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Zayn adjusts his grip on his phone, shifting on the bed so the angle’s not quite so horrible when he hits record. If he’d planned better he’d have gotten his laptop out, set it up so both his hands were free, but he wasn’t thinking when he started this whole process and now he’s caught in that tricky space where he’s close enough to coming that holding onto the camera requires the kind of effort he hates.

“Miss you, babe,” he says, his breath catching when he circles his thumb around the head of his cock. He flips the camera so he’s not filming his face anymore, imagining the sound Perrie’ll probably make when the shot switches and his cock fills up the screen. How she’ll go all flushed. He groans, pushing his hips into his hand. “Wish I was fucking your mouth instead of my fist, yeah? I could -- fuck,” his hips jerk and the camera lurches, the angle cutting to his stomach before Zayn rights it, “would come on your tits if you’d let me. You would, wouldn’t you? If you were here? Fuck, babes, I --” he twists his wrist on the upstroke and his breath catches in his chest, making him sound unbearably needy when he says, “wish you were here.”

He bites his lip to keep from saying anything else. He’s been feeling out of sorts all morning, fucking about his hotel room ever since he and Louis got in. Jamaica’d been sick and all but. It’s odd, this tour; Zayn’s had a harder time getting back into the swing of it than usual. It’s got him missing home already, feeling antsy and a little desperate. He’s hoping this helps. Or at least that whatever Perrie sends in return will.

“Fuck, Pez, remember --” he cuts himself off, inhaling sharply as he changes his grip, wanking himself faster to the memory of the video she’d sent when he was fuck knows where. Australia or New Zealand. He tips his head back against the pillows, his voice coming out rough and uneven when he asks, “Do you still have the red --”

“Zayn, have you got my gray shirt? Louis said you might’ve had it on yesterday.”

It takes Zayn a moment to place Harry’s voice, to figure out that he’s let himself into Zayn’s suite, and fuck. Fuck. Zayn fumbles for the blankets, cursing under his breath and wondering how he hadn’t heard the door opening. He manages to get the duvet pulled up before Harry wanders into the bedroom, scratching his elbow, still describing his missing top.

“It’s got letters on the front, big, across the chest.” He smiles, gesturing to his chest. Zayn shifts, bending his knees so his boner’s not on full display. Harry’s smile falls the tiniest bit. “Oh, sorry, are you on the phone?”

“What? No,” Zayn says before realizing he’s still got his phone clutched in his hand. He must’ve hit a button accidentally because it’s not recording anymore, thank fuck. Not that that matters, because one of Harry’s eyebrows goes up very, very slowly and Zayn knows he knows even before Harry starts chuckling.

“We’ve been gone like, a week, Zayn,” he says, shaking his head. “A week.”

Zayn scowls. “Some of us aren’t going out every night.” He knows he sounds petulant but he’s still half hard and Harry’s still laughing so Zayn thinks he can fuck right off.

“Yeah, well…” Harry trails off, staring in a way that makes Zayn acutely aware of every inch of his body; he has to fight not to squirm under Harry’s gaze. He just wants Harry to go so he can finish wanking in peace, but Harry’s still stood there, staring like he can see the sweat cooling on Zayn’s skin. Eventually he blinks, takes a deep breath, and says, “So it’s a Nike shirt -- gray, did I say that? It says --”

“Fuck’s sake, Harry.” Zayn rolls his eyes and sits up. It’s impossible to ignore the way Harry tracks the movement of the bedding, his eyes flickering to Zayn’s phone and then the duvet pooled in his lap, but Zayn tries to anyway. “I don’t have your bloody shirt so can you just --”

“Yeah, right, of course, I’ll just,” Harry shakes his head, smirking, “leave you to it, then.” He turns to go and then stops, spinning back to face Zayn. “Maybe put the chain on next time, yeah?”

He winks as he goes, laughing even when the pillow Zayn throws hits him square in the back of the head.

“I’m putting the Do Not Disturb sign up for you, too!” Harry hollers, loud enough that people up and down the hallway can hear. Zayn flips two fingers in Harry’s general direction, listening for the door to shut all the way before kicking off the duvet, reaching for his phone again.

It’s not the same, though. The room feels too quiet as he palms his cock, the screams from the crowd outside filtering in, distracting him. He lets it record for a moment before sighing, giving up and chucking the phone aside. He rolls off the bed, feeling even more unsettled than he had before. Maybe he’ll go find Louis in a bit, kill some time before they’ve got to leave for the show. He’ll send Pez a screenshot or whatevs. Later, after he finishes himself off in the shower. It seems easier that way.

**

“Sorry we’re late, lads, bit of a traffic jam,” Louis says, elbowing Zayn out of the way so he can make a running leap onto the mainstage for soundcheck.

Niall snorts. “That’s what we’re calling it now?”

“Thought it was ‘long wait at the drive-through.’” Liam ducks out of the way, hiding behind Harry as Louis swats at him.

“How dare you,” Louis says, managing to smack both Niall and Liam. Harry seems oblivious, staring at Zayn through it all, the corner of his mouth ticked up in a half-smile. It’s the same look he’d had earlier, standing over Zayn’s bed, and it’s fucking unnerving. Makes Zayn feels like he’s rooted to his spot. “We saw girls fainting in the queues outside.”

Liam pauses. “So your traffic was a medical emergency?”

He laughs when Louis runs after him, Niall hopping out of their way. It seems like it’s happening somewhere else, though, because Zayn’s still pinned under the way Harry’s smirking at him, his one eyebrow going up slowly. Even if he were stone sober Zayn’d feel out of his depth. It’s like his body’s suddenly remembered the unsatisfying wank in the shower and is angry about it, his skin prickling in the afternoon heat.

Harry holds his gaze for another moment before tipping his chin up and winking. It makes him look like a right twat and Zayn hates that his dick is into it. He rolls his eyes at Harry anyway, slowly making his way over to where Harry’s stood.

“Sounds like an eventful morning.” Harry winks again, raising his fist like he’s about to make a jerk-off motion. Zayn elbows him before he can actually do it.

“Fuck off.”

Harry laughs loudly, elbowing back before pulling Zayn into a half-hug. It’s too hot but Zayn lets it happen, leaning into him a bit while he watches Liam chase after Louis. He’s not sure how or when the tables turned on that one.

“Find your shirt?” Zayn asks, keeping his voice low while Louis cries cheater, looking to Niall for refereeing.

Something in Harry’s face has him wishing he hadn’t said anything at all. Harry’s got his arm slung around Zayn’s waist, thumb tucked casually under Zayn’s top, right against his skin. He can feel it all along his side when Harry chuckles. Fuck, maybe he shouldn’t have smoked that second spliff. It’s making everything seem that much bigger now, like it’s all happening under a magnifying glass. Like they’re ants in the sun, just a moment away from burning up.

“What?” Harry asks, and Zayn realizes he’s laughing at himself. Harry rolls his eyes, pushing Zayn away gently. He looks like he’s about to say something else but then someone’s right behind them, clearing his throat and handing out microphones, pointing all five of them towards the catwalk as a bassline floods the stadium.

Zayn lets himself be distracted by everything. It’s easy to go through the motions, trying bits of songs and familiarizing themselves with the layout. He sticks by Liam for most of it and tries to ignore the way Harry’s not-so-subtly watching him. It’s not unwelcome, it’s just. Whatever. He and Harry haven’t spent much time together since the last tour, when they were in the States and it was easy to lose track of everything. The way it’s always easy to lose track of everything when it’s the two of them and they’re light years away from home.

Zayn sighs and Liam frowns at him.

“Tired already?”

Zayn shrugs. That’s not really it, but now that Liam’s mentioned it. “Could go for a kip.”

Liam laughs, curling his arm around Zayn’s shoulders. “Race you up the steps? That’d wake you up a bit, yeah?”

“Absolutely not.”

“On your marks get set go!” Louis shouts from behind them, just before he darts past, bumping Liam enough that he and Zayn sway on their feet before Liam realizes what’s happening and goes sprinting after Louis.

Someone touches Zayn’s back, steadying him. He knows without looking that it’s Harry.

“Alright?”

“Yeah,” Zayn nods, “cheers.”

Harry squeezes his shoulder as the music fades out, echoing in the massive stadium. Zayn’s sure he’ll be over it within a month but the size of these venues is still flooring him. They feel even bigger like this, completely empty.

Liam and Louis have established an entirely new set of rules already and are racing up the steps, trying to see who can make it in fewer strides. Harry laughs when Louis elbows Liam, nearly knocking him over in his effort to win.

“Foul!” Liam yells, looking over for support.

“Yellow card,” Niall says, while Zayn nods.

“Unanimous.” Harry gestures to the foot of the stairs, waving them off. “Back to the start, Louis. Go again.”

“Think Liam should get a head start as like, a penalty,” Zayn says. His voice is quieter than he means, only Harry ending up hearing over Louis’s complaints about bias.

“That’d go over well,” he says, his hand curling tighter around Zayn’s shoulder when he laughs. “We could offer to time them instead. Have them go like, separately and then see who’s faster.”

“Set,” Niall announces and Liam somehow manages to pinch Louis’s nipple before Niall yells, “Go!” and Louis is shouting while Liam races for the steps.

“Or,” Zayn raises an eyebrow, turning to Harry, “we could stay over here and not get involved at all.”

Harry laughs. “Getting boring in your old age, Malik.” He punctuates it with a twist of Zayn’s nipple, just hard enough that Zayn sucks air in through his teeth. He doesn’t miss the way Harry’s eyes get a bit darker, his smile wider. Harry knows exactly what he’s doing and Zayn hates him for it, just the tiniest bit.

“Am not.” Zayn knocks Harry’s hand away, aiming a light punch at Harry’s junk that’s easily deflected, Harry catching his wrist and not letting go. Zayn twists, flexing his hand, but Harry won’t let him pull away. He’s surprisingly strong when he wants to be.

“You should come out tonight,” Harry says after a minute.

“You should stay in,” Zayn counters. Harry goes completely still for a moment and Zayn regrets saying it. It has been ages and it’s not -- they’ve only barely started this tour, this isn’t how it usually goes. He’s still just reeling from the interruption earlier, is all.

But then Harry turns slightly, leaning in and saying, “Yeah?”

Zayn shrugs. Harry hums, tightening his hold on Zayn’s wrist, waiting. When Zayn looks up, Harry’s staring at him so intently it knocks his breath out for a second. Zayn shrugs again, mouth curling up in an almost smile.

Harry hums again. “Maybe,” he says, smiling cruelly, and then Niall’s shouting at them cut the fucking chit chat so all Zayn gets is a slap on the arse and a wink before Harry’s jogging over to his mic stand so they can run through the rest, leaving Zayn alone downstage feeling completely shell-shocked.

**

Harry doesn’t mention it again so Zayn doesn’t, either. He’s honestly not expecting anything from it even though he’s got that familiar thrum deep in his gut like maybe. Maybe. Only Harry goes one way after the show and Zayn goes the other and he figures maybe not. Harry’s all talk sometimes, has been doing his own thing for ages now. They both have. It’s fine, it really is.

Zayn’s showered and changed into trackies and ordered a movie on demand when there’s a knock at the door, soft enough that he almost doesn’t hear it over the opening credits.

The door opens before Zayn has a chance to get to it and Harry’s there, hair damp and curling, shirt sticking to him in spots.

“You forgot the latch again,” he says. He makes a show of flipping it, grinning all the while.

“Maybe I meant to.”

“This time? Or before?” Harry grins when Zayn rolls his eyes. He laughs loudly, grabbing his cock through his shorts, doing a terrifyingly accurate impression of Zayn when he groans and says, “Oh, babe, miss you so much, babe.”

“Fuck off.” Zayn chucks the remote at him, laughing when it hits Harry right in the stomach, Harry doubling over with it.

There’s an explosion on screen in the other room, loud enough that Harry hears it, perking up.

“Are you watching something?” He goes to push past Zayn, stopping at the last second, his hand on Zayn’s bicep. “Is it porn?”

Zayn scowls, making Harry laugh as he breezes into the bedroom, throwing himself down on Zayn’s bed like he’s come over to watch telly. Zayn stares at him, agog, watching Harry kick the blankets until he’s comfortable, his wet hair seeping into the pillow. Zayn’s pillow. Christ. Harry pats the empty space next to him without looking over.

The silence makes Zayn feel like he’s crawling out of his skin, even as he’s settling next to Harry, a careful distance between them. Harry’s got his eyes fixed on the movie so Zayn does the same, forces himself to try to pay attention to whatever’s going on. It’s a fucking nightmare, too, because Harry’s still for about three minutes before he gets restless, shifting constantly, kicking Zayn, elbowing him, sliding his foot along Zayn’s calf and then pulling back, murmuring “Sorry,” every time.

“Jesus, Haz,” Zayn says after Harry’s clipped him in the ribs for like the tenth time. Harry shifts again and Zayn reaches out, quick, and catches Harry’s arm, pressing it into the mattress until Harry goes mostly still. He’s still twitchy; Zayn can feel the bones of Harry’s wrist shifting under his skin. When he looks over, Harry’s watching him, not the telly. He smiles for a second before looking away and Zayn means to do the same, only he gets distracted by the way Harry’s free hand is pulling at a loose thread on his shorts, looping it around and around his finger, his shirt rucked up just enough that Zayn can see the ferns he had done over the break.

It feels so late suddenly, even later than it is. Zayn can’t figure out if he’s exhausted or coming up on his third wind, not when the air in the room’s gone so still, the only sound coming from Mark Wahlberg yelling at Denzel.

“You’re missing your movie,” Harry says quietly and Zayn realizes he’s been staring like a fucking idiot.

“I don’t care.“ Zayn shrugs, turning on his side so he’s facing Harry properly. “Don’t even know what’s happening, really. Was just -- ” He’s cut off by Harry leaning over, one hand cupping the back of Zayn’s head as he kisses him. It’s so sudden, so unexpected, that it takes Zayn a moment to catch his bearings and then another to actually kiss Harry back. Harry waits him out, humming when Zayn finally gets with the program.

