every good boy does fine - harry/niall - standalone [1/4]
Title: every good boy does fine
Pairings: Harry/Niall
Genre: AU, Angst, Fluff
Rating: R
Summary: Harry has a sex addiction, and Niall just complicates things.
A/N: Someone really needs to take my netbook away from me because if I spend enough time on it, stuff like this happens. Inspired by the film Shame and it's the longest standalone I have ever written, at 17k words. I wrote about 1,200 words every night before I went to bed so this was one of the smoother ones I've done, mostly because it took a whole month to finally finish this but I'm satisfied with the result. Dedicating this one to Bijou for surviving her MCAT and I'm super proud of her.
Other links: AO3 | Extras
Every good boy does fine
It’s break time and Harry tries to block out the chattering of his coworkers, eyes plastered on the flashing computer screen like it’s the most important thing in the world, and he clicks video after video, looking for names that catch his attention or moving thumbnails that pique his interest, trying to figure out which one he’s in the mood for.
When it comes to pornography, Harry doesn’t really have much of a preference, doesn’t really discriminate when it comes to gender or appearance, though he doesn’t mind attractive men and women popping up on his screen every now and then. He’s more interested in amateur videos, though, as opposed to professional ones because of the awkward dialogues and sad attempts at plotlines and all it does is make him lose momentum and he hates when he has to get hard all over again, but he watches them occasionally when he’s feeling bored or if there’s nothing new on the “Amateurs” tag and he absolutely needs to get himself off. Sometimes, he checks out the more obscure fetishes when he’s feeling particularly adventurous, when the same old videos just won’t do, but more often than not, it scares him more than turns him on, so he comes crawling back to that “Amateur” tag that feels so much like home and finishes what he started.
Right now, there’s a blonde woman on his screen with large breasts, squeezing them in her hands as the man writhes under her, hands on her hips, pushing her up, down, up down, and the woman’s moans fill his ears and he’s getting harder, now, and he slides his hands down to rub himself through his trousers and he can hear himself breathing heavier, sweat sliding down his temples because the woman’s screaming now, letting go of her breasts and throwing her head back, planting her palms on the man’s chest as he groans, deep, rugged groans that sounds like he’s in pain but Harry knows all too well that he’s far from it, and he’s rubbing himself harder now, his other hand gripping the edge of his desk for support and he leans closer to the screen, pushing his chair further back under his desk, tracing out the look of ecstasy on the woman’s face and in a moment, he’s mirroring her expression, closing his eyes until he can feel it building in the pit of his stomach, a pressure getting bigger and bigger and he squeezes and tugs like he’s doing it for the first time in his life until-
“You coming, Haz?”
Zayn’s voice cuts through his earphones and his eyes snap open, past the point of no return, and he squeezes them shut with a pained groan when he shoots, feeling the warm liquid spreading along his thighs as he goes, and when he’s done, he pants for a few seconds to catch his breath and looks up at Zayn watching him over the cubicle wall, his green eyes forming a question mark.
“You alright, mate?” Zayn says with a chuckle, half a smirk playing along his lips. “You look like you’ve just-”
“M’fine,” Harry replies, pulling off his earphones and wrapping his arms around his stomach, and he pushes further underneath his desk to hide the stain seeping through his pants. “Stomachache.”
“So that’s a no, then?” Zayn asks, and Harry nods his head and rests it on the desk next to his keyboard.
“You go on, I’m not feeling very hungry,” he replies, dropping his eyes to look at the stain. It’s already taken up half the length of his thigh.
“Well, obviously,” Zayn says, and Harry can feel him rolling his eyes. “I’ll just get you a sandwich for later, then.”
Harry lifts his head up and flashes a grin. “Thanks.”
Zayn disappears back in his cubicle and Harry sits up, closing all of the tabs on his browser and clearing the history before pulling up a spreadsheet of sales from the past week and opening the first drawer under his desk. He slides out a pair of pants from between two folders and pokes his head out of his cubicle. Their area is nearly empty, quiet aside from scattered tacking of keyboards and random bursts of muffled conversations, and Harry looks around his desk for an excuse to go to the bathroom so he can clean himself up. All he finds is a mug half-filled with cold coffee from this morning, though, but he reckons it’ll work just fine, and, looking around him one last time, he knocks it down on his desk and he jumps up with a start, patting his trousers and groaning.
“Fuck,” he exclaims through his teeth, and Zayn’s head shoots up from the other side of the cubicle again, brows knitted in curiosity. “Just my fucking luck.”
Zayn attempts to hide a snicker. “Mate, this is not your day, is it?”
“I’m about to punch in, to be quite fucking honest,” Harry retorts, picking up the mug and digging out a box of wipes from the drawer.
“Go clean yourself, I’ll take care of it,” Zayn says, and Harry nods his thanks before bunching up his spare trousers and tucking them under his arm before stalking out of his cubicle without another word.
-
Harry fishes out his keys from his jacket pocket and looks at Louis from the corners of his eyes, taking a moment to study him as he unlocks the door.
