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Sexuality was something Niall never really thought about before. He'd always just assumed that one day, he'd get married to some nice girl from down the street and have kids and a dog and a middle-class job and call it a life. Of course, half of that was thrown out by all the twists of fate that occurred after he decided to audition for the X-Factor, but his sexuality wasn't included in that.
Except—well, maybe that's not even true when he thinks about it. Because if it wasn't for the X-Factor, he never would've met Harry. And if he'd never met Harry, maybe he never would've given which way he swings a moment of thought. But because of the X-Factor and because of One Direction and because of one Harry Edward Styles, now Niall has to think about that sort of thing.
He'd almost written that first wank off entirely as something that just happened and didn't mean anything. They hadn't even kissed after all, Harry just jerked him off and even that wasn't some romantic gesture (unless being called a twat is romantic). They're two young boys on tour, stuck with nothing but each other for long periods of time and drowning in a schedule so overcrowded that having the time to get a wank in at all is a rare blessing. Right?
But then the next time, there was kissing and then the wanking turned into blowjobs and last night—
Well, Niall's dealing with sore muscles that he didn't even know could be sore. And he's pretty certain that, somewhere in between that first kiss and his muffled moans into Harry's mouth last night as they shagged for the first time, he stopped being straight. Strictly speaking, that is. He frowns at his catered lunch, wiggling a limp piece of lettuce with the end of his fork. He supposes that even for normal people who aren't spending their days crammed with interviews and their nights singing to tens of thousands of people, this is a normal age for people to start wondering about who they fancy but he still wasn't expecting it.
Niall always figured that the way his heart would skip, or how he'd smile on his own when Harry touched him, like his mouth was moving before his brain had even figured out why, was just because he was generally so happy with everything going on in his life. And Harry's always been so charming, it's not like it's weird for Niall to get hypnotized by watching him talk and tease. And there's nothing odd about the kind of chemistry he and Harry have because friends can have chemistry that makes it feel like you're two halves of the same puzzle too, right? Maybe this is all just him trying to find excuses and other reasons for what he feels for Harry now that they're doing...something. Excuses are easier than sitting around and wondering if every look and touch that's lingered since they met has actually meant something. For him or for Harry. And maybe the thought that Harry's been interested in him for a while is…a lot to handle because maybe it means that Niall's been interested before he even knew he was. And there's nobody that he can talk to about it either. As wild as it still is to think about, he's a celebrity now and the slightest story could go up in a tower of tabloid flames. Their management team has been forcing the importance of perfection down their throats since day one, after all.
Even with the other boys, what's he supposed to do? None of them know anything about his and Harry's new nighttime hobby, so he'd be sitting down with them to do a casual "Oi, do you think enjoying giving your best friend a blowjob makes you gay? No reason, just asking, just been wondering." Ha. Sure, he tends to dodge the late-night questions about that sort of thing on the bus, but that's just because he...well, he really hadn't thought about it enough to have an answer. He likes who he likes, which he'd always just assumed was girls but now might be girls and Harry. He hasn't even discussed any of this with Harry either, which might be even more of an issue, especially after what they did last night.
Them hooking up just seems to…happen now whenever they're in a hotel room. They used to order room service food and chat about things like friends first before Harry laid out some shitty pick-up line, but now it seems like the door is shut and they're on each other like starving fucking animals. All grabby hands and desperate mouths, hips clashing against each other for the slightest taste of sweet friction, whispered pleas and growled promises. And then last night, Niall had straight up asked Harry to fuck him, and Harry had obliged and outside of the very new soreness, Niall's very much aware that he's never come that hard in his bloody life. And even with the soreness, Niall had woken up thinking about how much he wanted to do it again, lose himself in the bliss of having Harry all over him and inside him, the rhythm of their hips moving together, the push pull between them that left him dizzy and breathless.
Niall clenches his jaw, stares resolutely at his lunch, and thinks about cold, limp lettuce until his erection dies down.
"I didn't think the grilled cheese was great, but surely it wasn't that bad, Ni," the source of Niall's troubles (both mental and prick) steps into the dressing room, all effortless charm and crooked smile.
"Salad's limp," Niall mumbles, hoping his thoughts aren't currently blaring on some invisible-to-him sign above his head. Harry raises an eyebrow, flopping down next to him on the generic, uncomfortable sofa. He stretches his lanky arms above his head and Niall studiously inspects the logo on the Styrofoam food container.