“Thought you were gonna make me watch that whole thing like some bloody first date.” Harry’s voice is a low rumble, trailing off when as he laughs quietly, smoothing his thumb along Zayn’s jaw.

“I only,” Zayn gets distracted pushing his hands under Harry’s shirt, dragging his nails across Harry’s lower back just to feel him shiver, “only rented it ‘cause I thought you weren’t coming.”

Harry stops mouthing at Zayn’s neck long enough to look at him. “I always come.” He realizes the pun belatedly, his face splitting into a grin.

“Idiot,” Zayn says, thankful that the heavy moment that had been threatening is gone. He tugs on Harry’s hair before forcing him back down, Harry’s mouth opening against his easily. Zayn lets himself get lost in it, the feel of Harry’s mouth, Harry’s hands, Harry’s body slowly pressing into his until he’s got Zayn flat on his back, their legs fitted together so Harry can grind down against Zayn’s thigh.

Snogging like this makes Zayn feel like he’s traveled back in time, just the two of them alone in a hotel room because they hadn’t pulled. That’s how this whole thing had started, him and Harry getting off together on tour. There’ve been breaks, yeah, gaps or lapses or whatever, but they always fall back into it eventually. It’s as if there’s a clock counting down to it, only Zayn never knows when it’ll hit zero until it actually has and Harry’s in his bed, his hand around Zayn’s prick.

“Zayn,” Harry drags it out, a whine in his voice. He’s never liked it when Zayn gets distracted.

“Yeah.” Zayn drags himself back to reality by biting Harry’s lip, hard enough that Harry hisses. It makes Harry squirm against him, too, and that’s exactly what Zayn’d been after. That urgent press of Harry’s hips into his own.

“Cheater.”

Zayn’s eyebrows go up even though Harry’s not looking. “Are you complaining?”

“Yes.” Harry sounds the exact opposite. Zayn laughs but the sound’s swallowed up when Harry kisses him again, harder this time, like he’s finally waking up. Zayn feels like he’s finally waking up too, his whole body coming alive with how Harry’s moving against him. He curves his hands over Harry’s arse, trying to haul him closer. It still doesn’t feel like enough.

They’re both breathless when Harry pulls back, dragging his lips along Zayn’s jaw. “How’d Perrie like her movie?”

“Didn’t --” Zayn gasps, his hips jerking when Harry’ sets his teeth against Zayn’s earlobe, “didn’t send it.”

Harry sits up a bit, bracing himself over Zayn. His eyes are bright. “What?”

Zayn shrugs. It feels like it was forever ago, a completely different country. He’d pretty much forgotten about it. He pushes Harry’s shirt up until Harry gets the picture, tugging it off entirely. Harry’s flushed all down his chest; Zayn rubs his fingertips over one of the swallows, pleased with how Harry’s breath catches.

“You did interrupt it,” Zayn says when Harry’s still frowning at him. “The end was kind of --”

“Anti-climactic?” Harry offers. Zayn closes his eyes, shaking his head while Harry cracks himself up laughing. It makes it easier for Zayn to roll them, sending Harry sprawling across the bed.

“Least you think you’re hilarious,” he says, biting at Harry’s flank as he drags Harry’s trousers down, trying to stay out of the way of Harry’s flailing legs as he kicks them off the rest of the way.

“It’s ‘cause -- fuck,” Harry makes a desperate sound when Zayn mouths at his cock through his pants, “‘cause I am.”

Zayn hums noncommittally. Harry lifts his hips, pushing himself against Zayn’s mouth. He’s got one hand in Zayn’s hair and the other’s trying to shove his pants off. Zayn catches that one, pinning it to the bed. He wants Harry naked, too, but he likes making Harry wait. Likes things to be on his terms.

Harry whines but, to his credit, stops struggling. Zayn takes his time, dragging his tongue along one of Harry’s ferns, wondering if he should take the time to trace the whole outline. Part of him hates them, is pissed Harry’d gone and covered up the might as well. But that’s -- whatever. It’s not like Zayn consults Harry before he gets some new ink.

He licks at where the words used to be -- still are, technically, he supposes. It’s not like they’re gone entirely. He wonders if he could still see them if he looked hard enough.

“Jesus,” Harry grits out as Zayn purposefully scrapes his stubble across Harry’s stomach, “would you get on with it? Please?” he adds when Zayn looks up at him. It’s more pandering than pleading but something in his face breaks down the last of Zayn’s resistances.

He presses one last, sucking kiss to the skin below Harry’s navel before curling his fingers in Harry’s waistband, dragging his pants down. He scoots backwards as he goes, moving until he’s situated on the floor. He grabs Harry behind the knees and tugs, pulling Harry down the bed until he can get his mouth on his cock.

“Fuck yes,” Harry breathes out, pushing himself all the way to his feet. He’s surprisingly coordinated for how Zayn’s licking up the underside of his prick, his hand curling around the base. “I want -- let me -- Zayn,” Harry digs his fingers into the back of Zayn’s skull like a plea. It’s like he’s lost his grasp of the English language, having to resort to half-sentences and desperate glances. It’s one of Zayn’s favorite versions of Harry.

Zayn groans, sucking hard at the head of Harry’s cock before curling his hands around the backs of Harry’s thighs and nodding. “Yeah,” he says, feeling like he’s on solid ground for the first time since Harry walked in this morning. This, at least, is the same as always. “Yeah, c’mon.”

He leans back in, careful to keep his mouth slack, relaxed, and the noise Harry makes goes straight to Zayn’s cock, makes him twitch like Harry’s got his hand round him already. Zayn groans and Harry does, too, starting a feedback loop that Zayn thinks might never stop.

Harry takes his time building up to something resembling a rhythm, going so slowly at first that Zayn digs his nails into Harry’s thighs.

“Shit,” Harry’s hips snap forward and while his hand flies down to Zayn’s cheek to check if he’s okay, his hips keep moving. It’s as if a dam’s broken, Harry chanting to himself, one hand on Zayn’s jaw, the other on the back of his head, holding him in place. Zayn chances a glance up and even though he can’t see for shit, what he does catch -- Harry’s head thrown back, hair falling in disarray, skin slick with sweat and his chest heaving -- is too much. He groans and that sets Harry off again, his fingers clutching at Zayn’s hair so hard it hurts. Zayn tries to pinch Harry’s legs again but all that does is make Harry choke, this broken, guttural noise sounding like it’s being ripped from the soles of his feet.

“Fuck, Zayn,” he manages and then everything’s a blur, Harry pulling back at the same time he’s pushing Zayn, putting just enough distance between them even as he’s curling in on himself, his fingers twisting in Zayn’s hair, tugging his head back even further.

“Fuck,” Zayn glares at Harry when he ends up with come in his beard, “Harry.”

Harry doesn’t even have the dignity to pretend it was an accident. “Make it up to you,” he offers breathlessly while Zayn wipes his face on the corner of the sheet.

“No shit,” he says, not caring that Harry’s barely had any time to recover. It’s not fair that he’s still dressed and Harry’s completely blissed out. It’s downright shit, is what it actually is. He shucks his kit before crawling onto the bed, kicking at the back of Harry’s head. “C’mon, then.”

“Gimme like, a minute,” Harry says, tipping his head so it’s just out of Zayn’s reach. “Two minutes.”

“No.”

Harry laughs. If it weren’t such an unfair trade Zayn’d just wank himself right here just to spite him. He idly strokes himself while he considers it; two unsatisfactory orgasms in one day, thanks to Harry. Or no thanks to Harry, as it were. Either way, might be a new record.

“Two minutes,” Harry says. Zayn feels the bed dip first and then Harry’s looming over him, shaking his head. “You couldn’t wait?”

“Fuck no.” Zayn’s voice is still wrecked from blowing Harry but it goes doubly hoarse when Harry wraps his hand around Zayn’s, immediately matching his rhythm, “Harry.”

“Yeah,” Harry strokes Zayn for a moment longer before easing both their hands off, “my turn.”

The warm heat of Harry’s mouth nearly makes Zayn cry out, his whole body seizing up when Harry swallows him down without pretense. Zayn shifts, planting his feet on the mattress so he can get better leverage to thrust up into Harry’s mouth. It seems like that was Harry’s plan all along because the next thing Zayn knows, Harry’s slick finger is pressed against his arse.

“Jesus.” The sheets in this hotel are too bloody slippery, Zayn’s foot skidding across them as his leg kicks out involuntarily. Harry pulls off his cock with a truly obscene noise, grinning up at Zayn.

“Said I’d make it up to you.” He pushes his finger forward, eyes locked on Zayn’s, grinning when Zayn whimpers. Zayn honestly feels like he’s going to come any second, which is ridiculous. He has been hard for ages, he reasons, pushing back onto Harry’s hand. That makes it semi-acceptable.

It’s overwhelming when Harry finally stops smirking and starts blowing him again. Zayn feels like he’s being pulled in two directions, caught between grinding down on Harry’s hand and thrusting up into his mouth. He’s sure he sounds like a babbling idiot, the dumbest fucking shit spilling out of his mouth, his fingers tangled up in that stupid ponytail of Harry’s.

“Fuck, Haz, fucking --” his voice goes completely strangled when Harry adds a second finger, twisting them at the same time as he hollows his cheeks. Zayn claws at the sheets, his back arching completely off the bed as he comes.

Harry works him through it, his free hand petting Zayn’s side as he calms down. He crawls up Zayn’s body, kissing his cheek before curling around him.

“Worth the wait?”

Zayn exhales, laughing when his breath comes out all shaky. “Fuck.” He pats Harry’s arm clumsily, feeling wrung out.

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Harry says, and Zayn rolls his eyes but still turns his head so he can kiss Harry properly, chasing the taste of himself. Harry groans into it, the two of them snogging lazily until Harry pulls away, trailing his fingertips down Zayn’s cheek. “I should go.”

Zayn nods dumbly, his limbs feeling like lead, his head too heavy to even lift off the pillow while Harry disappears into the toilet. “Night,” he says, watching Harry pull on his trousers, his pants and shirt balled up in his hand.

Zayn attempts a wave, his hand stretched out. Harry reaches back to touch their fingertips like it’s a half-hearted high five.

“I’d say lock the door but,” Harry looks over his shoulder, smiling down at Zayn, “I don’t think you’re getting up.”

Zayn’s laugh his muffled by how his face is mashed into his pillow. Harry salutes before he goes, the door quietly snicking shut behind him. In the silence Zayn feels truly wrung out. He wonders, briefly, what time it is in London. If Louis is still awake down the hall. He doesn’t let himself look at the clock before he rolls over and goes to sleep. It’s late. That’s all he needs to know.

**

When Zayn wakes up, it’s to girls screaming outside and his phone vibrating like crazy on the nightstand. It takes him a minute to remember where he is, why his jaw aches. His phone goes blissfully silent and Zayn rolls over, his back cracking as he kicks himself free of the blankets. It’s barely noon and he’s not supposed to be anywhere until later; even though he feels gross it would be nice to roll over and sleep for another hour or three.

Only his phone starts buzzing again; he can see the string of texts lighting up the screen. When he caves and checks them, they’re all from Louis. Zayn vaguely remembers agreeing to meet up with him at some arbitrary time today.

YOU’RE MISSING OUT is the most recent one and Zayn grumbles to himself before padding to the shower, texting Louis to give him twenty minutes.

“You sound like shit,” Louis says when Zayn finally rolls in, half-heartedly apologizing for forgetting.

Zayn coughs to clear his throat; it doesn’t help. “Tired,” is all he says, shrugging. Louis accepts it, making room for Zayn on the couch and passing over his lighter. Zayn means to ask if he’s seen any of the other lads today -- how Niall’s knee’s doing, if Liam’s managed any sleep lately, what Harry’s up to, if he sounds half as fucked as Zayn -- but he forgets, falls asleep again with his head on Louis’s arm and the Spanish-dubbed version of Men in Black playing in the background. When he wakes up again, at least he feels rested.

**

He doesn’t see Harry -- doesn’t see anyone but Louis -- until they’re at the venue, fucking about in the dressing room. Zayn and Louis have Niall trapped in a game of keepaway.

“Look alive, Payno,” Louis yells.

“I’m not -- “ The ball goes flying across the room; Liam has to reach for it. He frowns at Louis. “I wasn’t playing.”

Louis shrugs. “You are now.”

Niall makes an annoyed sound, his forehead wrinkling as he tries to decide if it’s worth it to cross the room before Liam throws the ball back. Liam holds onto it until Niall gets most of the way towards him and then throwing it to Zayn on the sofa.

“Nooo,” Louis whines, “you were supposed to throw it to me.”

“I thought Zayn was playing,” Liam says.

“I am.”

“Technically.” The undisguised anger in Louis’s voice makes Zayn laugh. “If you call ‘not leaving the sofa and chucking the ball any direction he pleases so I have to run all over God’s green earth to catch it’ playing.”

“We’re winning, aren’t we?” Zayn grins and Louis flips him off.

“Thanks to me.”

“Careful.” Liam winces when Niall leaps at Zayn, who tosses the ball behind his head at the last possible second. It bounces across the floor, Niall trying to scramble over the back of the sofa to get it while Louis makes a frustrated noise and jogs after it. They’re fighting over it, Liam looking torn about intervening when Harry strolls in, carefully stepping over Niall’s flailing legs.

“Are you winning?” he nudges Niall’s ankle with his toe, laughing when both Niall and Louis yell, “Yes!”

“I think technically Louis is,” Liam says helpfully, coming to stand next to Harry. Harry hums, licking his bottom lip. Zayn tries not to think about how the room feels smaller all of a sudden.

“Hang on, you’ve got --” Liam wipes at something along the collar of Harry’s shirt and Zayn’s heart stops for a moment. He was careful not to leave any marks but Harry’s skin’s always been so sensitive and -- “Got it,” Liam says, flicking whatever it was onto the ground.

