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Crazy On You

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Wild man’s world is crying in pain
What you gonna do when everybody’s insane
So afraid of fortune, so afraid of you
What you gonna do?
Crazy on you, let me go crazy on you

 

I was willow last night in my dream
I bent down over a clear running stream
I sang you the song that i heard up above
And you keep me alive with your sweet flowing love
Let me go crazy, crazy on you

- Heart, 'Crazy On You' , 1976

***

The whiskey or the gin, bittersweet schnaps or cheap beer, a few breaths too close to the girls with the green and the euphoria of an evening out in the manner of long forgotten teenage years have painted the clear night sky over London with sparkly billows of gold, spinning a web of light and warmth around Harry and Niall, who are walking side by side, not talking, not quiet either. Niall is humming, it’s the melody of a Stones song they played at the pub. It’s stuck in his head, just like the image of Harry’s puckered lips right before him when the girls asked a question he thought he had left with the late hour Truth And Dare’s of hormone polluted house parties back in Mullingar. Love is strong, and you’re so sweet.

Harry is chewing loudly, three strips of peppermint gum have turned into a sticky lump on his whiskey tainted tongue. He’s pondering on the by far craziest picture request anyone who recognizes them as the people they are to masses has ever come up with. “No, absolutely not.”, Niall said. “There’s no way I’m going to do that.” He didn’t know he hurt Harry, hurt Harry’s pride, didn’t know he disappointed him, in a way. And Harry wishes he could just forget about it, wishes he wasn’t so damn sensitive. He doesn’t want these thoughts to linger in his dizzy head like ghosts with scornful smiles. But they got him by the throat, choke him with the claws of a truth he’s been denying for a long time now. He wonders how bad exactly he wanted Niall to give in and kiss him. And most of all, why.

Harry’s first time with another man is three years ago now. It started out quite similar to this: He took a cab home with a gay friend of his, they picked up a friendly couple, got friendly, went home, did things “just friends” don’t do; all four of them. He never questioned why, not in that concern. Making final decisions has never been a strength of Harry Styles. Why choose one when you can have both, and everything in between and beyond? Harry enjoys the footloose variety. He doesn’t like the term pansexual. When asked in private, he always says: “I just love people.” And sex. And the people love Harry and Harry loves love, and Harry loves making love to these people, Harry loves sex, but he shouldn’t be in love with the thought of having sex with Niall. He knows that. He knows he shouldn’t want it, but he does. He has been feeling a little torn, a little confused for a while now. Everytime he catches Niall looking at him, his stomach turns, even worse when it is the other way around and Niall catches him staring. In times of inexplicable tension between two men who shouldn’t be attracted to each other, not just a bit, not at all, going out for more than just a few drinks in a dodgy pub in a part of London no one in their position would only joke about visiting, is definitely the worst possible way to spend a night together. But when Niall asked Harry if he wanted to get wasted, as the stupid school boys they are call it, Harry didn’t even consider saying no. Not to Niall. Never.

But now he wishes he declined. He should have known he’d end up with a supid heartache and an uncontainable desire to grab Niall’s face and force him to do what he refused to give in to earlier in the pub.

It drives him crazy. Drives him insane. Is it the appeal of the unattainable? Does he want Niall this much because he knows he can’t get him? Not only because in the utopia where Niall wants him just as much, or a little less, or at all, there’d still be paparazzi and press and every other imaginable obstacle people like them have to overcome when getting in a relationship and making it public, in addition to the obstacles a gay relationship throws in the way in first place. No, it’s also the simple fact that Niall is nowhere near gay. Harry is ashamed of wishing he was. He always did. He has been quite fond of his 4 am speed dial, bandmate, best friend ever since. At first, he thought he just liked him. A lot. Then, he realized he liked the thought of sticking his tongue in his dirty Irish mouth. And he can’t stop dwelling on these fantasies, not when he’s alone at night, and not even now that his feverish dream is walking on rain wet pavement right next to him. There are only a few inches between their hands.

"Why so slow?", Niall asks.

"I’m just a little dizzy.", Harry says. "Shouldn’t have had this much."

"Probably.", Niall laughs. "Me neither. Me skull’s buzzin’."

He is slurring. Harry loves that. When Niall drinks, he becomes both an old Irish man that stays at the bar even after the curfew, spitting his words with a thick accent, and a drained college boy that is overwhelmed by how the booze has thrown him off track again, as if he really doesn’t know better, as if he doesn’t already know what being drunk is like, as if he hasn’t actually planned on getting closer to the stars with every other shot he takes. Niall sleeps at Harry’s place tonight, a flat downtown he barely ever spends time at, but it’s close, and it’s warm, and there is a guest room, even though Harry wants to share a bed with Niall, and he’s got high hopes Niall won’t decline. After all, Niall is a clingy drunk.

Harry’s head is spinning. Niall will wake up with no memory of what happened. And so will Harry, very likely. Unless he makes this a night to remember, unless he makes memories that shine through the thick grey fog of a classic hangover. He feels sixteen again. Sixteen and sulky, because he wants something he’s afraid he can’t get.

