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Zayn’s fingers scratch against Harry’s scalp, digits tangled up in the mess of his curls, slightly damp with sweat. The post-show high still clings to both of their bodies. It’s adrenaline that’s got him in this position: Zayn’s bare ass sticking to the leather cushions of the couch, jeans pooled around his ankles, his shirt bunched up at his navel by one of Harry’s large hands.
Harry slurps loudly around his cock and Zayn’s hand tightens its grip. He’s close—he can feel it building in the pit of his stomach, his balls heavy, thighs trembling. Sweat pooled in the hollow of his throat and his breath coming out in rough pants.
“Harry—“ Zayn whispers.
Harry pulls off with an obscene pop. His lips are swollen and wet, a string of saliva glistening between his mouth and the flushed tip of Zayn’s cock.
“No, no, no, no, no,” Zayn begs, his voice strained. “Please. Please, babe. I’m so close.” He tries to tug Harry’s head back to where he wants it—needs it.
Harry huffs out a laugh and bats Zayn’s hand away. “Just give me a sec,” Harry murmurs. His voice is cracked and hoarse.
Zayn’s cock throbs, pre-come dribbling down the shaft.
Harry takes one of the collection of hair ties from his wrist, stretching it around his fingers. He pulls his hair back from his face and twists it up into a bun, wrapping the hair tie around it and snapping it once, twice over.
“Right.” Harry clears his throat and sinks his mouth back down over Zayn’s cock, nearly to the root.
Zayn chokes back a cry and any protest to not have Harry’s hair to tug on anymore dies on his tongue as he loses himself in the unobstructed sight of Harry’s pink mouth stretched around his cock.
“Fuck, yes,” Zayn mutters, and promptly shoots down Harry’s throat.
It becomes habit—Harry tying his hair out of the way when he’s going down on Zayn. But only once he’s already on his knees, only once he’s wetted Zayn’s tip with his tongue and made his intentions blatantly obvious.
Zayn doesn’t think much of it. He loves Harry’s hair, of course. He loves twisting his fingers through it when they’re sated and tangled up in one another. He loves washing it when they shower together, lathering at his scalp until Harry’s all but purring with it. He loves waking up with Harry next to him, to see it spread out over the pillow like a halo.
He loves Harry’s hair, but the first time it happens? Zayn can’t say he was expecting it.
The five of them are squashed up on one couch, as usual. Louis’ elbow is digging into Zayn’s ribs and Liam’s arm is around the back of the couch, his fingers twitching away by Zayn’s ear. Zayn doesn’t mind—it’s not as though they don’t often fall asleep one big pile of bodies in hotel suites when there’s more beds than there are of them. Besides, the way Zayn sees it, he’s lucked out today, being next to the arm of the couch. Only one smelly boy next to him instead of two.
He whispers as much to Louis as they wait for the interviewers to switch over, not even midway into a long day’s worth of press junket for the new album.
Louis grins and makes a show of stretching his arms out above his head, cracking out his shoulders and letting out a languid sigh as he shoves his armpit right into Zayn’s face.
Zayn scrunches up his nose in distaste but can’t help but laugh all the same, his smile crinkling up the corners of his eyes and pushing his tongue behind his teeth.
Lights are getting fiddled with; the room is already hot enough from the morning. He plucks at the collar of his sweater. Wool, in hindsight, had been a mistake. But all he’s got underneath is the first ratty, coffee stained t-shirt he could find in his rush this morning, so the sweater’s staying on.
Zayn leans back on the couch to try and catch Harry’s attention, to tell him it’s his fault for distracting him away from time in which he could have been getting dressed. That it’s his fault he opted for getting off on Harry’s thigh like a horny teenager instead of choosing interview-appropriate clothing.
Harry’s clearly feeling the heat too as he bundles his hair up away from his neck, fisting the curls into a bun at the base of his skull to let some cooler air touch his skin.
