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The knock sounds through Zayn’s door at half past two in the morning. It’s been quiet in the halls between everyone’s rooms for hours now, and he suspiciously creeps across the floor, unwilling to deal with fans who’ve sneaked past security, but he sees only Harry through the peephole, rocking precariously from his heels to his toes and back.

“Y’alright?” he asks after unlatching the door, propping it open for Harry to step inside.

“Bit drunk,” Harry admits, squeezing through. “I thought you might be on the bus, actually, I was about to go to bed.”

“Nah, too hot out there,” Zayn says, watching Harry head all the way across the suite for the mini fridge. He snags a water bottle and chugs most of it in a few gulps, pausing with only a swallow left to wipe his chin and catch his breath.

“Were you gonna sleep?” Harry asks, recapping his nearly empty bottle.

“Not for a bit.” The bed is a mess, duvet half in the floor and sheets scrunched in the middle, and Harry looks like he’s ready to fall into it. Zayn crawls onto one side and leans against the headboard, slapping the empty space next to him in invitation. As he’s climbing into bed, Harry kicks off one shoe and leaves the other on after unsuccessfully trying to push it off with his socked toes, his face is buried in pillows.

“You look like you had a good night, then,” Zayn says, amused. Harry hums into the mattress, long and low, and nods. His hair looks dark, maybe sweaty, but Zayn runs his fingers through it anyway to give him a little massage, unbothered.

Harry hums again, turning his face toward Zayn. “Well,” he drawls, “I did get probably the best blowjob of my life a few minutes ago.”

It’s been months since Zayn’s gotten off at the hands of someone else, and he feels the fine hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He pushes several chunks of hair away from Harry’s forehead, to see if his eyes are open. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Harry starts, blinking slowly up at Zayn, “let me fuck her mouth.”

Zayn watches the way Harry’s lips move around the word fuck and scratches at his scalp. “Could she take it?”

Yeah,” he sighs, huffed out in an exhale. He shifts against the bed minutely, hips bearing down, and leans further into Zayn’s hand, closing his eyes again. “She had me, like, hold her head, move it where I wanted. You’d’ve liked her,” he mumbles.

“Bet I would’ve,” Zayn mumbles back. He slides himself further down the mattress, taking his eyes off Harry’s face to look down his own body. It’s always been arousing, hearing Harry talk about the girls, but it’s a relief to know that his jealous prick’s not hard enough for Harry to see. “You return the favor?”

“She just wanted my fingers,” Harry says. He reaches over, splaying his fingers against Zayn’s belly, deliberately looking up at him now. Zayn can feel the heat of his hand through his vest, stretching across his stomach. They tap against him, one by one, and Zayn suppresses a shiver. He grabs Harry’s hand with his free one and drags it up higher, between his ribs, an easier place to keep it still.

“Been forever since you told me about a pull,” Zayn says, curling his fingers around Harry’s, sure that this is the hand he used to get his girl off, fucking into her not even an hour earlier.

Harry presses in closer, burying his face against Zayn’s side. “Been a while since‘ve had one, mate,” he yawns. Zayn cups the back of his head, petting behind his ear with a stroke of his thumb.

“You staying here?”

Nodding, Harry mumbles, “Could do.” Zayn can feel the consciousness slipping out of him with each second that passes, in his slackening limbs and the lazy way he tangles and untangles their fingers until he leaves his hand pressed flat to Zayn’s chest.

He’s asleep before Zayn thinks of what to say next.




Just after midnight, less than a week later, Harry rings Zayn. He’s in his bunk, Louis and Liam laughing raucously in the back, and his phone rattles loudly against the thin wall of the bus.

He answers with a mumble, “‘lo?”

Harry’s end of the line sounds much louder, music in the background and people chattering away. “Hello,” Harry says.

“What’s up, mate?”

“Just wanted to have a chat, f’you’re not busy,” Harry says.

“M’not, just in bed. In my bunk,” Zayn tells him. His laptop sits open on his belly, several tabs of YouTube videos open in his browser, spitting out bright blue light. “Chat away.”

“Well,” Harry starts, “I dunno if you remember the girl from last time we were here. She’s called Kelsey, she’s like… she didn’t want to come to the hotel?”

Zayn remembers. She was nearly taller than Harry in her heels, handsy with both of them the whole night, but didn’t want to leave her friends behind. “You with her?”

“She sent me a text about a house party she was going to, so I showed up. Think it was worth the wait.”

Unintentionally, Zayn lowers his voice when he replies, “What, like, a year-long wait? D’you pull twice in a week, you greedy bastard?”

Harry laughs, and before he speaks again Zayn hears a door click shut, followed by the ringing absence of sound after so many voices. “Mate, if the opportunity presents itself I’ll take it.”

“Go on, then,” Zayn pushes. He switches the phone to his other ear, listening out for Louis and Liam in the back to make sure they’re still occupied, and slowly closes his laptop, setting it off to the side.

“She’s loud,” Harry says quietly, still sounding giddily aroused. “Ate her out for a while until she came like that first, on this couch in the bedroom she took me to. I’ve got no idea who lives here, I dunno if she even knows them or not. She was on her knees though, arse up, had her face in the cushions so no one’d hear her.”

A sharp jerk of arousal hits Zayn and he huffs out a breath, slipping the fingertips of his free hand beneath the band of his pants, along the groove of his hip. “How’d she taste?”

