“You going camping, mate?”
Zayn’s focus is broken with Harry’s low voice and he freezes. He glances down at his sweatpants where sure enough, his hard-on is raising the fabric into a tent shape. And leaving little to the imagination.
“Perrie sent me some, uh, pictures,” Zayn replies, clearing his throat.
“What a good girlfriend she is,” Harry smirks, idly nibbling his bottom lip.
“Guess I should sort this out before the show, don’t need thousands of girls tweeting a picture of that,” Zayn (uncomfortably) climbs out of his bunk and begins to walk to the bathroom.
“I could help you with that,” Harry grabs Zayn’s shoulder and Zayn feels chills reverbiate down his spine.
All right, truth was Zayn was seriously attracted to Harry. It was evident on stage, what with the candy thong, close whispers, ass grabbing…but that was all. There was nothing more to it. Zayn didn’t want to exactly be with him, he was happy with Perrie, but that doesn’t mean he’d never considered, well, the things Harry could do with those hands…those lips.
“I mean, the show is soon and I heard,” Harry’s more nervous now, his cheeks are flushed. “Actually I know it’s much easier and faster to get off from…other people.”
“Right,” Zayn agrees, masking his excitement because wow what luck that he and Harry were the only two who slept on the bus that night and wow what luck the other lads were in the arena already. “Just helping a friend out.”
“C’mere then,” Harry is more confident now that he knows Zayn wants it. Harry’s always thought Zayn was attractive (have you seen him?) and he’d always made it a tad obvious. He didn’t particularly have feelings for Zayn in that way, but he couldn’t deny the intense urge he’d always had to want do to things to him. Those sculpted cheekbones, long eyelashes, pure toffee skin tagged with dark ink.
“You know, I can get you off, too, you know,” Zayn’s uncomfortably hard at this point as he shrugs off his Henley tee.
“Oh, can you?” Harry has a devilish grin and he tugs down Zayn’s sweatpants.
“You know I could, easy,” Zayn smirks back and shit, Harry slides off his shirt (wouldn’t want to get it dirty, he says, I have to wear it on stage) and Zayn is biting his lip so hard he might draw blood. “But me first.”
Harry raises an eyebrow and kneels in front of Zayn who’s only sporting a thin pair of boxers at this point. They’d all seen each other naked dozens of times but never like this.
Without another word, Harry’s got the waistband of Zayn’s boxers clenched between his teeth (where did he learn that?) and he’s tugging them down Zayn’s slim legs.
“Fuck, just hurry it up, Harry,” Zayn whines, seeing Harry use his teeth (and having his lips so close to where Zayn needed them most wasn’t fucking helping).
“Impatient,” Harry tsks, locking his bright green eyes on Zayn’s hazel ones. “Hands or lips.”
“Both,” Zayn answers automatically and he feels his cheeks flush. Damn it.
Harry doesn’t say another word, his pink tongue is licking stripes up the underside of Zayn’s shaft and wow does this feel good. Zayn’s gripping handfuls of Harry’s thick curly hair in his palms and Harry’s just barely begun but Zayn can feel himself slipping.
“Tell me how you want it,” Harry pulls away a little bit and Zayn groans from the loss of contact. “Since I’m a friend helping a friend I want to be the best I can.”