Zayn feels his jaw go slack, any memory of what it was he’d been about to pester Harry with gone. Someone calls out that it’ll be a few more minutes yet, while they set up the new cameras, and Harry takes that as his cue to tie his hair up properly into a messy bun.
In the confines of his skinny jeans, Zayn’s cock jerks up against the zipper. He can feel himself filling up thick and fast. His mouth is dry and his cock is throbbing and he can’t take his eyes off Harry.
Curly tendrils fall loose from the hair tie as he fixes it into place and returns to his conversation with Niall. He tucks one curl back behind his ear and catches Zayn staring. He smiles and blows him a kiss.
Zayn whimpers under his breath.
Louis fixes him with a tight look. “You alright, mate?”
Heat flares up Zayn’s neck and to his cheeks and he quickly pulls his attention to the interviewer taking the seat opposite them. He shifts in his minuscule space on the couch, tugging his sweater down to try and hide the bulging crotch of his jeans.
Zayn stays silent during the interview. It’s not unusual, although he can see various members of their team sending him an encouraging smile and thumbs up from behind the camera, hoping he might contribute something. But given that the only thing he can see clearly in his mind is Harry, on his knees, his mouth slick with spit and his come—he decides their team would probably rather he said nothing than say the word blowjobs during a high profile interview.
The next time it happens like that, Zayn thinks he’s starting to get it.
Or not get it, exactly, because he doesn’t quite understand why his body’s natural reaction to seeing Harry put his hair into a bun is to get really, really turned on really, really fast. But he knows it’s that action, in particular, and that there’s a 99% chance that by the time Harry snaps the hair tie into place, Zayn’s dick will be standing to attention, no matter where they are.
It’s sort of unfortunate, then, that Harry tends to get pretty hot and sweaty on stage. Zayn sees it coming, sees how Harry’s fanning air at his neck and slugging greedily from a water bottle. There’s three hair ties on his wrist and Zayn knows as soon as he reaches for one that he is absolutely fucked.
Maybe if I just don’t look.
Zayn smiles smugly to himself and turns away, waving out at a few fans in the audience who shriek in return. Someone tosses something his way and he sees it just in time, tilting to one side as a pair of sparkly silver head boppers whistle past his ear. He chuckles and grabs for them with one hand. “Hey, Haz, I’ve got something for you,” he says into his mic, looking upstage.
Harry’s at the bottom of the stairs, his mic tucked between his thighs, as he winds his hair up into a bun. The camera’s on him, too, so the whole scene is blown up behind him on the screens. Four Harry’s, all tying their hair up in a bun, with a dick shaped object propped between his meaty thighs that Zayn knows for a fact still have his teeth marks on them from the night before.
Zayn nearly drops the boppers in his haste to tug his baggy shirt down a little, sending up a plea that his dark jeans will make his raging boner less obvious to the thousands of cameras that he knows are all around him.
“Ooh!” Harry’s bounding towards him, his bun bouncing as he skips across the length of the stage. “For me?” He grins and bats his eyelashes, pressing in close to Zayn and dipping his head.
Zayn’s hand fumble to tuck the boppers onto his head. His fingers idle around a loose strand of hair, tucking it under the headband.
When Harry looks up at him, it’s with dark, knowing eyes. “How do I look?” He purrs into the mic, eyes still on Zayn, before he pulls away and trots off, boppers bouncing away on the top of his head.
Zayn strolls as casually as he can over to the stairs and sits down, clasping his hands discreetly in front of his crotch.
By the time the show is over, #WeSeeYouZayn is a worldwide trending topic. Zayn nearly tosses his phone out of the window of the bus.
Zayn wriggles his toes against the end of the couch, sweatpants hung low over his hips, his chest bare save for a necklace resting against his torso. His fingers idly flick through his Twitter mentions but it’s too early, his eyes barely focusing on the words.
He gives up, tossing the phone to the floor and cracking his back out. “Remind me again why we’re up this early on our day off?” His voice is still rough from sleep and he winces a little.