"Could you kiss? I mean, each other? For a picture? Please! That would be so cool.", they asked. Harry chuckled, opened his arms, said "Sure", puckered his lips, ready for Niall to lean in and set fire to the press, the internet, the rumour mill in the heart of midnight London, but Niall just snorted and dryly said: "No, absolutely not. There’s no way I’m going to do that." Harry wants to believe he wasn’t serious, that he was just playing chicken with Niall. But he knows he would have done it. And Harry wants to believe that if the girls asked later, after a few more shots, after a few more Bon Jovi songs that Niall doesn’t admit to liking when he’s sober ( Harry still hears him shouting "OH! WE’RE HALFWAY THERE!" in his raspy whiskey voice with his hands over his head ), he would have shrugged and said yes. Niall wants to believe that if the girls never asked, he wouldn’t be imagining what kissing Harry feels like or think about how exceptionally pretty Harry looks tonight, with his curls all messy and his black coat just hanging from his shoulders, unbuttoned despite the cold so one can see his inked chest. But Niall knows he’s always been aware of it, and that it’s not just the intoxication, the silent ecstasy inside of him, that makes him feel sick with daze and affection, sick with how infatuated he is with the boy that calls him at 4 am, bandmate, best friend. He feels sixteen again. Sixteen and sick of waiting, sick of being confused.

The streets are surprisingly empty tonight, it almost seems as if Harry and Niall are alone in town. The lights behind the windows on both sides of the narrow road are off, only the lanterns on the sidewalk border are flickering; orange,yellow, blue. Harry and Niall eventually arrive at the luxurious apartment complex and Harry reaches into his pockets to grab the keys. “Thanks for letting me stay at your place tonight.”, Niall mumbles. He’s a little nervous. Harry thinks about fucking him.

"No need to thank me.", he calmly responds and unlocks the door. "That’s what friends are for."

Niall gives him a weak smile, there’s sparks in his tired eyes and Harry wonders if he ever kissed another boy. Well, besides him. Back in the early days, way before they even dared to dream their band would amount to such success. They kissed in Niall’s stuffy little room in Ireland, they kissed in the backyard of Harry’s house. He never dared to ask, no matter how badly he wishes he knew. It’s been over four years. Harry wants it again. And more.

Niall watches Harry walk into the flat, his minimalistic, modern territory. The predominant colours on the walls, pillow cases and rugs are white, beige, dark brown and light grey, they always remind Niall of iced coffee. He staggers to the couch, all dizzy, the flat around him becomes a blur, but Harry in front of him, taking off his coat and carelessly dropping it to the floor, a sloppy act that demonstrates the contrast between the two of them, since Niall neatly puts his jacket over the backrest before he clumsily sits down, is crystal clear. Niall feels a strong urge to open his arms and pull Harry against him and he wonders if it’s the alcohol or the way Harry smirks at him.

"What?", he caws. "Why are you staring at me like that?" He rubs his eyes and yawns. He should sleep, but there’s something in Harry’s look and the green around his wide pupils that sends adrenaline through Niall’s veins like someone rammed an injection needle into his aorta or shocked him with a defibrillator, Crank style.

"Just thinking about what a coward you are.", Harry mumbles, unbuttoning the rest of his already half open shirt. Niall sits there with his legs spread, every muscle in his body is strained. Harry thinks: That’s not what tired boys look like. Can he sense it? Can he feel the tension? Or is Harry, needy and desperate to finally find out what it’s like, with Niall, now that they’re no stupid little boys experimenting anymore, on Niall, in Niall, maybe, just making it all up? He feels brave now, though. This is his home. And Niall’s a mess, hopelessly delivered to him. He can back out and say no, and Harry is going to have to accept that. But what if he wants it just as much? What if he thinks about fucking, too? What if?

"Coward? For not kissing you?" Niall knew what Harry referred to before he even finished the sentence. "I’m sorry. Just didn’t want it all over the internet. You know what they say." Again, he yawns. But he’s not planning on sleeping anymore. Not in the literal sense. "And I have to stay in control. I have to keep a straight face."

"Literally.", Harry chuckles. He’s standing in the middle of the room, the dim light from his ceiling lamp is making his tan skin look golden. "Because the gay rumours, well, they’re mine. I really don’t want to share them.", he adds. Niall just laughs and shakes his head before he leans back and lets out a long sigh. Harry clenches his fists. He remembers overhearing Niall getting himself off in the tour bus bunk bed, not just once. And that’s what it sounded like. Muffled moans, hissing, groaning behind gnashed teeth. Niall always tried so hard to be quiet. Back then, it made Harry only slightly uncomfortable. Now, the thought of it is making him hard.

"It really hurt my ego, though.", he pouts and winks at Niall. "Millions of people out there who’d like to kiss me. And my best friend refuses. Tsk tsk tsk." For a second, he wonders if he should make use of his own mini bar at the other side of the room, mix another Gin Tonic in hopes of speeding things up. Maybe then, he could grab Niall and take him right on the spot, but he knows that he’d be the first to pass out. He really can’t drink anymore. As wasted as Niall is, he’s more used to it than Harry, and he could take another one, or two, whereas Harry knows it only probably only took another sip to get him to try to hump Niall, then faint.

