Harry isn’t sure whose idea it was that they rent a yacht for the night, but it was fucking brilliant. They’ve spent the day relaxing, watched the sun set, and now they get to sleep with no way for crowds of people to scream outside their windows. He and Niall are in the smaller of the two staterooms sharing a queen bed while the other three boys share a king in the larger. Liam, less stoned than the rest of them based on how many times in a row he could touch his forefingers to the tip of his nose, was elected to say where everyone slept. Harry thinks he got a pretty good deal. Niall’s cuddly, and doesn’t give a fuck if he wakes up and Harry’s got naked in his sleep.
“I got a good deal,” Harry says, propping pillows behind his back and watching Niall try to get his arm into the sleeve of his sleep shirt.
“On the weed?” Niall asks.
“No. On bunks. Zayn got the weed.”
“Oh yeah. I forgot. Fuck bunks. We’ve got a whole bed tonight.”
“That’s what I meant,” Harry says. “Just you and me in this big bed. For fuck’s sake, Niall. Forget the shirt. It’s a million degrees, and I’m going to make you cuddle me, anyway.”
Niall flings the shirt aside and turns his focus on getting his swim trunks off. That seems easier than getting his shirt on, and in a second he’s crawling into bed in nothing but his boxers.
“You going to help me with this, then?” Harry asks, showing Niall the joint he took from Zayn’s nightstand before Zayn declared sleep time and kicked them back to their own room.
“Fuck, yeah,” Niall says. “You little beauty.”
“This little beauty,” Harry says holding the joint aloft. “You got a light?”
“Where am I going to hide a light in my skivs?” Niall asks. “Why didn’t you get one from Zayn?”
“I got the joint. I can’t be expected to do everything.” Harry gives Niall his prettiest pout. He’s finally got the pillows perfect and Niall’s hardly sat down yet.
“You are a menace, Harry Styles,” Niall says, but he rolls onto his side, and with some effort gets out of the bed again.
“And you are a saint.”
Niall sways on his feet for a moment and then brightens. “Look!” he cries, triumphant. “The room has a present for us.” It takes Harry more than a few seconds to focus on what Niall’s waving around, but finally sees it’s a glass ashtray with a book of matches held precariously in the bowl of it by the edge of Niall’s thumb.
“Well don’t drop it. C’mere.”
Niall comes back to Harry’s side of the bed and presents him with his find like it’s the crown jewels, and then, giggling, flops onto Harry’s lap and shuffles across to the empty space next to Harry’s legs.
Pushing aside his water bottle, Harry gets the ashtray set firmly on the bedside table, and picks up the matches. “I’m shite at these,” he says, remembering the night he’d tried to smoothly light a cigarette for Nick and ended up with half the taxi rank laughing at his efforts.
“Give em ‘ere.” Niall tugs the matches from between Harry’s fingers, but doesn’t take the joint, so Harry puts it in his own mouth.
“Your lips are so pink,” Niall says, staring at Harry’s mouth as he flicks the book open and neatly tears a match out.
“Prolly sunburned,” Harry mumbles around the joint. “You gonna light that, or stare at me?”
“Rude,” Niall says, but he flips the flap of the book over backwards, pinching the match between it at the strike strip and tugging the match out swiftly, flame sputtering up on its tip.
It’s amazing. “Cool trick,” Harry says, nearly dropping the joint, but then getting the end steady in the flame and drawing deeply.
Niall looks at him like he’s cracked. “Not a trick, mate. It’s just how you do it.”
Harry would answer, but he’s got his lungs full of smoke that’s already going to his head, layering on the buzz he’s had going since ten this morning, so he scrunches his face in a way meant to convey Niall’s the rude one now, and passes the joint over.
By the time Niall gets it in his mouth, it’s gone out. For some reason, he hands the matches to Harry instead of lighting it himself. Harry tries the folding trick, but he still can’t get the match to light.
When Niall takes the matches back, he hands Harry the joint. “Why do I have it?” Harry asks.