Louis swipes his copper hair from his eyes and slides his hands in his pockets while he waits, jeans and shirt two sizes too small for his body and Harry can just make out the bulge in his trousers, the fabric stretching tight between his thighs, and Harry likes the narrowness of his body, the sliver of skin peeking out under the hem of his shirt, and he can already feel himself getting hard.
Harry finally opens the door and motions for Louis to come in, and Louis flashes him a smile before walking forward and looking at Harry’s flat.
It’s a modest flat, Harry thinks, with all the proper necessities and large glass windows overlooking the city. It’s sitting near the top of the building and the view’s spectacular, and Louis moves over and places his palms on the glass, looking down at the cars driving up and down the streets like tiny, sparkling ants, and Harry takes off his scarf and throws it on the sofa, watching Louis’s backside sway back and forth in interest like he’s looking through the bars of a zoo.
“Nice place you’ve got here,” Louis says, looking at Harry over his shoulder with a grin. “Love the view.”
“Me as well,” Harry replies with a smile, and when Louis looks down at his own backside, he tosses his head with a laugh and turns back to the window.
“I’ve never done it in a place like this before,” Louis tells him, taking a few steps back and resting his hands on his narrow waist. Harry shrugs off his jacket and drapes it neatly over the armrest, and he digs in his pocket and pulls out his wallet, taking out a few bills.
“You want to?” Harry asks, folding the bills and walking closer, and Louis turns around to face him and looks at the money in his hands. Harry offers it and Louis takes it off his fingers, flipping through each note while he counts. When he’s done, he stuffs the bills in his pocket and grips the hem of his shirt, and Harry watches him as he pulls his shirt up and over his head, throwing it on the floor before stepping toward Harry and wrapping his arms around his neck. His heart begins to race and he feels sweat running down his forehead, and he watches the lust dancing in Louis’s blue eyes.
“I’d love to,” he says with a laugh, and Harry slides his hands down to grip Louis’s waist, leaning forward and pressing kisses down his neck.
-
Sometimes, Harry wonders what it is about him that Zayn likes so much because there he is again, sitting in a cab getting dragged off to another bar when he’d rather be back home, really, eating the leftover Chinese he has in the fridge and watching that movie he started a few days ago but never really finished because he’s been too busy the entire week, but no, Zayn has other plans, always has other plans and Harry swears he can’t understand English very well because every time he says “no,” Zayn smiles at him and takes it as a “yes” and one of these days, Harry’s just going to say “yes” to see if he’ll finally leave him alone.
The cab stops and Harry steps out into the cold night air while Zayn pays the driver, and he tightens his jacket around him as he looks around. He notices the familiar street, just one away from his flat, and he recognizes the bar across the street, neon sign the shape of a martini glass flashing bright green, and when the cab drives away, Zayn grabs him by the arm and leads him to the entrance.
Inside is warmer, and his ears are met with chatter and laughter and the clinking of bottles. There’s a jukebox pushed against the wall at the back playing a pop song from the nineties and Harry lets Zayn lead him to the bar.
“Two rum and cokes please, on the rocks,” Zayn tells the bartender, holding up two fingers, and Harry sits down and swivels his chair to look at the collection of bottles lining the wall behind the counter. He’s never been that much of a drinker, really, only drinks to indulge Zayn because he drinks alcohol like it’s water and it’s a miracle, really, that his liver hasn’t failed yet, and he’s always wondered where he puts it all because he’s always up the next day like he slept for a hundred years, whereas Harry takes one small sip and wakes up with a hangover that lasts for three days. He thinks it’s unfair but he’s stopped thinking about it because there’s lots of weird things about Zayn that he’d rather not know if he can help it.
“Can’t wait for the fucking weekend, man,” Zayn says, grabbing the glasses and sliding one over to Harry. Harry takes it and gives him a nod. “Feel like I’ve been sleeping two hours for the past week. I feel like death.”
Harry smiles and takes a sip, crinkling his nose at the taste. He’s not very fond of soda as well, but it’s Zayn’s favorite drink and he likes it when they’re drinking the same thing, so he sucks it up and ignores the burning sensation searing his throat and looks at Zayn down the whole thing in one toss.
“You should really take it easy on the booze, mate,” Harry says, taking another sip. “Once your liver’s fucked, there’s no going back.”
“That’s a chance I’m willing take,” Zayn says, asking for one more glass, and Harry shakes his head and looks around the place, trying to see if he can recognize any familiar faces. It’s fairly busy, people walking with drinks in hand, talking animatedly to each other, some making complete fools out of themselves but Harry’s used to it, enjoys watching Zayn make a fool of himself all the time, even when he’s not drunk, and at this point in his life, it’s hard to distinguish the line separating sober and completely shitfaced, blurring together into one bouncy twenty-something year-old who thinks he’s still in his teens.
“Why are you always bringing me here?” Harry asks, swirling the red straw around the ice cubes and watching Zayn order one more glass. “It’s always boring.”