Harry hums under his breath as he wanders through the room in just a pair of tight purple boxer briefs. His hair is still damp from the shower, curls tickling the tops of his shoulders. “Because if I let you sleep until midday like I know you would, then by the time we get out of this hotel room, it’ll be too hot and too crowded outside to go explore.”
Zayn grunts. “Why do we have to—“
Harry pings a hair tie at him. It hits smack in the middle of his chest and Zayn rubs at his skin with a pout. “Because we should. For people who travel so much, we spend too much time stuck in hotel rooms and buses and arenas.”
Zayn sighs, tucking an arm behind his head. “I love you,” he murmurs, a droopy smile on his lips.
Harry chuckles and winds a hair tie from his wrist. His ears are a little pink. “Love you, too.” He scoops his hair back and winds it up into a bun.
Zayn’s stopped even being surprised anymore. He glances down and, sure enough, he can see his cock tenting the front of his sweatpants, heat stirring in his body and sending a shudder down his spine.
Harry is watching him carefully, hands on his hips. He walks over to him and straddles his stomach, his ass resting over Zayn’s cock. If he’d hadn’t been hard before, Harry wiggling his bum over his crotch would be enough to do it.
“That was fast. Even for you.” Harry’s pupils are blown, only a sliver of green left. His tone is curious, appreciative.
Zayn chews on his lower lip a moment before moving his spare hand to Harry’s hair. He tugs on a loose curl at the back of his bun. “You always tie up your hair when you’re about to blow me. Have you noticed that?”
Harry shrugs. “Sure. It sticks to my forehead otherwise, gets into my eyes and mouth.” He looks over Zayn’s expression before barking out a laugh. “That’s what gets you so hot for me?” His grin is wide and teasing. “Me tying my hair up?”
Zayn huffs and pulls his hand back, rubbing it over Harry’s thigh. “S’not, it’s— It’s Pavlovian, or something. I looked it up.”
“You looked it up?” Harry cries gleefully. “What did you search? Why does my boyfriend tying up his hair give me a boner?”
Zayn gives Harry’s thigh a gentle smack. “Shut up, this is your fault.”
“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” Harry wriggles his ass back a bit and presses their chests together. The tip of his nose nuzzles against Zayn’s.
“Well, I’d rather not have to explain to, like, 20,000 people every night why halfway through the show my dick decides to get involved,” Zayn grumbles.
Harry coos. “I’m sure no one’s noticed.”
The door to their suite bangs open. Niall makes a noise when he sees them on the couch, squeezing his eyes shut and putting his hands over his ears. “Ah, don’t mind me, lads. As you were. Just need to grab my laptop back if that’s alright.” He peeks one eye open to try and locate it.
Harry points to the coffee table. “Hey, Nialler, since you’re here—“
“Harry,” Zayn hisses in warning.
Harry shushes him with a pat to his head. “Niall, would you say you’ve noticed anything…new about Zayn recently?”
Niall gives up on trying to shield his senses, his laptop tucked under one arm. “You mean with him popping one in weird places every other day? Yeah, mate. I don’t know what you’re doing to the poor boy but put him out of his misery, yeah?” He shrugs. “Mind you, even Liam thinks it’s quite funny now so I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Fans reckon far crazier shit goes down between us than Zayn springing a boner now and again, anyway.” He gives them a cheerful wave and heads back towards the door.
Harry turns back to Zayn with a winning smile. “See? No one’s noticed,” he teases.
Zayn grumbles. He flicks his index finger against Harry’s bun. “You gonna blow me or not?”
Harry rolls his eyes. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” he deadpans, but moves between Zayn’s legs all the same.
@Harry_Styles: Aww, stop giving @zaynmalik such a…hard time ;) H x #WeSeeYouZayn
@zaynmalik: @Harry_Styles I’m going to cut all your hair off in your sleep and donate it to charity :)