“Thanks.” Harry beams at him before his eyes cut to Zayn, looking at him like he knows exactly what Zayn’d been thinking. Harry’s jaw works silently like he’s about to say something but keeps changing his mind. “I was helping Ben unload some things,” he says eventually.

“Liam!” Louis shouts, half a second before Zayn sees the ball go sailing overhead.

“Get it, Harry!” Niall yells at the same time.

Harry makes a lazy grab for it that makes Zayn’s attempts look downright athletic. From the floor Niall makes a pained sound before pushing himself up so he can wave his arms in Liam’s face.

“What’re we playing?” Harry asks Zayn, leaning over the back of the sofa.

“Keepaway.” Zayn has to lean back so the brim of Harry’s hat will stop hitting him in the temple. “You and Niall are losing.”

Harry watches as Liam fakes throwing the ball to Louis over and over, Niall jumping for it every time. Zayn makes himself watch, too. Staring at Harry from this close up is creepy.

“Thought Liam’d seen the beard burn,” Harry says after a minute, his voice low and even. “Cheers for that.”

Zayn fights back a shiver. When he looks over, Harry’s still looking straight ahead but he’s nodding, thumb rubbing slowly across his chest. Zayn can feel the flush spreading up his neck.

“ZAYN!” Louis yells suddenly, so loud Zayn flinches, but it’s too late because Harry’s already fumbling the ball, bobbling it before it’s a legitimate catch, and Niall’s cheering, coming round to lift Harry off his feet in celebration.

“You suck,” Louis says, kneeing Zayn in the side as he falls onto the sofa, and Zayn is certain he hears Harry snort before Niall wrangles him into a two-man conga line. On their second lap, Harry reaches out, squeezing the back of Zayn’s neck like an apology, his nails dragging over Zayn’s nape like something else entirely. Zayn doesn’t know if it makes him feel better or worse.

**

By the time the plane lands in Argentina it’s the middle of the night and Zayn’s got a slew of new texts from Harry.

looks a bit like that bird from Australia yeah? he’d sent early on. The picture’s dark and blurry, taken inside whatever bar Harry and Niall have ended up in. For a moment Zayn’s jealous that they got in so much earlier, the two of them racing out of the stadium after the show just so they could have more time in Buenos Aires tonight. It could’ve been wicked, all of them crowding into a bar like they used to. Like they haven’t in ages.

A logistical nightmare, though. And Zayn’s tired as it is. Probably would’ve spent more time posing for pics than having a smoke on the patio. It’s better this way, he tells himself, going back to his phone.

the one w the pierced tongue

remember her?

Zayn does, sort of. More remembers how her friend had changed her mind at the last minute, refusing to get in the cab with them, Harry shrugging and stretching all the way across the back seat to touch Zayn’s shoulder, saying, “Her loss.” It hadn’t been the first time and it sure as fuck wasn’t the last.

“Oi,” Louis whacks Zayn hard in the arm, “can we get out of the car, please?”

Zayn hits him back, taking his time getting out of the car half to piss Louis off and half to get his wits about him. It’s not that Harry’s texts are like, dirty, it’s just they’re dredging up all sorts of memories and Zayn’s getting lost in them. He makes his way to his room, goes through his post-show routine on autopilot, trying to avoid thinking too hard about Harry but everything’s getting jumbled up in his mind, that girl’s mouth around his prick while Harry’d dicked into her, Harry’s sucking him off last night.

Zayn’s got another text when he gets out of the shower, 723 and nothing else. Somehow it’s enough.

**

Harry answers the door in his nothing but his pants.

“There are cameras, you know,” Zayn says, pointing to the ceiling.

Harry rolls his eyes, turning so Zayn will follow him into the room. This hotel is smaller than the last, Harry’s room a mirror image of his own. Harry’s already got his shit strewn all over the place, his bags splayed open and vomiting clothing.

“Thought you and Niall were going out,” he says.

“We did.” Harry shrugs one shoulder, dimple coming out when he smiles. From this close Zayn can tell, Harry’s breath smelling fruity and faintly like alcohol. “Liam texted that you’d finally landed so I came back.”

He says it so easily. Zayn blinks at him, feeling a bit like he’s been drinking, too.

“You left a bar to come back here? Why, so you could blow me?”

Harry bites his lip before taking a step closer, crowding Zayn up against the wall. When he meets Zayn’s eyes there’s something challenging there. “Maybe I left to come back so I could fuck you, hmm?”

Zayn feels like the floor’s moving under his feet, like all the blood’s drained out of his body, making him dizzy. His head hits the wall with a dull thud, his fingers clutching at Harry’s waist.

“Shit,” Harry laughs, one hand clumsily petting Zayn’s head near where it’s smacked the wall, “I was mostly like, kidding. Just trying to be a twat, you know, but shit.” He must realize he’s rambling because he surges forward, kissing Zayn. He’s still laughing; Zayn can feel it echoing between them. He grips Harry’s waist tighter, like that’ll get him to stop.

“Could you believe that girl,” Harry pulls away, mouth shiny and red already, “she was like, an exact -- what’s it called -- doppelganger.”

“The picture was shit, Haz.” Zayn pushes Harry the slightest bit, uses the momentum to get him moving towards the bed. “Couldn’t see a thing.”

“Oh, she was like, dead on.” Harry grabs for Zayn’s shirt, taking them both down as he falls backwards onto the mattress. “I wanted to like, go up to her and see for sure.”

“And say what?” Zayn straddles Harry’s lap, shifting deliberately when he realizes Harry’s already sporting a semi. He thumbs at Harry’s nipple, pleased at how Harry’s breath catches when he scrapes over it with his nail. “Hi, quick question, did my mate and I have a threeway with you in Australia a few years back?”

Harry scowls even as he’s arching up into Zayn’s touch. “Could’ve just said hello. Might’ve,” he squeezes Zayn’s legs, Zayn’s sweats bunching up under Harry’s palms, “jogged her memory or summat.”

“Sure.” Zayn’s laugh comes out clipped. He grinds against Harry lazily, thinking about what Harry’d said about coming back to fuck him. Wondering if he really meant it. He gasps, flinching away when Harry pinches his side. Harry does it again just to be a dick, laughing when Zayn frowns at him.

“Why the fuck are you still --” Harry starts pawing at Zayn’s clothes instead of finishing his own sentence, pushing everything in all sorts of unhelpful directions.

“Oi.” Zayn tries to move away but doesn’t want to slide off Harry and onto the floor. He slaps Harry’s hands out of the way instead, holding them when Harry doesn’t stop grabbing at his shirt.

“I’ll do it,” he says firmly. Harry’s eyes go wide and dark for a second before he nods, his whole body going still under Zayn. Zayn waits a second before letting go, Harry’s hands dropping to the bed with a faint thump.

Harry’s touching him again the second his top’s halfway off, running his fingertips over Zayn’s skin, leaving trails of gooseflesh in his wake.

“Zayn.” There’s something in Harry’s voice that twists Zayn up inside. He chucks his shirt onto the floor, watching it fall so he doesn’t have to look at Harry.

“Thought you came back to fuck me,” he says, keeping his voice sharp and his eyes averted until the last possible second. He raises his eyebrows, biting his lip so he won’t laugh when Harry nods enthusiastically. “C’mon, then.”

Letting Harry roll them is a mistake. He’s drunk enough that he’s even clumsier than usual, somehow managing to elbow Zayn in six separate places as they get re-situated.

“Sorry,” Harry says, ducking down to kiss where he’d caught Zayn in the ribs, “sorry.” He doesn’t stop, keeps murmuring apologies into Zayn’s skin while he urges Zayn’s trackies off, taking his boxers down with them. Zayn laughs quietly to himself. Drunk and efficient and never shutting up, that’s Harry.

“Fuck, Harry, just --” Zayn bends his knee, “get to the fucking point.”

Harry presses his face into Zayn’s thigh when he laughs; Zayn twists his hand into the sheets so he doesn’t make any embarrassing noises. After a second he tugs on Harry’s hair, pulling hard enough that he knows it hurts.

Zayn,” Harry whines but then he gets his act together, pushing up and leaning over Zayn so he can get to the nightstand. He comes back with lube and a condom, dropping them next to Zayn’s head. His hair’s so long it’s falling in his face; Zayn has the urge to tuck it back behind his ears. He palms Harry’s arse instead, tugging him down until they’re flush against each other.

Harry’s eager for it, rolling his hips against Zayn’s while they kiss. Everything feels sharper, especially since Harry’s still got his pants on, an added layer of friction that has Zayn hissing, biting at Harry’s lip.

“Yeah,” Harry shifts, moving back, his hand sliding down Zayn’s side, over his hip, until he’s moving Zayn’s leg. It takes some fumbling before he’s pressing one finger into Zayn.

“Fucking hell.” Zayn has to break away to curse, turning his head when it feels like all the muscles in his body are straining. Harry goes tense, too.

“You okay?” he asks after a minute, nuzzling Zayn’s jaw with his nose. He waits for Zayn to nod before he moves his hand again. It’s too much though, Harry drunk enough that his rhythm is totally wrong, and Zayn wants it but not like this. He grits his teeth, inhaling sharply when Harry crooks his finger too soon, one of his rings catching the wrong way. It’s -- fuck, it’s like that first time, however the fuck long ago it was, the two of them pissed as shit, trying to figure everything out by themselves. Harry’d been uncoordinated then, too, his fingers moving so quick Zayn had felt like he was going to cleave in two.

“Harry, wait, wait --” Zayn’s breath catches as he reaches for the lube first, slicking his own fingers before reaching down and nudging Harry out of the way, “let me, yeah?”

It still takes Harry a second to get it, Zayn circling his own finger around Harry’s before Harry withdraws. He sits back, making a low noise when Zayn pushes his finger in its place, going slower this time, letting himself get used to the stretch.

“Bloody useless,” he says, shaking his head at Harry. “Call me over here and you can’t even --”

“Hey,” Harry drags it out, scratching Zayn’s calf with one hand, “I could.”

Zayn snorts. “Obviously not.”

Watching Harry watch him open himself up is unbearable. Zayn stares at the ceiling instead, biting his lip while Harry groans like he’s the one with a finger up his arse.

“God, Zayn.” Harry skates his palms over Zayn’s shins, pushing slightly until Zayn splays his legs wider. It makes Zayn moan, his shoulders pressing into the bed as he arches, Harry echoing him. “Another one, c’mon, you can do it.” He bumps Zayn hand with his knuckles encouragingly, inhaling sharply when Zayn does it. When Zayn looks over, Harry looks mildly surprised, like he hadn’t expected Zayn to listen to him.

“Good one,” Harry says after a second, breathless and oblivious to Zayn watching him. He curls both his hands around Zayn’s thighs, his thumbs moving over Zayn’s skin in time to Zayn’s fingers. It’s strangely gentle. Part of Zayn wishes he’d stop, wishes he’d go back to the fumbling, clumsy Harry from ten minutes ago.

“I’ve missed this.” Harry sounds truly pissed for the first time all night, his words slurring together slightly as he talks. “Didn’t think -- I dunno, I didn’t think we’d get a go down here.” He reaches for Zayn’s cock, stroking him lightly, and that’s a cruel trick, has Zayn gasping, hips working in both directions as he thrusts up into Harry’s grip and then grinds down on his fingers. “Glad we are, though -- fuck, Zayn, so fucking glad.”

Harry lets go of Zayn’s cock to shove his own pants off. Zayn laughs a bit hysterically; he hadn’t realized Harry’d still had them on. It feels ridiculous right now, all of it, Harry talking like it’s the end of the world or something.

“Remember that time --”

“Yeah,” Zayn shifts so he can add a third finger, glad that it shuts Harry up. He’s not positive what Harry’d been about to say but he’s sure he doesn’t want to hear it, everything feeling too close to the surface right now.

“You were so good,” Harry says quietly, crouching so he can kiss Zayn’s bent knee. He rests his cheek against Zayn’s leg, watching, his hand this warm, insistent weight on Zayn’s thigh. “Still are.”

Fuck, Zayn wants Harry to just smash him with a brick, it’d be easier. He twists his fingers, grinding down on them hard to avoid the way Harry’s looking at him. He should’ve let Harry do this because at least then the roughness would distract him from all this shit Harry’s spewing.

“Harry,” Zayn’s fully aware of how desperate he sounds but he can’t take the way Harry’s looking at him. It’s got to be the booze that’s got his eyes going glassy like that. He means to say something else but it dies in his throat, caught on the way Harry’s staring at him. It’s disappeared from his brain entirely after a minute so he coughs just for the sake of making a sound. He kicks at Harry with his heel. “Harry

Harry blinks and sits up, shaking his head like he needs to clear it. Zayn feels the same way, disoriented like.

“Yeah.” Harry nods. “Yeah, c’mon.” He pats Zayn’s leg, reaching for the condom.

“Fucking finally,” Zayn gasps out, wiping his fingers on the sheet while Harry snorts. Zayn narrows his eyes and Harry blinks at him, eyes wide and innocent.

“What?”

Zayn jerks his chin, gesturing down his body to all the hard work he’s just put in even though Harry’s the one who called him here. “You’re complaining?”

“I’ve been hard for ages.”

“Please,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes.

“Knew you’d be begging for it.” Harry’s smirking but there’s something underneath it that makes Zayn feel like he’s got something crawling under his skin, trying to get out from the inside. It’s disconcerting, makes Zayn squirm even though Harry’s barely touching him. Harry leans in closer, the tiniest bit, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. His eyes are still so dark. Zayn doesn’t know how much longer he can look at them.

He wants to say something else, something cheeky so Harry’ll get a move on, but his throat’s all closed up. It doesn’t matter, he figures. Harry’ll get the hint soon enough. With a small sigh Zayn starts to roll over but Harry stops him, his hands on Zayn’s shoulder and hip.

“That’s not --” Zayn starts, only to be interrupted.

“C’mon, feel how hard my enormous cock is. You know you want to.” Harry’s voice his low, his mouth right near Zayn’s ear. He seems so much bigger when he’s bracketing Zayn’s body like this.