“That’s because you don’t know how to have fun, you sourpuss,” Zayn says, and he’s on his way, Harry thinks, his words starting to slur. “Look at everyone here, they’re having the time of their lives!”
Zayn gestures dramatically around the room and a few people look up to watch him before going back to their conversations with a laugh. Harry shakes his head.
“They look like they’re about to kill themselves,” Harry says, resting his elbow on the counter and propping his cheek on his hand. “Like I’m about to.”
“Oh, lighten up, you miserable tree stump,” Zayn says, drinking his fifth glass, and he pushes Harry’s glass against his elbow. “And drink up, that shit’s expensive.”
“Fine,” Harry said, taking a breath and emptying out his glass in one go. He slams it back on the bar and grimaces, the taste getting worse every time he drinks it, and slides it over to Zayn, who looks at him with an approving smile.
“There we go,” Zayn says, holding up two fingers and smacking Harry right on the shoulder. “Now, you’re ready to have fun.”
“Fuck, that hurt,” Harry says, rubbing his shoulder and punching Zayn square on the chest. Zayn nearly falls backward and he grabs the edge of the bar just in time, and Harry sticks out his tongue. Zayn repositions himself in his seat and looks at Harry through squinted eyes, a war initiated, and he grins before taking a swing at Harry. Harry leans back to avoid contact but he crashes into the person behind him, and he jumps on his feet with a start and faces the young man to apologize.
“So sorry, mate,” Harry says, eyes wide and head buzzing. “My friend’s being an idiot and it’s all his fault.”
He tosses his head over to Zayn, who’s drumming his hands on the counter with the music, and the young man laughs and shakes his head.
“It’s alright. No worries,” he says, and before he knows it, Harry finds himself staring.
He has blond hair that looks like sunshine and defied the laws of gravity, sticking up at the front like there’s a fan constantly blowing at his face but it looks good, Harry thinks, looks different. Interesting. He’s wearing a red collared shirt with the top buttoned, the fabric tight around his slim body, and Harry feels his breath catch in his throat because fuck, he’s really attractive.
“I’m-I’m Harry, by the way,” Harry says before he can stop them, shaking himself out of his stupor and holding out his hand. Sunshine looks at it for a moment before shifting his eyes back up to meet Harry’s, blue eyes getting brighter and brighter, and he grins and takes it in his own.
“Niall,” he says, and Harry says it under his breath, lets it roll of his tongue. Niall. “Nice to meet you, Harry.”
The handshake lingers for a second longer before Niall retracts his hand and Harry knows for sure that it’s not the alcohol making his face heat up, making his heart beat faster because Niall’s watching him with a smile and it’s like there’s fires being lit under his skin, right down his body, and he returns the smile as he makes his way back to his chair.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Harry asks just as Niall’s turning back to his friend sitting beside him, and Niall looks at him for a moment, considering, before grinning with a nod.
“Sure. Why not?”
Harry can’t help but smile.
-
Harry multitasks between fumbling with his keys and keeping Niall’s mouth firmly closed against his and he lets a grin break out when he drops them, clinking loudly down the narrow hallway and Niall breaks the kiss to laugh, and Harry takes this chance to pick them up and open the door behind him.
He doesn’t know how it started, really, comes to him in flashes but Niall doesn’t let him piece them together because in a moment, he’s pressing his body hard against Harry’s, smooth hands finding their way under his shirt and scoping out every inch of his skin before taking them out and coiling them around Harry’s neck, and Harry throws the keys somewhere on the floor and pushes against Niall until they’re falling on the sofa, a laugh interrupting their kiss, and all Harry can think of is how this is really fucking happening and how good Niall feels writhing beneath him.
Harry all but rips his shirt from his body and Niall goes to work on his belt, tugging it loose and flinging it across the room before focusing his attention on his zip, and Harry closes his eyes and grips Niall’s shoulder when he feels him pull it out, thin, long fingers tugging and squeezing hard and he can’t help but let a moan escape when Niall takes him in his mouth, deeper and deeper and deeper until he can feel his nose tickling the skin under his navel. Niall comes up for breath and Harry looks down at him with his breaths coming in fast and ragged, watching the indecency flashing in his baby blue eyes, and he leans down and places a kiss on his lips before lifting off his shirt and tossing it on the floor.
It all becomes a blur after that, Niall getting on his knees at one point and Harry tasting the sweat rolling down his stomach and soon enough, he’s lifting Niall and making his way to the bedroom, Niall hanging on like his life depends on it, nails digging into Harry’s back but it doesn’t hurt, can’t really feel it because this all feels so fucking good and right and he can’t remember the last time he’s felt like this, felt like his heart’s about to burst out of his ribcage, felt like his entire body’s burning like it’s made of coals, scorching him down to his bones.