"Where are we?" Harry asks, kicking his feet onto the generic, unmemorable coffee table. Niall wonders if any of the furniture in dressing rooms is meant to make an impression on people or if it's all purposely bland and easy to replace. One infinite sofa, identical to the last that was set on fire by a rock band or destroyed by some pop star's yappy dog, none of them worth the memory.
Clearly all this confusion is fucking with his brain.
Niall clears his throat, "Uh, Perth, right?" They've been in Australia for over 2 weeks doing press, radio stuff, and a handful of shows and he's only just getting over the time change compared to the US.
"Perth," Harry muses, his mouth turning the word into something positively filthy. Niall takes another bite of his rapidly cooling grilled cheese, praying that Harry doesn't say or do something to make him choke. He hopes that One Direction's never going to be a four piece, but especially not due to him choking to death on a bloody mediocre sandwich. "This has been a wild year, hasn't it?" Harry adds, stretching his arm out towards Niall on the back of the sofa, far enough to be casual if anyone walked in, but close enough to make Niall sweat.
"S'pose you could say that," he croaks, reaching for his water bottle, "but I've been thinking that about the past 2 years really."
"Yeah, it's been something, hasn't it?" Niall's spent the last two years in the constant presence of his bandmates to the point where he can hear their voices in his sleep, but Harry's still takes him by surprise just a little every time. Or perhaps it's just the fact that, if he lets himself believe it, the way Harry talks to him has changed lately. It's warmer, with some undercurrent of…something laced in the low notes that Niall almost thinks is for him and him alone.
Or he's crazy, which currently seems like an equally valid option.
Niall feels Harry's finger idly tracing his shoulder and opens his mouth like he's going to blurt out something entirely too stupid to be said aloud, much less a jumbled thought in his brain. But then footsteps near, accompanied by the sound of a bouncing football, and Harry's hand is gone, leaving nothing but a lingering tingle in his wake.
"Come on you two, we're going to have ourselves a little footie game," Louis says, poking his head into the dressing room.
"We'll be there in a minute," Harry replies, glancing back at Niall.
"Don't take too long, for fuck's sake. You know we don't have all day," Louis leaves, calling out to the echo of Liam's voice down the hall.
Harry lets out a long sigh, "Well, might as well go get in a round or two to limber up before the show." He stands, cracking his back and Niall can't quite manage to tear his eyes away from the sliver of tanned skin flickering into his view from under the hem of Harry's t-shirt.
"Might as well," Niall agrees for lack of something else to say.
"I'll see you out there," Harry heads for the door, pausing only briefly to toss a featherlight, "Switched rooms with Liam tonight, so it's you and me!" over his shoulder just as Niall's stuffing half the grilled cheese in his mouth.
One Direction gets a little closer to that dreaded foursome status.
///
Niall stumbles into the hotel room, his back aching more than usual as he drops his backpack onto the floor next to his suitcase. Harry disappeared into Zayn's room as soon as they'd reached their floor, the two arguing over something on TV in the lounge after the show, and Niall was left with his overstuffed suitcase and an odd nervous ache in his chest. Harry said he switched rooms with Liam tonight—evidenced by the fact that Liam went into the same room as Zayn and Harry—so Niall has no reason to believe that Harry won't still show up. It shouldn't even bother him if Harry doesn't come back.
But it does, of course, because Niall's losing his goddamn mind and thinking too much.
He sighs, glancing at his sweaty reflection in the polished mirror on the wall. He drags his suitcase over to the bed closest to the window, tipping it on its side and unzipping it with a muted rumble. He grabs the first set of clean lounge clothes he sees and his toiletry bag before trudging into the bathroom. He turns the shower on, listening to the promise of warm water to rinse the sweat and stage makeup off, and lets out a long, slow breath. The crowd was amazing tonight, which was a plus, but now the bathroom is almost too silent in comparison. He wonders if he’ll ever get used to the silence after the shows, kind of hopes that he doesn’t if he’s being honest.
He strips out of his clothes and steps underneath the warm spray of water falling like rain from the polished chrome showerhead. It only takes a minute or two to scrub at his face enough to get most of the makeup off—an action he still isn't used to—and then he starts actually enjoying the shower. The fact that he could stand under water this hot for probably half an hour or more and still have hot water to spare is a bloody delight compared to home, where on winter mornings it was a race to wash everything without wasting all the hot water for his dad.
Niall's halfway through rinsing his hair when the shower curtain opens. "Sorry I'm late," Harry drawls as Niall jumps and grabs the metal bar in the shower to stop from falling, "Hope you don't mind if I jump in."
"Little too late for me to protest, isn't it?" Niall wheezes, turning to face Harry.
"Well, you didn't wait for me."