“Need both hands, don’t I?”
“That’s what your gob’s for,” Harry says, showing Niall how to hold it between your lips, though he’s seen Niall do it just fine for half the day.
“Yeah, okay,” Niall says, but he makes no move to take it, holding the flame up to Harry again.
“This your way of asking for a blowback?” Harry asks.
Niall shakes out the match, which has burned nearly down to his fingertips. “Might be,” he admits. “You want to?”
Harry’s only been the blow-ee, never the blower, but it can’t be hard. “Ohhh, yeah. I’ll blow you,” Harry says, giving Niall his best porn-star face. Which makes Niall laugh so hard he falls half onto Harry’s chest. “Heeey,” Harry complains. His porn-star face is great. But then he’s giggling, too, and they both end up red-faced and gasping, clutching at each other, not doing a very effective job at keeping the joint and matches from getting crumpled.
When they can finally breathe again and Harry’s straightened out the joint and Niall’s found the matchbook in the sheets, Niall lights him up and Harry sucks in a mouthful of smoke. After a day spent smoking, it’s hard not to inhale, but he mostly succeeds. “Mumm mmm mm,” he says, because Niall’s got distracted by something and is looking away.
“Oh yeah.” Niall tips his face to Harry’s, lips parted, and Harry leans in, blows the smoke into his mouth in a slow steady stream. Niall inhales sharply, chokes on the smoke, and coughs violently in Harry’s face, making Harry cough, and both of them collapse into laughter again. Fortunately, because god looks out for drunks, children, and stoned popstars, Harry remembers he’s got a lit joint this time, and he manages not to burn them in their bed.
“Have you ever done this before?” he demands when he’s got himself under control.
Niall looks mortally injured by the accusation. “Of course!” He tips his head back against the pillows and gives Harry a slow smile. “Or, well. Laura told me about a guy who did it to her once in a bar in Amsterdam, and I’ve seen it in a movie.”
With a huff that’s supposed to be exasperated but is more a laugh, Harry shoves Niall’s shoulder, which makes him slip down on the pillows so he’s more lying than sitting. “Gi’us a light, then,” Harry says. “We’ll try again.”
This time, Harry puts the joint in the ash tray once he’s filled his mouth with smoke so he can have both hands free. Niall’s eyes are wide when Harry rolls back toward him and cups his face between his palms. “M mm?” Harry asks, and Niall gives a little nod. Instead of blowing into Niall’s mouth, Harry presses their lips softly together and opens his, waits for Niall to suck the smoke out. It’s weird, makes Harry’s chest tight and his head swim. When it feels like his lungs are going to burst, he tips his head to the side and coughs, drags in a ragged breath.
“You okay?” Niall strokes Harry’s back soothingly. Another reason Harry’s glad Niall’s here right now. When you’ve got older brothers, you learn early it doesn’t help to be thumped about when you’re choking on air.
“We suck at this,” Harry says, dropping his head onto Niall’s shoulder. “How do we suck at this so much?” The stroking feels good. Harry’d quite like to stay here.
“I don’ know. Worked for me.” Niall’s stroking fingers move up Harry’s neck and turn to head skritches.
Letting his own fingers slip back and scratch through Niall’s hair feels almost as amazing as having his own head scratched. “Mmmmmmmm,” Harry moans, long and low. He likes how the rumble in his chest echoes in Niall’s ribs where he’s lying on top of him, so he does it again. Niall’s hand goes tight in his hair, his body goes stiff, and Harry realizes somehow he’s got one leg between Niall’s thighs, is rocking into his hip with more than just the motion of the boat.
“Haz,” Niall whispers. “I’m so fucking randy. Are you—“
Harry rocks down again, with intent this time, and huh. He’s half hard and his dick really likes the groove of Niall’s hip. “Yeah,” he says, propping up on his elbows so he can look Niall in the face. Niall’s cheeks are flushed and his mouth is pink and Harry really wants to kiss him. “C’n I—“ Harry’s tongue wets his lips and Niall mirrors him, and Harry just has to do it.
