Chapter Text
The air is cool and fresh as you step out of the bar into the Edinburgh night, still buzzing from a great atmosphere at the show tonight. You wonder whether you should try to cram in one more late-night gig before you crash but quickly decide against it; nothing could beat seeing the Horne Section tonight. You say goodbye to your friends and stand at the side of the road just outside the bar, waiting to hail a taxi and cursing yourself again for booking accommodation so far out of town.
Behind you, you can hear the revellers at the tables in the outside part of the bar and the loud buzz of drunken conversation and clinking glasses. A couple of men’s voices are particularly loud and raucous, when suddenly someone backs into you and you feel the shock of cold liquid land across your back. You shriek and turn to meet widened blue eyes looking down at you.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry!” The man is aghast as he stands frozen to the spot, awkwardly waving his hands as if rushing to dry the spilt beer from you but then thinking better of it. “I’m such an idiot – I wasn’t looking where I was going and I stepped back and you – I – oh god, I’m really sorry.”
Now that the initial shock has worn off, you realise the flustered man with the reddened ears in front of you is none other than Alex Horne, whom you just saw on stage half an hour ago. Adorable as it is to see him frantically apologising while the guy he had been drinking with – you now recognise him as Mark, the saxophonist of the band – chokes with laughter on his own pint, you quickly reassure him that it’s fine, it was an accident, no harm done. He seems to calm down slightly but his brow is still furrowed with worry as you take the opportunity to congratulate him on the show tonight. You can’t help but smile at his embarrassment as he thanks you with a sheepish smile. You can feel the beer soaking into your back and dripping down your legs but your ruined dress is a problem for later; right now, it feels like a price worth paying for the opportunity to talk to Alex and his pink ears.
You sense him relaxing as you chat about the show, and you’re treated to his goofy gap-toothed grin as you make him laugh. After introducing himself and making a couple of unsuccessful attempts to join the conversation, Mark mutters with an eyeroll that he’ll be off home then, but Alex barely seems to notice as his eyes never leave yours, except when they occasionally flicker down to your lips.
He goes to sip his drink, then gives his sheepish grin again as he realises his glass is practically empty. “I really am so sorry… you must be absolutely soaked.”
You turn round with a laugh and show him your back – well, let’s be honest, you make sure he gets an eyeful of your ass too. “How bad is it?”
“Oh god…” he covers his eyes with his hand. You can’t help but enjoy his groaning.
“Bad enough that a taxi driver won’t let me sit in his car?”
“I don’t know, maybe…” He bites his lip and pauses. He’s difficult to read – there’s embarrassment there, sure, but there’s something else too. Finally, he seems to come to some sort of decision as he continues, “Look, the place we’re renting for the festival is just round the corner. Do you want to come and clean up? I could wash your dress, or lend you a clean shirt or something, or, or…?” He falters and looks at you beseechingly.
You pause, really just for the look of the thing because you can’t exactly shout, “Yes, Alex Horne, I absolutely do want to come back to your place and take my clothes off,” and instead shrug nonchalantly that sure, that sounds like an OK plan.
As you walk along the street, you can’t help noticing the little looks he keeps giving you, and the fact that he’s blushing again. Perhaps that’s why you feel emboldened by the time you are standing outside the door to the AirBnB, and when he starts apologising again for all the trouble he’s caused, you fix him with a sly look and tell him that you could think of a few ways he could make it up to you.
His lips part in shock for a moment as if he were going to say something, then he closes his mouth and nods slowly, a slow smile spreading over his face. “That sounds more than fair,” he replies huskily, and you’re reminded that Alex Horne does indeed know how to flirt. “What did you have in mind?”
By way of an answer, you grab hold of his tie and pull him down towards you for a kiss. His beard softly tickles your chin as your lips meet and at first he seems slightly taken aback but soon begins kissing you back, his eyes closing as he lightly runs his fingers down your arms, your sides, and rests them on your hips. Who would have thought that a man who makes his living pretending to be awkward would be such a good kisser?
