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Zarry - Morning

The smell of pot tickled Harry’s nose minutes prior to prying open his eyes, laying on his front in his California King. A little Dolce & Gabana cologne mixed with the odor was a scent Harry was well adjusted to, and loved. Expectedly, there his boyfriend Zayn laid, directly next to him in the sparsely lit room. The sight of him always made him smile involuntarily, especially in the morning. His dark hair disheveled, scruff along his jawline, one of Harry’s white t-shirts pulled over his boyishly skinny torso.

"Hazza," Zayn greeted him as soon as his half-lidded green eyes met his blue ones. He had a lit joint wedged between his thumb and forefinger. His usual wake and bake routine.

"Morning, Zaynie."

Zayn smirked at his nickname as he took a drag of the joint. Harry couldn’t resist examining the way his fingers held the joint. It wasn’t even meant to be so alluring, but it was. 

"You sleep alright, mate?"

Absentmindedly, Harry pulled himself on top of Zayn, his hands on balancing on either side of him. Glancing down at him, he was smirking, thinking, how’d I get so lucky? And from the satisfied look in Zayn’s eyes, he was thinking the same exact thing.

"Yeah," he answered simply. He leaned in to place a kiss on the boy’s lips. He always slept better with Zayn by his side.

His smirked remained plastered on his face. His eyes ran over his features, then lower to his bare stomach and form-fitting briefs. (“I always did expected you to be a briefs lad.”) His eyes betrayed something so very lustful and a little mischievous. Or a mixture of the two. He recognized it from the all the previous times Zayn craved him.

Harry inhaled the smoke that billowed out from Zayn’s mouth and nose simultaneously, never breaking their gaze. It never took too much more than this to set Harry off. Soon enough, his anxious mouth was enveloping Zayn’s protruding collarbones, and his hips were rolling expertly against the lower half under him so slowly, yet so lustfully, causing Harry to become embarrassingly stiff inside his underwear.

The other boy let out his first moan, and Harry felt his heart twitch smugly. Zayn was always a little harder to please when he was high. A little more controlling, too. Sober, he’d usually come twice: once from Harry solely talking and mouthing sweet spots, and another after Harry quenched his aching need.

Harry’s lips grazed over warm skin, up from his chest to his ear, nibbling the lobe. “Do you need my tongue, Zayn?” he asked, his hips paused, awaiting the projected response. C’mon Haz. Zayn could only manage a nod, though. Now so desperate for some source of friction, he had his hips raised, grinding roughly against Harry. He could feel his hardness rubbing his thigh through his boxers.

Harry flipped Zayn on his stomach with a newfound amount of strength. The boy moaned out, presumably from the friction of colliding with bed. Harry couldn’t help smirking as he felt up the boy’s calves, thighs, and finally up to his surprisingly round ass, kneading it. It was always surprising for how lanky he was.

His fingers curled around the waistband of the red plaid material, tugging the underwear off Zayn’s bum, down his thighs and legs until they were offhandedly tossed to the floor. Harry lowered his head and places his hands flat on either side of his ass, spreading them apart to expose the boy’s beloved, hairy, hole. His tongue ran over his entrance agonizingly slow, causing Zayn to squirm impatiently. He repeated the moved a few times until Zayn was writhing and forcing his bottom against Harry’s mouth to lick like he knew he could. He finally gave in, bringing his lips together to suck the muscle hard, letting go with a wet pop. His tongue licked swift circles around the boy’s hole. “Fuck, Hazza,” he moaned out, his voice muffled from the pillow covering his face. He chuckled darkly into his bum. He knew how much he loved getting eaten out, and Harry knew exactly how to please him.

Harry’s tongue flickered out over his still-clenched hole, trying to get him to open up. And soon he did, Harry’s tongue was prodding the inside of his tight hole, his tongue twirling inside. Zayn’s back was arched, panting, writhing between the bed and Harry’s skilled mouth. 

Harry, fuck me, please Haz. I need you, fuck, he kept telling him so desperately. And it was all going straight to Harry’s cock. Zayn could turn into a slut if he needed to. Begging to be stretched, to feel the pain, and have his orgasm hit him hard like a freight train. 

Harry formerly had to press down firmly on the small of Zayn’s back to fuck him in this position, his stomach flat on the bed like this. He’d squirm too much and try crawl away from his length. Nowadays, Zayn took it so well, Harry was impressed, deriving nothing but pleasure. 

Harry took his hardened length in into his palm, working it to full hardness before pressing the tip teasingly to Zayn entrance. The place reserved for Harry Edward Styles exclusively. He moaned a bit, needing much more than what Zayn was offering. He hated that empty feeling; he needed to be filled. So, Zayn took a chance, arching his back and pushing his hips back onto Harry’s thick cock with a loud moan from the both of them.

"Bold, huh, Bad Boy?" Harry chuckled, pushing deeper into his boyfriend and he can’t wrap his mind around how hot and how good he stills feels after all these months.

"Shut the fuck up, asshat."

Harry leaned forward, his stomach flush against the warm contours of Zayn’s back, but his hips were rocking at a steady rhythm. 

Fuck yeah, Hazza, fuck, fuck me, was all he could tell him.

"You feel so good, Zayn," he moaned into his ear, his hips rolling into him, instead of the standard in and out, the motion Zayn preferred. Zayn answered with a deep whine, his back arched still. "Fuck me hard, Harry, need you."

By command, Harry was driving into him hard, with the constant slap of his thighs and Zayn’s backside colliding. Zayn clenched the sheets under him forcefully, moaning so fucking loud with Harry interspersed. Needless to say, Harry was fucking into him like he needed. All could be proven just by listening—Zayn moans and Harry’s gruff groans that he tries to keep silenced by biting his bottom lip. Additionally, the creaks of the bed springs and the wet, smacking noises of Harry thrusting into Zayn’s wetness. It was all so hot.

"Harder," Zayn commanded.

Harry fucked into him harder, if that was even possible at the time, Harry’s tip nudging that one spot. That delicate, sensitive, spot Zayn always needed him to hit. And just like that, Zayn was moaning uncontrollably. Yes, Harry, fucking yes, fucking fuck the shit out me.

Eventually they both came, hard, with Harry coming inside his hole and Zayn coming all over the sheets, ruining them for today. Harry pulled out of him reluctantly, slumping over next to him where he had awaken. And Zayn still laid on his stomach, trying to catch his breath.

"Come here," Harry beckoned the boy to pillow his chest, and he did, willingly.

They laid there like that for a bit, silent, Harry listening to the rapid pace his lover’s heartbeat.

"You know I love it when you fuck me, Haz."

"I’m the only one who fucks you." He wrapped his arm around his shoulder, holding him closer.

Zayn chuckled satisfactorily. “That’s how it’ll always be.”