They are much better at kissing than blowbacks. Niall is somehow melty soft and firm and sure at the same time, mouth open to Harry’s kiss but hand still twisted in his hair, legs falling wide to give Harry room, but hip canted just enough to keep perfect friction on Harry’s dick. He’s making noises that vibrate in Harry’s chest, and even the scratch of his leg hair feels incredible. It’s been a while since Harry had sex while he was mashed. He forgot how amazing it is.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he says, stroking down Niall’s arms to his ribs, fingers tracing down his waist to where the band of his boxers cuts across his hips. He nuzzles up under Niall’s jaw where he smells amazing, too, like salt and sun and and the sweet tang of the teriyaki they’d eaten as the sun was setting, and Harry licks a broad stripe up Niall’s throat.
“Oh,” Niall breathes.
It’s a good oh—Harry’s heard enough of them to be able to tell the difference—but he’d like to hear more, so he asks, “Good? Can I?”
“Don’t you fucking dare stop.” Niall accompanies his words with a sharp tug to Harry’s hair, dragging him down so the next lick starts just below Niall’s collar bone, the one after that just to the left of his right nipple.
“Taste good, too. I want—“ Harry pulls gently against Niall’s hold, headed down farther. Niall doesn’t let him go until Harry’s fingers curl under the edge of his pants, but then he all but pushes him.
“Yeah,” he says. “You can— Really? You want to?”
Harry forgets sometimes that giving head isn’t everyone’s idea of the best thing ever. It totally should be. How much happier would the world be if everyone was too busy having oral sex to like, plan wars and stuff. Just, someone would be all, I want to send a bomb to that country over there, and his advisors would say, Or I could just blow you instead, and no one would get blown up.
“Haz?” Niall asks. “Did I lose you? You don’t have to, seriously. We could just make out some more. I like snogging.”
“Blow jobs for world peace,” Harry says, shrugging to get the sheet off his back. “Lemme suck you.”
“You’ve got a high opinion of your blow job skills, there, I see. Not sure how sucking me off’s gonna lead to an end to all wars though.”
“Shut up,” Harry suggests and skims Niall’s pants down his thighs. Niall stops arguing.
His dick is pretty, thick and heavy against his belly, not fully hard yet, Harry doesn’t think, but close. Harry likes the thought of it getting harder in his mouth, so he doesn’t tease, just sucks the head in, pumping a few times to get nice and wet, and slides down.
“Holy jeezus cunting fuck,” Niall says with significant feeling. Harry’d like to say, See? World peace, but his mouth is full, and he quite likes what that’s doing to Niall’s cock, so he goes down a bit more, letting the head bump the back of his throat, tipping his head enough he can swallow around it. He half expects Niall’s fist back in his hair, but Niall’s a stiff bow of need, hardly breathing. It would suck if he came too soon and Harry had to stop, so Harry pulls off.
“God,” Niall says, weakly this time. “You’re— God, Harry. Why’d you stop?”
Harry can feel the grin on his face; he probably looks like a right smug bastard. But who doesn’t like to be told they have mad sex skills? “‘Cause I wanna— Here. Roll over.” He kneels up and pulls Niall’s boxers the rest of the way off, gives his hip a tug of encouragement.
“What?” Niall asks, resisting Harry’s pulling and looking alarmed.
“Not going to fuck you,” Harry says quickly. “Just. You taste so good. Want to taste you all over.”
“You want to stick your tongue in my arse?” Niall still looks a bit shocked, but he’s rolling over anyway like maybe his body is a step ahead of his brain.
“Yeah,” Harry says. “It’s— god. I love it. And you swam for ages this afternoon and then took a shower. It’s clean, right?”
Niall shrugs, nods, shrugs again, and flops onto his belly. “If you say so, mate. No one’s ever told me they wanted to lick my arsehole before,” he says. “What do I do?”
