(no subject)
Title: One Mile to Every Inch of Your Skin
Pairing: Harry/Zayn
Rating: NC-17
Summary: It’s become this thing, Harry exploring any patch of skin he can get his hands on, Zayn letting him.
Author's Notes: PWP. Not sure where this came from, tbh. Unbetaed. All mistakes are my own.
Disclaimer: Not real, don't own them, etc.
They’re in the middle of an interview when Harry grabs Zayn’s wrist, tugs until he’s got Zayn’s hand resting on his knee. He flips it over, slouches down on the sofa and uses his fingers to trace the lines on Zayn’s palm, like a route on a map he’s trying to memorize.
Zayn closes his hand around Harry’s fingers, raises an eyebrow at him in question, but Harry just blinks at him until he flattens his palm back out and then goes back to what he was doing. He moves from Zayn’s palm down to his wrist, follows a vein up the inside of his arm all the way to his elbow.
It feels nice and Zayn loses track of the interview, can only focus on the slide of Harry’s fingertips along his skin.
Louis leans over from Harry’s other side, points at a faint scar just above Zayn’s elbow. Harry swats Louis’ hand away, but moves to swipe his thumb over the scar.
“How’d you get this?” Harry asks. “I’ve never noticed it before.”
“I got it as a kid.” Zayn shrugs. “Fell out of a tree.”
Harry laughs and his fingers clench around Zayn’s arm. “I’m sorry; I cannot picture you climbing a tree.”
The interviewer is staring at them now and Harry fixes her with a cheeky smile. “Zayn has really lovely skin.”
***
A few days later, they’re in the studio. Zayn’s just finished his turn in the booth and he sits down next to Harry, opens a bottle of water and takes a long pull. His throat feels raw and the cold liquid is soothing, but warm would be better. He wishes he had tea.
“Sounded good,” Harry says, and his voice is as rough as Zayn’s feels.
When Zayn turns to say thanks, Harry is watching his throat.
“When you sing, you get these veins.” Harry points, but he doesn’t touch, his fingers hovering over Zayn’s neck. Zayn takes another sip of water and Harry’s breath hitches.
“Can I?” he asks.
Zayn tilts his head, bares as much skin as he can, and when Harry’s hand comes down its Zayn’s breathing that goes uneven.
Zayn sits still, lets Harry touch. He drags his knuckles down the column of Zayn’s throat, cups his hand over the angle of his jaw, thumbs at the skin behind his ear. Zayn wants to ask what he’s doing, why he’s doing it, but he doesn’t want Harry to stop so he keeps his mouth shut.
Harry leans in, barely touches his lips to the hollow of Zayn’s throat. “Say something.”
“What do you want me to say?” Zayn asks.
Harry laughs and his breath puffs hot on Zayn’s skin.
“Wanted to see if I could feel it,” he explains before moving on to scrape his fingernails along Zayn’s collarbone where it’s sticking out of his shirt.
“Could you?” Zayn asks, curious.
“Yeah,” Harry says. “It tickled.”
***
In the car, Zayn falls asleep with his head in Harry’s lap. When he wakes up, Harry is brushing careful fingers over the thin skin under his eyes.
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Harry whispers, taking his hand away.
“S’okay,” Zayn mumbles. He catches Harry’s hand and brings it back to his face.
Harry smiles, combs his fingers through Zayn’s hair. Zayn hums contentedly, closes his eyes and drifts back to sleep.
***
They’re watching a movie in Zayn’s room, just the two of them. Harry hasn’t touched him all night and Zayn’s been anticipating it.
It’s become this thing, Harry exploring any patch of skin he can get his hands on, Zayn letting him.
It’s driving Zayn mad, though. When Harry isn’t touching him, Zayn wants him to be and when he is, it’s never enough. He feels like a soda can that’s been shaken up, pressure building inside, and he’s not sure how much longer he can last before he explodes.
Zayn is stretched out on the bed and Harry is propped up at the head of it. He can feel Harry’s eyes on him, knows it’s only a matter of time, but he’s tired of waiting.
“Harry,” he says, pitches it just loud enough to be heard over the TV.
Harry’s hand snaps out, palm curling around Zayn’s bare hip where his shirt is rucked up.
“Fuck,” Harry says. “Been wanting to touch you all night.”
Zayn lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He wants to cross a line, wants to drag Harry on top of him and fit their mouths together, but there’s a tiny bubble of doubt in his mind that maybe he’s been reading things wrong.
He sits up, reaches out a hand to run his thumb over Harry’s bottom lip. It’s the first time Zayn’s touched back and Harry’s smiles.