Harry hums, the noise rumbling low enough to be a moan. He takes his time before he answers, “Satisfying. She was so wet straight away, think she’d been hoping I’d fuck her since she texted me.” He speaks slowly, letting Zayn digest every word and helping him imagine Harry, bent down behind her, soaking her cunt even quicker with his tongue.

“Did you? Get a proper fuck this time?”

“Yeah,” Harry sighs. “You need to hold your tongue, though, I can’t get hard again just before I go back out.”

“You literally just offered up loads of explicit details on your own,” Zayn argues, even as he’s getting harder himself thinking of Harry trying to stay calm. He lets his fingertips lightly run over the hair above his cock, but doesn’t touch himself.

“I wanted to tell you. Sort of forgot how hot it is to talk about it after.”

“Mm,” Zayn hums; he shifts around slowly and eases the band of his pants down over his cock, letting just the head peek out at first. “Maybe I’ll have to go find me a bird and tell you about it next time, even the score.”

“Gonna have to get you out of bed first if you want to be doing that,” Harry teases.

Zayn licks his lips, tracing a fingertip along the head of his cock. It jumps under his touch, and he sighs. “At least I can have a wank if m’in my bed,” he says, trying to match Harry’s tone, just a light ribbing.

Without hesitation, Harry lowers his voice and asks, “That what you’re doing now, then?”

It surprises Zayn, and he sucks in a breath quick enough that it sounds like a gasp. He doesn’t answer besides that, feeling his cheeks heat at being caught, but he pulls his cock all the way out of his pants now, more eager to feel it.

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs, like he knows, “I can hear it. How you breathe. I can tell when you’re up for it.”

Zayn tilts the phone away from his face so he doesn’t exhale directly into the microphone, keeping the speaker pressed to his ear in case Harry says something more. Only the head of his cock is wet enough for him yet, so instead of pulling himself off properly he just swipes his thumb back and forth over his slit, getting himself sensitive. It makes his breathing go quicker and he’s hyper aware of it, of Harry on the other line just listening, knowing Zayn’s so turned on just from this.

Careful to keep his voice steady, Zayn moves the phone back in place and mumbles, “Keep talking.”

“About her or you?”

“Harry,” Zayn warns; he’s flustered, and his mind is frantically repeating me, but he stutters out, “I’m— I don’t, I don’t care.” Impatiently, he licks the palm of his hand so he can finally wrap it around his prick, not caring now if it’s audible.

“I fucked her like that, too,” Harry says then, picking up where he left off. The leaden feeling of disappointment in his chest annoys Zayn, but doesn’t stop him from closing his eyes and picturing it. “On her knees still. It’s good like that, yeah, especially for her. Like, if I wasn’t quick enough she’d push back like they do, to get me in deeper.”

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees, squeezing himself tightly. He tries to imagine himself pushing into Kelsey, like he wished he could’ve the night they met her, but instead he’s thinking of Harry; watching his cock slide slowly into her cunt and come back wet, Harry spreading her open so he can see.

“Should’ve been here,” Harry mumbles. He’s getting quieter, so that Zayn has to shove the phone hard against his ear to catch all the words. He wonders if Harry’s turned into a corner of whatever room he’s in, if there are people looking for him, if he’s hard again. “Could’ve had a taste yourself, yeah? Maybe we both could’ve had her, same time and all.”

“Invite me next time,” he says breathlessly, blatantly panting now.

“I will,” Harry says, almost confidently. “Want you to do something now, though.”

Zayn’s cock leaks onto the side of his thumb and he sighs, spreading it down to get the rest of himself wetter. “Yeah?”

“Go faster,” Harry tells him. “Want you to finish before I’ve gotta leave. I want to hear it.”

Wordlessly, Zayn obeys. He can’t think of anything to say back, a little overwhelmed and unprepared. The quicker he jerks himself the louder it sounds in the closed off space of his bunk; his own pounding heart and the shifting static of the phone line are the only other things he hears. He wants Harry to speak again, but he’s already asked him to keep talking once, and it feels desperate to ask again. Instead, he lets his mind loop snippets of Harry’s voice from moments ago, About her or you? and I want to hear it.

Zayn holds his breath when he gets close, fist moving fast over his cock, and Harry mumbles some soft encouragement. Just as he starts to spill across his belly, half a groan works its way out of his throat and he fuzzily hears Harry’s praise, “There’s a good lad,” finishing himself off to the image of Harry holding down his hip with one hand, working the rest of his orgasm out of him with the other.




The next afternoon at soundcheck, Harry wraps an arm around Zayn’s shoulders and pulls until Zayn’s against his chest; he places his mouth right beside Zayn’s ear to make sure no one else can hear and whispers, “I fucked her again after we hung up.” Zayn suppresses a shiver but feels goosebumps prickle up along his arms anyway. Harry gives his bum a pat and smiles sweetly at him as he saunters away, leaving Zayn to laugh and scrub his hands over his face, trying to shake the thought out of his mind.




Zayn’s having a smoke after the show, hidden in the shadows of the hotel’s back entrance, when one of their vans pulls up into a parking space and Harry climbs out of the passenger seat. He finishes his cigarette quickly, sucking in deep pulls and crushing the butt against the top of the garbage bin. It takes Harry a while to make his way across the lot, thumbs tapping through his phone while the driver strides past him with a good night, so Zayn lingers by the doorway until Harry’s close enough to notice him.