"Aw, I’m sorry.", Niall slurs and stretches. His shirt slips higher, Harry can see the trail of dark hair leading into his tight jeans. "I’m not much into PDA, Harold."

"We’re not in public anymore now.", Harry dryly says. He knows he’s reeling on a high wire.

"Then I guess nothin’s holding us back.", Niall cackles. Harry doesn’t know if he’s joking. He can feel his drunken heart race. He could easily take a step forward. In the literal sense as well as a metaphorical one. He could climb on Niall’s lap and shove his tongue down his best friend’s throat like back in the day, when they were just playing around. He could pull this cheap denim shirt over Niall’s head and leave hickeys all over his milky white skin, marks he’d be struggling to explain next week in the studio. Niall, for his part, thinks about how likely and realistic the thought of Harry kneeling down between his highs and unzipping his tight jeans where it aches suddenly seems. How drunk am I?, he wonders, responding to his own silent question with nothing but a smirk because deep down inside, his subconsciousness is aware that it’s not the liquor, but Harry.

"Is this an invitation?", Harry asks. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I’m not looking at you.", Niall says, looking directly into Harry’s eyes. They laugh, an insecure, childish giggle. They know that they don’t know whether their counterpart knows what they’re thinking. Maybe they should have just gone to bed. Sober up. Part again. But it’s too late.

"Are you flirting with me?", Harry chuckles, bending over, his hands on Niall’s left and right on the too soft cushion of the sofa he’s sitting on. There’s only a few inches between their open mouths now. "Are you playing with me?"

"Maybe.", Niall laughs. A part of Harry is still afraid Niall is going to push him away. How far can he go? Is this still just a game of drunk boys who crave affection? Who turns his head first? Who’s gonna be the one to break it off? Niall knows that this time, it’s not going to be him.

"You shouldn’t play gay chicken with me, Niall.", Harry mutters. The tip of Niall’s nose brushes his upper lip.

"What do you mean gay?", Niall asks.

Harry just sighs. “You’re gonna lose.”

"Uh-uh.", Niall says. He’s still grinning like a bloody idiot. He once read that it’s a natural human impulse to smile or laugh at a potential foe in order to demonstrate peacefulness and submission. Something about whatever him and Harry are doing scares him. At least a little. Harry’s eyes and his hot breath and his big hands and how his arms frame Niall on the couch intimidate him. But most good things in life seem a little scary first. Until you dare to do it. And sometimes, you’ve got to take a risk. "You will."

"You think I’m gonna back off?", Harry laughs.

"Yeah.", Niall says. "Apart from that, I-"

"Sh.", Harry hushes him, putting his finger on Niall’s lips. "Do you really think that I’m going to turn my head and be a coward like you?"

Niall nods, puckering his lips to plant a kiss on Harry’s fingertip. Harry pushes it against Niall’s teeth, he opens his mouth and snaps at it.

"You’re not gonna kiss me.", Niall laughs. Harry’s green eyes become a blur before his.

"Yes I will.",

"No, you won’t."

"Yes I will."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Uh-huh. Absolutely."

"Prove it, then."

"You prove it."

It’s Niall who gives in. He bows his head and puts his lips on Harry’s. Harry chuckles into the interlude of a shy kiss that quickly turns into a sticky, wet, rough one. The kind of kiss they’ve been longing for. Harry cups Niall’s flushed cheeks and bites his greedy tongue, which makes Niall groan,- whether in pain or arousal, Harry doesn’t care. Niall puts his big palms on Harry’s hips and pulls him closer. Harry climbs on his lap. Well, more specifically, he falls, because Niall won’t let him tilt back, won’t let him go. He doesn’t want to stop kissing Harry, doesn’t want to break the spell and interrupt. Harry’s knee bumps Niall’s side as he gets on top, it hurts, but Niall doesn’t mind. He tightens his grip, digs his short, dirty nails into Harry’s flesh. “Come here.”, he purrs into his friend’s open mouth. “Come to me.”

Harry starts to grind on Niall, desperate for a little friction. Niall’s grabby hands slide further down, grab Harry’s ass, pull him a little higher to get him into the right position for some disgustingly boyish, prepubescent dry humping. “Look who kissed me first.”, Harry chuckles, pressing the achy bulge in his tight pants against two zippers and too much fabric.

"Shut up.", Niall groans, bucking his hips. He adapts to Harry’s rhythym. "I had no other choice." Waves of adrenaline and lust drown the voices of doubt and confusion inside of Niall’s intoxicated body.

"Am I that irresistible?", Harry asks.

"Absolutely.", Niall chuckles.

"You know that we’re gonna fuck.", Harry says, muffled by Niall’s lips.

"Are we?"

"I have no other choice.", Harry mocks him. "You’re absolutely irresistible." He wants Niall naked now. First, he takes off his own shirt. Niall’s hands immediately wander to his tattooed chest. He’s feeling him up like he’d do it to a girl, but Harry likes the weirdness to it. Niall is a clumsy, but passionate lover. He wants him so, so bad. He slips his hands under Niall’s shirt, feels his soft, warm skin. "Take it off.",Niall groans into Harry’s mouth. "Just get it off of me." Luckily, the denim shirt has snap buttons. Harry rips them open and drops it to the floor. He strokes Niall’s arms, his fingertips leave goosebumps on the pale, freckled skin.