“Finally,” Harry says, and then, “I’m gonna kiss you now.”
Zayn nods and then Harry’s lips are on his, his tongue pushing into Zayn’s mouth.
Harry pulls back, scrapes his teeth over Zayn’s jaw. “I want to touch you everywhere.”
Zayn groans and tangles his fingers in Harry’s hair. “Please.”
He pulls Harry’s mouth back up for another kiss, lets his hands roam over Harry’s back. He can’t imagine being more turned on. It’s been like a week of foreplay and Zayn wants to flip Harry over, press him into the mattress and roll their hips together, but Harry is tugging at the hem of Zayn’s shirt.
“Take this off.”
Zayn complies, pulls it off and tosses it onto the floor. “Yours, too.”
Harry takes a minute to skid his fingers along Zayn’s stomach before tugging his own shirt off and then going to work on Zayn’s trousers.
When they’re both naked, Harry pushes Zayn onto his back, lays him out. His hands are everywhere, skimming over Zayn’s ribs, brushing over his thighs, gripping his ankles. He licks his palm and wraps his hand around Zayn’s dick.
Zayn gasps and bucks up into Harry’s fist, fingers clutching at the sheets beneath him. He isn’t going to last long and he wants Harry to be just as strung out as he is.
“Come here,” he says. “Together.”
He grips Harry’s biceps, rolls him over and grinds their cocks together. Harry groans and meets him thrust for thrust, but it’s not going to be enough, Zayn knows. He readjusts so that they’re both on their sides, tangles their legs together and lines them up, reaches his hand down to stroke them both together. Harry’s hand covers his and sets the pace, speeds things up.
Zayn presses his forehead into Harry’s shoulder, squeezes his eyes closed, but Harry tugs his head back, says, “I want to see.”
Zayn follows Harry’s gaze, watches the slide of their dicks through their hands. Harry says Zayn’s name and that’s all it takes to finish Zayn off. He surges forward and kisses Harry, moves their hands off of his own cock and focuses all of his attention on Harry’s.
It doesn’t take long before Harry’s coming too, spilling warm over their hands. Zayn presses their foreheads together, rubs a soothing hand down Harry’s side.
“Your skin really is lovely,” Harry pants.
Zayn laughs. “Get your fill of it, did you?”
Harry’s smile is wicked when he says, “Not even close.”
And that’s perfectly okay with Zayn.
Pairing: Harry/Zayn
Rating: NC-17
Summary: It’s become this thing, Harry exploring any patch of skin he can get his hands on, Zayn letting him.
Author's Notes: PWP. Not sure where this came from, tbh. Unbetaed. All mistakes are my own.
Disclaimer: Not real, don't own them, etc.
They’re in the middle of an interview when Harry grabs Zayn’s wrist, tugs until he’s got Zayn’s hand resting on his knee. He flips it over, slouches down on the sofa and uses his fingers to trace the lines on Zayn’s palm, like a route on a map he’s trying to memorize.
Zayn closes his hand around Harry’s fingers, raises an eyebrow at him in question, but Harry just blinks at him until he flattens his palm back out and then goes back to what he was doing. He moves from Zayn’s palm down to his wrist, follows a vein up the inside of his arm all the way to his elbow.
It feels nice and Zayn loses track of the interview, can only focus on the slide of Harry’s fingertips along his skin.
Louis leans over from Harry’s other side, points at a faint scar just above Zayn’s elbow. Harry swats Louis’ hand away, but moves to swipe his thumb over the scar.
“How’d you get this?” Harry asks. “I’ve never noticed it before.”
“I got it as a kid.” Zayn shrugs. “Fell out of a tree.”
Harry laughs and his fingers clench around Zayn’s arm. “I’m sorry; I cannot picture you climbing a tree.”
The interviewer is staring at them now and Harry fixes her with a cheeky smile. “Zayn has really lovely skin.”
***
A few days later, they’re in the studio. Zayn’s just finished his turn in the booth and he sits down next to Harry, opens a bottle of water and takes a long pull. His throat feels raw and the cold liquid is soothing, but warm would be better. He wishes he had tea.
“Sounded good,” Harry says, and his voice is as rough as Zayn’s feels.
When Zayn turns to say thanks, Harry is watching his throat.
“When you sing, you get these veins.” Harry points, but he doesn’t touch, his fingers hovering over Zayn’s neck. Zayn takes another sip of water and Harry’s breath hitches.
“Can I?” he asks.
Zayn tilts his head, bares as much skin as he can, and when Harry’s hand comes down its Zayn’s breathing that goes uneven.
