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The day finally comes when Harry has to explain to his other uni friends—his non-harem friends, as Louis has started calling them—what the hell is going on.
He does it by throwing a party. Ostensibly it’s a welcome-home party for himself, and just as ostensibly Louis is throwing it, but Nick and Ed and Ben and James and Michael and Taylor and Caroline aren’t coming because Louis is throwing a party, they’re coming because Harry texted them, incredibly subtly, come to my party and i’ll finally tell u what the fuck’s up with the lads i suddenly moved in with.
They’re all gathered in their new flat’s living room, splayed out clutching beers and chattering amongst themselves. Louis claimed the couch early on and the others just sort of settled in around him, falling into some kind of weird natural pattern that makes Harry’s heart clench happily. Niall’s sitting between his knees, one of his hands curled around Zayn’s leg. Zayn is curled into Louis’ side, bracketed on the other by Liam, who has his arm up over the back of the couch, his hand on Louis’ neck. Everyone else has kind of abandoned the couch to them. Nick gives Harry a Look when he sees them cuddled together, and Caroline keeps looking back and forth between the pile of boys and Harry himself, and finally Harry clears his throat.
“So,” he says when everyone subsides. “I’ve got some explaining to do.”
“Sure do, Lucy,” says Nick, and Harry rolls his eyes fondly at him.
“Alright, so you all know Louis, my boyfriend,” he starts, and Louis does a little wave, fighting back a grin that Harry knows wants to spread across his face.
“I had no idea,” Taylor deadpans, and Harry rolls his eyes (slightly less fondly) at her. She shakes her hair at him.
“This,” says Harry, reaching down to pat Niall on the head like they’re playing duck-duck-goose, “is Niall.” He wrinkles his nose. “He’s also my boyfriend.”
“Hold on, now,” James says.
Louis holds up a hand. “It gets worse, mate,” he says, “just let him finish.” He gestures to Harry, giving the stage back to him, and Harry blows him a kiss.
“Next to my darling Lou is Zayn, who Louis has been sleeping with for a few months now and who writes all my romantic lines for me.” He wrinkles his nose at Zayn, who’s gone a little squirmy with embarrassment. “He’s wonderful,” he says, and means it, but mostly he just wants to see the way Zayn bites his lip and grins, and the way Louis mirrors him. “He also,” he continues, “recently wrote a play that you may have seen.”
There’s a silence in which everyone tries to process anything, and then Ed says, “Yeah, actually,” and this is why he’s secretly Harry’s favorite, “the senior show, right?”
Zayn nods, still beaming proud and embarrassed.
“It was really, really good,” James says. “Really beautiful, man.”
Zayn looks like he wants to curl backwards into the couch. Liam tightens his arm around him, and Zayn turns his head to press a kiss to his cheek. “That’s Liam,” says Harry, like he’s informing everyone of characters in a tv show. “Zayn’s boyfriend.”
“I’m going to need to make a chart,” Caroline says, but when Harry looks at her she’s smiling.
“You’re moving into an orgy house,” Michael says, wondering. “You fucker.”
Harry shakes his head, but before he can figure out how to explain it further Louis goes, “It’s only an orgy house on Tuesdays.”
Harry bites his lip and slides over to drape himself across the back of the couch, sliding one of his hands into Louis’ hair and the other over towards Liam, steadying himself. Zayn twists to press a tiny kiss to his wrist and Niall’s grinning up at him from the floor and he feels light, happy. Tangled as he is in complicated relationships, this feeling, this belonging, is simple.
“We’ve got a schedule,” Louis is continuing, little shit that he is. “On Tuesdays it’s an orgy house. Wednesdays we pair up according to birthday—even and odds, see.”
“Fridays you can only kiss the person on your left,” Liam chimes in, and wriggles further into Zayn’s side.
Zayn rolls his eyes at him, but smiles. “I like Saturdays best, though,” he says, turning to look at Louis.
“Saturdays are best, definitely,” Louis agrees. He waves a hand at the non-harem friends. “You don’t want to know about Saturdays.”
“I didn’t really want to know about any of it,” says Ben, but he’s laughing, and then they’re all laughing, and the party continues and it really is good to be back, Harry likes these people. He swaps Australia stories with Caroline, who’d been there on exchange in high school. Nick and Ed are always good for a laugh, and they’re on top form tonight. James holes up somewhere with Niall for like a good hour, and no one seems to know where they’ve gone, and he finds Taylor deep in conversation with Liam. He pats Liam consolingly for that one, but he doesn’t even seem to mind, bless his heart.
There’d been something, though, in the look Zayn had given Louis and that Louis had returned, and he’s itching to know what it is.
He stops Louis on his way into the kitchen, leaning in to mutter, “what are Saturdays?” in his ear.
Louis smirks at him. “Day after Friday, day before Sunday?”
“You’re an ass,” Harry says, grinning despite his best efforts, and Louis leans up to press a kiss to his dimple.
“Patience, Haz,” he says. “You’ll see when one rolls around.”
“It’s Sunday,” Harry says, plaintive and cajoling, but Louis just beams at him.
By Tuesday night he feels like he might be going crazy. Louis doesn’t keep secrets from him. He just doesn’t, not for more than a day, because he likes the satisfaction that Harry gets from winnowing a secret out of him even more than he does the surprise of it. But he’s being impossibly, infuriatingly, unbearably tight-lipped about this one.
So he goes for what he figures might be the weaker link.
Zayn’s been very tactile lately, cuddling with Harry on the couch even when Louis isn’t around, pulling him into hugs or ruffling his hair or just holding on to his hands, and it might be because Harry’s the only one he’s not actually involved with (which, when Harry thinks about it too long, seems terribly unfair) or it might just be that he’s getting to be more comfortable around him but whatever the reason, it feels like Zayn’s started to let him in. It’s an amazing feeling, an honor and a warmth that Harry doesn’t really expect, but Zayn’s—Zayn’s the person, outside of himself, that Louis loves most in the world and that would make him someone whose respect and love Harry was desperate for even if he weren’t also, like. Zayn.
