Archive of Our Own ^beta

nick’s mind was racing. it whirled over and around the options set out before him; to tell gatsby of daisy’s imminent departure, or to remain silent, and continue enjoying that wavering gleam of hope that lingered on in his eyes.

it was that hope that nick had always admired in gatsby. he couldn’t stand the thought of having to see that glimmer extinguish again, like it had with tom that afternoon. but he also couldn’t stomach the idea of not telling gatsby, of letting him cling onto hopes that were now nothing but mist and shadows.

so he tried, ignoring the rage daisy's actions had stirred in him. his pleas for gatsby to leave, to save himself and his reputation had been ignored, that ever present hope of a future with daisy overshadowing any worry gatsby had for himself. nick almost admired his sheer determination to keep on hoping for that future, no matter how impossible it had once seemed.

nick tried again, attempting to explain what he had seen, to try and make gatsby understand that the hope he was holding onto so tightly, was now based in nothing. but gatsby wouldn’t have it. he just smiled knowingly at nick, hope sparkling in his eyes even as, nick realised with a start, it faded.

he could hear it in gatsby’s voice too, as nick tried to tell gatsby the truth one more time
“she just needs time to think, she’s going to call in the morning,“ even as he said it, gatsby’s self-assuredness seemed fake, his voice quivering as he looked deep into nick’s eyes in a way that was almost…pleading.

yes, pleading. it looked to nick as though gatsby knew there was some horrific truth that had yet to be revealed to him, and yet he was silently begging nick not to tell him. to let him stay safe in his own fantasy. and goddamnit, nick was going to let him.

gatsby may have read such a decision in nick’s face, as he smiled slightly to himself and set off back toward the house, still clutching the rag he had used to clean his damaged car. gatsby paused, one hand braced on the open door.

he said over his shoulder
“wait up with me,“ and nick’s knees nearly buckled at the vulnerability in his voice. he hadn’t heard such raw openness since the day gatsby had been reunited with daisy.

the man turned, his breath shivering, his face a cracking smile. he gestured vaguely to where the stars dimmed in the firmament.

“the sun’s almost up,“ a simple statement, but his voice! such weakness, such raw, open vulnerability! nick wasn’t sure gatsby had ever showed such an emotion to anyone, even daisy.

so with a faint smile that he could only hope was comforting, he followed gatsby into his mansion, the man’s hand gentle and guiding on his back.

it was only when gatsby had closed the door behind him, when the men had stood in semi-awkward silence for a moment or two, that gatsby began to speak.

***

to say gatsby was on edge would’ve been an understatement. the day had been such a frantic, messy whirlwind, with the heat sparking tempers even more than usual.

and now here he was, standing in nick’s comforting presence in the cool early hours of the morning. he felt now was the time; to tell nick the whole story, the true story.

gatsby had wanted to for a while, to bear his soul so completely to nick without fear of judgement, but the moment had never arisen, no matter how many times nick looked at him with such unabashed awe.

“i’ve wanted to tell you the whole honest truth since the day i met you,” he explained watching as nick poured two glasses of scotch from one of gatsby’s prize decanters.

“what truth?” nick asked, placing the decanter back on the countertop with a casual ease.

it made gatsby grin a little to see how easily nick handled his possessions as if they were his own. it was a habit that gatsby had encouraged.

nick offered him a glass which he accepted with a nod and took a deep, shaking breath.

“my truth, old sport. the truth about my past. who i am, how i was, how i came to be the man that you see before you now,” he took a swig of the scotch.

***

my truth. the words clanged through nick and he felt the involuntary swell of his chest at the realisation that gatsby liked him, trusted him.

but that swell of pride was just the beginning.

nick could hear the shake in his voice as he began, and he almost pitied him. it seemed gatsby was suddenly eager to share all his worldly secrets, and for once in his life, nick very much wanted to listen.

jay gatsby told him everything that night.

the two roamed the great halls and studies of gatsby’s enormous mansion, and as the night drew on and the morning took over, still they talked.

jay, for gatsby had insisted nick call him jay, explained in great depth, his humble beginnings, his time as a labourer, and his eventual rescue of dan cody, his best friend.

it all made sense once explained like that. how he had the mannerisms of someone who had grown up with money, but was still considered newly rich.

through it all, one particular story, one moment, stuck out in nick’s mind.

the pair had settled themselves on the steps of one of gatsby’s many lavish staircases, nick reclining almost completely horizontal, another scotch clutched in his hand, and jay had taken up a seat on the step above him.