“Allow me to escort you inside, Mr. Styles,” he says in his poshest accent, holding out a hand. Harry grins and reels him in with one arm, sort of a half-hug, keeping him there as they walk.

“What’re you doing lurking around in the dark?” Harry asks.

“Smoke break,” Zayn answers. “You going to bed already?”

Harry shrugs, “Doubt it. Wanna come up to mine?”

“Was just about to ask if I could,” Zayn admits. “Like, the entire crew is in my room, probably. I figure it’ll be quieter at yours at least.”

“Yeah, c’mon, let’s have a nightcap.”


The time on the tiny microwave in Harry’s suite says it’s only 1:06am. Harry’s given up searching the minibar and is peeling a tangerine from the fruit basket on the counter, watching Zayn toe off his shoes.

“You’re in early, to be honest,” Zayn says. He walks deeper into the suite with Harry on his heels and peers between the bed and the couch, considering. Behind him, Harry hums.

“It was sort of weird tonight. Not, like. I dunno. I wasn’t feeling it, really.”

Zayn decides to climb up on the bed, sitting just off-center to leave enough room for Harry to sit as well. He props up a pillow behind his back as he speaks, “I was expecting some more naughty stories tonight, actually. A third in a week, like, a couple more and you’d’ve set a new record for yourself.”

Harry settles down next to him and smirks, popping a tangerine wedge into his mouth. “Dunno,” he says after swallowing, “couldn’t I count you as the third for the week?”

Face heating, Zayn hastily says, “Shut it,” stealing a slice of fruit from Harry’s palm. Harry leans against his shoulder, lazily leering at him, and laughs.

“Even still. I was gonna, like… Try something. Maybe. Like, if it would’ve panned out. Probably for the best it didn’t, though.”

“Try something like what?” Zayn asks. “What have you even got left to try? Ladies’ pants? Bondage?”

“Something like that. No though, like. With a bloke,” Harry says.

Blankly, Zayn repeats, “With a bloke.” He looks at Harry, who shoves two more tangerine pieces into his mouth in quick succession. Juice drips down his chin and he wipes it away with the side of his wrist, glancing back at Zayn.

“Well, there was one at the bar, I mean. I didn’t, like, plan it. I’m pretty sure he was interested.”

“Uh,” Zayn says, sort of blindsided, “so why’re you here at 1am instead of in some fit lad’s bed?”

Harry huffs out a loud sigh and tosses his extra tangerine slices on the nightstand, rubbing his sticky hands on his jeans. “Honestly, I was bricking it. It was really confusing, I don’t even know if he was actually, you know, in there, or if he just liked a couple free drinks.”

“Probably both,” Zayn says helpfully. Still a little surprised, he adds, “So you were about to shag a bloke.”

“I was thinking about it,” Harry amends. “I’m not in the mood for like, a national scandal if people heard. I never have before anyway, I would’ve been shit. I’ve not even kissed a bloke before.”

“You have! Like, loads of times, actually,” Zayn says.

“Not properly,” Harry insists. “With a purpose. Less than five seconds doesn’t count.”

Looking down to study his knees, Zayn says, “It’s not much different, anyway. Mostly.” He sees Harry turn more toward him out of the corner of his eye, and gives a little shrug.

“The snogging or the shagging?”

Zayn rolls his shoulders back and tilts his head up, blinking at the ceiling before looking back to Harry. “The snogging. Shagging’s definitely different.”

Harry stares back at him, unintentionally intense, and asks, “How different?”

“Pretty different,” he mumbles; he wants to break eye contact, but it feels almost like a contest with Harry watching him so intently, so he keeps looking back. “Feels completely different to have a prick in your mouth than it does to lick out some bird.”

Pausing, Harry’s eyes slip down to Zayn’s mouth before he asks, “Still good, though?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says. “More intense, like, I think, doing it. You know what it’s like having it done, just think about it the other way round. Like you’ve got someone else holding your head and pushing in.”

Harry inhales loudly through his nose, tipping his head back against the headboard. “I think I could like it.”

“Reckon you might,” Zayn agrees. His fingers twitch against his thigh before he gives in to their impulse and cradles Harry’s skull, his hand a barrier between him and the headboard. Harry leans in closer, and Zayn lets him.

“What else’s different?” he asks, more quietly.

Zayn rakes his fingers through Harry’s hair and rubs his scalp when he reaches a snag, making Harry hiss. Heart starting to pound heavier, Zayn says, “Getting fucked is different.”

“How?” Harry leans in again and Zayn pulls him closer, until their noses brush before they press their foreheads together. He forgets he’s even been asked a question until Harry murmurs again, right into his cheek, “Tell me what it’s like.”

“It feels good,” is the first thing he can think to say. Harry brings a hand up to hold his jaw, nuzzling up against him, and Zayn tilts his head to feel their lips brush together. He whispers against Harry’s mouth, “S’like you’re taking something you’re not meant to, once you open up for it.”

Harry doesn’t say anything more, instead pushing his jaw forward into a purposeful kiss, sliding his hand around to the back of Zayn’s neck. Zayn’s lost his breath trying to keep up with these sudden turns, but he surges forward and parts his lips to invite Harry inside. The sweet tang of citrus is still on Harry’s tongue and Zayn sucks him in, holding him in place with hands in his hair and around his waist. Absurdly and belatedly, Zayn counts to five inside his head, licking into Harry’s mouth once he hits the end, satisfied.

