The Man Who Sold the World (Zarry AU)

Chapter 8

They remember to lock up which is a miracle given the state they’re in, Harry topless, his black t-shirt tucked into the back pocket of his jeans as they kiss walk back to the motel. They’re not even looking where they’re going, stepping on one another’s toes as they somehow navigate through the car park to Zayn’s door.

‘Hurry up,’ Harry whines, biting the back of Zayn’s neck as he struggles to get the door open. ‘I need you in me so bad.’ He nuzzles him this time as he tries to slip his hand down the front of Zayn’s jeans. Zayn almost drops the keys, but somehow manages to get the door open, then Harry’s mouth is on his again, his tongue slipping over his as they stumble towards the bed. When they get to it, Zayn peels his mouth away and pushes Harry onto it. He lands with a bounce, but when he recovers, his hands go to the front of Zayn’s jeans.

Zayn stops him, taking another step back. ‘What do you want, Harry? Tell me.’

‘You.’

‘Tell me.’ Zayn puts his hand in Harry’s hair and tugs his head back so Harry looks at him, not his crotch, and Harry gasps, delighted.

‘You.’ Zayn pulls his hair a little harder this time. Harry grins. ‘Your cock.’

‘Yeah?’

‘In my mouth.’

‘Yeah? Did you like getting your mouth fucked?’

Harry nods.

‘Want me to fuck your ass like that?’

When Harry nods again, he looks up at him, all big eyes and pink cheeks.

‘No,’ Zayn says nonchalantly, even though he feels anything but.

Harry blinks at him when Zayn lets go of his hair. ‘What?’

He can feel Harry watching him as he walks across to the armchair in the corner by the window. Before he sits down, he adjusts it so it’s facing the mirror, takes his phone out of his back pocket and sets it down neatly on the table then does the same with his wallet and his cigarettes. When they’re in a neat row, he hears Harry say, ‘But Zayn.’

‘If you want it,’ Zayn tells him, turning to sit down. ‘Come and get it.’

Harry’s on his feet before Zayn can light a cigarette.

‘Take your clothes off,’ Zayn tells him, taking a drag then blowing smoke rings into the space between them. Harry sticks his finger through each one as he walks towards him, and when he’s in front of him, he makes a show of getting undressed slowly. Not that he has much to take off, but there’s enough to make Zayn’s dick stir in his jeans again.

When he’s done, he stands proudly in front of Zayn and rightly so. Even with his awful tattoos that Zayn has laughed at so many times, he’s beautiful, his skin still pink and sticky and his nipples tightening under the heat of Zayn’s gaze. But then he’s always been kind of partial to his body, even if he doesn’t quite understand it, Harry, always the contradiction, a maddening mix of lines and curves, from his protruding collarbones to the swell of his hips.

Harry’s stroking his cock but the look Zayn gives him is enough to make him stop as Zayn spreads his legs points to the floor. He doesn’t need too say it – Get on your knees – because Harry already is, but he likes the way it sounds, likes how firm his voice is. ‘What you waiting for?’ he asks when Harry kneels between his legs and looks up at him, waiting for his next instruction. Harry doesn’t have to be told twice, but when he peels Zayn’s jeans open and takes his cock in his hand, he doesn’t start going at it, like Zayn thought he would, he takes his time, sucking him slowly – almost lovingly – while Zayn smokes his cigarette.