Work Text:
“Pretty sure he puked in the bathroom right before he went on,” Jeff says in his ear, close enough that no one else will hear him. “It takes a lot to make Harry nervous these days, I’m impressed.”
He bumps Fionn’s shoulder, and it’s friendly, but Fionn still feels weird about it. The idea that he can make Harry nervous; Harry who’s out there with his hair shining under the stage lights and his arms open wide, screaming to the audience about having their baby, his body bouncing across the stage like he can’t contain himself.
“Sorry,” Fionn mutters, and Jeff slings an arm around his shoulders.
“Don’t be sorry,” he says, “Haven’t seen him light up around someone like he does around you in ages. And him puking gives me one more thing to embarrass him with, so it’s win-win.”
Fionn bites down on a grin as Harry gets tangled up in his mic cord.
“Jesus,” Jeff says under his breath, “it’ll be a miracle if we make it to the end of this tour without a trip to the hospital.”
-
It’s all a blur, really, and then Harry’s rushing backstage, sweaty and grinning so wide it looks like it hurts. He makes a beeline for Fionn, pushes him back up against the nearest wall and buries his face in Fionn’s neck.
“Heard you were nervous,” Fionn says, winding his fingers through the damp hair at the nape of Harry’s neck.
“Who told you that,” Harry mumbles against the skin of his neck, lips wet and insistent already.
“Can’t reveal my sources, sorry.”
Harry bites down in retaliation, and Fionn can feel the hard press of Harry’s dick against his thigh.
“Pretty sure I can get it out of you,” Harry says, kissing his way up to Fionn’s ear and biting down gently on the lobe.
Fionn’s intensely aware that they’re still relatively in public, Harry’s band wandering in and out, Jeff on the phone with someone in the corner. He looks stressed, Fionn registers absently, maybe about the high likelihood of Harry injuring himself with his mic cord before the tour’s over.
“Not here,” Fionn pants, and he winces a little at how desperate he sounds.
It’s been a week, though. A full seven days since he’s had Harry’s hands on him, and it’s intoxicating having Harry within reach again.
“I know a place,” Harry says, pressing a gentle kiss in the general area of Fionn’s mole, letting his lips rest against the skin for a second, kiss warm and familiar.
“Course you do,” Fionn says, swaying forward again to cover Harry’s mouth with his own.
-
It’s a glorified closet of a toilet, as it turns out.
“Harry,” Fionn starts, “are you serious?”
Harry just smirks at him as he shuts the door behind them and leans back against it, cocks his hips toward Fionn so he can’t miss the hard line of his cock beneath the fabric.
“We’re in a toilet, and you’ve got glittery trousers on,” Fionn says, because the levels of absurdity are mounting enough that he feels like he needs to state it out loud.
“We are,” Harry says, voice rough, “and I am. You’d look good in a glittery trouser, I think.”
The most absurd thing, Fionn thinks, is how obscene Harry’s cock looks in them. It’s like he did this on purpose, wore a pair that would bring extra attention to it, knowing Fionn would be waiting backstage. Fionn wouldn’t put it past him.
“Doubtful,” he says, caging Harry in, his hands on either side of his head against the door.
Fionn has to lean up a little bit to kiss him, thanks to Harry’s heeled boots, but it’s thrilling, feeling Harry melt into him, hips already twitching up, up, up, like he can’t help himself.
“Does it get you off,” Fionn says into his mouth.
He opens his eyes, but Harry’s too close for Fionn to see him clearly, just a blurry mess with green eyes blinking back at him.
“What?”
Harry’s voice is even rougher than before, and he sounds slow and confused, like Fionn’s just woken him from a deep sleep.
“Y’know,” Fionn says, pausing to lick into Harry’s mouth again, “the crowd. All those people screaming your name.”
“Mmmph,” Harry mumbles against his lips, chasing them when Fionn tries to pull back.
Fionn grinds his hips against Harry’s and moans into his mouth, because now that he’s got Harry pinned, it’s impossible not to.
“Didn’t answer my question.”
Fionn pulls back but keeps their hips pressed together, the heat of Harry’s cock bleeding through the fabric.
“You screaming my name gets me off,” he says, all slow blink and sweaty curls, his lips red and shiny from Fionn’s teeth.
“Pretty sure you were already halfway there by the time you got off stage,” Fionn says, leaning back in so he can suck a bruise into the salty skin of Harry’s neck.
He can feel Harry’s pulse pick up, and his dick actually twitches in his trousers against Fionn.
“Maybe I was just thinking about you watching,” Harry whispers, his voice all gravel and his fingers digging into Fionn’s hips, finding their place again after too many days away from Fionn.
It might not be true, Fionn knows, because Harry’s a sucker for attention whether he likes to admit it or not, but it’s still enough to make him drop to his knees and nose along the bulge of Harry’s cock.
“Fuck, Fionn, missed this,” Harry groans, tilting his hips forward and twining one hand through Fionn’s hair.
He’d never liked that before Harry. Maybe it was just that he’d never been comfortable enough with anyone to let them have any kind of control, but he can’t imagine wanting it with anyone else.
“Missed it too,” Fionn says, pressing his face against Harry’s thigh for a second, just to collect himself, “missed all of this. You. And your dick, I guess.”
Harry huffs out a laugh and nudges his hips forward, just a little.
“It missed you, too.”
It takes Fionn a second to figure out the button Harry’s pants, especially with the way Harry keeps moving, like he can’t help it, can’t stay still under Fionn’s hands.