"What are we doing?", Niall asks, hooking his thumb under Harry’s leather belt.

"Don’t you like it?" Harry tilts back, wiping Niall’s spit from his lips with the back of his hand. Niall looks lost. His lips are puckering. He wishes Harry hadn’t stopped.

"No, no. No, I like it.", he sighs, pushing up his hips.

"I can tell. I can feel it.", Harry says with a smirk. He leans forward again and proceeds to kiss Niall’s neck. He can taste his sweat and a bit of his perfume and wonders what his cum is like. Not just the taste, but the texture as well. Thick, sticky, probably, just gross. Harry wants to try it. And maybe, he wants to give Niall a taste of his own as well. Did he ever take a cock in his pretty mouth? Ever got his face fucked by a man? Harry highly doubts it. It makes him want to shove his cock down Niall’s throat even worse than before. And he thought about that quite a lot lately. But he’d also love for Niall to let him suck him off. Harry thinks that would be better for tonight. He’s so hungry for a little taste. But first, he wants to fuck him.

It’s the appeal of turning someone as loud, extrovert and dominant as Niall into a desperate, submissive little mess. Harry learned that no matter if it’s sweet lovemaking or rough fucking, no matter if it’s between a man and a woman or two men, there’s always a dominant and a submissive part. He likes to switch, could never choose a side. But Niall is so obviously dominant, sitting there with Harry on his lap, squeezing his waist with big, greedy man hands, that Harry’s wish to swap roles grows stronger each second. He wants to climb off, flip Niall over and take him with no warning. Never did he imagine getting fucked by Niall. That thought has always been boring to him. After all, it wouldn’t really be much of a challenge for a horny frat boy at heart like Niall to fuck an asshole under the influence of that much booze.

Harry hopes he leaves hickeys. It starts to hurt in Niall’s jeans. He’s so hard and he’s desperate for relief. He wants to fuck Harry’s mouth, but all in one, he doesn’t really care how he gets off, he just has to. Then again, he wants to prolong this moment forever. The build up of something so risky and wild comes with an incomparable thrill and the sweetest kind of stomach cramp. Niall wants to savour it, indulge in this static ecstasy for as long as he can.

"Good, isn’t it?", Harry mumbles before he puts his lip back on the crook of Niall’s shoulder, making him shiver. His left hand’s gripping a fistful of Niall’s hair, he shoves the right one between the two warm bulges, to palm Niall and give himself something to press against, too. "Does Niall like that?"

"Fuck, yes, he does.", Niall hisses through his teeth, pushing against Harry’s hand.

"You’re very hard.", Harry remarks, realising how stupid that must have sounded a second later, but Niall bites his lip and nods with big eyes, like a guilty little boy. Harry wants to fuck him so bad.

Unlike him, Niall never tried coke or any other kind of chemical drug. He thinks that this is what it must feel like on coke. His heart is thumping in his chest, sending electric vibes through his body. He’s not tired anymore.

"Alright.", he pants. "Let’s just… Let’s just do this, okay?" I’m about to fuck Harry, he thinks.

Should he mind? Should he worry? Should he let it be? He knows the answers, but he doesn’t care.

"Do what?", Harry teases. Niall’s tugging on his belt.

"Fuck.", Niall says. Solely the sound of this word slipping from Niall’s pink lips pushes Harry closer to going insane. He feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind. He can’t remember being so crazy about someone before. He’s always calm. Sure of getting what he wants. But he wasn’t sure of getting Niall. Yet, here he is. Harry’s got Niall’s waist clenched between his thighs, Niall’s hard cock pressed against his hand. He’s got him.

"That’s what you want to do, yeah?", he asks.

"Yeah."

"Tell me." His mouth’s back on Niall’s now. He doesn’t taste this much like whiskey anymore.

"Tell you what?" Niall’s got his eyes closed. He loves the way Harry’s kisses feel.

"What you want to do."

"Wanna fuck you."

"Hmhm. You’d like that.", Harry chuckles. "Wouldn’t you?"

For a second, Niall freezes. Has the kissing, undressing, touching, just been part of the game? Who’s the chicken? Was it only made up to humiliate him and prove that Harry’s the winner at this sick little play? “What do you mean?”, he stutters. “Of course I’d like that.”

"But I’m not gonna let you fuck me.", Harry whispers. Niall can feel his stomach turn. Harry can tell Niall’s tensing up. "I’m gonna fuck you.", he then says.

Niall’s relieved, but not quite fond of Harry’s words. That is not how he has imagined it. “How?”, he asks, like a stupid child.

"Well, I think-", Harry begins, trying hard not to burst out laughing, "I’m going to put my cock in your-"

"Yeh, fuck, I know that.", Niall says. He knows he sounds insecure. Flustered. That’s how he feels.