"I had no clue when or if you were gonna show up!" Niall retorts, pushing his wet hair out of his face, "No telling how long you and Zayn can argue when you're getting into it."
Harry looks at him, his green eyes almost curious, "What would you have done if I hadn't shown up?"
Niall blinks, caught off guard by the question for a moment, "I—I dunno, would've had an early night probably." Probably including at least an attempt at getting off alone followed by some more tortured thinking about what the hell’s going on between him and Harry, but he doesn't want to mention that. "Would've been the way it used to be before…" he trails off, clearing his throat and avoiding Harry's gaze. Maybe the reason why he's increasingly tangled up in his own thoughts is because they've never really talked about what they're doing now.
"Before," Harry repeats, more of a confirmation than a question.
"Yeah," Niall reaches for the body wash, desperate to have something to keep his hands busy that doesn't involve Harry's dripping body inches away. But Harry intercepts his hand, using it to tug Niall against his chest.
Niall doesn't get the chance to react before Harry's full, soft lips are pressed against his, muffling whatever noise he would've made. "I said it would be you and me tonight, Niall," Harry whispers and Niall can practically taste the words.
"Sometimes you're full of shit, Styles," Niall says in a weak attempt to lighten the mood even as Harry's hands are roaming over his back.
"Never with you, Horan."
The only reason they make it out of the shower is that Niall refuses to accidentally slip and fall if (when) his legs give out due to Harry's hands being way too talented. When Niall points out that they're both soaking wet and someone's going to end up with a wet bed, Harry merely chuckles and purrs out something about both beds being big enough for two. Somewhere between the two of them hitting the mattress and the hazy afterglow when Niall's stomach is sticky and Harry's forehead is pressed against his cheek, Niall has the flickering thought that they're really getting in over their heads.
And driving up the water bill of the world because he's definitely going to need another shower.
///
Niall wakes up tangled in sheets and limbs with a mass of deep brown curls just under his nose. He could get used to this—not just the sensation of not being alone in yet another hotel room bed, but the smell of Harry's shampoo and the heat of skin pressed against skin. Or maybe he already is used to it and the only reason he can sleep on the bus is because the bunk’s too small for him to miss the heat of someone else with him quite as much. Niall swallows, turning his head to glance at the glowing red numbers on the nightstand clock. They don't have to be awake for another hour and a half but he's not entirely sure that he could fall back asleep right now. He slowly shifts, inching his free arm out towards his phone. "Absolutely not," Harry's voice, slurred with sleep, interrupts him, "Put your arm back where it was."
"On…the bed?" Niall asks as he puts his arm back down.
"On the bed," Harry grabs his hand, threading their fingers together, and Niall's sure his face is stop light, cherry tomato, juicy strawberry, brilliant red. He swallows nervously, watching as Harry shifts on top of him, leaving a long trail of open-mouthed kisses across his chest. "How long until we have to be…presentable?" Harry asks, dragging his tongue over Niall's nipple.
"Hour and a half-ish," Niall whispers, "But I am, uh…sore."
Harry's low hum steals Niall's breath straight out of his lungs, "Luckily for you, I'm feeling…charitably lazy." Harry's dark head is sliding lower, and all Niall can do to watch with his lip between his teeth. Harry hasn't let go of his hand, a small action that's adding a sense of intimacy somehow stronger than the sight of him tonguing the head of Niall's dick. Niall could really get used to waking up like this.
"Fuck, Haz," he groans, shifting his hips up towards Harry's eager mouth.
Harry pulls back, "Hips on the bed, Horan. You're sore."
"You're a fucking tease," Niall grumbles, settling back on the bed and fluffing his pillow with his free hand. Harry merely smiles and returns to his work, clearly a man on a mission. Between his lips and tongue, it's not long before Niall's toes are curling, and his heels are digging into the squishy mattress. Harry’s so sloppy when he’s got his mouth on Niall’s prick but in the best way possible, like he’s just so eager to get Niall off that nothing else matters. "Harry, shit, please," he reaches down and fists his hand in Harry's curls just to prevent him from stopping, relishing in the heady moan Harry lets out. Harry's too good at a lot of things, as far as Niall's concerned, but especially this.
"Has anyone ever told you that you're quite pretty when you come?" Harry muses, licking his lips as he watches Niall desperately trying to pull himself back together after getting off. His lips are swollen and pinker than usual, the kind of sinful purity that makes a man sweat.
Niall swallows, blinking the stars out of his eyes, "You have. Several times, I think."