He falls on top of Niall on the bed and Niall presses his body up against him, trailing deep, desperate kisses down his neck and shoulders like he wants to melt into Harry’s skin and Harry can’t take it anymore, can’t wait any longer and he looks right in Niall’s eyes as he lifts his legs and positions himself between his thighs, feeling the scratch of tiny hairs on his shoulder as he shifts forward, and when Niall jerks his head with the tiniest of nods and closes his eyes, Harry doesn’t hesitate and pushes in.
Niall screams in ecstasy and it floods his ears, coiling tight around his brain like his pale, freckled arms around his neck and the feeling builds up in his stomach and he’s close, he’s really close, and Niall’s biting his bottom lip almost to the point of drawing blood and Harry gets his bearings just in time for him to pull out and, gripping himself hard, he shoots on Niall’s stomach with a strangled cry.
-
Harry should be used to it by now, he thinks, because it’s not like he’s never drank before and yeah, maybe he’s a real lightweight when it comes to alcohol but he reckons he can’t be that terrible with drinking and hanging around Zayn all the time should have given his body the ability to increase his tolerance through osmosis or something, but when he opens his eyes to the sunlight streaming through the break in his curtains, he feels the pounding headache almost immediately, like there’s something drilling at the back of his skull, and he blinks a few times before groaning and pulling his pillow over his head because goddammit, it’s the fucking weekend and he’ll sleep in for the entire two days if he wants to.
His attempt to go back to sleep comes to a screeching halt, however, when he feels something stirring next to him.
His eyes open a crack and he lies still for a moment, debating whether he’d imagined the movement or not, before slowly sliding the pillow from his head and looking through his matted hair at the person lying next to him, eyes closed and mouth slightly open, still dreaming. It takes him a moment to register the blond hair sticking to the pillow but when he does, he hears his laugh ringing loud and clear in his ears, and he listens to his slow, deep breaths as he replays his name in his head.
Niall.
Harry’s not quite sure what to think, actually, because this is the first time anyone’s ever slept over, and he lets out a yawn while he tries to figure out why Niall decided to stay.
The protocol’s always been clear when it comes to prostitutes and one night stands, at least in Harry’s mind, and he’s not really the type to let anyone stay overnight-hell, he doesn’t even let Zayn stay in his flat after eleven. It’s always just grab-and-go with him because it leaves no room for responsibilities, and he can find a hundred million things better to do than play babysitter because the other person doesn’t know how the whole system works. He decides he can’t let Niall stay because he’s had a long week and he desperately needs his rest, and he’d rather not be disturbed when he tries to go back to sleep again.
He reaches a hand over to wake Niall up but he stops in mid-motion when Niall shifts on the bed and wriggles deeper underneath the covers, and Harry takes a moment to consider before retracting his hand and staring.
Up this close, he traces out Niall’s skin, marked by a few acne scars and freckles but smooth all over, with stubble beginning to outline his jaws. He’s pale, like he’d never been under the sun in his life, and Harry can just see the dark roots on his hair where the dye ends, and he thinks about what Niall would look like with brown hair.
He doesn’t dwell on it for long, though, because the next moment, Niall’s stretching his arms in the air and blinking his eyes open, a yawn pushing out of his throat. He smacks his lips together a few times before rubbing his eyes and rolling on his side, and when his eyes meet Harry’s, he breaks out into a smile.
“Hey,” he says, voice raspy.
Harry smiles back. “Hey.”
“Sorry I slept over,” Niall says, lying on his back and stretching his arms in the air again.
“Don’t worry about it,” Harry says with a laugh, and Niall turns back to him with those bright blue eyes and suddenly, his heart is picking up speed, following the pounding in his head, and he takes a deep breath before pushing himself up on his elbows and cracking his neck, wondering whether the alcohol hadn’t completely left his system just yet.
“How about I cook you breakfast?” Niall offers out of nowhere, and Harry looks at him with furrowed brows, watching his smile getting wider as he pushes himself up to sit against the headboard and sliding the covers halfway down his stomach. “I can cook a little. It’s the least I can do.”
Harry grins and swings his legs down the edge of the bed, gripping the mattress tight as he tries to focus his blurring eyes on his toes.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“No, I insist,” Niall says, and when Harry turns to look at him over his shoulder, he’s already on his feet, scratching his stomach. “Do you have bacon?”
Harry laughs and gets on his feet as well, taking a moment to steady himself.
In normal circumstances, Harry would probably have said no and sent Niall on his merry way because he doesn’t really like it when people overstay their welcome, especially when Harry never offered to let them stay over, but there’s something about Niall that makes him want to reconsider the idea-just this time, at least, because for some reason, he can’t bring himself to say no to Niall’s smile, and once he manages to find the proper footing to stabilize himself, he turns to face Niall.
“Yeah, there’s some in the fridge,” he says, and Niall pumps his fist with a soft “yes!” before grinning at Harry and making his way out the door.
Harry lets his gaze linger after Niall disappears around the corner and scratches his head again, wondering if it’s the right thing to do, but then he hears sizzling from the kitchen and he sees Niall smiling in the back of his mind, and fuck it, he’s hungry as hell and, really, one breakfast can’t possibly hurt.
