle on, getting out too mugs and the teabags. he’s finished brewing when louis comes stomping through, frown on his face and nick sits down just in time to hand over a cup of tea when louis plonks in his seat.
“arm hurting?” nick asks, looking at the cast on louis’ left wrist, and louis stares at a second before huffing because he hates the whole cast thing so much.
“it’s fucking itchy and heavy, and without it i could be out there riding but i’m stuck freezing my arse off next to you.” he frowns and takes a sip of his tea, almost melting as he realises it’s perfect because somehow, in the last year, nick’s learnt his tea order.
“well we could steal someone’s pillow to ensure you don’t lose your arse if you want,” nick offers and louis snorts into his drink, rolling his eyes.
“the only thing you care about,” he remarks and fuck, nick’s kind of really glad that louis’ out for the count this time, it’s going to make sitting around in the mud and cold that much more worth it.
**
harry’s out before he even makes it to the manchester motorcycle club checkpoint, and niall’s so chatty that he and zayn miss their time to leave every time they get to a checkpoint and get a heap of penalties. ian fucks up a tire and gives up because his old knee wound is playing up, so it’s not really a great year for the manchester club. liam rides through, gets somewhere in the middle of the pack and josh has to give up right near the end because of trouble with the brakes.
it is a shit year, but nick’s not exactly here because he likes motocycles and racing and mud, he’s around because he likes boys who likes to ride motorcycles and the boy in question is sitting next to him. not breaking his neck out on a muddy track aka creek through some farmer’s land, for six hours at a time and nick’s grateful for that even if louis is a bit pissed. he gets more chipper as the night goes along, watching his mates ride and come in and actually giggling next to nick. he gets to take a couple of pain killers and has a little alcohol he shouldn’t really take and he’s a bubble of laughter and sunshineand nick stops several times in the middle of sentences to stare.
(louis is too out of it to really realise, or mind, and even stares back on occasion, for some reason fascinated with nick’s freckles. he pokes at them until nick’s grabbing as his hands and then goes for nick’s stomach, trying to tickle, in which nick goes for louis’ sides too and finds out he’s ticklish. It’s literally the most adorable thing ever until he nearly gets hit in the head with a plaster cast.)
“you’re dumb,” louis says, and his voice is breathless, like he’s trying to catch it in this cold night air and nick stares, watches as those eyes flicker over his face and thinks maybe there’s more to it than he originally thought.
“thank you,” he replies and louis bursts into another round of laughter, and nick remembers when he said, swore several times that he would never come to this thing again. remembers cussing everything that had happened and decided to never let his friends convince him of anything ever again until he’d set eyes on louis.
2013
there’s a start point that nick didn’t even know about, and because he’s like competent or something around bikes (he’s not, he’s really not) they ask him to help set up. well, that’s why he says when pixie asks, but she translates they into louis anyway, so nick doesn’t really know why he bothered to lie.
it’s like a massive field in the middle of nowhere and the motorcycles are lined up along it, numbers in place and people are going around in bright yellow vests marking people off. they’ve got cards and numbers and stickers, and louis is riding solo this year, he and harry sold the sidecar after louis threatened to burn it, and he’s at a high number. ninety-seven or something, and he expects nick to actually touch the thing and push it into place.
“come on, it’s clean,” louis rolls his eyes, and nick rolls his own back because he might hate mud but he probably hates grease even more, but louis is half in his gear already and his biceps are straining as he tries to roll the bike into place.
“fine,” nick says and really, he knows louis is fine with the bike, he’s seen the boy pick it up off the ground before, but reaches over and helps him push it into place. he’s just wiping his hands off on louis’ racing suit when a group from the manchester club trot over for some pre-race ritual.
they do weird handshakes and give each other hugs. they’re big warm hugs that kind of end up as a mess of a group hug and nick gets pulled into it, gets told he’s like a part of this thing now even though all he does is come to this rally and gush over louis. then, some kind of daring game goes on, or something, nick doesn’t really get these people, and they give out dares or things to do if anyone of them come in the top fifty bike riders.