"Wow, I truly am an intelligent man," Niall reaches down to swat at Harry's head. Harry ducks, snatching Niall's wrist and pressing a kiss to his palm. Whatever this is, it's not straight, Niall thinks absently, taking in the fact that his best friend (which feels like an understatement these days) is currently holding one hand and kissing the other seconds after giving him head. "Lend me a hand, would you?" Harry asks as he shifts up, his own erection quite evident when it's pressed to Niall's thigh.
"Only if you stop making these fucking puns," Niall replies. Harry laughs, one eyebrow raised, and kisses Niall's palm again before releasing his hands. Niall was expecting Harry to roll onto his back beside him like usual, but he stays where he is, planting his arms on either side of Niall's head. The fact that Harry's suddenly everywhere only serves to make Niall's heart pound harder. He reaches between them, curling his fingers around Harry's cock and stroking up. If he wasn't still sore, he would be asking Harry to fuck him, but that might actually leave him unable to walk today.
Harry hisses into his ear, thrusting into Niall's hand, "Yes, Ni, just like that." Harry's breathing hard against his neck, "God, you have the best fucking hands."
"Do I?" Niall's never really thought about his hands. He bites his nails down to the quick, he's got calluses on his fingers from playing guitar, and it's not like he's got the most delicate hands in general.
"Absolutely. The way you play guitar should be banned for my safety and sanity on stage," he kisses Niall's pulse, "and backstage," the corner of his jaw, "and everywhere in general." At least Niall can press his face into the curve of Harry's neck to hide his blush. How does Harry notice all these things and why, in God's name, does he always seem to pull them out at moments like this?
He gets Harry off, savoring the sound of Harry's moan in his ear, and grunting when Harry flops on top of him like a leggy lump. They lay there like that, silent and breathing heavy in unison until Harry slowly rolls off Niall and reaches for the box of tissues on the bedside table. "We should shower," Niall says, knowing that a simple tissue isn't going to fix the fact that they've now gotten sweaty all over again.
"In a minute," Harry replies, curling up against Niall's side with his head on his shoulder, "You’re too comfy for me to want to move right now." Niall hums, looking down to press a kiss to Harry's head.
He takes a few minutes to work up the courage to ask Harry, "What are we doing, Haz?" because really, he'd like to know and just gets a snore in response.
Well, Niall supposes that he can live in perpetual confusion for a little while longer.
///
Hey xx
Hey Niall xoxo
Heeeeeeeeeeeeeey Niiiiiiiiiialllllllllllll xxxxx
Fuck’s sake what do u want ?
They're sitting on opposite ends of a radio table, listening as Liam talks about first impressions in Australia. Niall knows that they're not supposed to be on their phones right now, but the constant vibrating is annoying as hell.
Stop biting ur lip
Niall frowns. He hadn't even realized that he was biting his lip, though he's honestly been spaced out of this interview for the last ten minutes or so. He wasn't getting any questions directed at him and there's only so many times that he can answer something boring like "What's been your favorite city to play so far?" or "What do you miss about home?" before he goes insane. It doesn't help that the one DJ's called him Neil about 3 times.
Why
Cuz ur making me wanna do it for u :* xxx
Niall chokes on air, covering it up as best as he can with a cough and a big chug of water. Harry gives him a knowing little smirk on the other end of the table, his bright eyes teasing, and Niall could smack him one just as much as he could lunge across the table and kiss him. Louis gives him an odd look and Niall rushes to turn his screen off just in case Louis catches a glimpse of his texts. Harry gets asked a question and responds without even a pause, making Niall wonder just how much any of this actually affects him.
What if Niall's the only one even having all these moments of doubt? Harry's been the one initiating everything—well, most things, since Niall was the one that offered up the possibility of actually fucking—so maybe none of this is hitting him at all. Maybe this is just something Harry's tucked into the label of like…friends with benefits. And there's nothing really wrong with that on the surface, but Niall's starting to feel like that's not the label he wants.
He's not sure that there's a point in calling it anything more serious when it's not like it can be public at all, but maybe…maybe it would just be nice to know that it was something more to Harry than just fucking in hotel rooms and cheesy, flirty texts at the absolute worst moments. Thankfully, his ears decide to do him a solid and pick up on a question aimed at him—favorite food on the road so far (another question he's answered a billion times)—with just enough time for him to respond without any long pauses or stuttering.
When they've been loaded back into the van to be carted to another radio station for another interview that will inevitably delay Niall's grumbling stomach from being satisfied, his phone starts buzzing again. Harry's in the row behind him and Niall doesn't even have to turn around to know that that's who's texting him.