“being a labourer was very hard on me, old sport,” jay cleared his throat “we had long hours, few breaks, and,” he cleared his throat again “and fewer women. but that didn’t make any…instincts of ours…go…away…if you,” a hard swallow this time “if you catch my meaning,”

there was a long silence. nick did indeed catch his meaning. and jay looked so awfully uncomfortable that nick sat up and drunk deeply from his scotch.

“when i was in the military…” he was now struck by the urge to clear his own throat, and gatsby just looked at him with a focused intensity “when i was in the military, there were these…these periods of great boredom. restlessness,”

nick briefly wondered what on earth was in jay’s liquor to make him spill a story he had never told anyone. but he continued anyway.

“everyone was bored and scared and very…very lonely. they all missed their wives, their girlfriends. it was difficult, but we…we found comfort. in one another,”

there was another silence, almost uncomfortable if not for the deep, meaningful mutual understanding that passed between the two men.

and then they moved on, not lingering on the subject, nor feeling the need to bring it up again.

nick had liked jay gatsby since the moment he had met him. had thought him the most interesting, curious, glorious person nick had ever met.

and now, knowing all this about gatsby, how he had dragged himself into a life of luxury, only made nick like him even more. dangerously so.

he was still turning said feelings over in his mind, trying not to worry about the implications of such strong affection from one man to another, when gatsby pulled the curtains back from one of the windows with a broad hand.

“say, the sky looks utterly fantastic doesn’t it old sport?“ when nick just nodded, still lost in thought, gatsby grabbed him by the elbow and steered him toward the nearest exit.

“lets go out to the dock. the morning is young yet and there are still plenty of conversations to be had under such a glorious sky,“

shaking himself out of his daze, nick allowed jay to link their arms as he strolled easily out of the house.

(just want to take this moment to quickly yap about the absolute POWER MOVE of jay gatsby taking nick, his friend/crush out to lunch to the one place where he knows and has an inside joke with every single person in there. like wdym you said ‘let’s go out for lunch’ and proceeded to take him to a restaurant that was inhabited by literally just your entire friend group?? what a girlboss.)

it seemed impossible that a man, a mere mortal, could look so golden.

the rising sun was casting yellow, buttery light across gatsby's features, his arms folded across his chest, legs crossed as he leaned casually against the dock.

he was gazing across the water, sunlight striking the pale blue of his eyes, and nick tried not to wince as he remembered what it was gatsby was looking at; daisy's green dock-light.

if only he knew. that daisy planned to abandon ship, to take the easy route and run away from her mistakes with her old money husband and her perfect american dream family.

he could almost see her in his mind’s eye, despite the time that had passed and the liquor he had consumed, falling so gracefully back into the easy comfort of her husband, forgetting everything gatsby was and everything he had done for her.

she seemed ready to abandon gatsby the moment things grew difficult. and that was, in nick’s mind, an unforgivable sin. and something he began to resent his cousin for.

the memory of it soured his thoughts and he felt himself grow cold despite the glowing warmth of the slowly rising sun. he shivered.

and gatsby must have noticed his melancholy silence, as he stopped talking, silvery eyes dragging away from the vast expanse of water to rest on the man behind him.

nick had settled himself on the edge of the higher dock, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he leaned back, letting his feet dangle over the edge.

and as gatsby looked at him, he felt himself school his features into an expression of neutral interest. but the older man's voice was still cautiously gentle when he addressed him.

"what's the matter old sport?" nick didn’t know what to tell him. that face, that had been so full of pride for his achievements just moments before was now solemn and sincere, focused entirely on nick and his well-being.

he couldn't believe that it this was the man he was holding such a massive truth from.

but at the same time, he had felt so sure that gatsby didn't want to be told, that he'd let himself believe all was fine for the last three blissful hours.

but now, that tender tone, gatsby's body turning to face him fully, arms uncrossing and resting on nick's knees. nick knew he'd have to tell him. but he really really didn't want to.

he knew telling him what he had seen would wipe that contented, concerned look from gatsby's face in an instant.

now though, gatsby's intense gaze left no room for feigned contentedness. nick would have to tell him something.

and as he fumbled for something, anything, to say, but gatsby interrupted him before he could force out a sentence.