Zayn has to pull back first to get in a breath, fisting Harry’s hair tight when he tries to tip forward still, chasing another kiss. He puts enough distance between them to see Harry’s face again, his flushed cheeks and slick lips, eyes looking right back. One of Harry’s hands comes up to pet at his chin, thumb stroking the corner of his mouth.

“Beard’s different,” Harry says, rubbing again more firmly at Zayn’s lips until he parts them, licking the tip of Harry’s thumb. “I like it. Like your mouth.”

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees, tilting his head to fit more snugly against Harry’s palm. Harry moves in and holds his face with both hands before kissing him again, fingertips stretching to Zayn’s temples; he feels contained, focused only on Harry’s mouth and hands, the slow slide of their tongues together.

They kiss until Zayn notices himself slipping down further on the mattress, the duvet bunched under his back and Harry bent down to meet him, his spine curving. He doesn’t seem bothered, nosing his way back behind Zayn’s ear to kiss there when Zayn pulls him off his mouth again.

“Oughta have a lie down,” Zayn murmurs, rubbing a hand up Harry’s side, “a proper one. Gonna break your back like that, babe.”

Harry hums softly into his ear and Zayn can’t help but shiver, pulling back to get them settled. He tosses away the pillow he’d been using and straightens out the duvet, conscious of Harry watching him and waiting. When he lies down, flat on his back this time, he doesn’t bother readjusting his cock; he shifts his hips and lets Harry look.

“You’re so fit,” Harry mumbles, skimming a hand across Zayn’s abdomen, rucking up his shirt. Zayn catches his fingers and holds onto them, trying to pull him down.

“C’mere,” he says, taking in Harry’s body as he stretches out, the loose ripple of his button-down and bulge in his jeans. Zayn reaches out to stroke the reddened skin around his mouth and urges him again, “C’mon.”

Harry comes, unhesitant, crawling on top of Zayn and fitting their hips together. He’s breathing faster now, a gentle panting that Zayn can hear when he leans in for more kisses, one hand wedged between Zayn’s ribs and the bed and the other curled into his hair. Being on top makes Harry bolder, rolling his hips against Zayn’s for the pressure, licking so slowly into Zayn’s mouth that it feels dirty. The weight of Harry’s body pushes Zayn heavily against the mattress, pinning him there with just enough room to be able to arch up against Harry and get more friction for himself.

Zayn’s past turned on, buzzing with the special thrill of getting off with someone new mixed up with the realization that they shouldn’t be getting off with each other at all; instead of slowing them down like he should do, Zayn pushes the hem of Harry’s top up his back, relieved when Harry sits up to take it off. He doesn’t bother with the buttons, pulling the whole thing up over his head, shaking out his hair after. It’s past his shoulders now, nearly to his collarbones, and hangs over his face in a sheet of waves. Harry plants both hands on either side of Zayn’s head and holds himself up, staring down at Zayn like he’s thinking.

“Alright?” Zayn asks, pushing the hair back from Harry’s face, tucking as much as he can behind one ear before it falls forward again.

“Yeah,” he answers.

“Not still brickin’ it now you’re in a fit lad’s bed, then?”

“Might be,” Harry grins, bending his elbows to settle back onto Zayn more fully. “Bit intimidating, those cheekbones.” He punctuates the sentence with a sweet kiss high on Zayn’s cheek, and Zayn smiles, rubbing both palms up Harry’s bare back.

“You’re off to a strong start, at least. Full marks in snogging,” he says.

“Get in,” Harry mumbles, sliding his mouth down to Zayn’s again. It makes Zayn laugh, catching Harry’s kiss mostly on his teeth, and Harry tuts at him. “Focus, please, Zayn.”

“M’focused,” Zayn promises. He holds Harry’s chin still with one hand and gives him a firm kiss, keeping his eyes open just to watch Harry’s close. “Still an A.”

“Next lesson?” Harry asks.

Zayn hums, touching his nose to Harry’s before kissing him again, just as quick. Harry follows his mouth for another, drawing it out longer this time; he slips one hand behind Zayn’s head to try and keep him in place, nipping gently at Zayn’s lower lip until he opens again to let their tongues meet. By the time Harry pulls back, Zayn’s nearly forgotten the question.

“Next lesson,” he repeats, licking his lips and blinking up at Harry. “Foreplay, I’m thinking.”

“Love a bit of foreplay,” Harry says. He’s beyond pretending to look anywhere but Zayn’s mouth.

“Best get to it, then,” Zayn tells him, purposely resettling against the bed again, like he’s getting comfortable, ready to judge Harry’s performance.

“Oughta take that top off for foreplay,” Harry decides, pinching a loose bit of Zayn’s sleeve and tugging.

Feeling his pulse start to pick up again, Zayn says, “Gotta make me want to take it off, first.”

He’s almost expecting a bit of silly protest, but Harry looks him over and slides down a few inches, pressing his mouth to the side of Zayn’s neck. He kisses slowly, dragging his lips, and slips both of his hands beneath Zayn’s shirt, pushing it up as far as it’ll go between them. Once it catches and refuses to raise any higher, Harry pushes his hands up underneath anyway, both of them wide enough to span Zayn’s entire chest. His breath hitches in his throat when Harry finds both nipples at the same time and rubs with his fingertips, starting to suck gently at a spot on his neck. Zayn can feel his nipples tighten up, not used to being touched, and he shifts under Harry, working a hand into his hair.

