Harry drops his keys on the entry table and starts toeing out of his shoes.
“Louis left a note,” Zayn calls from the kitchen. “It says we don’t need to water his plants this time, he’ll be back Monday, and—” Zayn pauses, and Harry can hear something in that pause, sheds his jacket faster and hustles into the room. Zayn glances up at him. “Uh, it says I’m not to let you come until he gets back.”
Harry frowns. “It says that?” He reaches for the note and Zayn hands it over and comes around behind him, hooking his chin over Harry’s shoulder. Harry suspects he might be on his tiptoes.
hey guys, be back Monday afternoon unless I change my train, I’ll text if I do. Plants will be fine. Will hug everyone for you, especially Mum.
Zayner, I want you to keep Harry from coming until I get back. Call me if you need to—Harry, you too.
Love you, babes x x x Louis
“Right,” Harry says, and sighs. “I guess that changes my plans for the evening.” He'd been thinking about lazy sex with Zayn all afternoon, a running daydream of it. And he likes Louis telling him what to do, just. This kind of scuttles those daydreams.
Zayn wraps his arms around Harry’s chest, palms against his ribs. “Oh, yeah?”
“We can watch TV, I guess. Or go out? But I’m feeling the TV thing.” He sags a little against Zayn’s chest, trying to wind himself up for alternate activities. “Or d’you think maybe we could call him? Just. I was really looking forward to sex tonight.”
“Huh,” Zayn says, and it’s a weirdly happy noise. Apparently Zayn wasn’t in the mood. That doesn’t really make Harry feel better about the whole thing. “You know, I think this might be the first time I’ve known something kinky you didn’t know.”
Harry raises an eyebrow, even though Zayn can’t see it. “How’s that, then?”
“He didn’t say you couldn’t have sex,” Zayn tells him. “He just said you couldn’t come. I’m pretty sure he expects us to have sex, otherwise he’s not asking very much of you, is he?”
Harry stiffens, and he feels Zayn’s arms squeezing him tighter, helping him keep his balance. That—that is very different indeed. “Oh,” Harry says. “That’s—yeah. I think you’re right.”
His mouth is dry, and he pulls away from Zayn to get one of the glasses and pours it back. Zayn’s staring at him when he sets down the empty glass, and Harry hands him the other one. He takes it without looking away from Harry’s face.
“We should probably eat first,” Zayn says, but it’s faint. They're definitely on the same page, here. “Or not.”
“Not,” Harry agrees, and walks forward until he can nuzzle into Zayn’s neck. “What do you want?” He licks the skin at the base of Zayn’s throat, just above the collar of his shirt. “Let’s do—I’m feeling easy, whatever you want.”
Harry has opinions, lots of times. Louis has been good at making sure Harry tells them what he’s in the mood for, every time. It doesn’t mean that’s always what they do, but it’s been good, showing them what he’s most into. They’d been surprised by some of it—and now they do those things way, way more. Tonight, though, he just wants to follow Louis’ instructions.
“I’ve got some good ideas,” Zayn says. “Go put my water on the nightstand, yeah? I’ll be there in a minute.”
Harry goes ahead and strips out of his clothes after he’s put the glass down, because no one ever seems to object to him being naked. Harry’s pretty sure he couldn’t date anyone who did, so that’s good.
He’s sitting on the end of the bed when Zayn comes in, and Zayn smiles at the sight of him. “Show-off,” he says, and Harry just grins back and spreads his knees a little wider.
Zayn’s got a lunch sack in his hand, lumpy but frustratingly opaque, and he sets it on the edge of the nightstand and turns back to Harry. “Lie back, yeah? Centre of the bed.”
Harry scrambles into place, letting his hands fall loosely across his belly, and watches Zayn peel out of his shirt and then his socks. He leaves his jeans on, and Harry would pout, except that sometimes that means Zayn has detailed plans. Harry likes detailed plans.