"But I thought that I could-"

"Uh-uh. I wanna take you.", Harry insists, kissing Niall after each word.

"There’s no way I’m gonna let you fuck me in the ass, Harry.", Niall responds, surprisingly serious.

"Why not?", Harry asks in a sweet tone. "Don’t you think you’d like that? I’ll be very gentle."

"I’m not gay.", Niall says.

Both of them burst out laughing a few completely quiet seconds later. “Promise I’m gonna be gentle.”, Harry purrs and Niall can feel his willpower cave in. “Gonna good care of you.”

"This is insane.", Niall mumbles. "But fine. Yeah, fine. Fuck it. Fuck me."

Harry bites his tongue in excitement. “Yeah?”

"Yeh, fuck, I told you. Do it." Niall feels like a nine year old on the edge of a diving tower. Adrenaline’s rushing through his poisoned veins. Will he regret it? Maybe. Maybe not. It doesn’t matter now. He’s not that spontaneous usually. But no matter if Niall’s the leader in this relation, Harry’s influence on him is undeniable. It’s always been this way. Somehow, Niall has always looked up to Harry. And it might come off like Harry’s platonic infatuation is much stronger than the laid back friendship and support Niall offers him in return, but they’re equally fond of each other. And tonight, Niall wants to be as carefree and spontaneous as his best friend.

Harry gets off Niall’s lap and unbuckles his own belt. Niall would have never thought that the image of a man, and not even a stranger, but Harry, half undressed, visibly aroused, would turn him on this much. Harry unzips his tight jeans to get more comfortable, but he doesn’t take them off yet. “Get up.”, he instructs in a calm tone and Niall, for the first time since a rather pathetic attempt of a girl he slept with trying to boss him around, obeys. He waits for the next order, looking at Harry with big blue eyes. “Take these jeans off, Niall.”, Harry says with a smirk. Niall feels a little insecure again now, slowly unzipping and pulling down his tight pants, together with his white CKs, exposing himself to Harry, showing him what his kisses have caused. But Harry bites his lip as soon as his eyes have wandered all the way down Niall’s pale body to the thick bush of bristly hair above his hard, veiny cock and he mumbles something that sounds like “Fucking shit yes” to Niall. That little confidence boost eases him.

Harry takes a step forward and wraps his hand around Niall’s length. Being touched so promptly makes Niall gasp for air. “Sh, sh.”, Harry hushes him. “It’s okay.”

Niall feels as if his chest is about to burst. His pulse has crossed the healthy limit a long time ago.

Harry begins working his wrist on him and Niall’s a little scared he’ll cum before anything else can happen. Harry’s thumb strokes his already sticky tip with every jerk and Niall can’t help but let out another throaty moan.

"So good, yeah?", Harry teases him. "Feels good?"

"Hmhm."

"Don’t you dare and cum before I even fucked you, Niall.", Harry chuckles. "You stay here. I’m gonna go get some lube. Keep your hands off yourself, yeah, baby?"

That nickname irritates Niall for a bit, but then, he nods. Harry lets go and leaves for the bedroom, two minutes that are way more painful to endure than Niall imagined, but then, he’s back, walking straight over to Niall, gripping him by his hair, more determined than before. It’s because Harry knows he’s about to get what he wanted for so long. And he’s getting really excited. He quietly tells himself to remember not to be too rough. Maybe he’ll get another chance and then, he’ll wreck Niall. Fucking ruin him, leaving him a sore, whiny, cum covered mess. But for now, he knows he has to be a tender lover. And he doesn’t mind. He wants Niall to feel good after all, too. Wants to make him cum.

"Okay, baby"- There it is again, that nickname - "I need you to turn around and bend over for me, yeah? Stick that ass out for me." He gives Niall’s ass a little slap and Niall instantly does what he was told. He puts his shaky hands on the backrest of the couch and bends over.

"You can put your knee on the cushion if that helps.", Harry suggests. "Makes a better angle."

"Holy shit, yes.", Niall mutters. His seems as if his brain keeps trying to remind his body what in God’s name he’s about to do, or, more explicitely, allow Harry to do to him, but it’s useless. He’s wasted and hard and he wants to get off. "Okay."

He spreads his legs and hollows his back, unsure of what’s going to happen next. His eyes dart to the window front, wondering if anyone out there’s watching. Then, he feels Harry’s hands on his cheeks, spreading him, and he tenses in anticipation of his fingers, but other than cold lube, there’s only warm spit on Harry’s fingers. Niall feels Harry’s hot breath hovering over his now wet hole only a few seconds later. “Fuck.”, he gasps. There’s goosebumps all over his body.

"Shhh.", Harry hushes im again. "Hold still, yeah?" Harry wonders if any girl has ever done that to Niall. For Niall. He doubts it. Sure some of them would find it disgusting. Harry always had a taste for borderline nastiness. Treating Niall with his mouth is nothing compared to the things he has tried, though. He starts off with his flat tongue, making Niall flinch and whimper. "Jesus fucking Christ.", he mutters, clawing his nails into the cushion.

"Ey." Harry gives him a little slap. "I told you to hold still."

"Yeh, sorry."