“Want it off yet?” Harry asks him, twisting one hand in Zayn’s shirt from the inside, tugging it down almost roughly to reveal more skin. The collar digs into the back of his neck, and Zayn shivers when Harry sets his teeth into the edge of his collarbone, biting softly.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, pushing Harry’s shoulder until he moves back enough for Zayn to sit up. With four hands working it takes twice as long for Zayn to peel off his top, and before he’s even got it over his head, Harry’s caught one nipple between his fingers, twisting slowly.

“Blokes like this too, yeah?” Harry asks, not entirely sounding like he really needs an answer.

“Some do,” Zayn says anyway, letting himself arch into it when Harry tugs at his nipple, “I must.”

Harry kisses up the side of Zayn’s neck and murmurs, “What else d’you like?”

“Like having my cock touched,” Zayn mumbles, turning his face towards Harry and guiding him into a kiss. It’s much deeper now, pointed and sexual, Zayn fisting Harry’s hair and working Harry’s mouth open. The hand that’s been teasing Zayn’s nipple instead moves down to his trousers, palming over the shape of his cock before squeezing him.

“Been thinking, like,” Harry whispers between kisses, rubbing hard at Zayn’s cock through his jeans, “thinking about how you’d’ve looked. Getting off listening to me talk.”

“God.” Zayn turns his head away to pant out a breath. He barely stops a groan from escaping, pushing up into Harry’s grip. “Wished you’d kept talking about me,” he admits.

“Could now. Got plenty to say,” Harry speaks against the shell of his ear, letting Zayn rock against his hand. “Like about how you look with a hand on your cock, how I wanna know how you look getting fucked.”

The spike of arousal that goes through Zayn at the thought - letting Harry bend him over and fuck into him - makes him squirm. He shoves both hands between them and pushes Harry’s away to try and work the zip of his jeans down, muttering, “Get ‘em off, shit.”

Harry pops the button out of its hole and hooks his fingers on the band of Zayn’s jeans and pants both, pulling them down after Zayn raises his hips off the bed. He doesn’t stop until they’re completely off, tossing the whole bundle into the floor. Zayn shivers against the chill of the room but a liquid heat in his belly spreads quickly once he finds Harry staring at his cock, already leaking.

“Want your mouth,” Zayn says. He wraps his own hand around himself, unwilling to wait any longer for one of them to touch his bare skin, and lets out a long, relieved breath.

“Thought we were on foreplay,” Harry murmurs, holding onto Zayn’s hips, slowly lowering himself down. Zayn watches him, loosely pulling his cock a few times to see where Harry looks.

“You’re a lucky boy, get to skip a lesson,” Zayn tells him. Harry’s hair tickles Zayn’s stomach when he leans in, so he pushes it out of Harry’s face again, holding it where he wants it this time, still slowly touching himself with his other hand.

“This feels advanced,” Harry says, stretching out on his belly and curling his fingers around Zayn’s. He runs the pad of his thumb up the side of Zayn’s cock, still openly staring.

“Best to learn by doing,” Zayn replies, amused but becoming impatient. He gently pulls Harry closer by his hair and tilts his cock down toward his mouth. “Open up.”

Harry looks up to Zayn’s face this time, dropping his jaw open to let Zayn roll his hips and push inside. The heat of Harry’s mouth feels incredible from the start, Harry closing his lips around the head and giving his first inquisitive suck. Zayn shudders out a breath and takes his hand out from under Harry’s, letting him angle his cock where he likes; he cranes his neck so that he can see, watching Harry’s eyes close as he lowers his mouth down farther, deciding how much he can fit in at once.

The deeper Harry takes him inside, the more obvious the light dragging of his teeth becomes, so Zayn tugs sharply at his hair once to get his attention, “Mind your teeth, babe.” Harry doesn’t come off to reply, but hums out an mhm and pulls back some, sucking harder as he goes. The slick inside of Harry’s mouth is so good when he hollows out his cheeks, and Zayn drops his head back onto the bed and groans softly, letting go of Harry’s hair to comb through it with his fingers in appreciation.

“Doing good,” he mumbles, tracing his fingertips along the arch of Harry’s brow and down to his cheek, brushing the corner of his mouth with his thumb. Harry pulls completely off with a sigh, sending goosebumps along Zayn’s arms when the chilly air of the room touches his wet cock.

“Shit,” Harry says, licking at his lips when Zayn looks back down at him, “need proper fucking, like, coordination for this, don’t you?”

Zayn rubs his thumb more firmly over Harry’s bottom lip and hums when Harry turns his head into it, kissing the heel of Zayn’s hand. “S’alright,” he says, “Feels good, you’re alright. For a beginner.”

“Steady,” Harry warns, gently biting into the meat of Zayn’s palm. “Still got these.” He works his hand over Zayn’s cock, turning his attention back to it, and licks away a drop of precome that’s leaked out of him.

“Can you take more, d’you reckon?” Zayn asks, slowly propping himself up on one elbow for a better view. His cock jerks in Harry’s hand when Harry stares up at him, just that image itself practically enough to do him in.

“Dunno,” Harry murmurs, “stay still, maybe?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says. He tenses his muscles before Harry even takes him back into his mouth, slowly sucking like the first time, like he’s getting used to it again. Harry takes his time with it, easing Zayn in deeper with each bob of his head, loosening up the suction to focus on one thing at once. It’s not enough to get him off, but it’s enough to make him sweat, knowing his is the first prick Harry’s put his mouth on, watching him learn how to take it deeper, figuring out how to breathe to suck someone off.