• part one ♕ part two →
Pairings: Harry/Niall
Genre: AU, Angst, Fluff
Rating: R
Summary: Harry has a sex addiction, and Niall just complicates things.
A/N: Someone really needs to take my netbook away from me because if I spend enough time on it, stuff like this happens. Inspired by the film Shame and it's the longest standalone I have ever written, at 17k words. I wrote about 1,200 words every night before I went to bed so this was one of the smoother ones I've done, mostly because it took a whole month to finally finish this but I'm satisfied with the result. Dedicating this one to Bijou for surviving her MCAT and I'm super proud of her.
Other links: AO3 | Extras
Every good boy does fine
It’s break time and Harry tries to block out the chattering of his coworkers, eyes plastered on the flashing computer screen like it’s the most important thing in the world, and he clicks video after video, looking for names that catch his attention or moving thumbnails that pique his interest, trying to figure out which one he’s in the mood for.
When it comes to pornography, Harry doesn’t really have much of a preference, doesn’t really discriminate when it comes to gender or appearance, though he doesn’t mind attractive men and women popping up on his screen every now and then. He’s more interested in amateur videos, though, as opposed to professional ones because of the awkward dialogues and sad attempts at plotlines and all it does is make him lose momentum and he hates when he has to get hard all over again, but he watches them occasionally when he’s feeling bored or if there’s nothing new on the “Amateurs” tag and he absolutely needs to get himself off. Sometimes, he checks out the more obscure fetishes when he’s feeling particularly adventurous, when the same old videos just won’t do, but more often than not, it scares him more than turns him on, so he comes crawling back to that “Amateur” tag that feels so much like home and finishes what he started.
Right now, there’s a blonde woman on his screen with large breasts, squeezing them in her hands as the man writhes under her, hands on her hips, pushing her up, down, up down, and the woman’s moans fill his ears and he’s getting harder, now, and he slides his hands down to rub himself through his trousers and he can hear himself breathing heavier, sweat sliding down his temples because the woman’s screaming now, letting go of her breasts and throwing her head back, planting her palms on the man’s chest as he groans, deep, rugged groans that sounds like he’s in pain but Harry knows all too well that he’s far from it, and he’s rubbing himself harder now, his other hand gripping the edge of his desk for support and he leans closer to the screen, pushing his chair further back under his desk, tracing out the look of ecstasy on the woman’s face and in a moment, he’s mirroring her expression, closing his eyes until he can feel it building in the pit of his stomach, a pressure getting bigger and bigger and he squeezes and tugs like he’s doing it for the first time in his life until-
“You coming, Haz?”
Zayn’s voice cuts through his earphones and his eyes snap open, past the point of no return, and he squeezes them shut with a pained groan when he shoots, feeling the warm liquid spreading along his thighs as he goes, and when he’s done, he pants for a few seconds to catch his breath and looks up at Zayn watching him over the cubicle wall, his green eyes forming a question mark.
“You alright, mate?” Zayn says with a chuckle, half a smirk playing along his lips. “You look like you’ve just-”
“M’fine,” Harry replies, pulling off his earphones and wrapping his arms around his stomach, and he pushes further underneath his desk to hide the stain seeping through his pants. “Stomachache.”
“So that’s a no, then?” Zayn asks, and Harry nods his head and rests it on the desk next to his keyboard.
“You go on, I’m not feeling very hungry,” he replies, dropping his eyes to look at the stain. It’s already taken up half the length of his thigh.
“Well, obviously,” Zayn says, and Harry can feel him rolling his eyes. “I’ll just get you a sandwich for later, then.”
Harry lifts his head up and flashes a grin. “Thanks.”
Zayn disappears back in his cubicle and Harry sits up, closing all of the tabs on his browser and clearing the history before pulling up a spreadsheet of sales from the past week and opening the first drawer under his desk. He slides out a pair of pants from between two folders and pokes his head out of his cubicle. Their area is nearly empty, quiet aside from scattered tacking of keyboards and random bursts of muffled conversations, and Harry looks around his desk for an excuse to go to the bathroom so he can clean himself up. All he finds is a mug half-filled with cold coffee from this morning, though, but he reckons it’ll work just fine, and, looking around him one last time, he knocks it down on his desk and he jumps up with a start, patting his trousers and groaning.
“Fuck,” he exclaims through his teeth, and Zayn’s head shoots up from the other side of the cubicle again, brows knitted in curiosity. “Just my fucking luck.”
Zayn attempts to hide a snicker. “Mate, this is not your day, is it?”
“I’m about to punch in, to be quite fucking honest,” Harry retorts, picking up the mug and digging out a box of wipes from the drawer.
“Go clean yourself, I’ll take care of it,” Zayn says, and Harry nods his thanks before bunching up his spare trousers and tucking them under his arm before stalking out of his cubicle without another word.
-
Harry fishes out his keys from his jacket pocket and looks at Louis from the corners of his eyes, taking a moment to study him as he unlocks the door.