Zayn sits still, lets Harry touch. He drags his knuckles down the column of Zayn’s throat, cups his hand over the angle of his jaw, thumbs at the skin behind his ear. Zayn wants to ask what he’s doing, why he’s doing it, but he doesn’t want Harry to stop so he keeps his mouth shut.
Harry leans in, barely touches his lips to the hollow of Zayn’s throat. “Say something.”
“What do you want me to say?” Zayn asks.
Harry laughs and his breath puffs hot on Zayn’s skin.
“Wanted to see if I could feel it,” he explains before moving on to scrape his fingernails along Zayn’s collarbone where it’s sticking out of his shirt.
“Could you?” Zayn asks, curious.
“Yeah,” Harry says. “It tickled.”
***
In the car, Zayn falls asleep with his head in Harry’s lap. When he wakes up, Harry is brushing careful fingers over the thin skin under his eyes.
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Harry whispers, taking his hand away.
“S’okay,” Zayn mumbles. He catches Harry’s hand and brings it back to his face.
Harry smiles, combs his fingers through Zayn’s hair. Zayn hums contentedly, closes his eyes and drifts back to sleep.
***
They’re watching a movie in Zayn’s room, just the two of them. Harry hasn’t touched him all night and Zayn’s been anticipating it.
It’s become this thing, Harry exploring any patch of skin he can get his hands on, Zayn letting him.
It’s driving Zayn mad, though. When Harry isn’t touching him, Zayn wants him to be and when he is, it’s never enough. He feels like a soda can that’s been shaken up, pressure building inside, and he’s not sure how much longer he can last before he explodes.
Zayn is stretched out on the bed and Harry is propped up at the head of it. He can feel Harry’s eyes on him, knows it’s only a matter of time, but he’s tired of waiting.
“Harry,” he says, pitches it just loud enough to be heard over the TV.
Harry’s hand snaps out, palm curling around Zayn’s bare hip where his shirt is rucked up.
“Fuck,” Harry says. “Been wanting to touch you all night.”
Zayn lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He wants to cross a line, wants to drag Harry on top of him and fit their mouths together, but there’s a tiny bubble of doubt in his mind that maybe he’s been reading things wrong.
He sits up, reaches out a hand to run his thumb over Harry’s bottom lip. It’s the first time Zayn’s touched back and Harry’s smiles.
“Finally,” Harry says, and then, “I’m gonna kiss you now.”
Zayn nods and then Harry’s lips are on his, his tongue pushing into Zayn’s mouth.
Harry pulls back, scrapes his teeth over Zayn’s jaw. “I want to touch you everywhere.”
Zayn groans and tangles his fingers in Harry’s hair. “Please.”
He pulls Harry’s mouth back up for another kiss, lets his hands roam over Harry’s back. He can’t imagine being more turned on. It’s been like a week of foreplay and Zayn wants to flip Harry over, press him into the mattress and roll their hips together, but Harry is tugging at the hem of Zayn’s shirt.
“Take this off.”
Zayn complies, pulls it off and tosses it onto the floor. “Yours, too.”
Harry takes a minute to skid his fingers along Zayn’s stomach before tugging his own shirt off and then going to work on Zayn’s trousers.
When they’re both naked, Harry pushes Zayn onto his back, lays him out. His hands are everywhere, skimming over Zayn’s ribs, brushing over his thighs, gripping his ankles. He licks his palm and wraps his hand around Zayn’s dick.
Zayn gasps and bucks up into Harry’s fist, fingers clutching at the sheets beneath him. He isn’t going to last long and he wants Harry to be just as strung out as he is.
“Come here,” he says. “Together.”
He grips Harry’s biceps, rolls him over and grinds their cocks together. Harry groans and meets him thrust for thrust, but it’s not going to be enough, Zayn knows. He readjusts so that they’re both on their sides, tangles their legs together and lines them up, reaches his hand down to stroke them both together. Harry’s hand covers his and sets the pace, speeds things up.
Zayn presses his forehead into Harry’s shoulder, squeezes his eyes closed, but Harry tugs his head back, says, “I want to see.”
Zayn follows Harry’s gaze, watches the slide of their dicks through their hands. Harry says Zayn’s name and that’s all it takes to finish Zayn off. He surges forward and kisses Harry, moves their hands off of his own cock and focuses all of his attention on Harry’s.
It doesn’t take long before Harry’s coming too, spilling warm over their hands. Zayn presses their foreheads together, rubs a soothing hand down Harry’s side.
“Your skin really is lovely,” Harry pants.
Zayn laughs. “Get your fill of it, did you?”
Harry’s smile is wicked when he says, “Not even close.”
And that’s perfectly okay with Zayn.