It’s actually a bit impressive how deep Harry lets Zayn get; he’s only got two fingers wrapped around the base of Zayn’s cock, lips pressed to them, when he swallows too quickly around him and gags, pulling off suddenly to cough. Zayn palms the back of his head and tries to urge him up the bed, “C’mere, Harry,” sitting up fully when Harry laughs between coughs, blinking up at him with wet eyes.

“Thought I was doing quite well, there,” Harry admits, sniffing dramatically, rising up to rest on his knees between Zayn’s legs.

“Very well,” Zayn promises, brushing away an errant tear with the back of his hand before pulling Harry in for a kiss. His cock throbs expectantly, but he ignores it. “Can have you deepthroating in no time, I bet. Massive cocks and all.”

“Oh, god,” Harry laughs. “Yours is quite big enough, actually, thanks.”

“Taking that as a compliment,” Zayn says, exhaling loudly when Harry curls his hand back around his cock.

“Could’ve finished you off like that,” Harry says, quieter, jerking Zayn slowly. “I still could, if you want.”

Zayn shakes his head, feeling up the line of Harry’s forearm. “Nah, you’ve got more lessons yet, don’t ya?”

“Gonna have me pulling an all-nighter.”

“Shame,” Zayn breathes, reaching forward to finally touch Harry’s cock, still hard in his jeans. Harry gives him a pleased moan, shuffling forward closer, hand going slack around Zayn. “Been waiting a while, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, tipping forward to seek out Zayn’s mouth, kissing him greedily again. Zayn lets him keep control of the kiss and parts his lips when Harry wants it, focusing instead on undoing Harry’s jeans and working them down his hips. Harry lifts up and takes his hand away from Zayn, helping to shove his clothes down, moaning again into the kiss when Zayn gets both hands on his naked cock.

He’s bigger when he’s hard, thick in Zayn’s hands and so wet at the tip, and Zayn immediately thinks of how long he’d have to be stretched to take Harry, if he should even ask. It’s been years since he’s been fucked properly, with something bigger than a couple fingers, and it’s not something he just does with his mates; still, Harry guides him down flat onto the bed again, holding the back of his neck, and Zayn finds himself whispering into Harry’s mouth, “D’you wanna fuck me?”

Harry pauses and says, “What, like…?”

“Like fuck me,” Zayn repeats, squeezing Harry’s dick and nuzzling up against his cheek when he gasps.

Yeah, fuck, if you want it,” Harry says, pulling back to look down at him.

“Yeah, I want it. But I need, like…”

“I’ve got, um, I have things,” Harry assures him.

“Things,” Zayn repeats. “Lube, and that?”

“Always handy,” Harry agrees, pushing himself up higher to peer over the edges of the bed. “It’s all in one of my bags, the navy one. Or the black one, maybe.”

“Might just have you suck me off, then, if we’ve got to go through all your luggage,” Zayn teases.

“We’ll not do that,” Harry swats at him absently, crawling away to look down at the foot of the bed. As soon as he’s too far away to touch, Zayn feels his belly start to twist, nerves creeping in. He watches Harry’s back as he heaves his black bag up onto the mattress, rummaging through the outer pockets. Zayn feels unusually awkward, naked and waiting, so he nudges his cold toes against Harry’s bare bum and grins when Harry jumps, twitching forward.

“Tick tock,” he says, dodging out of the way when Harry tosses a crumpled travel-sized box of condoms at him. Zayn picks it up and cradles it against his chest, settling back in his spot, and laughs.

Eventually, Harry finds the practically full bottle of lube buried under a ball of semi-clean t-shirts within the main compartment, raising it above his head triumphantly. “There we go.”

“Mm, I’ve changed my mind at this point,” Zayn says, setting the condom box off to the side and holding a hand out to beckon Harry closer again.

“Liar,” Harry mumbles, stretching back out half on top of him for a kiss. His cock ends up pressed against Zayn’s hip and he hums, rubbing up Harry’s back.

“S’been a long time, though,” Zayn says between slow kisses, “I need to, like… stretch for it. Especially for you.”

He feels the inhale Harry takes at that, the kind of breath he’s learning to associate with Harry becoming momentarily overwhelmed. “I’ll help you.”

Zayn shakes his head, kissing Harry’s chin and bottom lip, “I can do it, s’alright.”

“Thought I was getting a new lesson,” Harry says.

“Could do. Mostly I’ve done that bit myself, though, might not be a great instructor,” Zayn admits; the other times he’s been fucked have mostly been planned, him hastily pushing two fingers into himself at once beforehand, like he hadn’t already spent twice as long in the shower stretching himself open to get to the rest quicker.

“Well I know how to do this much,” Harry says in his halfheartedly offended way, butting his forehead against Zayn’s, “I’ve had girls who like it.”

“You don’t need a lesson then, hm? You can, though,” Zayn says, offering permission as if he’s not physically restraining himself from asking nicely for it, please, quite eager to feel someone else’s fingers instead of his own.

Harry presses his lips to Zayn’s throat and lifts himself up, still holding the bottle in one hand, and rubs Zayn’s thigh, “Spread ‘em for me, then.”

Like Harry’s sharp little inhales, Zayn feels that sudden arousal like a spring tightening around his core, and his cock flexes as he listens. Harry settles on his knees between Zayn’s legs again and flicks the bottle open, catching a generous drizzle of it across his first two fingers. He coats them both, rubbing them together and spreading it all with his thumb, and they catch each other’s eyes as he reaches down, stroking a single fingertip over Zayn’s hole.