"Good boy."

Niall is dizzy, shaky, cold sweat is running down his spine. He hears Harry, feels his tongue swirling on his hole as he spreads his cheeks further, he can see his own blurry reflection in the window glass, but it still seems like a manic dream to him. Like he’s forever stuck in the moment the strobe light starts to flicker. Blinded, confused, but too high on the beat, that’s thumping in his body, too, to stop. Every sound Harry’s making, everytime he inhales, exhales, it echoes in his head, which feels thrice its size now. It is as if none of this is really happening. But Niall relishes this delirious state of drunkenness and arousal. And pleasure. A kind of pleasure he has never known before. And it fully sets in when Harry begins to flick his now pointy tongue and proceeds to lightly suck on Niall’s pink hole. But then, he stops.

"Baby, you need to relax.", Harry says, wiping the spit off his plump lips with the back of his hand. "I’m gonna need you to calm down, don’t tense. I don’t want to hurt you later. I’m gonna stretch you a bit now."

"What?", Niall caws.

"I’m gonna stretch you.", Harry repeats, planting a kiss on Niall’s lower back, a gesture that is almost too gentle to happen between two men who are just friends that mess around a bit. "So it doesn’t hurt. When I fuck you."

"You fuck me.", Niall says. "Yeh, I know."

"You fucked some girls in the ass before, didn’t you?"

"Yeh, sure."

"See, you surely did what you could not to make it too painful for them, too, right?"

"Hmhm. Didn’t do it too often, though."

"I know."

"Can’t believe I’m letting you fuck me arse.", Niall chuckles, choking on his saliva. He coughs and Harry pats his back until he’s quiet again.

Harry loves how Niall’s always bragging about girls, playing sex god in front of thousands of fans who’d sell all their possesions, when in reality, he’s got the most irregular, and probably lamest sex life out of all five of them. He loves the thought of giving him something special for tonight, the thought of taking some sort of leftover innocence from the boy in front of him. He’s so ready.

"Please try not to hurt me.", Niall mumbles. "I’m serious, haha."

"Baby, hey, I won’t.", Harry sighs. "Just a bit, Niall, but I’m gonna make it all up to you. Promise."

"Hmhm."

Harry’s amused by how helpless Niall seems to be. He’s like an overeager child, driven by his lust for adventure. Harry is torn between his rough urges and this sudden whiff of deep, sweet affection. For a second, he contemplates allowing Niall to stick to his own habits and letting him be on top instead. Just to avoid causing him any kind of pain. But he can’t deny himself the satisfaction of a need he’s been trying to contain for too long. He can’t deny himself the feeling of Niall’s tight hole around his aching cock. The anticipation only is making him groan, breathe out Niall’s name, before he puts both his thumbs on the outer circle of Niall’s rim and begins to gently stretch it. “Relax, baby, relax.”, he murmurs, over and over again. The calm, low tone of his voice guides Niall, and finally, his muscles loosen up. “Good boy.”, Harry praises him. “That’s how I need you.”

Niall knows that under other circumstances, he’d lose his shit over these words, burst out laughing, mock Harry, maybe. But he’s close to begging Harry to keep talking to him like that. There’s something soothing and encouraging about the way he speaks, and Niall always loved all kinds of assurance. But he knows Harry can’t talk with his mouth on his hole and that’s fine with him for now. He loves the contrast between the tickling and the sweet pain of his throbbing cock, though he is afraid to cum too soon. Harry knows exactly how to work his lips and his tongue, and the moment his thumb properly slips in, moving in circles to widen Niall, there’s no doubt in Niall’s mind that if he stays strong and keeps it together, this high will eventually peak in the best orgasm of his life.

"Is that okay?", Harry asks.

"Yeh.", Niall breathes out. "Good. Feels good."

Harry thinks about how good it’s gonna feel once he’s inside. He can’t wait anymore. He’s a patient type, yes. Even when it comes to sex. But it’s different with Niall.

It’s easier for Harry to stretch him now that he’s not so strained anymore. He gently works his fingers, hooking them to pull a bit on each sides.

"So does it work?", Niall asks, feeling utterly stupid for doing so.

"Yes, it does.", Harry chuckles. "Just trust me."

"I do.", Niall says. He really does. "I trust you."

It doesn’t take too long for Harry to get Niall to the point where he thinks he can take it. He covers the outline of his hole in more spit, pulls his right hand back and slowly reaches between Niall’s thighs to tease him with a long stroke along his perineum, which makes Niall bite his lip so sudden and hard he tastes blood a blink later. “Shit, Harry, don’t.”, he gasps, turning over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of Harry’s flushed face behind him. Harry gets back on his feet and Niall wishes he would have kept his hand between his legs. He wonders how long he can take it. Being so fucking hard without relief in sight.

Harry grabs the lube from the coffee table and pours some on his fingers before he smears it on Niall’s now wider hole. Niall shivers. “Relax. Relax.”, Harry reminds him. “I can’t believe I’m taking such good care of you, Niall. I’m drunk. I should have just rammed it in right on the spot.”

"Where are your manners, Harry?", Niall asks and turns back to the window.