Harry’s got no pants on under the trousers.
“Jesus, Harry,” Fionn says, reaching out to wrap his hand around the base of Harry’s cock, marveling at how hot it is to the touch, the way it jumps under his fingers, even though he’s hardly doing anything.
“‘S nice and breezy, y’know, it gets a bit warm on stage,” he pants, and when Fionn looks up at him, he’s got his eyes squeezed shut and he’s biting his lip hard, like he’s already too close to coming.
“You’re a fucking tease, mate,” Fionn says before sucking the head of Harry’s cock into his mouth.
“Oh fuck,” Harry groans, his hips twitching forward again before Fionn pins them down, “fuck, ‘m not a tease, ‘m right here.”
Fionn doesn’t bother to respond, just digs his fingernails into the soft skin of Harry’s hips and swallows him down, tries not to gag when the head of Harry’s dick hits the back of his throat. It’s overwhelming, the smell of Harry, simultaneously clean and sweaty, and the way Fionn feels totally surrounded, even though he’s in control, Harry’s hips twitching underneath his hands and his cock heavy on Fionn’s tongue. He pulls off for a second and works his hand on Harry’s spit-slick cock, watches the precome beading at the slit.
“Fionn,” Harry grinds out, and he sounds strangled and a bit high pitched, almost like--
Harry comes on his face, hips jerking forward, and Fionn lets go of him in surprise, the last of it hitting his chin.
“Fuck, ‘m sorry, fuck, you’re just--everything.”
Fionn blinks. The floor’s starting to hurt his knees, but he can’t bring himself to move.
“Should I be flattered?” he asks after a second, looking up at Harry and trying not to think about how hard he is, how he can feel Harry’s come on his cheek and lips and chin, and how Harry’s band and Jeff are all milling around just on the other side of the door.
“Here, lemme, hang on,” Harry says, tucking himself back in and zipping up his trousers. All of it is horribly obscene, stuff Fionn wouldn’t even have thought to daydream about.
Fionn crawls over to lean against the door when Harry goes, and watches him wash his hands and wet a few paper towels before turning back and kneeling down next to Fionn. He’s still at least half hard, Fionn can tell, and it makes him even more aware of the fact that he hasn’t come yet himself.
“Sorry,” Harry whispers, gently wiping Fionn’s face.
It’s strangely sweet, considering Fionn’s just sucked him off and let Harry come on his face, however accidentally.
Harry pulls him in after a second and licks the come off of his lips, and it’s the dirtiest thing Fionn’s ever done, Harry’s lips on his and the taste of Harry still on his tongue, Harry licking his way into Fionn’s mouth like he wants to taste himself. He’s even sweatier than he was when he first got offstage, radiating heat even more than he usually does, but Fionn doesn’t care, just presses himself forward, feels Harry’s sweat starting to make Fionn’s own shirt stick to his chest.
“Wanna blow you in the car,” Harry mumbles against his lips, and Fionn shudders against him even though he knows it’s not the best idea. He still wants it, and it has been a week, and Harry’s leaving again after this. He owes Fionn, too, for coming on his face like that, however accidentally it was.
“Or,” Fionn says, pulling back just enough so that Harry’s face comes back into focus, his cheeks red and sweat shining on his forehead, “You could fuck me in the bath. You could use one,” he finishes.
Harry huffs out a quiet laugh, but Fionn can tell he likes the idea because of the way his pupils start to dilate, and he bites at his bottom lip, red and shiny.
“Yeah,” he breathes, “yeah, okay, we can do that. Can’t promise I’ll be able to keep my hands to myself in the car, though.”
He rucks up the hem of Fionn’s shirt a little, just enough that he can slide his big hands around to the small of Fionn’s back. He presses Fionn forward gently, pulls him clumsily into his lap so Fionn can feel how he’s already on his way to hard again.
“Car,” Fionn says. “Now.”
-
Predictably, Harry drags Fionn back into his lap the second they’re in the car. The partition’s up, but Fionn doesn’t doubt the driver knows exactly what’s going on. He can’t really find the room to be embarrassed about it though, not with the way the hard line of Harry’s cock feels pressed up against his ass, Harry slumped down in the seat. Fionn can’t help the little groans that keep escaping his mouth when Harry’s lightly scraping his fingers down his back. It feels like it’s a million degrees inside the car, and Fionn wants to climb inside Harry.
“‘M so wet,” Harry pants against his mouth, and Fionn groans louder and drops his head to rest against Harry’s, sweaty forehead to sweaty forehead.
All Fionn can hear is the rush of blood in his ears and their heavy breathing.
“Jesus, Harry, you can’t just say things like that,” Fionn says, and Harry blinks up at him slowly, lips swollen.
“‘S true. Feels good,” he says, canting his hips up and letting his eyes flutter shut again.
Fionn can feel his own cock pressing up against his zip, every move of Harry’s hips making the fabric rub against his skin just right. Harry reaches down and rubs at the head of Fionn’s cock through his pants, just the right amount of slick, delicious pressure, and Fionn jerks forward into his hand and comes before he fully realizes what’s happening, his whole body shaking and inching its way forward, into the palm of Harry’s hand and toward the warmth of his body.
He lets himself lean down so he can rest his forehead against Harry’s shoulder, one of Harry’s hands still palming his cock, and the other digging into his hip.
“I hate you,” he mumbles into the silky fabric of Harry’s shirt, “hate you.”
Harry’s smirking when he lifts his head up again.
“Now I’m not the only one who needs a bath, am I?”