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Zarry - Make the most of the night

Harry has been particularly crazy tonight and it’s driving Zayn crazy. They’re at a club, in a roped off section for the boys and Harry keeps bumping into him, rubbing against his hip in a way that’s completely distracting. He presses his mouth against Zayn’s neck and his lips are sticky from the drinks he’s been downing all night and he just laughs when Zayn pushes him away, making a face as he wipes his neck.

“What’s gotten into you tonight?” Zayn asks, putting his hands low on Harry's hips and trying to reel him in.

“You, hopefully,” he says, grinning like the minx he really is.

The way he’s staring at Zayn, eyes wide and pupils a little blown, cheeks red, lips pink and slick from how he’s been chewing on them all night makes heat stir in Zayn’s stomach. He’s just so eager for it and it makes Zayneager, too.

Zayn nods. “Yeah, okay,” he says, grabbing Harry's hand and dragging him over to Paul. He ignores the grin that’s only getting wider on Harry's face because it’s not polite to spank someone in public. “Can we get a car?” he asks as soon as he gets to Paul’s side.

Paul eyes them both, but he’s taking his phone out while he shakes his head. “Don’t get in trouble.”

“’Course not,” Harry tells him, wrapping his arms around Zayn’s waist and wiggling impatiently against his back. “We would never.”

That just makes Paul sigh and look like he regrets every life decision he’s ever made, but they’re used to that by this point. “Behave,” he says pointedly when he gets the notification that the car is ready. “No cameras.”

One time and Zayn will never hear the end of it. “None at all,” he says.

Harry pouts but it’s for show. He’s too greedy to want to share what they do with anyone else. “C’mon, c’mon,” he grumbles, tugging on Zayn’s arm to the front of the club. He raises two fingers when Louis wolf-whistles, which only makes him laugh harder, but it’s the thought that count.

“We’ll just stay here a little longer then, won’t we lads?” Louis asks, nudging Liam with his elbow and wrapping his other arm around Niall’s neck. “Give ‘em a little privacy.”

It’s a lie—they all know that before the afterglow is gone, Louis, Liam and Niall will probably be invading their hotel room, demanding cuddles and Pay Per View movies.

“Have fun,” Niall says. He’s leering, but in a good-natured sort of way.

Zayn waves them off and follows Harry's insistent pull to the car waiting for them. There are a few paps outside and the flashes go off as soon as the door is open, but Zayn ignores them, focuses on the way Harry's fingers are tight enough around his wrist to leave bruises. They’ll definitely get in trouble for that, but Zayn doesn’t care.

If there’s one perk to being in a worldwide sensational boy band, it’s the private car service. The drivers never care what their passengers do as long as no one is actively dying. Plus, the windows are always tinted—probably illegally—dark enough to ruin any photos the paparazzi try to take.

This particular driver already knows what hotel they’re going to, so he just nods at them, rolls up the divide between the front and back sections of the car—which is ridiculous, they’re not in a limousine or anything, why is there a partition—and heads off.

The moment they move away from the curb, Harry is sliding into Zayn’s lap, arms wrapped around his neck. He’s still flushed and probably drunk enough that he won’t feel great in the morning. Zayn is thankful for the discretion of car service drivers in moments like this--when Harry is doing something that could get them on the front page of every newspaper in town.