Zarry - Oneshots

take me all the way

Ziall

Zayn finds it by accident, honest. Never in a million years would he ever set out to find his friend's box of kinks. Especially when that friend is also his bandmate, someone he has to work with.

He'd been looking for a pair of boots to borrow from Harry, an old pair he hadn't worn in a long time, told Zayn he could keep them if he wanted. All Zayn had to do was look through Harry's closet -- and good luck with that, since it's not been organized in ages.

Zayn didn't see the boots on any of the shelves, so he'd set about looking through the shoe boxes lining the wall. Harry's got too many pairs of shoes, he realizes belatedly. He huffs as he shoves another box aside. Still haven't found them yet. He's about to just give up, maybe come back another day to try again to find them, but he figures he can look through one more box.

Zayn drags a random box over to where he's sat himself in the middle of the closet floor. It feels heavier than the others, and he thinks he hears things rattling around inside. He frowns.

When he opens it, his cheeks immediately fill with color. His brain is screaming at him to put the lid back on, put the box away, stop looking at it, leave! But all he can do is stare dumbly at the contents inside. There are multiple dildos in varying sizes and colors, which don't surprise Zayn (don't knock it till you try it, his mind unhelpfully supplies), butt plugs, handcuffs, silky ropes, and most interestingly of all, a riding crop. His mind short-circuits, screeching to a halt, at the sight of it. Without his permission, his hand reaches inside the box and pulls out the riding crop.

Harry chooses that moment to pop his head in, saying, "Did you find..." and then trailing off when he sees what's in Zayn's hand. Red blooms across Harry's face. He clears his throat. "Where... Why have you got that out?"

Zayn swallows, staring at Harry with what he's sure is a gaping expression. He looks back down at the riding crop in his hand. "I--" he starts, glancing back up to Harry. His grip tightens. "I was looking for the boots," he finishes lamely, voice rough.

"That's not my boots," Harry points out. He's not quite meeting Zayn's eyes, his gaze flitting around his closet and back to the riding crop that Zayn is still holding for some stupid reason.

"How do you... I mean, who--" Zayn says, before cutting himself off. That's certainly none of his business, even if the curiosity is killing him. "Never mind, that's not -- don't answer that. I'm sorry."

Harry shuffles a bit further in, right in front of Zayn. He slowly falls to his knees, sits back on his heels, and reaches for the crop. Zayn watches dumbly as Harry twists it in his hand, fingers playing with the soft leather, biting his lip.

"I like..." Harry begins, a fresh wave of red washing over his face. Zayn wants to tell him he doesn't have to say anything, really, but his mouth won't move. "It feels good," Harry gets out, voice raspy. "I like using it on my cock... and my balls. Sometimes on my thighs."

Zayn can hear and feel his heart thundering in his chest. He's suddenly hard as a rock, fists clenched at his sides.

Harry looks up from beneath his lashes. "It's... the pain," he explains. "I don't like it too hard, but enough to feel it."

Zayn reaches out to take the crop, and Harry willingly lets go of it, swallowing roughly as he watches Zayn's hands. Harry shuffles that much closer to Zayn, his breathing picking up.

"Will you -- Zayn, will you use it on me?"

Zayn's head snaps up to look into Harry's eyes, thinking that, surely, he's joking. But there's only sincerity, along with eagerness and a hint of fear. Fear, probably because Harry doesn't want Zayn to laugh at him, to tell him he's not into it. But Zayn physically can't move away from Harry or the riding crop. He doesn't want to.