“Arms up,” Zayn says, and Harry reaches for the bars of the headboard, but Zayn reaches for his near wrist and stops him. “No holding on. Just right there.” He pushes the back of Harry’s hand into the bed, knuckles brushing the headboard, and Harry does the same with his other.
Zayn stands up again and walks around the bed, looking at him, before he pushes one of Harry’s ankles slightly farther out. “Okay,” he says. “Stay like that.”
Harry’s pretty sure he’s now been assigned two near-impossible tasks. Don’t move, and don’t come. The first one might help with the second, though. “Okay,” he says. He can do this for Zayn, and that for Louis.
“Good,” Zayn says, and Harry feels the warmth of it in his chest. He wants to draw all kinds of praise out of Zayn tonight. He’s going to be so good, Zayn won’t be able to stop telling him.
Zayn puts his bag of stuff on the bed, near Harry’s hand, and reaches into it. “I rigged some stuff up while you were out with Nick yesterday,” he says, and pulls out a handful of clothespins. It takes a moment for Harry to realize that they’re all attached to each other with kitchen twine. Something about the setup is familiar, but it’s not quite adding up in Harry’s head.
It takes all of Harry’s concentration not to move when Zayn pinches Harry’s skin between his fingers and places the first clothespin, at the front of Harry’s right shoulder. “Fuck,” Harry mutters, breathing through it.
“Yeah,” Zayn agrees, and leans over to kiss him. His chest presses on the clothespin and Harry gasps into his mouth. He can feel—it could bruise, he thinks, if Zayn keeps this up. It could leave a mark he’ll get to enjoy for days. Most of the time even when he isn’t sure about the sensation itself, that makes him want more.
He’s not doing his best-ever job kissing, and Zayn gives up on him after a minute, licks over his bottom lip and sits back up. “Too much?” he asks, and Harry shakes his head. It isn’t. He’s pretty sure it won’t be, now he’s had some time to get used to it.
“It’s okay,” Harry says, and Zayn picks up the second clothespin of the series. This one goes on Harry’s chest, two inches above his nipple. He gasps again, can’t help it, but he doesn’t move except for a little shiver.
He’s allowed that, he thinks, and Zayn confirms it: “Good boy, Harry.” God, that’s exactly what Harry needed to keep going with this. Zayn knows that, he thinks, because he leans down and flicks both clothespins and tells him again, when Harry keeps his place. “Good boy.”
The next one goes on his nipple. It hurts like hell, but it’s a good hurt, much more so than the other ones are. Harry’s getting hard now, and he wants Zayn to keep going, wants to see where this line of pinching is going to end up. Wants to see what Zayn is expecting him to take.
This time, when Zayn leans into kiss him, Harry gives it his all. It helps that he’s going floaty now, just a bit, and that always makes him kiss-hungry, whining when Zayn leans back and Harry can’t follow. He doesn’t break the rules and lift his head from the pillow but he wants to, even if it would delay this.
“Just a few more,” Zayn says, and places one over his ribcage. This one isn’t as bad, or else Harry’s arousal is starting to turn the pain down and make it into something else. Zayn goes ahead and pinches the next one, like he’s getting curious to see where this will go, too. He curves the line across Harry’s belly instead of heading straight for his cock, the way the early trajectory had suggested, and Harry’s strangely disappointed. He doesn’t know if he could take that, but he suddenly wants to try.
Zayn sends them all rocking, pulling at Harry’s skin, and then he pinches another one into place, and another, and the last on the soft, sensitive skin of Harry’s side. That one burns, and Harry rolls his head back, clenches his fists and his toes, because it makes him need to move, and he won’t. He won’t.
It’s over in a few long seconds, dulled down to a slight ache, and Harry takes deep breaths and relaxes back down. Zayn’s watching him, waiting. “You okay?” Zayn asks. “It’ll hurt more coming off, and the longer I leave them—”
Yeah. Harry knows the basic principles. “Not too long, please,” he says, and Zayn nods.