“What does a girl do when you eat her out?” Harry asks, pushing Niall’s legs apart gently and climbing between them.
Niall huffs a laugh. “Screams my name if I’m doing it right.”
His bravado is adorable and Harry loves him for it. “Heh. Maybe don’t do that part. The lads are right next door. And we don’t want any of the others to think I’m murdering you or anything.”
“I’ll just bite the pillow then, will I?” Niall gives him a sly look over his shoulder like he’s checking to see if Harry got his joke.
“If I’m the first to make you bite a pillow Niall Horan, I’m sorry for your life.”
Niall laughs and sticks his tongue out. “Just get on with it.” Harry gives him a smack for that, light backhand to one cheek of his arse. Niall doesn’t protest.
Speaking of pillows, one would be helpful here. Harry grabs the one by Niall’s elbow, says, “Here, lift up for me,” and slides it under his hips, pulling his cock down between his legs as he does. Niall’s gone mostly soft again while they’ve been talking, but he plumps up quick in Harry’s hand, twitching as Harry rubs his thumb over the edge of his foreskin. “You good?” Harry asks.
“Mmm hmm. You?”
Harry is definitely good. Kneeling between Niall’s thighs, he kisses the back of his neck, his shoulder blades, sucks a love bite that will fade in moments onto the edge of Niall’s ribs, rubs his face into the dip at the small of his back. “I’m good,” he murmurs, ducking his head to lap at the tip of Niall’s cock.
Niall jumps, mutters something Harry’s pretty sure is, “That’s not my arse,” into the pillow under his face, but his dick gets fatter and his thighs spread a little wider, so Harry doesn’t think he actually minds. Plus, Harry’s maybe a little obsessed with the way Niall’s foreskin moves when Harry licks from this angle. It’s all soft under his tongue, and it moves all slippery when he pokes it with the tip.
“Harry,” Niall groans. “What are you dooooing.”
Harry’s not actually sure how long he’s been playing with Niall’s foreskin with his lips and tongue. “I’m—” Making his tongue as wet as he can, Harry licks up Niall’s shaft to where his balls rest against it, then sucks a kiss to Niall’s sac. “Getting there,” he says.
“If you wanna just blow me, I can—“
The thumbs spreading Niall’s cheeks and the tongue licking from his nuts to his asshole shut Niall up remarkably effectively. Or stops the words anyway. Harry does it again to see if Niall will make the same pillow-muffled, broken noise. The second one is even better.
“See?” Harry says. “It’s nice.”
“Niiice?” Niall says dubiously. “More.”
It’s Harry’s pleasure. God, he loves eating people out, and Niall is just as responsive as Harry could have hoped. Not just the sounds he’s trying desperately to smother in the bedding, but the way his thighs clamp on Harry’s shoulders only to shoot away as he tries to get his knees under himself to press closer to Harry’s face, the clench, release, clench, release of his arsecheeks under Harry’s hands, the way he twitches under Harry’s tongue when Harry presses his chin just there, and yeah, that’s it, the hitching moan and sharp gasp Harry likes so much.
He hmmms encouragingly, and Niall swears at him. Harry has never had someone mutter “twatting fuck” during sex, before, and he starts to laugh, rests his forehead on the curve where arse meets thigh for a moment to watch himself rub his thumb on Niall’s hole. “Don’t laugh,” Niall complains, but he’s chuckling too, and shit, Harry also really loves weed.
“Just having fun,” Harry murmurs, and gets back to licking. Niall’s relaxed with the rubbing, and his hips move in a smooth roll now, humping Harry’s face, making it easier to really spread Niall open, get him wet and slippery, fuck into him with fingers and tongue. Harry’s rocking his own hips against the bed, cock hard and just this side of desperate for action, but Harry won’t pretend that isn’t part of what he loves about oral, how his own cock has to wait and it’s all about what his mouth is doing to the other person.