“Harry.” Zayn closes his eyes, feeling the bed shift. He braces himself for the moment when Harry’s finally in the right position, for Harry’s cock to be pressed up against his arse, only what he gets is Harry grabbing his wrist and just like that Zayn’s hand is full of Harry’s cock. He opens his eyes, Harry’s face looming over him.

“Think you missed, bro.”

Harry moves his hips so his cock slides through Zayn’s loose grip. “Did I?” He raises his eyebrows, waiting, and it’s like he knows the exact second Zayn’s about to go from amused to annoyed because his face changes completely and he’s pulling back to settle between Zayn’s legs.

There’s a moment where everything goes quiet and Zayn, with his heartbeat thudding loudly in his ears, is sure Harry’s going to ask if this -- if he’s alright. But instead Harry slicks his cock and lines himself up, chuckling to himself as he teases Zayn, his cock nudging but never fully pressing in.

“Fucking hell, Harry, fuck me already, would you?” Zayn digs his hands into the bedding so he won’t dig them into Harry’s shoulders. He doesn’t think Harry’d appreciate the scratch marks.

“Begging,” Harry points out, and then he finally does it, his mouth going slack as he slides in, so slowly Zayn thinks he might die from it. He knows Harry’s doing it to be a dick, not because he thinks Zayn needs time to adjust but just because he likes hearing Zayn’s ragged breathing, likes the way Zayn arches into it.

“I swear to god,” Zayn starts, unsure of what he’s going to threaten, only knowing that he wants Harry to fucking move already. Harry laughs, a broken, choked-off noise, before he gets on with it. Zayn doesn’t know if it’s because he’s sobered up a bit or if it’s just because he’s better with his prick than he is with his hands, but Harry’s clumsiness from earlier is gone. He’s thrusting experimentally, watching Zayn’s face with an intensity that makes Zayn want to turn away only there’s nowhere to go.

Harry grins, letting out a soft sound of victory when he finds the angle that has Zayn groaning so loud it echoes through the room. He finally gets his hand round his cock, hips jerking into his fist so hard that Harry groans, too. Zayn knows he’s not long for it, not at this point. After a minute he gives up completely on trying to match Harry’s rhythm, feeling raw already. All he can do is curse, all his muscles tensing when he comes, Harry’s thrusts stuttering like he’s gone distracted by Zayn underneath him.

“Fuck,” Harry clutches at Zayn’s hips harder, his chest heaving. He doesn’t stop, Zayn hissing when it edges on painful, glad when Harry’s thrusts go erratic right before he comes, groaning into Zayn’s neck.

It’s unnerving how quiet the room is after, just the sounds of them trying to catch their breath. Harry’s heavy on top of him. Zayn feels too warm like this, a bit claustrophobic.

“Haz.” Zayn touches the nape of Harry’s neck where Harry’s hair’s curling from the sweat. “You gotta --”

Harry grunts, displeased, kissing Zayn’s collarbone before he’s moving again, petting Zayn’s side as he pulls out. It’s so gentle Zayn finds himself holding his breath, biting his lip so he doesn’t make any sounds at all. If Harry notices, he doesn’t give it away.

He runs his fingertips through the mess on Zayn’s chest, laughing quietly when Zayn makes a face.

“Hang on,” he wipes his fingers on a previously-clean patch of Zayn’s skin, “I’ll get you --”

“S’alright,” Zayn stops him, shaking his head, “I’m getting up. Just like, in a minute.” He’s got to go back to his room. Have a smoke. Shower. Clear his head.

“You’re sure?” Harry pokes his head out of the toilet, his hair gone wild around his face.

“Yeah, cheers though.” Zayn nods until Harry disappears again. He’s humming, Zayn can hear it over the running water. He takes a deep breath and then another and wills his legs to work.

**

“Oh good, you’re back,” Harry says when Zayn answers his door. His eyes widen almost immediately, his mouth falling open as he starts laughing. “Zayn Malik, do you have grass on your knee? Were you actually on the pitch?”

“Shut it.” Zayn swats at Harry’s hand, trying to keep him from making contact. He’s not sure how that ends with him and Harry both inside, the door shut and bolted, but it does. “There was a match, we all played a bit.”

He knows he sounds sullen but he can’t help it.

“You ran?” It doesn’t help that Harry is positively giddy about it. “I’m sorry I skipped it. And to think all I did was have a kip.”

He shakes his head like he’s disappointed, the fucking wanker. Zayn narrows his eyes, Harry beaming at him.

“It was so quiet here,” Harry leans close, trailing his fingertip along Zayn’s collar, “told you you should’ve stayed behind.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. He doesn’t think a single text trying to convince him to bunk off counts enough for a told-you-so. He’d ignored it anyway, unable to shake that boxed-in feeling from last night. It’d helped, sort of. He’s feeling even-footed now, at least.

“Think of all the free time we could’ve had.” Harry’s voice is low, rough, close enough to Zayn’s ear that he shivers. Zayn could turn his cheek the slightest bit and kiss Harry but that feels like giving in. He’d been so easy for it last night. He wants Harry to work for it more.

“We’ve got a bit now, yeah?” Harry’s mouth closes around Zayn’s earring, tugging. Zayn presses his lips together when his prick twitches. Harry’s playing with the waistband of Zayn’s shorts, pads of his fingers sliding underneath to rub at the thin skin over Zayn’s hipbones. They dip into the crease of Zayn’s arse and Zayn hisses, his hips jerking. He can feel Harry smile against his jaw. “Is it enough, do you think?”

Zayn nods slightly, barely moving his head, and Harry shoves his shorts off completely before cupping Zayn’s jaw and kissing him.

It’s been years and Zayn’s never adjusted to how things with Harry go from zero to sixty just like that. But Harry’s licking into his mouth like they’ve been apart for ages, not hours, and Zayn’s reeling from it, clutching at the hem of Harry’s shirt like it’s a lifeline. Zayn had been planning on a kip before the show, but honestly, this is better.

Harry grins when he gets Zayn on his back on the bed, settling in his lap. Zayn reaches for him, pulling him in, tangling his hand in Harry’s damp hair.

“Shower,” Harry says even though Zayn hadn’t asked. He shakes his head, water droplets spraying everywhere. “Was going to see if Lou could give me a trim but...” He trails off without explaining the rest of the story. It could be anything, Zayn knows. Knows even better that it’s probably “but I ended up here,” but if Harry doesn’t want to say it then Zayn’s fine. He’d said enough last night, drunk and running his mouth. Zayn’s spent all day not thinking about it; he doesn’t want to start now.

“So you slept and showered and that’s it?” Zayn tugs on Harry’s hair before kissing him, liking the way Harry moans.

“And you played football,” Harry sits up to pull his shirt off. “It’s like a real life Freaky Friday.”

“Dunno,” Zayn laughs, twisting so Harry falls onto the bed, lifting his hips so Zayn can get his trousers off, “seems more likely that I’d like, spend all day instagramming pictures of dumb signs if we’d really switched bodies.”

“Are you,” Harry gasps when Zayn reaches into his pants, “are you saying I’m bad at football?”

Zayn hums, stroking Harry’s half-hard cock. “It’s not your strong suit, bro.”

That Harry manages to look insulted while Zayn’s wanking him is impressive. “Apologize,” he says.

“Or?” He keeps his eyes on Harry’s as he ducks down, licking the head of Harry’s cock. He moves away when Harry arches, trying for more, pinches Harry’s side and clucks his tongue. “Careful.”

Harry flips him off. Zayn laughs and runs his tongue over the red mark forming on Harry’s side, right above one of those fucking ferns. He was wrong the other night, he can’t still see the words Harry had covered up. He scrapes his thumbnail over where they were, feeling a cheap thrill when Harry hisses.

“Can’t believe you got rid of it,” he says, immediately wishing he hadn’t. Something about this whole tour is fucking with his brain, he doesn’t know what it is or how to stop it.

“It’s not gone,” Harry says, shutting up when Zayn stares at him. They both know that’s bollocks. “Zayn.”

“Whatevs.” Zayn shrugs, forcing a smile at Harry. He hadn’t meant to bring it up anyway, and it really is -- whatever. Too late to do anything about it now. He slides his palm over the head of Harry’s cock, gathering the wetness there, using it to ease the glide of his fist. As far as distractions go, it works. Harry digs his short nails into the back of Zayn’s neck as he licks the underside of his cock, dipping lower to mouth at Harry’s balls, thumbing at the smooth skin behind them. Harry’s hips come entirely of the bed, groaning when Zayn chuckles against him, hands scrabbling across Zayn’s shoulders like he’s unsure if he wants to hold Zayn in place or shove him away. It makes Zayn think a lot of things, his chest going tight with it.

“Oi,” he taps Harry’s hip, ignoring the way Harry groans when Zayn moves away, “flip over for me?”

“Yessss,” Harry’s voice sounds like he’s the one who’s been sucking dick, “fuck.” He goes easily, pushing himself up on all fours and wiggling his arse until Zayn laughs.

“Fuck’s sake,” Zayn smacks him lightly, “can’t do it if you’re moving all about, can I?”

“You always said you like a challenge,” Harry’s voice is muffled, gets even more so when Zayn spreads him open, uses the flat of his tongue to lick him slowly.

Harry loves it, groaning and shamelessly pushing back against Zayn’s mouth, whining whenever Zayn pulls away to look at the way his stubble’s leaving red marks all over Harry’s skin.

“Gonna feel it later,” he says, touching Harry carefully.

“Fuck yeah,” Harry pushes back, thighs shaking as he jerks himself off. Zayn fights the urge to rub off against the sheets as he watches, the sight of Harry this close to unraveling making his cock ache with how hard he is. “Zayn, c’mon, I’m so close.”

“Yeah,” Zayn bites the curve of Harry’s arse, soothing it with his tongue, “yeah, I know.”

“I wish,” Harry starts, his voice breaking when Zayn licks over him, tongue circling his hole over and over until it’s slick enough that he can slip the tip of his finger inside, “fuck, I wish I could see your face. Bet you look so good like this. We should’ve filmed it.” Zayn’s whole body flushes hot at the suggestion, his hips jerking and meeting nothing. “Next time,” Harry says, practically chanting, “next time, next time, next time.”

When Zayn crooks his finger Harry cries out, coming almost immediately, clenching around Zayn.

“Fuck, Harry.” Zayn knows he should wait but he doesn’t want to; Harry’s going to be useless anyway, and splayed out like this, arse in the air, still panting, “Fuck.”

Zayn works himself over quick, keeping his fist tight, one hand on Harry’s back so he won’t move. Harry’s gone silent now but he might as well still be babbling because all Zayn can hear is next time like an infinite echo as he comes all over Harry’s back.

“That’s disgusting,” Harry says, nose wrinkled.

Zayn laughs, still breathless, patting the back of Harry’s thigh. “You love it.”

“I’d love a shower more.”

“Do you want to --”

Harry shakes his head, pressing his face into the pillows. “Think I’d rather have a kip here.”

“Sure.” Zayn touches the bend of Harry’s knee. “I’ll bring you something to clean up in a sec. Think I’ll shower, though.”

Harry sighs and then nods. “Wake me up when you’re done? I’ll still have to.”

“Course,” Zayn watches Harry’s eyes flutter closed before slipping off the bed, careful not to touch him at all.

**

“This okay?” Liam nudges Zayn, gesturing to the telly.

“Yeah, wicked.” Zayn thinks it’s the movie he’d ordered last week, the one he only saw half of.

“Fine by me,” Paddy says, shooting a thumbs up from the other bed.

“Alright, here we go then.” Liam’s smile is half-hearted and Zayn feels like a twat. He’s spent so much of his time either fucking off to smoke with Louis or getting off with Harry that he’s kind of forgotten that Liam’s going through a breakup. And taking it hard to boot.

He curls closer, cuddling up to Liam as the movie starts. “Alright, Payno?”

It’s a moment before Liam responds, covering Zayn’s hand with his own. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “It’s just -- I miss her. You know how it is.”

Zayn hums, trying not to think of Perrie. It’s not that he misses her any less lately, it’s just… different. He squeezes Liam’s arm instead of saying anything, turning his head so he can press a kiss to Liam’s shoulder.

They’re well into the movie -- past all the parts Zayn remembers -- when Zayn’s phone lights up with a text from Harry.

fr the record you were a much better wingman than Niall

aha thanks babe Zayn laughs quietly as he types, sure that Harry’s hid in a corner at whatever club he and Niall ended up at, frowning and texting while Niall chats some bird up. He’s surprised Harry’s not hovering over them both; that’s what he usually does.

what r u doing?

watching a film w Liam he sends, and then, just because he knows it’ll rile Harry up, it’s the one we watched last week ;)

There’s a long pause before Harry sends back :( followed by too bad you’re not alone

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Zayn nods, unhooking his ankle from Liam’s so he can stretch, feeling like he shouldn’t be pressed up along Liam anymore, “it’s just Harry. He and Niall went out and I guess Niall pulled.”

“Noice.”

Zayn laughs. “Harry’s just, I don’t know --”

His phone vibrates. I’d come back now if you were

“Lonely?”

Zayn snorts. “Bored, more like.” His thumb hovers over the screen before he sends, and ditch Niall twice in a week?

“He’ll be fine,” he says, smiling reassuringly at Liam. “Don’t worry about him.”

you’re worth it and then, like the first text was a typo, *your cock’s

All Zayn responds with is a wink. He tries to go back to the film but is too distracted, keeping one eye on his phone.

You should tell Liam you have to go

it’s an emergency

Zayn bites his lip, hiding his phone by his leg in case Liam glances over. is wanting ur dick sucked really an emergency?

maybe I was going to do you Harry says, texts coming in rapid fire succession. or maybe I want you to fuck me

its been ages Zayn

and we could film it!!!