“Downward, then,” he says, and Harry blinks, not understanding. Zayn’s face lights up. “You don’t know?”
Harry shakes his head. He’s lost in this conversation, and not just because his brain is halfway fuzzy.
“That’s two things I know that you don’t,” Zayn says. “I like today. Just—brace yourself, love, that’s a good boy.”
Harry braces himself. He’s very glad for the command, for the warning, when Zayn grasps the twine that’s been tickling Harry’s shoulder and yanks it up and up and up, pulling all of the clothespins off in the order they went on. The pain is incredible—blood rushing back into its rightful places, and the inside of Harry’s head is roaring with it. He can’t feel anything but this, can’t hear, can’t see—
Just as abruptly as it started, it stops. The pain recedes to almost nothing, leaving him tingly and light-headed, on the verge of giddiness.
“Jesus,” Zayn’s saying, and he’s kissing Harry’s near wrist, the palm of his hand. Harry notes, through the fog in his head, that his hand is where it’s supposed to be. He thinks the other one might be, too, but he can’t quite figure it out without turning his head, and that seems like far too much effort. “You were so good, Harry, you didn’t move at all, I’m so proud of you.”
Harry wants to roll into Zayn’s side, wants to press close to him, but he’s not moving, he’s not going to move. Zayn seems to get it, anyway, curls up into him and kisses his hairline.
“I want to do it again,” he says. “Okay? I want to put them on you and leave them while you suck me, and then pull them off.”
The long whine that escapes Harry’s throat is probably answer enough, but he tells Zayn, “Yes, yeah,” as soon as he can make his mouth move right. It doesn’t come out all that clear, but Zayn understands.
“I’m going to put them here,” Zayn says, and strokes the inside of Harry’s thigh. “And—not today, but sometime, I want to try—” He runs cool fingers over Harry’s cock, his bollocks. Harry’s only half-hard, thankfully. He knows Zayn didn’t plan tonight’s activities to help him obey Louis’ instructions, but it’s a good choice, wonderful without being overstimulating.
Zayn eases back from Harry and gathers up the clothespins again. He pulls Harry’s knee out and up and Harry startles, waits for Zayn’s “it’s okay, I’m moving you, you’re being good,” before he relaxes again. Zayn has Harry’s knee against the bed, but spread wide, the soft skin of his inner thigh on clear display, and he doesn’t wait before he’s pinching a clothespin just above Harry’s knee.
Harry sucks in a breath, digging his nails into his palms until he’s adjusted to it. As soon as he relaxes, Zayn places the next one, slightly higher up. He doesn’t let Harry have a real break all the way up his thigh, and when he pinches the last one right on the crease of Harry’s hip, Harry’s choking grunt echoes through the flat.
He pants down from it all, chest heaving, and Zayn strokes the damp skin of his chest and his arms. “That’s it, good boy,” Harry hears when his ears start working again. “You’re taking it so good for me, babe, I love you so much.”
Harry’s eyelids are heavy, and all of his limbs, and he’s never gone under like this before, from something like this. It’s different, with the endorphins and the adrenaline, but he can’t pinpoint how. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, not right now. Nothing matters right now except staying still, and not coming. Staying still, and not coming, and being good for Zayn.
Zayn climbs up over him and unzips, leans forward to place his cock against Harry’s lips. He doesn’t have to say anything; Harry opens up and sucks him in, lets Zayn push over his tongue. The pillow’s plump enough that Zayn can fuck his mouth easily, and Harry lets his eyes drift shut and accepts it, sucks when he can and breathes when he can and doesn’t move his body at all. The sounds Zayn’s making are soft but Harry knows them, could catalogue them all, and it makes him so happy to hear Zayn’s little gasps.
“Good, so good,” Zayn manages, a couple of times, and Harry is suffused with pride at how good he’s being for Zayn, how good he’s making Zayn feel. He knows he’s doing just what Zayn wants, and it’s all that he wants, right now, to be good.