Louis swipes his copper hair from his eyes and slides his hands in his pockets while he waits, jeans and shirt two sizes too small for his body and Harry can just make out the bulge in his trousers, the fabric stretching tight between his thighs, and Harry likes the narrowness of his body, the sliver of skin peeking out under the hem of his shirt, and he can already feel himself getting hard.
Harry finally opens the door and motions for Louis to come in, and Louis flashes him a smile before walking forward and looking at Harry’s flat.
It’s a modest flat, Harry thinks, with all the proper necessities and large glass windows overlooking the city. It’s sitting near the top of the building and the view’s spectacular, and Louis moves over and places his palms on the glass, looking down at the cars driving up and down the streets like tiny, sparkling ants, and Harry takes off his scarf and throws it on the sofa, watching Louis’s backside sway back and forth in interest like he’s looking through the bars of a zoo.
“Nice place you’ve got here,” Louis says, looking at Harry over his shoulder with a grin. “Love the view.”
“Me as well,” Harry replies with a smile, and when Louis looks down at his own backside, he tosses his head with a laugh and turns back to the window.
“I’ve never done it in a place like this before,” Louis tells him, taking a few steps back and resting his hands on his narrow waist. Harry shrugs off his jacket and drapes it neatly over the armrest, and he digs in his pocket and pulls out his wallet, taking out a few bills.
“You want to?” Harry asks, folding the bills and walking closer, and Louis turns around to face him and looks at the money in his hands. Harry offers it and Louis takes it off his fingers, flipping through each note while he counts. When he’s done, he stuffs the bills in his pocket and grips the hem of his shirt, and Harry watches him as he pulls his shirt up and over his head, throwing it on the floor before stepping toward Harry and wrapping his arms around his neck. His heart begins to race and he feels sweat running down his forehead, and he watches the lust dancing in Louis’s blue eyes.
“I’d love to,” he says with a laugh, and Harry slides his hands down to grip Louis’s waist, leaning forward and pressing kisses down his neck.
-
Sometimes, Harry wonders what it is about him that Zayn likes so much because there he is again, sitting in a cab getting dragged off to another bar when he’d rather be back home, really, eating the leftover Chinese he has in the fridge and watching that movie he started a few days ago but never really finished because he’s been too busy the entire week, but no, Zayn has other plans, always has other plans and Harry swears he can’t understand English very well because every time he says “no,” Zayn smiles at him and takes it as a “yes” and one of these days, Harry’s just going to say “yes” to see if he’ll finally leave him alone.
The cab stops and Harry steps out into the cold night air while Zayn pays the driver, and he tightens his jacket around him as he looks around. He notices the familiar street, just one away from his flat, and he recognizes the bar across the street, neon sign the shape of a martini glass flashing bright green, and when the cab drives away, Zayn grabs him by the arm and leads him to the entrance.
Inside is warmer, and his ears are met with chatter and laughter and the clinking of bottles. There’s a jukebox pushed against the wall at the back playing a pop song from the nineties and Harry lets Zayn lead him to the bar.
“Two rum and cokes please, on the rocks,” Zayn tells the bartender, holding up two fingers, and Harry sits down and swivels his chair to look at the collection of bottles lining the wall behind the counter. He’s never been that much of a drinker, really, only drinks to indulge Zayn because he drinks alcohol like it’s water and it’s a miracle, really, that his liver hasn’t failed yet, and he’s always wondered where he puts it all because he’s always up the next day like he slept for a hundred years, whereas Harry takes one small sip and wakes up with a hangover that lasts for three days. He thinks it’s unfair but he’s stopped thinking about it because there’s lots of weird things about Zayn that he’d rather not know if he can help it.
“Can’t wait for the fucking weekend, man,” Zayn says, grabbing the glasses and sliding one over to Harry. Harry takes it and gives him a nod. “Feel like I’ve been sleeping two hours for the past week. I feel like death.”
Harry smiles and takes a sip, crinkling his nose at the taste. He’s not very fond of soda as well, but it’s Zayn’s favorite drink and he likes it when they’re drinking the same thing, so he sucks it up and ignores the burning sensation searing his throat and looks at Zayn down the whole thing in one toss.
“You should really take it easy on the booze, mate,” Harry says, taking another sip. “Once your liver’s fucked, there’s no going back.”
“That’s a chance I’m willing take,” Zayn says, asking for one more glass, and Harry shakes his head and looks around the place, trying to see if he can recognize any familiar faces. It’s fairly busy, people walking with drinks in hand, talking animatedly to each other, some making complete fools out of themselves but Harry’s used to it, enjoys watching Zayn make a fool of himself all the time, even when he’s not drunk, and at this point in his life, it’s hard to distinguish the line separating sober and completely shitfaced, blurring together into one bouncy twenty-something year-old who thinks he’s still in his teens.
“Why are you always bringing me here?” Harry asks, swirling the red straw around the ice cubes and watching Zayn order one more glass. “It’s always boring.”