Zayn gets it, a bit, how some girls want the lights out. It’s fucking bright even with just the few lamps they’ve got on, and his heart hammers in his chest at the first gentle nudge of Harry’s finger into him, testing to see how tight he is. Letting someone inside you feels different than just getting off at all, and it sort of makes him want to hide, pressing the back of his hand over his eyes when Harry’s finger slips in to the first knuckle, barely an inch inside.

“Zayn,” Harry murmurs; Zayn feels his lips against his sternum, and blindly reaches out with his free hand to pet Harry’s hair.

“Yeah,” he breathes, not sure what else to say, just an affirmation. Harry’s mouth stays against his skin and his finger pushes deeper, so easy to work in with the lube slicking the way.

Harry doesn’t finger him like Zayn’s fingered himself. In the showers, maybe in his bed while he’s wanking with one hand, Zayn would get a couple fingers inside and just let them stay there; he’d get used to the stretch and bear down against them and try to press up against his prostate for a bit of something extra. When Harry feels how easily the slide of one finger is, he draws it back and pushes inside again, like he’s fucking him already. It’s like how he’d finger a girl, really, and Zayn makes a sound like a whine out of surprise, turning his face into the crook of his elbow when he feels his chest start to flush.

“Could do another?” Harry offers, brushing his lips over to kiss Zayn’s nipple. Zayn huffs out a breath and nods, panting into his bent arm; Harry slips his finger out completely and Zayn feels him sit up and out of reach, like he has to see what he’s doing.

The first breach of two fingertips is where Zayn starts to notice the stretch, automatically tensing his muscles before making himself relax to let Harry in again. “There you go,” Harry murmurs, his left hand rubbing slow across Zayn’s belly, wrist brushing Zayn’s cock. After a second, he eases his two fingers in further and Zayn groans, beginning to feel full now.

Both of Harry’s fingers moving in and out of him is just like how remembers it felt to be fucked, the unusual drag and confusing sensation of his body wanting to push everything away while he wants to feel it deeper. Once Harry’s worked them both in as far as they’ll go on the push inside, he leans back over Zayn and kisses his elbow, moving his arm to reveal his face again. Zayn doesn’t bother opening his eyes, just cups the back of Harry’s neck and pulls their mouths together, needing somewhere else to focus. It backfires pretty rapidly, Harry’s tongue slipping into Zayn’s mouth at the same time as his fingers sink in deeply again, making Zayn squirm against him and moan into the kiss, embarrassingly loud.

“Taking it well,” Harry mumbles. His fingers curve upward, accidentally or intentionally, and push right against Zayn’s prostate, making his cock jerk.

“Oh my god,” Zayn pants, quickly reaching between them to squeeze himself tightly, closing his thighs as much as he can with Harry between them. “I’m not bein’ funny, mate, s’been long enough f’you do that I might come like this.”

“D’you want another one first?” Harry asks, easing his fingers halfway out.

“Uh,” Zayn thinks, trying to catch his breath, the tip of his nose still touching Harry’s. “F’you go slow…”

“Course’ll go slow, babe,” Harry says, half into a kiss as he speaks; Zayn’s jaw is starting to ache from how often they spend kissing, but he still holds Harry in close and hums.

“M’gonna turn around, though. On my front, like. Or my knees.”

“Yeah, god,” Harry nods, slowly pulling his fingers out completely, swallowing up Zayn’s sigh in another kiss. “Go on, then.”

Zayn untangles their legs and turns over onto his belly, shivering against the hand that Harry rests on his lower back as he raises up onto his knees. He keeps his elbows on the mattress, resting his head against a pillow while Harry rummages through the condom box and comes up behind him, ripping the package open while Zayn waits. It’s only seconds, he knows, but it seems like ages before Harry’s hips press against him, cock wet with more lube.

“Alright?” Harry asks him, one hand resting on his arse, just barely spreading him open. Zayn twists his fingers in the bedsheets and nods.

True to his word, Harry goes slow; he holds Zayn open wider and tries to guide the head of his dick into him, pushing lightly at first and then with more pressure as Zayn’s body starts to give and let him in. Slow isn’t quite enough, though, the width of him more than his two fingers prepared Zayn for, and it burns enough that Zayn reaches back to dig his nails into Harry’s hip once the head has popped past his rim.

“Sorry, sorry, just tell me,” Harry says breathlessly, curling both hands around Zayn’s hipbones and waiting, as patient as Zayn could hope for him to be.

The pain doesn’t last terribly long, mellowing out into that steadier feeling of intrusion that he’s used to, so he pats Harry’s hand and nods, “Yeah, s’alright, go on.”

Harry stays moving slowly, just minute little pushes forward until he seems confident that Zayn’s not hurting and rocks forward more suddenly, sinking in an inch deeper all at once. His fingers tighten around Zayn’s hips and Zayn turns his face into the pillow, panting, already feeling his thighs start to shake at the task of keeping his arse up. Behind him, Harry unabashedly groans once he’s buried his cock fully inside, sliding his damp palms up Zayn’s sides and down his back, already pulling back to start again.