When Zayn comes he curls forward over Harry’s head, blocking out all the light, more even than Harry’s eyelids had done. Harry swallows what he can and pushes the rest out of his mouth, one thin drip down his cheek.
Zayn’s quiet for long moments, and it’s only then that Harry starts to feel his thigh again, the numbness that means it’s going to hurt so much when Zayn pulls the clothespins off. “Please,” he says, because it’s time for that now.
He expects Zayn to reach down and just pull them off, but instead Zayn turns around and sucks the head of Harry’s soft cock into his mouth. Harry almost, almost moves his leg, but he doesn’t, and he doesn’t buck his hips up even though he wants to. Zayn’s mouth is amazing any time, but right now it’s exquisite, everything Harry could want.
It’s a torture in its own right when Zayn stops, but it’s good, too, because he knows they’re both stopping for Louis, being good and obedient for Louis. Louis will be proud, later.
“Bit easier now you’re turned on,” Zayn mumbles, and then he’s reaching for the twine, wrapping the end of it around his hand and—
Harry doesn’t stay in place. He doesn’t move much, but both of his hands come off the bed, he feels that they did, and his knee rises with the pull of the clothespins so that Zayn has to push it back down with his hand. “Sorry, I, sorry,” Harry gasps. His whole body is trembling, muscle spasms all over like an orgasm he isn’t actually having. “Sorry,” he says again, and giggles, high and loud.
Once he starts, he can’t stop. “Sorry—” giggles “—sorry—” more giggles, and on and on while Zayn laughs too, curled up on him and pressing one of his hands into the mattress.
“It’s okay,” Zayn manages, between laughs. “You did good, babe, you were good.” Harry laughs at that, too, and when Zayn says he can move, he wraps himself around Zayn, arms and legs together.
“So,” Zayn says, finally, when they’ve mostly managed to calm themselves, mostly stopped shaking the bed with laughter. “You liked it?”
Harry rolls his forehead against Zayn’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he says. “Liked it a lot. You did it really well.”
“You looked so good like that,” Zayn says. “Wish I’d gotten a photo. I could draw you, maybe. For Louis.”
Harry smiles against his skin. “I don’t have to model for it, do I?” He pictures it, holding himself in place with a line of clothespins, waiting until Zayn’s sure he’s done sketching. “Actually—” Actually, yes, Harry could get into that.
“I’ll think about it,” Zayn says. He shuffles down Harry’s body a little, aligning them better so he can kiss Harry’s mouth. They both need water but Zayn’s glass is a whole meter away, almost, and they can wait a little longer like this.
“Should we report to Louis?” Harry asks. “I didn’t come.”
“My praise isn’t enough for you, hmm?” Zayn softens it with a smile. “Sure, we can call him. After we eat, maybe.”
Harry hadn’t felt hungry before, but the mention of food has him ravenous. “Oh, food,” he says. “We should get some food.”
“Food,” Zayn agrees, and slowly climbs off of him, gets the glass of water and helps Harry drink half of it. “Get dressed, then, love.”
Harry puts the same clothes on, and tosses Zayn’s to him for good measure. “Biddable today, aren’t you?” Zayn asks. “Does that extend to making dinner?”
Harry shrugs, already thinking about what they have in the fridge. “Sure, if you’ll set the table and stuff.”
Zayn finishes buttoning his shirt and walks in close to Harry, hands on his jaw. He plants a kiss on Harry’s mouth. “Love you, babe.”
“You too,” Harry says. His chest is full to bursting with how true it is. “First one to the kitchen picks the movie,” he adds, and races for the door. He hears Zayn behind him, slipping on the wood of the hallway in his socks and laughing.
By the time they sit down to watch the movie, Louis' goodbyes in their ears, Harry's cheeks hurt from smiling. He's pretty sure Zayn's do, too.