“That’s because you don’t know how to have fun, you sourpuss,” Zayn says, and he’s on his way, Harry thinks, his words starting to slur. “Look at everyone here, they’re having the time of their lives!”
Zayn gestures dramatically around the room and a few people look up to watch him before going back to their conversations with a laugh. Harry shakes his head.
“They look like they’re about to kill themselves,” Harry says, resting his elbow on the counter and propping his cheek on his hand. “Like I’m about to.”
“Oh, lighten up, you miserable tree stump,” Zayn says, drinking his fifth glass, and he pushes Harry’s glass against his elbow. “And drink up, that shit’s expensive.”
“Fine,” Harry said, taking a breath and emptying out his glass in one go. He slams it back on the bar and grimaces, the taste getting worse every time he drinks it, and slides it over to Zayn, who looks at him with an approving smile.
“There we go,” Zayn says, holding up two fingers and smacking Harry right on the shoulder. “Now, you’re ready to have fun.”
“Fuck, that hurt,” Harry says, rubbing his shoulder and punching Zayn square on the chest. Zayn nearly falls backward and he grabs the edge of the bar just in time, and Harry sticks out his tongue. Zayn repositions himself in his seat and looks at Harry through squinted eyes, a war initiated, and he grins before taking a swing at Harry. Harry leans back to avoid contact but he crashes into the person behind him, and he jumps on his feet with a start and faces the young man to apologize.
“So sorry, mate,” Harry says, eyes wide and head buzzing. “My friend’s being an idiot and it’s all his fault.”
He tosses his head over to Zayn, who’s drumming his hands on the counter with the music, and the young man laughs and shakes his head.
“It’s alright. No worries,” he says, and before he knows it, Harry finds himself staring.
He has blond hair that looks like sunshine and defied the laws of gravity, sticking up at the front like there’s a fan constantly blowing at his face but it looks good, Harry thinks, looks different. Interesting. He’s wearing a red collared shirt with the top buttoned, the fabric tight around his slim body, and Harry feels his breath catch in his throat because fuck, he’s really attractive.
“I’m-I’m Harry, by the way,” Harry says before he can stop them, shaking himself out of his stupor and holding out his hand. Sunshine looks at it for a moment before shifting his eyes back up to meet Harry’s, blue eyes getting brighter and brighter, and he grins and takes it in his own.
“Niall,” he says, and Harry says it under his breath, lets it roll of his tongue. Niall. “Nice to meet you, Harry.”
The handshake lingers for a second longer before Niall retracts his hand and Harry knows for sure that it’s not the alcohol making his face heat up, making his heart beat faster because Niall’s watching him with a smile and it’s like there’s fires being lit under his skin, right down his body, and he returns the smile as he makes his way back to his chair.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Harry asks just as Niall’s turning back to his friend sitting beside him, and Niall looks at him for a moment, considering, before grinning with a nod.
“Sure. Why not?”
Harry can’t help but smile.
-
Harry multitasks between fumbling with his keys and keeping Niall’s mouth firmly closed against his and he lets a grin break out when he drops them, clinking loudly down the narrow hallway and Niall breaks the kiss to laugh, and Harry takes this chance to pick them up and open the door behind him.
He doesn’t know how it started, really, comes to him in flashes but Niall doesn’t let him piece them together because in a moment, he’s pressing his body hard against Harry’s, smooth hands finding their way under his shirt and scoping out every inch of his skin before taking them out and coiling them around Harry’s neck, and Harry throws the keys somewhere on the floor and pushes against Niall until they’re falling on the sofa, a laugh interrupting their kiss, and all Harry can think of is how this is really fucking happening and how good Niall feels writhing beneath him.
Harry all but rips his shirt from his body and Niall goes to work on his belt, tugging it loose and flinging it across the room before focusing his attention on his zip, and Harry closes his eyes and grips Niall’s shoulder when he feels him pull it out, thin, long fingers tugging and squeezing hard and he can’t help but let a moan escape when Niall takes him in his mouth, deeper and deeper and deeper until he can feel his nose tickling the skin under his navel. Niall comes up for breath and Harry looks down at him with his breaths coming in fast and ragged, watching the indecency flashing in his baby blue eyes, and he leans down and places a kiss on his lips before lifting off his shirt and tossing it on the floor.
It all becomes a blur after that, Niall getting on his knees at one point and Harry tasting the sweat rolling down his stomach and soon enough, he’s lifting Niall and making his way to the bedroom, Niall hanging on like his life depends on it, nails digging into Harry’s back but it doesn’t hurt, can’t really feel it because this all feels so fucking good and right and he can’t remember the last time he’s felt like this, felt like his heart’s about to burst out of his ribcage, felt like his entire body’s burning like it’s made of coals, scorching him down to his bones.
He falls on top of Niall on the bed and Niall presses his body up against him, trailing deep, desperate kisses down his neck and shoulders like he wants to melt into Harry’s skin and Harry can’t take it anymore, can’t wait any longer and he looks right in Niall’s eyes as he lifts his legs and positions himself between his thighs, feeling the scratch of tiny hairs on his shoulder as he shifts forward, and when Niall jerks his head with the tiniest of nods and closes his eyes, Harry doesn’t hesitate and pushes in.