Zayn sucks in a sharp breath, freezing when he remembers Liam and Paddy are both right here. Neither of them notices. Zayn stares at his phone.

aha he sends because he doesn’t know what the fuck to say. Harry hadn’t said anything else after bringing it up mid-fuck; Zayn’d assumed it was just some shit he’d said in the moment. And now he’s probably drunk, so.

i know you were into it Harry says, i had jizz in my HAIR. He follows it up with a string of emojis that Zayn assumes translates into the two of them filming a fuck.

aha no Zayn pinches his thigh, hoping he can get rid of this semi before Liam notices. Harry sends so many winking faces and thumbs ups that Zayn rolls his eyes, dropping his phone face-down onto the bed.

He stares at the telly for a long time, but it’s not until the credits are rolling and Liam’s yawning that Zayn realizes he’s not actually been paying attention. Twice in a row and he’s got no fucking clue how the damn thing ends.

**

“Fuck, Zayn,” Harry bites at the tendon in Zayn’s neck, pushing him up against the door. Zayn curls his fingers into Harry’s hair, pulling when Harry’s teeth get too sharp.

The show’d felt eternal tonight, longer than usual. Zayn blames Harry for cornering him directly before, backing him into a corner and promising to make up for last night.

“Really meant to come back early,” he says, sliding his hands under Zayn’s top, “but I --”

“Passed out in the car, yeah, you said.” Zayn pulls Harry’s hair again. He doesn’t want any marks. Not visible ones, at least. He’d been annoyed last night, waking up in Liam’s room around dawn with no new texts from Harry. Now though, who cares. Fuck it. “Used to have better stamina, Styles.”

“Still do,” Harry palms Zayn’s arse, hauling him in until Zayn can feel Harry hard against his stomach, “least where it counts.”

Zayn undoes Harry’s jeans instead of saying anything. “Fuck’s sake,” he says, laughing a bit when Harry trips trying to step out of them while walking backwards, “you’re going to brain yourself one day. Former Pop Star In Coma After Tragic Sex Injury.”

Harry pulls his shirt off, chucking it at Zayn’s head. “Former?

“I don’t know,” Zayn kicks off his own jeans while Harry roots around for lube and a condom, “it’s like a future sex injury.”

Harry looks unimpressed but lets it slide when Zayn kneels behind Harry on the bed, palming Harry’s cock through his pants until he turns around. Zayn feels starved for it, wishes he had Harry flat out and open already. His desperation must bleed through because Harry groans against his mouth, saying something Zayn doesn’t catch.

“What?” He’s panting when he breaks away, Harry pressing the lube into his hand, shoving his pants down and then falling backwards, legs splayed in such a display that Zayn feels like he’s got the wind knocked out of him.

“Take a picture,” Harry says, shaking Zayn out of it, winking as Zayn slicks his fingers.

“Maybe we should be doing this in front of a mirror,” Zayn says, Harry gasping at the first touch of his finger, “if you’re so intent on seeing yourself.”

“Can we?” Harry pulls his knee up, giving Zayn better access as he scans the room. “The desk, maybe?”

“Yeah,” Zayn nods, pushing his finger in deeper before pulling out entirely, Harry having to take a minute before he’s rolling off the bed, padding across the room, bending over the desk. He meets Zayn’s gaze in the mirror, his eyes so dark Zayn feels like he’s swallowed his tongue.

“Aright?” Zayn slides his fingers over Harry’s arse before picking up where he’d left off. The angle’s different now, Harry pushing back shamelessly.

“Another, I’m good, Zayn.” The way Harry’s holding himself up, Zayn can see everything, his bitten lip and his leaking cock, his tattoos standing out against his sweaty skin. He drops his head to his chest when Zayn fits a second finger in.

“None of that now,” Zayn says, reaching for Harry’s hair to pull his head up, “I want to see, too.”

Harry tries but by the time Zayn’s slicking his cock he’s struggling, taking deep, gasping breaths before sluggishly lifting his head to meet Zayn’s eyes in the mirror.

“Motherfuck,” he drops his head again, groaning into his bicep as Zayn bottoms out. When he looks up, his eyes are glassy, sweat all along his hairline. Zayn thrusts slowly at first, watching the way Harry’s mouth moves soundlessly before holding tight to Harry’s hips and fucking into him. Harry makes a sound like he’s dying when Zayn reaches around to pull him off.

“Fuck, Zayn,” Harry closes his eyes but keeps his head up, his hips losing their rhythm for a moment, “gonna miss this so much.”

“Not nearly done, Haz.” Zayn tightens his fist around Harry’s dick, slamming his hips into Harry to make a point.

“No, I meant like,” Harry’s hand skids across the desk and he pauses to right himself, “after. When it’s over and we’re back, fuck, home. Gonna miss this.” He jerks his chin towards the mirror like he’s trying to gesture between himself and Zayn.

It’s like a block of ice runs down Zayn’s spine, Harry’s eyes fluttering closed as he pushes between Zayn’s fist and his cock.

“Aren’t, shit, aren’t you?”

Harry’s always run his mouth in bed but Zayn’s never wanted him to shut the fuck up as badly as he does now.

“Haz.” He tightens his hand around the base of Harry’s cock like a warning, his hips flush to Harry’s arse. He waits a minute before relaxing his grip, Harry’s chest expanding with the heaving breath he takes.

“This is it, though,” Harry says, like he’s not breaking the only unspoken rule they have, like this is the type of thing they talk about all the time, “we both know it. I’m just,” he whines when Zayn grips the base of his prick again, but even that doesn’t stop him, “just glad we got this last go. Aren’t you? Fuck, I’m gonna come soon.”

Zayn goes still. “I think you should wait,” he says, surprised by how steady his voice sounds.

Hand firm around Harry’s cock, he fucks him slowly, the hot clench of Harry around his cock completely overwhelming. Harry’s shaking now, his chin tucked into his chest, moaning like he’s forgotten how to make words entirely.

“Yeah,” Zayn’s own muscles are burning with the effort of moving so slowly, “think I should come first. Then we’ll see about you, yeah?”

“Please,” Harry whimpers while Zayn runs his tongue over the bumps of Harry’s spine until Harry’s hips are jerking, trying to get Zayn to move his hand. His breathing’s gone ragged like he’s going to start crying any second. “Zayn, please.” His head falls again, hair hanging in his face.

“No, Harry,” Zayn reaches forward, tugging his curls, “I wanna see your face.”

Like this, fucked out and flushed, Harry’s like a right porn star. He licks his lips, mouth hanging open, eyes wet at the corners.

“Told you we should’ve filmed it,” he says, voice shot. Zayn twists his fingers so Harry’s hair pulls and Harry winces, hips jerking. Zayn fucks him harder, watching Harry’s face. “Please,” Harry starts, his cock throbbing in Zayn’s grip, “please, Zayn, please.”

It’s a combination of everything that sends Zayn flying over edge, biting down on Harry’s shoulder as he comes, hips slamming into Harry so hard he’s certain Harry’ll have bruises.

“Please,” Harry sounds like a broken record, one of his hands clawing at Zayn’s arm. Zayn feels like he’s been run over by a bus, drained and achey and disoriented by everything, especially how Harry’s staring at him in the mirror.

“Yeah, course,” Zayn kisses the bite mark on Harry’s shoulder before he relaxes his fist, Harry’s hips doing most of the work. “You did so good, Haz. Amazing.”

“Fucking hell,” Zayn breathes out, smoothing his hand down Harry’s spine as he comes, gone completely silent. Harry’s still shaking after Zayn pulls out, reaching past him to chuck the condom in the bin. He touches Harry’s side gently. “Are you -- you’re alright, yeah?”

Harry nods, tremors running through his body like aftershocks. Zayn doesn’t move.

Fuck,” Harry says eventually, voice breaking halfway through. “That was -- fuck.”

“Yeah,” Zayn hauls him up, tucking Harry into his side because Harry’s moving like he doesn’t remember how to work his legs, “c’mon. Shower, yeah?”

Harry nods and lets Zayn walk them into the toilet, slumping against the wall while Zayn lets the water warm up before guiding him in.

“Hello.” Harry smiles dopily when Zayn steps in after him.

“Hi.” Zayn touches his cheek, tucking Harry’s sweaty curls behind his ear. He reaches for the soap, cleaning himself off before doing Harry, keeping a hand on him at all times to steady him. He kisses Harry softly, pulling him under the spray. “Rinse.”

Harry’s useless, mouth uncoordinated and lazy as he tries to kiss Zayn back, his arms like dead weight when he loops them over Zayn’s shoulders. He lets Zayn pat him dry after, only protesting when Zayn manhandles him towards the bed.

“I can --”

“You can barely stand, Harry, just stay here.”

Zayn gets the light before climbing in next to him, pulling the sheet over them both. Harry reaches out, still sex-drunk, and clumsily squeezes Zayn’s bicep. He’s seemingly asleep before he can pull away. Zayn moves even closer, nosing at the back of Harry’s neck, feeling strangely centered as he drifts off.

**

It’s still dark in the room when Zayn feels stirred awake, blinking his eyes and swearing quietly to himself when there isn’t sunlight making him blink or an alarm blaring in his ear. Instead, there’s a muffled groan and Zayn shifts against the dreamlike float of the heavy drag of lips across his skin --

“Fuck’s sake, Harry,” Zayn’s voice is so fucked from their late night and not enough sleep that he sounds like he should be on arsing vocal rest.

“Mmm,” Harry’s mumbling against the skin on Zayn’s hip, teeth scraping against where it’s stretched over the bone there. It feels sharp to Zayn, like the sensitive drag of a needle, his hips snapping up of their own accord. “Owwww,” Harry pulls back then, rubbing his fingers over the bridge of his nose and shoving at Zayn’s hip with his other hand.

“Serves you right,” Zayn laughs, “it’s fucking middle of the night.”

“It’s not,” Harry’s voice is muffled into his palm, his hair standing out in thick curls around his head from sleeping on it wet. When he’s like this, dark shadows in the room and hand covering his mouth, Zayn could almost believe they’re back in 2011 or some such, brand new at everything. It’s been happening more, this feeling creeping in like Zayn’s seeing in the past. Makes him feel jumpy, like he gets when it’s been too long since he’s had a smoke.

“No?” Zayn raises his eyebrow, hopes that Harry can see he’s doing it. Figures Harry’s eyes have adjusted by now, probably been up for ages doing yoga in the loo.

“Well,” Harry drops his hand, a smile quirking up the side of his mouth, Zayn catching a bright glint of his teeth. “It is a bit, but I woke up and your knob was poking into my back, so I thought I’d wake the rest of you up so that neither of us could sleep in.”

“You couldn’t just roll over?” Zayn holds his breath, his cock in a fight with his brain over who will win. He’s really fucking knackered, but Harry’s fingers are tracing light patterns over the slope of his thigh. He's willing to be persuaded.

“What’s the fun in that?” Harry shrugs, fully grinning now, “‘sides, I feel like I owe you, y’know, from last night.”

“Oh,” Zayn feels fully awake for certain now, his brain clouding over with flashes of the night before, Harry bent over the desk, a shaking mess. “Figured you’d need a break after that.” He waits for Harry to look up before smirking and letting his tongue trail out over his bottom lip. It’s maddening, how he knows it’ll just make Harry’s grin that much brighter, how he’s waiting for it, his cock twitching against his brain’s wishes when Harry starts laughing.

“You know me, I’m always up for anything,” Harry shrugs as best as he’s able, anything he does seeming like the opposite of subtle. “But that’s not what I had in mind, see,” and then he’s suddenly everywhere, hands firmly planting themselves on Zayn’s shoulder and hip, flipping him with such coordination Zayn would be impressed if he was able to concentrate on anything other than Harry’s teeth biting into the back of his thigh.

“Harry, what the fuck,” Zayn groans into the pillow, pushing his hips into the mattress, his cock filling up when Harry’s slipping his thumb between Zayn’s thighs, fingers digging in as he spreads Zayn’s legs. It sends Zayn spinning a bit, the strong press of Harry against him, so different from how pliant and easy he was the night before. The give of Harry’s long limbs at Zayn’s every touch. It’s fucking mental. Harry’s always one extreme or the other.

“You awake enough to make this easier?” Harry’s got a laugh in his low voice, his hands palming Zayn’s hips and pulling, “Or…” Harry trails off, his hands stilling so they’re a heavy weight, thumbs rubbing circles over the swell of his arse. It’s comforting enough that it takes Zayn a mo, him pausing for so long that Harry presses down, just enough that Zayn’s prick reminds him how interested he is.

“Fucking,” Zayn turns his head from the pillow, looking back over his shoulder at Harry, takes in how he’s grinning at him with his eyes dark, licking his lips when Zayn meets his gaze. “You better make this worth it,” Zayn rolls his eyes against how he wants to snog Harry, arching his back into Harry’s touch and gathering his knees under himself so his arse is out, digging his elbows down into the bed for leverage.

“Or what are you gonna do, fall asleep on me?” Harry laughs then, leaning down to press his lips to Zayn’s ear like they’re on stage, “want a pillow instead? Prop you up, have a kip while I lick you out?” His tongue grazes against the shell of Zayn’s ear as he says it, hand sliding down to dip his fingers between Zayn’s arsecheeks.

Shit,” Zayn hisses, realizing that Harry’s in one of his moods, where his eyes go dark and he says shit that makes Zayn’s brain turn inside out. How Harry usually only gets that way when they’ve been out and whoever Harry’s been pulling swerves at the last minute, when he’s worked up.

“Shit is not the answer I was looking for, soz mate.” Harry’s sitting up then, enough so that he’s not touching Zayn anywhere, and Zayn’s not sure if he’s about to pass out or start rutting off against the sheets or belt Harry one for being a prick.

“‘m good like this, twat,” Zayn deliberately shifts his knees so his legs are open wider, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Harry’s paying attention. “So get on with it, make me forgive you for waking me up.”

“But not forget, right?” Harry asks, his voice light against the strength in his grip when he’s squeezing at Zayn’s arse, palming at it with his thumb brushing down, Zayn’s thighs feeling strung tight at the light touch before Harry’s even got his mouth on him. His voice catches odd when he says it, says forget, and Zayn squeezes his eyes shut so tight he can see spots.