No hotel tonight :(
Yah not for a few nights I think
Hate it
Bunks are the worst
They are
But
Hate it cuz I sleep better w u xx
Niall's sure that he's horribly pink right now and looks out the window to try and hide it. Once he feels like he's gotten his face under control again, he pulls the message back up.
Same
There's something thrilling in being able to hear Harry's fingers pounding out a response on his phone, a low melody just barely audible over the sound of Zayn and Louis arguing and the music buzzing on the radio.
Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Times a million billion
Maybe even trillion
We can't be sure
lol
<3
After another determined look out the window to hide the fact that he wants to grin like a dumbass and float out of his seat because he got not only an absurd amount of xo-s but a heart, he pulls himself together enough to send a little heart back. He puts his phone back in his pocket and leans back into the stiff van seat. Something brushes against the back of his arm, and he looks down to see familiar fingertips wiggling through the small space between his seat and the door. He shifts as casually as he can, crossing his arms just enough to wiggle his fingers back.
None of this seems very friends with benefits-y to Niall but then again, it's not like he's ever been in that situation before to compare. If they were in a hotel tonight, he'd be able to try and have that whole discussion again, but it looks like it's gonna have to wait.
///
It doesn't matter that he's so tired, he could drop to the floor of his hotel room and pass out for at least 12 hours. Niall draws up every inch of his strength to turn to Harry and say, "Can we like…talk for a minute before we do anything else?"
Harry pauses, his backpack dangling from his right shoulder, "You can't just fling that sort of statement out at random, Ni. Give a man a heart attack. I’m very delicate, you know."
Niall shakes his head, "Yeah, you’re a right sap. But I don't mean in like a bad way or anything, I promise." At least, he really hopes that this won't end up in a bad way. He spent the whole day (minus the show, because he’s good enough lately to just turn his brain off when it comes to shows) thinking this over and he doesn’t want to be a coward now. They haven’t been in a hotel for three days and they’re about to head back to the US for promo and he just wants to get it sorted sooner rather than later. He crawls onto one of the beds, sitting in the middle with his legs crossed and watching Harry ditch his bags and toe his shoes off. Once Harry's sitting across from him, their knees almost touching and their gazes locked, Niall swallows and asks, "What are we doing?"
Harry's eyebrow quirks, "At the moment?"
"Don't be daft, H, you know what I mean," Niall retorts. When Harry doesn't say anything, Niall looks down and traces the seam of his pants as it curves near his knee. "I don't want to like, make this a bigger deal than it is or anything, but…maybe I just want to know what this is," he tells his knee, because his knee isn't going to look straight through him.
Harry's hand slowly spreads over his, "What do you want it to be, Ni?"
Niall can't help the way his head snaps back up. Harry's green eyes are intent, for once not burning with mischief or teasing him, and it makes Niall feel like the bed is tilting beneath them, "I—I dunno. Is there a point in it giving it a name or anything if we can't like, talk about it to anybody and we're stuck to doing stuff in hotel rooms?"
"I think," Harry starts, drawing the words out, "I think that it is what we make it, you know? Doesn’t matter what we tell anyone else, it's up to us to decide."
Niall purses his lips as he looks back down at their now entwined hands. Even in the possibly tilting bed, when Harry squeezes his hand, everything feels stable. He almost feels like they could be hanging upside down and he wouldn't feel topsy-turvy based on Harry's touch alone. In the end, he decides to just throw himself out there and see what happens. Hopefully, he won't regret it because he's not entirely sure if his soul could handle that level of embarrassment (or rejection). "Maybe…together? Like boyfriends-together?" he tries, his voice cracking on the word boyfriend.
He's never had a boyfriend before, never even considered the idea, but damn if he doesn't want to be able to give Harry that label in his head. He chances another look up at Harry just to try and read his thoughts. It's as if Harry was waiting for him to do that, as a smile breaks over his face, "Boyfriends, hmm?" Niall nods, trying to figure out if that smile means what he hopes it does. "Well, you know what, I think that calling you my boyfriend sounds just about right," taking advantage of Niall's sudden glee that's left him almost woozy, Harry pushes him back onto the bed, "In fact, it sounds more than right. Sounds almost perfect the more I think about it. My boyfriend, Niall Horan. What a ring that has."
Niall laughs, the sound getting muffled by Harry's—by his boyfriend's lips, "You're impossible."
“Says a lot about you then, wanting an impossible boyfriend.”
“You got me there,” he works his hand through Harry’s hair.
Harry’s eyebrows waggle, “Give me a second and I’ll have you everywhere.”