Niall screams in ecstasy and it floods his ears, coiling tight around his brain like his pale, freckled arms around his neck and the feeling builds up in his stomach and he’s close, he’s really close, and Niall’s biting his bottom lip almost to the point of drawing blood and Harry gets his bearings just in time for him to pull out and, gripping himself hard, he shoots on Niall’s stomach with a strangled cry.
-
Harry should be used to it by now, he thinks, because it’s not like he’s never drank before and yeah, maybe he’s a real lightweight when it comes to alcohol but he reckons he can’t be that terrible with drinking and hanging around Zayn all the time should have given his body the ability to increase his tolerance through osmosis or something, but when he opens his eyes to the sunlight streaming through the break in his curtains, he feels the pounding headache almost immediately, like there’s something drilling at the back of his skull, and he blinks a few times before groaning and pulling his pillow over his head because goddammit, it’s the fucking weekend and he’ll sleep in for the entire two days if he wants to.
His attempt to go back to sleep comes to a screeching halt, however, when he feels something stirring next to him.
His eyes open a crack and he lies still for a moment, debating whether he’d imagined the movement or not, before slowly sliding the pillow from his head and looking through his matted hair at the person lying next to him, eyes closed and mouth slightly open, still dreaming. It takes him a moment to register the blond hair sticking to the pillow but when he does, he hears his laugh ringing loud and clear in his ears, and he listens to his slow, deep breaths as he replays his name in his head.
Niall.
Harry’s not quite sure what to think, actually, because this is the first time anyone’s ever slept over, and he lets out a yawn while he tries to figure out why Niall decided to stay.
The protocol’s always been clear when it comes to prostitutes and one night stands, at least in Harry’s mind, and he’s not really the type to let anyone stay overnight-hell, he doesn’t even let Zayn stay in his flat after eleven. It’s always just grab-and-go with him because it leaves no room for responsibilities, and he can find a hundred million things better to do than play babysitter because the other person doesn’t know how the whole system works. He decides he can’t let Niall stay because he’s had a long week and he desperately needs his rest, and he’d rather not be disturbed when he tries to go back to sleep again.
He reaches a hand over to wake Niall up but he stops in mid-motion when Niall shifts on the bed and wriggles deeper underneath the covers, and Harry takes a moment to consider before retracting his hand and staring.
Up this close, he traces out Niall’s skin, marked by a few acne scars and freckles but smooth all over, with stubble beginning to outline his jaws. He’s pale, like he’d never been under the sun in his life, and Harry can just see the dark roots on his hair where the dye ends, and he thinks about what Niall would look like with brown hair.
He doesn’t dwell on it for long, though, because the next moment, Niall’s stretching his arms in the air and blinking his eyes open, a yawn pushing out of his throat. He smacks his lips together a few times before rubbing his eyes and rolling on his side, and when his eyes meet Harry’s, he breaks out into a smile.
“Hey,” he says, voice raspy.
Harry smiles back. “Hey.”
“Sorry I slept over,” Niall says, lying on his back and stretching his arms in the air again.
“Don’t worry about it,” Harry says with a laugh, and Niall turns back to him with those bright blue eyes and suddenly, his heart is picking up speed, following the pounding in his head, and he takes a deep breath before pushing himself up on his elbows and cracking his neck, wondering whether the alcohol hadn’t completely left his system just yet.
“How about I cook you breakfast?” Niall offers out of nowhere, and Harry looks at him with furrowed brows, watching his smile getting wider as he pushes himself up to sit against the headboard and sliding the covers halfway down his stomach. “I can cook a little. It’s the least I can do.”
Harry grins and swings his legs down the edge of the bed, gripping the mattress tight as he tries to focus his blurring eyes on his toes.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“No, I insist,” Niall says, and when Harry turns to look at him over his shoulder, he’s already on his feet, scratching his stomach. “Do you have bacon?”
Harry laughs and gets on his feet as well, taking a moment to steady himself.
In normal circumstances, Harry would probably have said no and sent Niall on his merry way because he doesn’t really like it when people overstay their welcome, especially when Harry never offered to let them stay over, but there’s something about Niall that makes him want to reconsider the idea-just this time, at least, because for some reason, he can’t bring himself to say no to Niall’s smile, and once he manages to find the proper footing to stabilize himself, he turns to face Niall.
“Yeah, there’s some in the fridge,” he says, and Niall pumps his fist with a soft “yes!” before grinning at Harry and making his way out the door.
Harry lets his gaze linger after Niall disappears around the corner and scratches his head again, wondering if it’s the right thing to do, but then he hears sizzling from the kitchen and he sees Niall smiling in the back of his mind, and fuck it, he’s hungry as hell and, really, one breakfast can’t possibly hurt.
• part one ♕ part two →