“what about you louis?” zayn asks, and louis shrugs, standing so close to nick that he can feel the way louis’ shoulders shift and move next to him. “got something to do if you’re in the top fifty?”
“lou’ll probably be top twenty,” liam says rather seriously and nick bites back something about how louis’ got no chance, it’s mostly teasing but he realises that the rest of them won’t get it and just elbows louis in the side. louis elbows him back, harder.
“kiss grimmy,” harry suggests cheekily from the back, winking exaggeratedly.
“okay,” louis says, it’s like the rules you have to take the first suggestion or something, and nick’s stomach churns all the way back to his car to drive to the checkpoint.
**
“are you nervous about louis possibly not getting into the top fifty?” pixie asks when louis’ late in the second lap, swearing under his breath about fucking tires and shit, and nick doesn’t even know how pixie knows about that thing. she wasn’t there at the start, she only just arrived a couple of hours ago.
“are you nervous about freezing to death when i accidentally trip over and pull out the power cord from the generator to the heating in your tent?” nick asks back and pixie laughs, like she’s delighted.
louis pauses to give nick a little wave before he’s off and nick manages to get his frozen cold fingers to do a little wave back, watching as louis’ tail lights disappear.
**
it’s hours and hours until the results are worked out, after every bike has finished and the times are in is when it’s counted and numbered. nick takes louis and his bike home, mopes about his upholstery and the dirt from it and louis tells him to grow up. the mud will come out.
they meet up at the motorcycle club grounds, sitting around the bar with warm beers in their hands and louis perches atop the bar, kicking nick every time his attention drifts off to something else. he finishes half his beer, and gives the rest to louis, gets up and heads to the toilet. he knows louis will drink it anyway, can’t help but scull a lonesome beer, and so there’s no reason not to hand it to him.
the results must come through the phone whilst nick’s zipping up his trousers because there’s a frighteningly loud cheer and nick swears several times because that could have been an unfortunate accident with his zip. there’s singing and congratulations, and when nick gets back to the main bar room a sea of eyes focus onto him and louis is smiling from where he’s sitting, still atop the bar. nick walks over slowly and pats harry on the back, gives out congratulations and ends up right in front of louis’ knees.
“twenty-fourth,” he says, grinning and nick steps forwards when louis kicks him in the leg, spreading his knees so nick can fit just between them, and nick’s glad he let louis finish his drink because he knocls over the glass putting his hands on the bar top.
“liam was wrong,” nick huffs out a teasing laugh, “you didn’t even get in the top twenty.”
“you’re a dick,” louis says and even though nick kind of really is, louis still kisses him, warm little lips pressing into nick’s.
2014
“you like being a part of the manchester motorcycle club’s girlfriends, yeah?” pixie asks and nick is not listening, he’s not fucking listening. he doesn’t care. she can say whatever she wants, he’s not bothered by her rude jokes.
“excuse me, he doesn’t even classify as a part of that,” aimee interrupts, shaking a spoon at pixie, “he doesn’t do any work, just sits there waiting for louis to come around four times and when louis is about three seconds late he starts worrying about crashes. you don’t get to be a part of the girlfriend’s club if you don’t actually help.”
“i’m moral support,” nick shrugs, and he doesn’t even want to be a part of the girlfriend’s club or whatever and why exactly doesn’t aimee or pixie ride in the rally if they hate doing all this work so much. aimee could ride and make ian do all her work here or something, and it’s not even like pixie does anything but talk about louis into nick’s ear the entire time.
“yeah, yeah whatever,” aimee says, but she doesn’t say anything when a tired as fuck louis rides up to their checkpoint for the third time and rests on his bike, muttering about his spare tire and shit, but there’s a grin on his face when nick’s there, rubbing his shoulders a little.