"whatever it is, old sport, you can tell me," gatsby had never said that to nick before, never displayed such utter…well, affection.

nick was desperate. desperate to tell him something that would distract him from prying too deeply into the crushing truth nick knew.

and so, looking longingly at that golden gilded face, hair messy, mouth set in soft seriousness, nick made his choice.

and he leaned forward and kissed gatsby decisively on the mouth.

the man's lips were warm and rough under his own, and nick could feel his own heart thudding a frantic, terrified beat beneath his casually unbuttoned shirt.

but he squeezed his eyes shut nonetheless and tried to remember this moment, especially when gatsby predictably pushed him away, looked at him in disgust, and shunned him from society for the rest of time.

at least when he was penniless and starving on the street, nick would have the memory of this moment to keep him warm during harsh winters.

but apparently, jay gatsby had other ideas as he cradled the back of nick's head in a broad palm, beginning to move his lips slowly and almost tentatively.

embarrassingly, this movement startled nick so much that he jolted back, out of gatsby’s grasp, staring down at the golden-haired man with a look of purely astonished amazement.

gatsby was gazing back up at him with a similar shocked and dazzled look, seeming more caught off-guard than nick had thought him capable of.

nick, once again, didn’t know what to say, so he tried his best to fill the uneasy silence.
“forgive me, i-“ but gatsby was having none of it. he waved nick’s politeness away, although he himself seemed less than at ease.

“no shame in it, old sport, just…“ and right as gatsby had seemed set to launch into some excuse or other, nick made the mistake of letting his gaze slip from its respectable position on gatsby’s face.

his eyes did not fall on gatsby’s lips though. no, rather, they came to rest hesitantly on gatsby’s weathered hands, so at odds with the rich, gentlemanly facade he otherwise presented.

the only part of his past gatsby was unable to hide.

nick remembered how well one of those hands had fit around the base of his skull just moments before. and mere seconds after his gaze had flickered back up to gatsby’s face, that hand was back.

and gatsby was kissing him, decisively, and with an assured masculinity that nick had always expected from him.

unsure of what to do with his own hands, nick held fiercely onto gatsby’s shoulders, a solid piece of debris, floating in the ocean of chaos that this night had become.

***

jay never did recall how they made it to his bedroom, never had time to worry if they had been seen by nosy passers-by while out on the dock.

but he couldn’t bring himself to care, not with nick splayed out so beautifully across his expensive linen sheets, flushed crimson from his cheeks to his chest.

jay marvelled at the smooth, flat panes of nick’s chest as he traced them with his hands, the skin almost too warm to the touch

he admired the hard, solid lines of his body, hewn and cut rather than carved. so at odds with the soft femininity his had grown accustomed to.

nick was beautiful. jay had thought so since he had first seen him. but to have him, here, like this…jay had never even thought to imagine it, to want it.

but now he had it. now he had nick, gazing up at him with eyes so full of devotion it was almost hard to look at. and he didn’t know how he had lived so long without it.

jay ran his hands over the faint indents of nick’s biceps, up his forearms, finally settling to hold his wrists above the man’s head as he leaned down to kiss him again.

it was intoxicating, the tender ease with which nick’s lips yielded to jay’s.

he had been with men before, one or two in his younger years as a travelling worker with no one else around, but this...this was different.

so, achingly, different. he couldn't even bring himself to compare nick to anyone he'd been with before, man or woman.

he was different. better. gatsby, for that night, forgot about daisy. in fact, he couldn't conjure a single positive thought he'd had about anyone except the man in front of him.

the man gasping as their kiss broke and he stared and stared and stared at gatsby, as if he were the very sun warming the earth.

***

for the first time since gatsby had kissed him on the dock, nick didn’t know what to do.

the last few minutes (minutes? hours? days?!) had been a beautiful, glorious blur, with nick not quite knowing how he had ended up in gatsby’s lavish bed but knowing he very much wanted to be there.

and now, as gatsby peppered hot kisses up and now his already flushed chest, he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to leave.

he relished in the pressure of the older man’s knees tightening around his waist where he knelt over him. was this even possible? could jay have moved on from daisy that easily? for him?

nick decided that wasn’t for him to worry about right now. he quieted the screaming voice in the back of his head that complained at the wrongness of it all.

and he smiled and gatsby kissed him hard on the mouth.

they made love right there that morning, no servants coming to disturb them. and nick felt more alive than he had in years, their bodies melding together as if they were made to.

and as they lay side by side, breathing hard and gazing into the sliver of light visible through the curtains, jay slipped his hand into nick’s, all thoughts of daisy’s incoming call forgotten.

and he whispered “i love you,“ into the dusky gloom.