"Fuck my manners.", Harry hisses. Niall hears Harry’s pants drop to the floor. He’s seen his cock before and lets the doubtful voices in his head convince him not to turn around peek. He’s nosy, though. How does it look when it’s hard?

Harry’s breathing heavily. This is the moment he’s been waiting for. He positions himself behind Niall, who mutters “Can’t believe this”.

"You better do.", Harry laughs and pushes forward.

Blood drips on Niall’s chin. He’s afraid of biting through, deeper into his bottom lip.

It hurts. It hurts like crazy.

The sudden sensation of being stretched to an extent that can impossibly be comfortable for anyone fills his squint eyes with tears. “Fucking shit, Harry.”, he caws, thinking of the two girls who let him fuck their perfectly shaped little asses before. They endured just as much pain as him, didn’t even whimper. “Shhh.”, Harry tries to comfort him. “It’s okay.”

"No, fuck, it’s not.", Niall groans. "Fuckin’ hurts, ‘arry."

"I know." Harry, for his part, tries hard to stay still. Niall feels so good around him. He just wants to fuck into him and fill him with his cum. He puts his hand on Niall’s pale, mole covered back, carresses him a little. He reaches forward to stroke Niall’s neck and Niall turns his head, to peck Harry’s fingertips. Another way too affectionate gesture that scares Niall more than Harry.

"Niall, you gotta man up for me.", Harry whispers. "Take it like a good boy, yeah?"

"Yeah, just go ahead, for fuck’s sake. If you don’t let me fuck your face after that I’m gonna fucking kill you.", he pants, making a sound between a pained moan and laughter.

"You can fuck my face all you want.", Harry promises and Niall can tell he’s smirking.

And then, he starts to move. Rocking his hips, thrusting into Niall with his hands squeezing the tiny bit of chub on his narrow hips, the room seems to dissolve around Harry. This is what he longed for. The only thing he can focus on is the sweet feeling of slipping in and out of Niall’s warmth, going deeper with each thrust. A weird wave of happiness overcomes him. He’s gotten what he thought he wouldn’t get. But after all, doesn’t he alway get what he wants? Niall adapts to his rhythym and finally, Harry hears him moan. He’s starting to like it.

“‘s good, huh?”, Harry proudly asks. Niall just nods. He would have never thought that the almost unbearable pain would fate into such lovely friction so quickly. He moans again, Harry’s name, and Niall can hear him hissing through his teeth.

"For you, too?", Niall asks. Harry’s endeared by his sudden shyness, his careful questions.

"Yes.", Harry says. "Of course, Niall."

"Is it a good asshole, yeah?", Niall asks. "Ten out of ten?"

Harry snorts “First class asshole”.

Niall bursts out laughing, but he’s interrupted by his own moan when Harry goes a little harder. He increases his pace, because, as much as he’d love to keep fucking him, he needs to cum. Niall, too, is afraid it could happen at any second but he focuses on pulling himself together, tries to ignore the fact he can feel his pulse in his cock. He’ll take that out on Harry.

He can hear Harry’s sweaty thighs smack against his and it’s starting to hurt a little again, Harry’s hand glides up Niall’s damp back, grabbing a fistful of his hair again. Harry tries not to be too rough, but he yanks Niall’s head back and fucks into him from a lower angle, approaching the edge of his orgasm. He’s panting, nothing but a feral distortion of who he really is now, and then, with a raspy “Niall” and a few last thrusts, he cums, filling Niall with sticky, white juice. For a few seconds, everything around him is golden. He feels like he’s falling, and he lands in a river made of light. He slowly pulls back to watch his cum drip from his tip and out of Niall’s hole. That’s always a special kind of pretty mess.

Exhausted and even giddier than before, he steps back and puts his sweat soaked hair into a bun with a few twists of the elastic band around his wrist, watching Niall straightening his back and properly standing up again in the meantime. He’s covered in pearls of salty sweat and when he turns around, the beauty of his tired face hits Harry like punch in the abdomen. Niall looks pained and weary and so vulnerable that the cocky smile on his lips seems like an ironic joke. Harry knows he promised Niall to make him cum, too. So he gets on his knees, no hestitation. The rug’s gonna chaf his skin, but he doesn’t mind. It’s Niall’s turn now. And he’s been wanting to taste him so bad.

"Now you", he says. Niall’s already got his hands wrapped around his cock. "Chick, chick, chick.", Harry teases.

Niall steps forward and Harry opens his mouth like the submissive little servant that he likes to be, and other than him, Niall doesn’t give out a warning, Niall doesn’t go slow, Niall doesn’t care if it hurts or not. He just goes for it. He’s a little angry, Harry can sense that, after all, it did hurt whether in a good way or not, but it’s alright with Harry that he’s taking it out on him now.

Niall smears his pre cum all over Harry’s red tinted lips before he pushes his cock past them, as deep into Harry’s throat as he can. He puts his hand on the back of his curly head and remains in this position until Harry pinches his thigh and groans, helplessly breathing through his nose because he’s gagging already and needs him to stop. Niall can’t remember being so turned on before. He’s been tortured by Harry the whole night through, teased, convinced and fucked like a toy with no will, all that with a buzzing head and alcoholised. He’s gonna make the most of his turn.