As you pull back for a breath, letting go of his tie, his eyes are shining in the lamplight. You want to rip his shirt open and ravish him then and there on the doorstep – and then you remember. “Oh god – you’re married…”
He shakes his head vigorously with a smile. “No, it’s OK – I mean, I am but – we have an arrangement…” He must see the scepticism in your eyes – you’ve heard that lie before – as he scrambles in his pocket for his phone. “One second, don’t go anywhere. Trust me.”
You suddenly feel self-conscious, standing on an Edinburgh street with beer stains all down you, watching the man you were about to try and fuck video call his wife. But he seems relaxed and happy as she answers the call. “Hi Rach, how’s it going? The kids OK? Yeah, it was good, I’ll tell you about it later. Listen, I’ve got someone here with me tonight and just wanted to check in with you…” He turns the phone to you and introduces you. You wave awkwardly and say hello, but Rachel seems unfazed. “Great, have fun and give him back to me in one piece, aye? Don’t worry about me, love, I’ve got Greg looking after me here tonight.” You can hear a voice you recognise from the telly shout affectionately from somewhere in the background, “Yeah, fuck off, you weasel, we’re busy!” and giggling.
Alex says his goodbyes and puts his phone away, then cocks his head and raises his eyebrows to check if you’re satisfied that it’s all above board. You respond by launching yourself at him, knocking him backwards against the door as you resume kissing him, more hungrily this time. Although he towers over you – he really isn’t Little at all, you have realised – it is you who is pinning him to the door with your body, your hands greedily roaming his chest, his arms, his neck…
Alex is giving as good as he gets, however, as he cups your head and draws you in with a long moan, his fingers in your hair. He shifts so his thigh is between your legs and you grind against him as you make out in the doorway. You are aching for him already; a few more minutes and you could probably get off like this, right there in the street. Reluctantly, you pull away slightly and murmur into his lips between kisses, “Unless you want me – to fuck you right here – get me inside now.”
The resulting guttural noise from Alex practically pushes you over the edge right there and then, but he nods vigorously and quickly turns to unlock the door. The two of you somehow make it up a couple of flights of stairs somehow, still clawing at each other desperately as you stagger up the stairs, and by the time Alex flings open the door to the AirBnB, you are both looking the worse for wear.
“What the- ?”
You’re startled to see the living room isn’t empty, but from the expression on the face of the man who had just spoken, the rest of the band are just as surprised to see you. Of course – Alex had said “the place we’re renting”. You glance at Alex, his tie loosened and first few shirt buttons undone, and then down at yourself in an equally dishevelled state, and blush as you look round sheepishly at the musicians eyeing you curiously from the sofas where they had been relaxing after the gig.
Alex seems completely unfazed, however. With a grin but a nevertheless firm voice, he moves towards the sofas and starts pulling the men up one by one. “Right, everyone out. I need the flat for a bit.”
There is a chorus of complaints as he manhandles them – “Seriously?!”, “Mate, you can’t do this-”, “Alex, you are such a-” – but he ignores them. You hover, feeling awkward but also quite enjoying watching Alex take command for once. You realise how different he is out of the shadows of Greg Davies; somehow he seems taller, more confident, more powerful.
You catch Ed’s eye as Alex is pushing him out the door, and can’t quite read the expression on his face. For a moment, you wonder if it might be fun to ask the guys to stay instead… But you get the impression that Alex would like you to himself tonight, and that is more than enough for you right now.
“What are we supposed to do?” protests Will as he is unceremoniously shoved out of the flat.
“Go catch a late show. Or busk on the street and help pay for this place. Don’t care. Just don’t come back for at least two hours.”
You can’t help but laugh at Alex’s asshole move, and although you can still hear the grumbling from the Horne Section as he slams the door behind them, the twinkle in his eye as he winks at you tells you that they’ll forgive him easily enough. Maybe you’ll be able to suggest a way to make it up to them another time…
For now, though, you turn your attention fully to Alex as he advances towards you with a languid smile and asks huskily, “Now, where were we?”