“Dunno,” Zayn presses his face down against his forearms when Harry’s fingers are reaching between his legs to wrap around his prick, stroking a couple of times before squeezing his hand tight, thumb rubbing in circles over the head. Zayn’s knees jolt a little underneath Harry’s weight on him when he presses in a little hard over the slit, just this side of painful, but Harry knows Zayn’s limits. A little too well.

“Wake up call!” Harry announces then, Zayn hearing the grin in his voice and feeling it in the shape of his tongue when Harry finally licks over him once slow before blowing over the skin, Zayn arching his back and pushing his arse back into Harry’s face without realizing. “Oho, Zayn, someone’s eager.”

“If you’re gonna use your mouth,” Zayn says into his forearms, knowing that if he looks back at Harry all he’ll see is an easy grin that’ll infuriate him. “Then shut the fuck up and do it.”

“You mean like this?” Harry’s whispering now, as close as he can get to it anyway, still feeling loud to Zayn when Harry shifts, his hands palming at Zayn’s arse and spreading Zayn out even wider. Zayn takes a deep breath when the cool air shifts over his skin, gooseflesh spreading up the backs of his thighs when Harry’s warm tongue is licking a wet trail over his hole and down across the sensitive skin underneath. He hums then, tracing the tip of his tongue in a lazy pattern there, something he discovered early on that drives Zayn wild.

Fuck,” Zayn has that momentary blank feeling he gets whenever Harry licks him out like this, takes his time with it. Makes Zayn feel tight, all over, the anticipation mixed with the sensory overload. Like the first hit of really good weed, when the smoke’s bleeding in the air between him and Louis in whatever tight space they’ve wedged themselves into.

“Mmmm,” Harry hums again before he slides one of his hands up, spreading it out over Zayn’s lower back like he’s holding him steady, the sudden press of Harry’s lips to the dip in his thigh causing Zayn to calm down and unravel, trying to push back into Harry’s mouth. Harry’s hand is a firm pressure then on his back, holding him still with his mouth out of reach.

“Harry,” Zayn’s aware of how ragged his voice sounds, and he can’t move his head now, can’t figure out a way to make himself look at Harry. “What are you doing, mate?”

“Hold still and you’ll find out,” Harry’s voice is louder now, and Zayn chances a look over his shoulder, Harry’s mouth quirking up over the swell of Zayn’s arse, his lips looking shiny in the dim light. Zayn opens his mouth to say something smart back, but nothing comes out. He nods, eyes meeting Harry’s, and Harry’s eyes are already sliding closed when he turns his head back down, chin grazing against that sensitive strip of skin again when he licks back into Zayn.

Zayn tries to keep himself upright against the steady pressure of Harry’s tongue, aware of Harry’s hand still on his back. It’s enough, though, Zayn already feeling his cock leaking just from the feeling of Harry’s tongue, from his chin digging into him below, from the sounds Harry’s making.

Zayn didn’t realize how much he was relaxing into Harry’s mouth until Harry’s tongue switches from lazy to rigid, fucking into Zayn with a staccato rhythm. Zayn makes a noise that’s so loud and sudden he doesn’t have time to muffle it in his arm or the pillow, and then Harry’s tongue is gone. He’s got his head turned into Zayn’s skin, laughing.

“Wish I could’ve recorded that,” Harry says, his voice low, and Zayn can’t get his mouth to work when his slick finger is where his tongue just was, Zayn jolting forward at the angle Harry manages on the first go, pumping it a couple of times before already adding another. Zayn’s grateful for the burn and the stretch, trying to take a deep breath. Harry leans down then, licking around the stretch of his fingers, and Zayn pushes back, pressing his palm flat on the bed and shifting his weight so he can get his other hand around his cock. Harry makes a muffled noise then, wrapping his free hand around Zayn’s at the base of his cock, squeezing hard.

“You know,” Harry sounds breathless, still keeping up a pulsing rhythm with his fingers as he speaks, in the same tone he uses for arsing press, “it’d be funny if I didn’t let you come yet, right? Turnabout’s fair play?”

“Fuck, Harry, you woke me up f’this,” Zayn mumbles, his cock feeling like it might swell up off of his body entirely at this point. Harry releases the pressure then, pushing Zayn’s hand away and replacing it with his own loose grip and laughing.

“Just taking the piss,” Harry’s voice drops low again, his words pricking up all along Zayn’s spine, “I got you, okay?”

He dips his head down again, breathing out over Zayn’s arse slowly before picking up with the push of Zayn’s hips back against his mouth and fingers, Zayn thrusting back and down, into Harry’s loose fist, just enough pressure that he’s right on the edge.

Harry crooks his fingers hard at the same time his tongue pushes in alongside them, his fist going tight as Zayn tips over the edge, feels himself come messily all over the bed and Harry’s fingers. Harry keeps his grip tight until Zayn can’t take it anymore, jerking out of Harry’s grip a little too hard. He hisses when Harry’s fingers pull out of his arse too fast, rolling onto his side with Harry looking dazed above him, lips red and swollen and his hair falling in his eyes.

“Shit, Zayn,” Harry’s hands are patting gently at Zayn’s hips, “I didn’t mean to, I...”

“Fuck off, ‘m fine.” Zayn blinks sleepily up at him, his eyes flickering down to where Harry’s cock is hard and glistening at the tip already. “C’mere, I’ll not be for much, but.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry’s babbling already, kneeing up the bed to settle next to Zayn and exhaling shakily when Zayn wraps his hand around his cock, stroking lazily as he tries to stay awake.

“Zayn,” Harry breathes, and he sucks in a breath fast when Zayn trails a finger down over his arse, feels how hot the skin there is still.

“Too much?” Zayn tries to work it out in his head, how long it’s been since he bundled Harry off to bed after, shaking against him. Harry nods with his eyes wide and hard to handle, and Zayn moves his hand back to Harry’s cock so he can continue wanking him slowly, letting Harry’s hips set the pace.

“What I said,” Harry pauses, hips shooting up faster when Zayn catches his thumb over the vein running up the side of his prick, “about recording. Yeah? Catch your face, that sound you make when you dick into me, when you come.”

“Fuck.” Zayn can’t take it, Harry coming apart beneath him when all Zayn’s doing is pulling him off, Hazza even doing most of the real work as he pushes his hips up, tipping on his side to get more leverage, his mouth close to Zayn’s.

“Yeah, open me up with your fingers, see how close I can get before,” Harry leans forward then, too close, and Zayn makes a face, veering away. Harry laughs then, and his eyes are bright, his voice about a full octave higher. The extremes.

“So close,” Harry’s full laugh turns into a chuckle then when his dimples crease his cheeks, his voice dropping faster than he’s pushing his cock into Zayn’s grip. “Think about it though, Zayn, just think.”

“Um,” Zayn does. He thinks about it, how fucking hot it’d be. How he and Pez have only done solo goes for each other, to get through tour. He thinks about Harry on stage on this leg so far, every night like he’s about to wank all over the front row as part of their big finish. Thinks about Harry doing that for a camera, with Zayn thrusting deep into him. Thinks about how much Harry wants it.

“Zayn,” Harry’s eyes are wild now, his hand a bruising grip on Zayn’s hip, “c’mon. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees, without thinking, “yeah.”

“Shitting-,” Harry’s gasping then, coming hard over Zayn’s hand, Zayn feeling some of it hit his chest.

“Fucking hell, Harry,” Zayn leans back, swiping at the streaks of jizz across his skin.

“I’m,” Harry looks cross eyed, chest heaving and swallows covered in sweat, “I’ll be back in a tick.” He rolls over, padding across the room to the bathroom. Zayn doesn’t move, just listens to the faucet run and Harry gargle as he tries to avoid rubbing his fingers across his chest.

When Harry comes back, he holds up a wet flannel silently, Zayn nodding and letting Harry clean him up, still feeling a bit uneven as Harry drags the duvet out from under him before crawling up next to Zayn on the bed. He kisses Zayn quickly, tasting like mint, and Zayn exhales, waiting for Harry to rest his head back against the pillows before he asks.

“The video thing,” Zayn starts, and Harry’s eyes are closed when Zayn looks over at him, the two of them lying flat on their backs shoulder to shoulder like a couple of prats.

“Mmm,” Harry grunts, “you said yes, Zayn, it was binding.”

“Not that, I,” Zayn’s surprised that now in the quiet he’s still up for it. “I mean, why’s it so like. I don’t know. Important to you, or summat.”

Harry’s quiet for a moment, his brow looking screwed up like he’s having a big think, before he finally responds. His eyes are open the next time Zayn looks, staring up at the ceiling.

“I don’t know, I,” Harry shrugs, “thought it’d be nice. Like, to have. Just as a-” he stops then, still staring at the ceiling and blinking slowly, and Zayn’s stomach bottoms out. Sometimes he fucking hates how Harry can make him feel like he’s inside out. That there’s nowhere to go but whatever Harry’s going on about.

“Well, I said I’d do it, right? No need to get weepy.” Zayn tries, hoping it’s okay and somehow knowing it will be.

“Only person who’s gonna be weepy is you, at my award winning performance,” Harry elbows at Zayn’s side hard, Zayn exhaling and making like he’s going for a dick punch, Harry rolling away at the last second and laughing hard, sounding slightly mad.

“Please, the camera loves me,” is the last thing Zayn says before he turns over, hoping he can get a kip in before the rest of the day starts.

**

“This is mental, yeah?” Niall budges up next to Zayn as they look over the balcony, Zayn doing his best to not pay attention to the dull roar of the crowd surrounding them.

“Yeah, mental,” Zayn echoes, glancing down at Niall’s phone screen when he tilts it so Zayn can see the pics he’s taken so far at the Redeemer. Zayn reaches over, curving his palm over the top of it so he can see without the glare. “How many selfies you gonna take, Nialler?”

“We are at a wonder of the world, twat,” Niall laughs, elbowing at Liam when he comes up behind him to drop his head on Niall’s shoulder, “I think we should be asking if I took enough selfies.”

“You can see Mr. Jesus in most of them,” Liam agrees, reaching forward and enlarging the selfie of Niall and Harry that Niall’s got up, pointing at the stone hand in the corner. “See? Proper Mr. Jesus selfie. Featuring Nialler and Hazza.”

“I’m leaving if Payno keeps calling it Mr. Jesus,” Louis announces from Zayn’s other side, reaching out behind Niall to tweak at Liam’s nipple hard as they’re all crowded together.

“He’s saying mister, so that’s sort of a sign of respect,” Zayn says, just to piss Louis off. They knew it would be a mess here, crowded and hot and a million fans and cameras, but Ben had insisted that it would be great. And it’s fine, mostly. Zayn wouldn’t have been able to see it anyway, feeling small and too big at the same time when he looks up at everything.

“D’ya want Payno to start calling you Mr. Louis, all proper like?” Niall snorts, ducking out of the way when Louis shoots his hand out to belt him. When he does, Harry’s suddenly slotting himself in on Zayn’s other side, from wherever he’d fucked off to before.

“Hey,” Harry says, his voice low, and Zayn involuntarily presses his hips forward into the stone railing. It’s been fucking annoying since the other morning, Zayn waking up and Harry already gone. He’d left a note though, that was just a careful doodle of a camera, Zayn going hot at the back of his neck just thinking about it. They’ve been too busy since, Zayn not even sure if Harry’s got a whole bloody film schedule or whatever. Or if it’s just a Harry thing, with no follow through.

“‘s great, yeah?” Zayn nods out over the view, sucking in a breath when Harry’s hand settles around his waist, fingers rucking up the edge of his vest to press at the skin beneath.

“Great view,” Harry agrees, looking out and not at Zayn directly while the other lads continue fighting like a bunch of twats next to them, Zayn unable to focus on what they’re saying. Fucking great. He’s gone off his arse so badly that Harry can’t even stand next to him anymore without Zayn thinking about whatever they got up to the night before; Harry licks his lips and Zayn bites at his, his arse clenching at the memory of Harry’s tongue on him.

“Hmmm,” Zayn hums, because they’re in fucking public and are being filmed, Zayn aware of Ben yelling distantly in the background to bring the boom mic round.

“Too bad, really,” Harry says conversationally, like he’s talking about the bloody weather, “that we can’t do a location shoot. For our independent cinema attempt.”

“Fuck, Haz,” Zayn looks at him then, suddenly hyper aware of Niall next to him yelling at Payno to move before he drops his fecking phone, Louis taunting some other nonsense.

“Do me a favor, yeah?” Harry’s leaning forward then, eyes flicking over to where Zayn knows Rob’s coming with the mic. “Been thinking about it. Don’t come until we film. I won’t touch,” Harry moves his hand away, and Zayn presses his lips together so he won’t groan out loud, “and you won’t touch. Fair, right?” He’s grinning, his smile bright. Zayn wishes he wasn’t wearing sunglasses just so he could see how far blown out his pupils must be right now.

“You have a fucked up definition of fair,” Zayn finally hears himself say, Harry’s grin getting impossibly wider, like his face is going to split in two.

“Lads,” Niall’s announcing then, Zayn feeling himself snap to attention, “group selfie, c’mon.”

“Louis should take off his idiot headband,” Liam says, somehow on the other side of Louis now.

“Only if Payno takes off his beanie which he apparently needs in this heat,” Louis replies, hand coming up to press at the top of his headband like Liam might rip it off.

“And Harry,” Niall starts, already cracking up when Harry reaches around to squeeze at his shoulder, making a disappointed noise.

“Everyone keeps on their dumbshit headwear, how about that?” Zayn asks loudly, wanting them to get the fucking shot so he can get back to the hotel.

**

They’ve been back a full fucking hour when Harry finally replies to Zayn’s text.

at pool you’re missing out!