When Niall starts swearing again, Harry’s got two fingers and his tongue as deep in his arse as he can, and is rubbing hard behind Niall’s balls with his thumb, with the fingers of his other hand stroking Niall’s cock against the mattress. Harry’s grinding now, wet spot between his belly and the sheets, elbows forcing Niall’s legs wide, spit running down his chin, down Niall’s balls to Harry’s fingers where he’s sloppily jerking him off. Niall’s lost his pillow and is whining into the mattress, probably loud enough they can hear next door, and Harry wonders for a second how many days the other boys are going to take the piss, but then Niall’s coming, jizz hitting Harry’s chest, arse twitching against his face, and Harry doesn’t care if the others tease.
“Fuuuuck,” Niall says when Harry slips his fingers out of his arse. “That. My head is fucking spinning.”
Harry wipes his fingers on the sheets and his face on Niall’s thigh. They did not plan this well, surprise surprise. The boat’s too posh for tissues by the bed. “That happened to me first time, and I’d only had half a bottle of wine.”
“Yeah, but you’re a fucking lightweight.” Orgasms apparently give Niall a filthier mouth than usual.
“I’m not.” Harry says. “You gonna jerk me off, or should I take care of it?”
“Give a man a minute, mate.” Niall gingerly rolls over, trying to get the pillow out from under him and not kick Harry in the head. He’s mostly successful with the first aim, and only manages to knee Harry quite hard in the shoulder once. Harry scoots up a few feet and gets a hand on his own dick. It’s sticky wet with spit and Niall’s come, and it feels pretty great. He’s not sure he has a minute. “Or take care of it yourself.” Niall pets feebly at Harry’s chest.
“Harry’s gonna apologise, but what comes out is, “‘m close,” because, fuck. He’s so close. “You were really hot.”
That makes Niall sort of dive at his face, and Harry falters for a moment, but Niall’s just kissing him, sloppy and greedy, and seemingly not bothered that Harry just had his mouth on Niall’s arse. He’s fumbling vaguely in the direction of Harry’s dick, but Harry’s good, sucking on Niall’s tongue, perfect strokes getting him right where he needs to be. He tries to catch it, remembers there’s not much point, and jizzes all over Niall’s abs, just because he can, then rubs it in for good measure.
“You’re so gross,” Niall says, grinning.
“You love it.”
“D’you think Paul would call in the coast guard if we jumped overboard right now?”
“Probably jump in after us then crack our skulls together.”
“Yeah,” Niall says, swabbing at his stomach with a corner of the sheet. “Not worth it.”
“What’s a little spunk between friends?” If Harry had his way that would be the motto of the world.
Niall laughs and shoves him. “A band that wanks together stays together?”
“Absolutely.” There’s at least a couple puffs left on the joint, so Harry plucks it from the ashtray and hands Niall the matches.
“D’you remember. That first night in Robin’s cottage with all of us?” Niall holds the flame to the tip of the joint and waits for Harry to light it and nod. “Did you think we’d ever be here? Like. Like we’d get here?”
Harry did, is the thing. Maybe not smoking up on a fucking private yacht in Miami, but touring the States, the five of them together, being famous. Maybe not that night, though. Maybe not until they got through judges week, got through to the top five. “Knew I wanted it,” he says. “Wasn’t sure about the group thing at first, but even by then, I knew it were right.”
“I didn’t know,” Niall says as he takes the joint from Harry and quickly draws on it to make it stay lit, continuing with the voice of a man holding smoke in his lungs. “I thought I’d be back in Mullingar before I could blink.”
“And you sold out Croke park in five minutes.” Harry waves a hand in a way he hopes indicates if Niall’s done with the roach he should pass it back. Apparently it does, because Niall leans up on an elbow and puts it between Harry’s lips.
“We should keep wanking together, then.” He grins. “Wouldn’t want the band to split up before we get there.”
“Wouldn’t want that,” Harry says, smiling back. “Definitely wouldn’t want that.”