As soon as he lets go to allow Harry to inhale, he’s taken aback by how much of a nice view Harry looking up to him with a mouthful of cock is. Harry’s left hand rests on Niall’s thigh, but his right one strokes the inside of it, slipping higher, to his balls, and as Harry begins to bob his head, only a little, since Niall moves along with him anyway, he cups them, with his ring finger stroking Niall’s perineum again.

"Jesus Christ", Niall sighs, "I don’t even wanna ask how many times you’ve done this." It feels so good. Almost too good.

Harry just shrugs. Spit drips from chin on the rug. Niall holds hair, and he gags again, but he’s going to finish this job, and he’s going to do well. He doesn’t have to do too much, though. Niall likes being in control at last and he’s just fucking into his throat, using him for his pleasure.

Harry’s blinded by the inevitable tears in his tired eyes. Niall tastes like man sweat and bitter pre cum and Harry knows that his actual load is gonna be a thousand times worse and he can’t wait for it to spurt on his tongue.

He wonders if this is Niall’s regular, usual pace and pressure. If so, he feels sorry for every girl that has ever given him a blowjob. But a part of Harry is sure that Niall solely knows he can cross limits in this case because Harry loves to take it all in, because they’re both men, men who like it a little harder. And it’s fun when it’s a little brutal.

"Chokin’ much?", Niall huffs. His face is strained and deep red now. He can feel Harry’s teeth with every thrust, even though Harry tries to put his lips over them. And it’s annoying and it hurts, but it only makes him go harder, like a dog that’s trying to break from his collar by pulling so desperately it only gets tighter around his neck. It doesn’t matter anymore now, anyway. He’s about to cum.

Harry lets him guide him, allowing him to adjust his head like he’s a rag doll. Niall growls and Harry takes his hand off Niall’s balls, further back, to his still sticky hole. Pressing his thumb against the lower curve of his rim, Harry waits for Niall to react, and a deep breath later, he throws his head back and spits out a hoarse “Fuck”, pushing himself against the back of Harry’s throat. He’s losing control.

Harry gags again and the next thing he feels is warm, thick juice running down his pharyx. He coughs and tries to tilt back, but Niall keeps his hand on his head, making sure Harry gets every single drop. He wanted it, he gets it. This has always been Niall’s favourite part of facefucking. Making them swallow all of it. Feeding them their reward for taking his cock so good.

He’s not yet remotely close to coming down from his high. His heart is still beating fast, his chest rising and sinking like he just came up from underwater. He can almost hear the toxic flood of adrenaline and booze course trough his veins. “That was fucking good.”, he gasps, slowly pulling his cock out. There’s a thick string of cum and spit connecting its tip with Harry’s pink, flat tongue. Niall likes how the fluids glisten, before it rips apart and Harry laps up the last bit of cum as if it didn’t taste like mouldy fucking bacon. “S’good?”, Niall laughs, patting his warm cheek.

"Fucking gross.", Harry dryly says. Just like thought it would be. Even worse. He loves it. "I think I’m gonna throw up if I’m honest."

Niall pouts. “Oi. Don’t be rude, Harry.”

"I’m kidding. I like it. I like the way you taste." Harry looks up at Niall with the goddamn devil in his green eyes. "Baby." He knows that Niall liked it. Though now that they fucked, there really isn’t a winner in this game, but despite his sore fucked throat and his horrible headache, Harry feels like one.

"Went a little crazy on you.", Niall mumbles.

"Yes, you did.", Harry says. He licks his lips and Niall helps him to get back on his feet.

Harry looks at the clock. 5 AM. The sudden fear of the potential catastrophe he could wake up to makes him feel even sicker. He wonders if it would be alright with Niall if he kissed him. Before he can try, though, Niall turns away, attempting to pick up his pants. He wants to at least fold them before he passes out. He’s so tired now that he’s satisfied. Will the whole extent of what he’s done descend upon him in a panic attack as soon as the sun rises? He doesn’t want to think about it. For some reason, even though he came, even though he wants to make himself believe he only used Harry and liked the fucking for the risky aspect, he’s got a weird little urge to kiss him now, thank him, maybe. It couldn’t get more awkward than this. He turns around again and catches Harry staring. Harry’s stomach turns as their eyes meet.

Before he can say anything, Niall leaps forward, wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and gives him a hard, teeth-clashing kiss. He can taste his own cum and it’s nasty, and he feels as if his feet are losing touch with the ground, but at least it’s not awkward anymore. It’s good. It feels right.

"That’s what the girls wanted, I guess.", Harry laughs.

But Niall shakes his head. “No, that’s what I wanted.”

***

The next morning, or, well, afternoon, Harry wakes up with Niall’s arm still around him. He doesn’t know Niall’s been up for a while, just laying there, holding him, almost sober now, and strangely touched by how nice it feels to have Harry’s big, broad, hot body pushed against his. Harry hopes that whatever happened the night before won’t remain the only time. Niall knows he wants to do it again.