Zayn stares down at his phone. He’d gotten back and taken a quick shower, shaving so fast he’d nicked his neck twice before texting Harry a in my room. He’d expected Harry to either respond with some bloody series of nonsense emojis or to just show up, hopefully with a camera. Instead, it’s this absolute shit.

you are rubbish Zayn replies after a moment of thinking about it.

no, I’m harry! is the immediate reply, along with a picture of Harry, his hair wet and plastered to the side of his face. the water’s wet, u should come

thought that was not allowed Zayn taps out the reply, Harry already typing on the other end.

didn’t mean it that way Harry sends, along with another selfie, this time Harry with Niall, half of Julian’s face included and Ben somewhere in the background.

no show tonight Zayn tries, hoping Harry will take the hint. They’ve only got a few days left, and the thought of a night without getting off with Harry suddenly seems like bloody torture. Zayn knows that it’s just. There’s not a lot of time left.

Niall and I r going out is what Harry sends back a minute later, and Zayn frowns at his phone. wanna join?

fuck no, what about…? Zayn suddenly no longer cares about playing the game or dancing around it.

tomorrow after show, it’ll be hotter if we wait Harry sends, followed by a series of clocks and either teardrops or streams of jizz, Zayn can’t be sure. His cock stirs a little in his pants at the thought, of waiting, Harry laid out under him and gagging for it.

K Zayn replies, and after a minute of Harry not typing anything he exhales, tipping his head back against the pillows and wondering what he could do. He feels like he could sleep for hours, but there’s something else he feels like...he misses Perrie.

Her voicemail picks up, just like Zayn knew it would since it’s...whatever time it is over there. He waits, everything getting jumbled in his mind when it beeps.

“Hey, Babe,” Zayn says, his voice low, “miss you, can’t wait to see you soon.” He leaves it at that, not trusting himself to say any more. Everything with Harry lately just makes things with Pez feel sharper, like. He misses her. How it’s all gonna be so different soon, even though most of everything else will stay the same. Even with Harry, like. It’ll still be Harry. Just. It’s jumbled.

Zayn thumbs at his phone again, wondering what Louis is up to. He hopes he’s free, could do for a smoke. Might as well have a good reason for feeling muddled and unclear.

**

Zayn had been hoping he could spend most of the day before the show holed up in Louis’s hotel room again, staring up at the ceiling and passing the joint back and forth until Zayn didn’t think anymore about things with Harry.

“Fuck’s sake, seriously?” Zayn had asked when Louis told him he’d be in Niall’s room for the rest of the day.

“Yeah, seriously,” Louis’d nodded, “Niall’s set up a projector, gonna watch the match in style.”

Without the option of sleeping since he feels like he’s about to crawl out of his skin, or having a wank, or talking to Pez, wandering down to the pool had seemed like the best option. It’s not too bad, really, feeling the sun warm up his skin as he stands, chatting with Ben.

“Last night was fun, you should have come out,” Ben says, stepping around Basil so Zayn can hear him, “wish I had thought to film it, especially after Harry decided to go to the tattoo parlor.”

“Wait,” Zayn shakes his head, reaching up to adjust his hat. He glances over at where Harry’s talking to Liam, their fingers linked as they talk animatedly to each other. “Haz got ink?”

“Oh yeah,” Ben laughs, tipping his head back before meeting Zayn’s eyes, “he didn’t tell you?”

“Haven’t talked to him today,” Zayn mumbles, the sun suddenly feeling too hot, his jeans feeling heavy with the heat, too close to his skin.

“Ask him to show you,” Ben laughs again, shaking his head, “but not in public.”

“So you and Meri have plans for when you get back?” Zayn asks, feeling a touch desperate to change the subject, barely listening when Ben launches into some story about where they’ll be vacationing after this.

It feels like ages before Zayn can see Harry making his way over to where the loo is, Zayn finishing his conversation with Liam before he gets up, pushing the door open and stepping in, leaning back against it when he spots Harry at the sink, washing up.

“Anyone…?” Zayn asks, Harry startling for a second before looking up and grinning at Zayn in the mirror.

“Just us,” Harry grins again, “don’t get any ideas though, Zayn.”

“Had an interesting conversation with Ben,” Zayn steps toward Harry, leaning against the counter and letting his eyes roam over Harry’s torso, taking inventory. He doesn’t see anything new.

“Oh Zayn, tell me more,” Harry laughs, stretching, Zayn trying not to pay attention to the arch of his back.

“Got some ink, hmmm?” Zayn turns quickly, crowding Harry back against the counter and bracketing him in with his arms, moving his hips so they’re not touching anywhere. “Don’t see it, so. What, you get your cock tattooed?”

“So what if I did,” Harry retorts, eyes dancing like he’s about to crack up, “got your name on it, Zayn, you’ll love it.”

“Just don’t want to ruin your plans, if I can’t touch your cock on film then what’s the point?” Zayn lifts one hand, tracing his finger lightly over the waistband of his shorts.

“It’s…” Harry trails off, twitching away from Zayn’s touch and nearly taking Zayn’s head off when he moves. “Here.” He spins them then, reaching for his shorts and shoving them down just enough that Zayn can see it, the small piece high on Harry’s thigh.

“Brasil!” Zayn reads, ghosting his finger over the letters before Harry makes a noise that shoots right to Zayn’s dick. He shoves at Zayn’s hand, pulling up his shorts with a speed Zayn hasn’t seen much from Harry outside of fucking.

“Thought that, you know.” Harry looks over to the side before meeting Zayn’s gaze, his eyes intense. “Brazil’s gonna be a great place, yeah? A good memory? Won’t cover up this one.”

“Fuck, Haz,” Zayn groans, leaning back so far over the sick his head thunks back against the mirror, “you’re a bloody idiot.”

“Good, I’m glad you love it,” Harry reaches out and twists at Zayn’s nipple, laughing and leaning forward, “keep that in mind for later, yeah? My room, after the show.”

Zayn nods, not trusting himself to speak.

**

“Ready for your close up?” Harry answers the door with a wide grin, already stripped down to his pants, hair looking mostly dry.

“Did you give yourself a blow out?” Zayn steps around Harry, watching intently as Harry slips the Do Not Disturb over the handle. He steps behind Harry, running his fingers through the almost straight strands at the top of his head, feeling jolted awake. It’s only been a couple of days, but Zayn’s about to shoot out of his own skin at the thought of Harry getting ready for it.

“Nah, I just,” Harry turns after he flips the latch on the door, “didn’t want to be dripping on camera. Water, that is.” He palms at his cock then, tongue pushing out the side of his cheek, and Zayn starts laughing, feeling hysterical.

“The show was,” Zayn starts, stepping forward to crowd Harry up against the door, “people loved your ink, yeah?”

“Mhmm,” Harry nods, grappling for Zayn’s hand and pressing it to his thigh, Zayn pushing up at the edge of his pants to run his nail along the smooth skin, shaved still from the shop.

“So how are we gonna do this, then, Haz, are we,” Zayn moves his hand, carefully avoiding the bulge of Harry’s cock and tracing his fingers lightly over the skin below his belly button instead, “Haz, did you shave?”

“Gotta get camera ready,” Harry grins, leaning forward to kiss Zayn quickly once before ducking out of Zayn’s grip, “C’mon, let’s move this to the bed.”

“How are we,” Zayn eyes the bed, how Harry’s stripped off the duvet and top sheet, like it’s a big blank white canvas. His fingers twitch like they do when he’s about to grab a can of spray paint and do something new.

“I couldn’t think of a good way to borrow a camera off Ben, so,” Harry shrugs, leaning over his cases that he’s got stacked up next to the bed, precariously balanced on the settee he must’ve dragged over. “My phone? I tested it, when we get down to it this angle will work.”

“You tested it?” Zayn pulls off his vest so he’ll have something to do, stepping forward carefully. Harry’s eyes are tracking his movements, like he’s about to jump on him any minute.

“I didn’t want us to be faffing about in the middle, yeah?” Harry grins, “I was preserving the integrity of the film, Zayn.”

“Yeah, it’s important to not take all the people who’re gonna watch it right out of the action, yeah?” Zayn asks, his voice dry.

“Here, like,” Harry picks up his phone from the nightstand, Zayn noticing the lube and condom he’s already got out, “look at this.” He holds out his phone and Zayn does a double take when he sees what’s on the screen, swallowing hard when he realizes what it is. It’s Harry, stretched out on the bed, pulling his cock out of his pants and stroking slowly.

“Breaking your own rules, you knob,” Zayn whispers, when the video ends after a few seconds.

“Please, I barely even got hard, it was just like, whatsit that Ben calls it? A blocking shot.” Harry takes his phone back. “I’m just very thorough, don’t you think Zayn?”

“You’re something.” Zayn exhales, sucking in a breath when Harry tosses his phone on the bed, pulling at Zayn’s flies. “So how are we gonna do this?”

“Handheld stuff at first, I think,” Harry whispers, leaning down and getting Zayn to step out of his jeans, “then we set it up on my cases so you can fuck me.”

“Yeah,” Zayn pushes Harry until they’re both on the bed, grabbing Harry’s phone and pressing it into Harry’s hands. “Do it.”

“Smile pretty, Zayn,” Harry leans back when Zayn trails his fingers down Harry’s chest, as Harry aims the phone in his direction. “Here, what do you think?”

Zayn takes the phone, looking at the few seconds of him looking down at Harry, his back against the sheets. “Huh,” he wrinkles his nose, not sure if he likes how he looks, feeling like a twat for even thinking it.

“What?” Harry taps his fingers under Zayn’s chin, tipping it up so he’ll look at Harry.

“These sheets are making me look washed out or summat,” Zayn mumbles, stretching his forearm out against the sheet, next to Harry’s leg.

“Zayn,” Harry looks like he’s about to start laughing. “Zayn.”

“What?” Zayn shrugs, “I feel like a knob, Jesus. Harry. Don’t look at me like that.”

“I can’t,” Harry is laughing now, rolling on his side and deleting the test video, “call the concierge and ask for darker sheets.”

“I bet they’d bring them if you did,” Zayn challenges, grabbing the phone from Harry’s hands and opening up the camera, flipping it to video and filming Harry’s face.

“Do you,” Harry bites at his lip, trying to get the phone back, “really want to wait for that? Or do you think you can chance it, you vain bastard?”

“I’m not the one,” Zayn sits up, pushing at Harry so he’s on his back, Zayn angling the camera down Harry’s torso and following the path of his hand when he palms at Harry’s cock through his pants, “who dried my hair and shaved my balls.”

“It was a trim,” Harry protests, hips pushing up into Zayn’s hand, “I did it for you, Zayn, not my own vanity.”

“How’s that?” Zayn switches the camera to his other hand, reaching his right one into Harry’s pants and slowly pulling out his half hard cock, moving the lens down closer when he pushes Harry’s foreskin back.

“Thought it’d be nicer,” Harry’s hips jolt off the bed, “when you were sucking me off.”

“That what you want me to do?” Zayn continues wanking Harry’s cock, fascinated at how the first drop of precome looks through the lens of the camera when he sweeps his thumb over it.

“Yeah,” Harry shifts his hips, “here, gimme that.” He takes the camera back from Zayn, smiling at the lens once before turning it back around, flipping the screen so Zayn can watch himself. “Now we can both see,” Harry sounds smug, like he invented bloody cinema.

“Here, move up,” Zayn takes his hand away from Harry, pushing at Harry’s hips until he gets the hint, scooting up the bed until he’s propped up against the pillows in a sitting position, the camera aimed down when Zayn settles between his legs.

“Looks good to me,” Harry murmurs, “do you wanna see, or.”

“Don’t think you want me distracted, mate,” Zayn scrapes his nail across the Brasil! when he talks, Harry’s cock twitching untouched, “so just keep it steady, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry nods, sounding shaky when he turns the phone back around, eyes flicking down to the screen. “I know that they’re like, a sore spot, Zayn, but.”

“What?” Zayn drops his head down, licking around the base of Harry’s cock and looking up at him, at the phone, under his eyelashes.

“My laurels, they,” Harry groans when Zayn reaches up to drag his fingers over them, “they look great right now. Like your head and my dick are wearing a crown.”

“Fuck,” Zayn can feel the laughter bubbling up, but at the same time when he looks up Harry’s eyes are so dark Zayn has to reach down and adjust himself in his pants.

“King of sucking cock,” Harry continues, and it’s bloody ridiculous but Zayn’s dick disagrees. “Yeah, c’mon, Zayn.”

Zayn sucks the head of Harry’s cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the wet there and places his hand firm on Harry’s hip, splaying out his fingers so he doesn’t cover up the laurel there. He strokes him a couple of times dry before he pulls off, Harry groaning when Zayn spits into his hand and wraps it around Harry’s cock again, pumping it fast when he licks at the head again.

“Shit, yeah,” Harry babbles, pushing against Zayn’s hand to fuck up into Zayn’s mouth, Zayn pulling away when it’s too much. He pushes Harry’s cock so it’s flat against his belly, licking down over Harry’s balls while he thumbs at the head in a slow rhythm. “Zayn,” Harry sounds ragged, threading his hands through Zayn’s hair and pulling when he starts to duck down lower, wants to lick at Harry’s hole.

“No?” Zayn sits up, looking down at how Harry tilts the camera up to follow his face.

“Wanna kiss you after,” Harry says, eyes looking wild, “so no. Okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Zayn nods, feeling like all his skin’s gone tight when he reaches for the lube, on the nightstand, Harry doing something with his phone and Zayn realizes he’s zooming in on Zayn slicking up his fingers.

“Here,” Harry shifts his hips down a little, spreading his legs. “I’m not sure if this angle will work, but.”

“Um,” Zayn reaches down to tease Harry with the tip of his index finger, seeing how tight Harry’s thighs go. “Hand me the phone, I’ll do it.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, just pushes the phone into Zayn’s hand, Zayn feeling clumsy when he aims it down at Harry’s arse as he slides the first finger in, Harry’s knee moving and blocking the shot at the last second.

“Haz,” Zayn breathes out, out of hands to soothe at Harry’s side like he wants, “you gotta, it’s not. I can’t get a good angle like this, and I want to open you up enough.”