It’s better than Harry’s fingers, better than he remembers it felt like the last time. Harry’s just big enough that when he pulls back the drag is a little rough, despite all the slick, making Zayn feel every push deep in his gut. The restraint Harry’s trying to muster is tangible, his fingertips digging into Zayn’s hipbones and the slight slope of his arse with every thrust; he makes up for speed by pulling Zayn back onto his cock each time, getting as deep as he can and then grinding in even deeper.

Turning his face enough to speak without being muffled by the pillow, Zayn pants, “Faster.”

That makes it hard to keep himself quiet. Harry obeys right away, doubling his pace and groaning low and short, properly fucking into him now; Zayn gets a sound knocked out of him with every other thrust, already feeling sore, like the only thing keeping him upright is the grip Harry’s got on his hips to pull him back onto his cock. He’s been hard for ages, ready to come since Harry first slipped his tongue into his mouth, and he knows he’s dripping at this point, leaking come onto the bed each time Harry’s cock rubs over his prostate. The muscles in his thighs shake harder, so he leans further down to press his chest against the mattress, trying to use his spine to support himself in the same position, curling his toes into the bunched up bedsheets between Harry’s knees.

“Fuck, you’re shaking,” Harry pants, slowing down to speak. “Wanna lie down? Stretch out, c’mon. On your stomach.”

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees mindlessly, letting out a noise of dissent when Harry’s pulls out. He does stretch out though, flat on his belly with his legs together, and Harry spreads him open again long enough to fit his cock back inside, settling on top of him, legs on either side of Zayn’s.

“God,” Harry murmurs, leaning down until his chest is pressed completely against Zayn’s back, pinning him to the mattress. “Not too heavy?”

No,” Zayn groans. He shoves the pillow away to rest his cheek against the bed and shudders when Harry kisses his neck, overwhelmed. The weight of him presses Zayn’s cock into the mattress, giving him something to grind against, and he can’t stop the sounds he makes anymore, a quiet whine coming out as Harry rocks into him.

“You’re tighter like this,” Harry whispers.

It’s too much, all of it at once, feeling Harry enveloping him entirely, around him and inside him and murmuring in his ear, and he shoves back into Harry’s thrusts as much as he can, on the edge of coming. Harry speeds up again, as much as he can in this position, rolling his hips smoothly into Zayn and pushing him harder against the mattress in turn. It makes Zayn’s cock drag against the rough linen of the hotel sheets, catching on folds of fabric, and he moans into his forearm, biting down on it when Harry kisses his earlobe.

“Keep going,” he mumbles, not even sure if Harry hears; he feels trapped in the best sort of way, only able to take whatever Harry gives him when he’s pinned down this thoroughly, hoping he can come before Harry slows down. He arches back into Harry’s hips and then grinds forward again, working himself up between Harry’s cock and the bed so he doesn’t have to move and reach down to use his hands. Harry stays consistent, fucking him steadily, and sinks his teeth into the meat of Zayn’s shoulder; that one extra point of pressure is what sets Zayn off, his hips jerking against the bed as he starts to orgasm, clenching down tight on Harry’s cock and gasping with every extra thrust he gets while he’s coming.

With his ears ringing as he comes down, Harry’s exclamation sounds fuzzy; all he can think of is the blooming ache where Harry’s still fucking into him and the sensitive rub of his cock against the wet sheets, making him groan. Harry’s open mouth is pressed to the back of his neck now, and he’s panting heavily, hips working quicker, clearly close himself. Hazily, Zayn tries to encourage him, “C’mon, Harry, yeah,” but his tongue is clumsy and he ends up humming halfway through, squirming under Harry after a few particularly rough thrusts.

Harry goes still when he comes, buried in as deep as he can get, moaning into the back of Zayn’s neck. Zayn reaches back and rubs whatever skin he can find, still catching his breath when Harry stops moving entirely, dropping his head onto Zayn’s shoulder.

“Haz,” Zayn slurs after a moment, patting at his flank.

“Mm,” Harry hums. He doesn’t move for several long seconds, but eventually sighs and slowly lifts himself up, pulling out of Zayn. While he’s dealing with the condom, haphazardly tying it to toss into the bin beside the nightstand, Zayn rolls himself away from the wet spot of the bed. He kicks Harry’s bag back onto the floor for more room and stretches out again onto his back, laughing when Harry lies right down on top of him.

“Need a shower after that,” Zayn says, running his fingers through Harry’s sweaty hair and looking him over.

“I’d like my results first, please,” Harry says.

“Ah,” Zayn sighs. “I think… I dunno, you’re quite a quick learner. You’ve got all As, I think.”

“Sick,” Harry grins.

“Save for the blowjob bit, maybe. Room for improvement there, m’afraid.”

“Excuse me,” Harry objects, “I told you that was too advanced. You insisted.”

“Don’t get in a strop about it,” Zayn teases. Harry glares at him meaningfully for a few seconds before resting his head in the crook of Zayn’s neck instead.

“I’ll have a redo later,” he says. “Wasn’t so bad, that.”

“Isn’t, is it?” Zayn yawns.

“Might just be you, though, mate. So bloody fit,” Harry mumbles; he nuzzles into Zayn’s neck, and Zayn kisses his temple.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Might need some different lessons in a bit. I want a turn after that.”

Zayn hums. “A turn at what?”

“A turn at you know exactly what,” Harry says. “After seeing how much you like it.”

“Think I can work that out,” Zayn murmurs. “Can fit that into my tutoring sched.”

“Good lad,” Harry says, rubbing Zayn’s belly. Zayn’s asleep before he can think of what to say next.