╠ Shared! ╣

Zarry - Like A Virgin

It’s not like it’d be his first time really, Zayn rationalizes to himself, as he stares at his phone from his hotel bed. He’s had sex before. He’s had loads of sex before, he’s had so much sex before. He’s good at it. Well, no one’s ever complained, and some of the girls have said he’s good, even after they’ve come. One girl even told him he was the best she ever had, and he knew it was a lie because it’s always a lie when you’re showing them out of your hotel room, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a nice thing to hear.

It’s on the wave of that thought that he picks up his phone and shoots off a quick want to come to mine? text to Harry. There, he thinks. Casual. Not like he’s been thinking about it for hours, while Harry went off to the bar with some of the crew and the other lads. For weeks, while he watched Harry dance across the stage, watched him soak in the stage lights and reflect them back even brighter. Watched him shake his ass and rolls his hips and bite at his lips, making the crowds yell, then turning to give Zayn a smirk, like he knew it hit him too. For days, since Harry finally pulled him into a corner of the airport before they split up for different flights and kissed him, a quick, almost frantic thing that left Zayn breathless as no one he’d kissed before ever had, before he disappeared with a “think about it”.

He’d call Harry a tease—and he is—but it’s not just that. It’s the realization, maybe, of how long this is something he’s wanted, even if he never noticed it. That maybe he always noticed, in a passive sort of way, Louis’s ass and Liam’s arms and Niall’s back and Harry’s… everything, that he looked at guys and saw them, not just the fact of them. That maybe sometimes he looked at lips lined in stubble and thought, I could kiss that.

There’s a knock at the door. Fuck. Zayn should have changed, probably. Put on tight jeans instead of his sweats, something that made his ass look better, he guesses. Should have taken off his too-big old jumper and put his hair up and made himself into Zayn Malik, not this boy whose lips are already raw with how much he’s been biting at them.

But it’s too late for that. If he keeps Harry waiting he’ll know he’s been fussing. So Zayn gets up, walks to the door, and opens it.

Harry’s standing there—of course—probably in the same clothes he wore to go out, his stupidly skintight jeans and open shirt and his hair pulled back with one of his stupid scarves, and Zayn’s mouth goes a little dry at the sight. The smile he’s wearing doesn’t help, a little thing that’s more a question than anything else.

They stand in silence for a second. Of course, it’s Harry who talks first. It’s always him who talks first. “Well?” he asks, slow like his voice always is, like he’s considering every word. “Thought about it?”

Zayn swallows, but it’s not just about the nerves. “Yeah,” he replies, and steps back to let Harry step in. He closes the door behind him, then leans against it, like he needs the wall to brace himself. This could be the stupidest decision he’s ever made. If he fucks this up… if this goes south it could take the whole band with it. Even if it doesn’t, he could lose the parts of Harry he has now, the cuddling on the bus and stupid banter in the mornings before either of them is really awake and the jokes between just the two of them.

“And?” Harry prompts, when it looks like Zayn’s not going to say anything more. He looks so relaxed, so easy in the middle of the room, like this isn’t the hardest thing he’s ever done. It probably isn’t, actually. Harry’s never made a secret of his sexuality, for all he hasn’t bragged about his sex life since he was seventeen.

But he also looks so fucking good, with hair Zayn wants to try pulling on and full, pink lips Zayn wants to taste again. “Yeah,” he says. Nods to himself. “Yeah.”

Harry smiles then, and it’s a real smile, his big dimpling one, like nothing’s ever pleased him more than Zayn saying yes. But he moves slowly still, because he does know Zayn, knows it takes him a while to make up his mind sometimes. So it’s like he’s moving through water as he comes to Zayn, and Zayn watches him with his fingers digging into his thighs. He can do this. He wants this. He’ll—it’s Harry, he’ll understand if something—if Zayn does something wrong, or doesn’t—