“What if,” Harry’s voice sounds desperate, at a higher pitch and faster than normal, “I do it, like, and you film it?”

Zayn considers it for a second, using his knee to hold Harry’s leg back when he pushes forward again with his finger, feeling awkward.

“Okay,” Zayn agrees, wondering why he’s feeling slightly disappointed that he’s not the one fingering Harry open. He pulls his finger out, wiping it on the sheet and aiming to film Harry as he scrambles to find the lube where Zayn left it on the bed, slicking his hand up fast and reaching down to push a finger in, gasping like he’s gagging for it.

“Shit, Zayn,” Harry’s mouth moves almost like it’s out of sync with what’s coming out, “are you getting this?”

“Yeah,” Zayn palms Harry’s knee and pushes it to the side to get a good angle, Harry hissing at the change and pushing another finger inside himself. “I’m getting it.” Zayn glances down at himself, hard and stretching out the front of his pants, leaking through already.

“Need another,” Harry says, eyes fluttering closed. Zayn tilts the camera up, to catch Harry’s face, wants to capture that on film while he stares down at where Harry’s stretched around three of his long fingers now, hips pushing down on himself.

Fuck,” Zayn breathes out, keeping his grip steady on Harry’s knee so he won’t reach for Harry’s cock.

“Zayn,” Harry’s voice is low, “‘m close.”

“Don’t,” Zayn feels himself snap out of his daze, hears his voice come out like it did the night he wouldn’t let Harry come. “I need to feel you come on my cock, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry whispers, hips stilling even as he keeps his fingers inside. “Set it up, on the cases?”

“Where?” Zayn gets up slowly, walking over to the careful stack of Harry’s luggage.

“It’s like, I put a piece of tape there, like a mark.” When Zayn glances back at Harry, he’s lying with his legs splayed out, his fingers out of his arse and squeezing at the base of his cock. Fuck.

“I cannot believe,” Zayn bite back the insult, finding the small piece of electric tape Harry’d left on top, balancing the camera there carefully and flipping the screen so they’ll be able to see it from the bed. When Zayn steps back he can’t help himself, seeing his image on the screen and palming at his cock before pushing down his pants, revealing it in front of the camera.

“Are you,” Harry’s laughing from the bed, “putting on a little show?”

“Fuck off,” Zayn turns his hips, thumbing at the head of his cock once before laughing at himself and taking the condom when Harry hands him the package, already ripped open.

“Want you on your back,” Zayn says, rolling it on and stretching himself over Harry, licking into his mouth. Harry gives in, reaching down to palm at Zayn’s arse and maneuvering him so he’s almost lined up right as they snog.

“Yeah,” Harry says, against Zayn’s mouth, “we can start off like that, anyways.”

**

“You liked it when I did that,” Harry’s mouth is close to Zayn’s ear as they balance Harry’s laptop on their knees, Harry’s hand squeezing at Zayn through his pants.

“You were riding my cock, ‘f course I liked it,” Zayn rolls his eyes, against the heat that’s rising in his veins as they watch the tape. It’s their last night in Brazil, all of them fucking off before the next leg. Zayn’s gonna see Perrie, finally. It feels like it’s been ages instead of just a few weeks. He’s excited for it, he thinks. Or something like that.

It was Harry’s idea to watch it “just once, Zayn” before they left, Harry ducking out of another night out with Niall to show up at Zayn’s room with his laptop in tow. And now…

“Yeah but,” Harry’s biting at Zayn’s earlobe now, hand reaching into Zayn’s pants, “does anybody ride you like I do, huh?”

“Well,” Zayn draws it out, half teasing, knows that Harry’s just saying shit to get them both off; but he also knows that there’s something more, something under it, that Harry knows Zayn can’t really agree to. Even if it’s true. Even if it’s not.

Even if they both know that this will be the last go, something about the desperate tinge to Harry’s voice that makes Zayn feel like he’s being split open.

On the screen, Harry’s riding Zayn slowly, both for the sake of the camera and Zayn. Zayn watches himself hold Harry’s hips still so he can fuck up into him fast from below, Harry coming so hard that he’d ended up with jizz on his lip.

On screen, Zayn’s licking at that drop of come, both of them coming down. He tries to pay attention to that, licking at his own lips now, instead of the way how on screen Harry’s got his big hands bracketing Zayn’s face as they kiss, fingers grazing down over Zayn’s neck. It’s so bloody stupid, how that one dumb moment caught on camera makes him harder than most of what came before.

“Wanna start it again?” Harry asks, wanking Zayn faster now.

“No,” Zayn pushes at Harry hands until Harry gets the hint, taking the laptop and setting it down on the floor. “Get the lube, want you to fuck me.”

“What?” Harry’s asking, standing next to the bed with his kit off and cock hard, looking dazed as he meets Zayn’s eyes. “Don’t want to like, recreate shit?”

“I want,” Zayn pushes at his pants so he can kick them off completely, meeting Harry’s eyes, “you to fuck me.”

“Shit,” Harry tosses a condom at Zayn, “okay, hold on.” He reaches for the lube, standing there and staring at Zayn while he drizzles some over his fingers.

“C’mon,” Zayn urges, trying to decide if he should roll over on his front or not, the decision made for him when Harry’s knocking him on his back, climbing over him and bracketing him in with his limbs.

“Hey,” Harry smiles, “how do you want it?”

“However, just, fuck me?” Zayn is confused by what Harry means until Harry’s reaching down and circling two fingers over Zayn’s arse before pushing them in, the sudden burn making Zayn gasp.

“I can go slow, or,” Harry scissors his fingers apart already, Zayn squeezing his eyes shut at the mix of pain and pleasure as he does. “Not slow? Zayn,” Harry sounds panicked for a second, his fingers sliding back out, “look at me. Zayn.”

“I,” Zayn opens his eyes to Harry’s face hovering over, his brow all knitted up. “Harry, yeah, I can take it.”

“You sure?” Harry still sounds uncertain, and it’s ripping into Zayn worse than if Harry’d tried three fingers on the first go.

“Harry, I can take it.” Zayn reaches up and pushes Harry’s hair off of his face gently before yanking it hard, Harry looking shocked, “make me. Make me take it.”

“Fuck, okay.” Harry’s looming over him then, getting his bearings for a second before holding Zayn’s thigh out so he can get two fingers into him again. Zayn arches his back when Harry already sets a punishing rhythm, thumb rubbing over the skin behind his balls as he opens him. Zayn knows that if Harry had his way he’d take it slower, make it last, but Zayn thinks about the two of them getting on different planes tomorrow, thinks about sitting through a long flight. He knows that tomorrow he’s gonna be a miserable twat over it, over being uncomfortable for so bloody long. But.

“Another,” Zayn demands, Harry’s mouth crooking up in the ghost of a smile when he complies, leaning down to kiss Zayn and swallow the noise that Zayn makes.

“So hot like this, so,” Harry mumbles, pulling his fingers out and reaching for the condom, “so fucking hot.” Harry trails off, and Zayn tips his head back against the pillow, easy for it when Harry’s pushing into him without any preamble.

Fuuuuck,” Zayn feels like all of the air is escaping his body when Harry stops for a second as soon as he bottoms out. Zayn’s about to yell at him to get bloody on with it, thinks Harry’s giving him a moment, but then Harry’s pulling at Zayn’s legs so that they’re stretched almost too far, pushed up over Harry’s shoulders as he pulls out almost all the way before slamming back in, jolting them both further up the bed.

“Like that?” Harry’s got a challenge in his grin, and Zayn can almost ignore how soft his eyes look when they meet Zayn’s. He thrusts in a few more times, the angle making Zayn arch up immediately and reach for his cock to start tossing himself off.

“Like that,” Zayn grits out, the burn in his thighs too much. He shifts them, Harry moving back for a second so that Zayn can stretch them out, Harry thrusting in deeper now that Zayn can push back against him. “Harder, Haz.”

“How,” Harry mumbles, picking up the pace and leaning down to meet Zayn’s mouth with his, kissing him sloppily as his thrusts start to go off rhythm. “Gonna miss this,” Harry gasps, and when Zayn opens his eyes Harry’s flushed like he knows he shouldn’t say it.

“Me too,” Zayn chants, squeezing at the head of his cock hard on the upstroke while Harry groans, thrusting in deep as he comes, “miss you, miss this, gonna miss it.” Zayn bites his lip when he comes over his fist, working himself through it and blinking against the sound Harry makes into his neck, sounding like a sob.

“Zayn,” Harry whispers, gone a dead weight on top of him, “aren’t you so glad I suggested recording us fucking?”

“Get off me,” Zayn laughs in spite of himself, wincing when Harry pulls out as he rolls over. He can already feel the ache, already regrets it a little, like.

“I’m just saying,” Harry shrugs as he ties off the condom, tossing it over the side of the bed. “I always have the best ideas.”

“Yeah yeah,” Zayn sighs, turning his head when Harry nudges his nose against his cheek, snogging him lazily. “The rest of the tour, yeah?”

“Yeah?” Harry asks, going still. Zayn takes a deep breath against the weird feeling welling up in his chest.

“Gonna be sick, I think,” Zayn runs his tongue along Harry’s bottom lip, “think about how much you and Niall are gonna pull when we hit the US. Take Liam out with you, make him feel better.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, “and think of how boring you and Louis are gonna be.”

“We’ll always have our memories, I s’pose,” Zayn slurs, patting at the top of Harry’s head when he reaches over for the flannel on the nightstand, swiping at Zayn’s stomach half-heartedly.

“Some of us will have more than that,” Harry laughs, deep and throaty, Zayn’s hips twitching at the tone, “because some of us have good ideas.”

“Stuff it,” Zayn says, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at Harry. “And you’re welcome.”

 

&&&&&

Zayn’s fingers twitch on his stomach as he’s splayed out on the sofa, feeling like he needs a hit. Knowing that it would probably be not the best idea, not right now. His phone buzzes on his stomach. Another text from Louis.

are you gonna make me take all the calls, mate?

Zayn sighs, scrolling through all of Louis’s previous texts, all unanswered, starting all the way back at idk how they got it but us in peru it’s fucking everywhere

He’s not mad at Louis, but. His Mum and Pez and what feels like their entire management team and Caroline have all called, just as many texts, ranging from Niall’s you okay bro can hide out here to Liam’s string of frowny faces and hearts followed by call if you need

Zayn’s not answered any of them. Doesn’t know what to say, really. Figures he’ll just wait for someone else to tell him how it’s gonna be handled, like. Zayn knows he can’t do more than that. It was just him and Louis dicking around like usual, doesn’t even remember much of what they’d said. Hadn’t thought at the time that Louis trying out his new toy to film them was a big to do.

Zayn goes back through his texts, finding Harry’s name and seeing that the last one he sent Zayn was back in Brazil, something in Zayn’s gut bottoming out. you heard? he sends, after a moment of thinking about it.

It’s a few minutes later when Zayn’s phone starts buzzing from where he’s got it on his chest. He’s about to silence it immediately when he cranes his neck down and sees Harry’s name.

“Harry,” Zayn answers, his voice coming out flat after not talking to anyone all day.

“I heard, mate,” is how Harry answers, something catching at his voice that makes Zayn blink slow. “Pretty fucked.”

“Louis’s mad at me, I think. ‘m making him deal with it.” Zayn picks at a thread on the rip in his jeans over his knee, listening to Harry laugh quietly on the other end.

“He’s a big boy, he can handle it. Besides,” Harry pauses for a second, “there’s not much you can do until they take you off lockdown, right? Unless you want me to help you draft up something? Maybe tweet like…”

“No,” Zayn cuts Harry off. “I’m not tweeting something mad like you always do.”

“Right, I forgot your twitter is a shining example of coherent thought.” Harry sounds more sarcastic than he usually does, and it sets Zayn on edge.

“Sorry Haz, it’s just.” Zayn takes a deep breath, “Listen. I was thinking.”

“I already deleted it.” When Harry says it, low and slow and quiet, like he’s forcing the words out, Zayn grips at his knee tight enough to hurt.

“I just think,” Zayn starts, not sure what to say.

“It went straight from my phone to my computer, I never put it anywhere else.” Harry’s voice is flat, almost clinical like, “I deleted it from my phone right after, and I just got rid of it on my laptop. I can see about like, maybe backing up what I need and getting a new one, trashing this one in the bin?”

“Harry, you don’t have to get a bloody new computer.” Zayn feels like he’s drowning or something, leaning forward on his knees and taking a deep breath.

“I was going to call when I heard, you know,” Harry sounds sad, drawing out his words, “but I knew...I knew I’d have to get rid of it. Watched it. I hadn’t yet. Not since.”

“Did it hold up?” Zayn asks, sounding strangled to his own ears.

“Mmmm,” Harry hums, making Zayn’s phone vibrate with it as he presses it to his ear, “you need anything else?”

“I have to,” Zayn tries to make a mental list in his head, “call Mum, you know, return some calls. I’ve been a bit holed up.”

“Well,” Harry says, and Zayn almost asks him to come over, knows that it’ll end with something Zayn had already given up. “Take your time, it’s bad enough we’ve got Sunderland tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Haz,” Zayn whispers, suddenly desperate to end the call, not sure how much more he can take.

“Anytime,” Harry’s voice sounds suddenly brighter, “hey though, it’s okay. This is fair, right? We’ve both only got the memories.”

“If you start quoting arsing Midnight Memories at me right now, Harry, I swear.”

“What?” Harry’s laughing now, “You gonna give me amnesia?”

“Never,” Zayn exhales, Harry echoing on the other end. “I’ll let you go, though, so you can have a good wank over it.”

“Pretty knackered, but I guess I could have another go, while it’s still fresh.” Harry’s still laughing when he rings off, Zayn poised to say something else when he does.

“Fuck it,” Zayn rolls over, reaching for the spliff he’s been avoiding all day. He fucking needs it. Lighting up, he holds the smoke in for as long as he’s able, exhaling toward the ceiling before grabbing for his phone again and scrolling through his texts.

alright, he types, replying to Louis, what do u need me to do?