Today, Harry intends to use that newfound love and respect shamelessly for his own ends.
“Zaaayn,” he says, drawing it out slow, and Zayn looks up from his notebook (the notebook Harry gave him, Harry notes with pleasure).
“Hey,” says Zayn, smiling up at him. “What’s up?”
Harry plops down next to him on the couch in a way that he knows for a fact makes his curls bounce fetchingly (he knows because Louis has told him, repeatedly). “I’m concerned,” he says. “Louis is keeping secrets from me.”
Zayn’s eyes widen. “What kind of secrets?” he asks, like he doesn’t very well know, and Harry thinks maybe some of his talent is wasted behind the curtain rather than in front.
Harry shakes his head soulfully. “See, that’s what I don’t know!” He sighs dramatically. “It’s not like him. He keeps mentioning Saturday, like, off-hand, and then not following through on it. I think there might be something wrong.”
Zayn bites his lip to keep from laughing. “You’re good, Styles, but not good enough.”
Harry pouts, and doesn’t miss the quick flash of Zayn’s eyes to his mouth. “Damn,” he says, and licks his lips deliberately.
Zayn shakes his head and shoves at Harry’s shoulder. “You’re a dick,” he says. “Louis would not approve.”
“Mm,” says Harry, “Louis would take it out of me in interesting ways.”
He thinks he hears a little bit of a catch in Zayn’s breath, but then Zayn says, “Yeah, by never telling you about Saturdays at all.”
Harry sighs and gives up. “Fine,” he says, slumping back into the pillows. “Fine, I see how it is. I see where your loyalties lie.”
Zayn shrugs, unrepentant. “Same place yours do, mate. Same place all of ours do.”
Harry grins helplessly at him. “Yeah,” he says.
Zayn licks his lips, an unconscious gesture, not like Harry’s of a moment before. It still manages to be distracting. “When he does tell you,” he starts, “promise me you’ll take it seriously?”
Harry blinks at him, at the more serious tone to his voice. “What do you mean?”
Zayn laughs a little. “I, I feel weird telling you how to act with him, because, like. You’re Harry, his Harry. But. Promise me you’ll think about what it means for him, as well as for you?”
“Always,” says Harry immediately. “It’s, uh, It is a good surprise, right? Now I’m actually concerned. Am I gonna like it?”
Zayn smirks slow and curling and perfect. “Trust me,” he says, “You’ll like it.”
On Wednesday he tries to recruit Niall to help, but by evening he reports back empty handed. “Sorry, babe,” he says easily, curled into Harry’s chest in the swing room, as they’ve started calling it (Zayn’s in Louis and Harry’s, at the moment, though he’ll move out to the couch with Liam before he sleeps). “I can’t read Zayn as well as I used to.”
Harry sighs and thinks for a moment. “Maybe you could try and get it out of Louis?”
Niall’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t even know where to start. I’d be afraid to try.”
Harry furrows his brow and tugs him up so he’s straddling his hips and they’re face to face. “Afraid?”
Niall shrugs a little. “Louis scares me, kind of? Not—I know he’d never ever hurt me, that’s not what it is at all,” he reassures Harry. “God, babe, no, it’s like.” He shakes his head. “Maybe more awe than fear.” He runs his hands down Harry’s face, under his jaw, and Harry resists the urge to close his eyes and enjoy the tips of his fingers. He wants to hear this.
“Talk to me about it,” he says softly.
“He’s the center of us,” Niall says. “This, this thing that’s us? Like.”
Harry nods, because he knows exactly what he means, but he’s used to that—to Louis being the center of everything. “I don’t think he knows he is,” he says slowly. “Not really.”
“But that’s part of it,” Niall says. “He doesn’t have to know, he just. Holds us all up, and does it so happily, and.” He leans forward, pressing his forehead into Harry’s. “There’s another piece of it,” he says, softer.
Harry smiles a little, running his hands up Niall’s back.
“I can’t imagine being the only person you love,” Niall continues, closing his eyes. “I don’t know what it’s like not to share you. You’re—if I didn’t know better, I would say you just aren’t built for monogamy, you’re too much, you love too deeply and broadly and.” He swallows. “Louis had all of you, and then decided to share, not because he couldn’t handle you but. Because he wanted you happy.”
“Louis has all of me,” Harry says against Niall’s lips. “He always will. He’s Louis.”
Niall kisses him, long and lingering, and Harry will never be over how good he is at that, at knowing exactly what kind of kiss Harry needs. When he pulls away he’s smiling. “That’s not how we are, though, is it.”
Harry shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “I’ve got the bits of you that you want to give me, and you’ve got the bits of me I want you to have. For everything else I’ve got Lou, and you…” he smiles. “You’ve got Zayn, now.”
Niall smiles, ducking his head. “Yeah,” he says softly. “How are you with that?”
“Jealous,” says Harry comfortably. “Everybody gets to kiss Zayn but me.”
“Rough life,” Niall teases.
“It is,” Harry laments, perhaps a bit more than is warranted.
“Oh, I know,” says Niall. “I was being serious. Missing out on kisses like those must really suck.’ He stares away over Harry’s shoulder. “He does this thing with his teeth and like, sometimes he doesn’t shave for a bit and I gotta say, I never realized how nice and manly and sexy stubble feels against your mouth.”
Harry growls and grabs his hips, flipping them so he’s on top, and Niall lets out a surprised, amused huff of air. “Not only are you making it worse,” Harry says, “You’re being mean about my inability to grow facial hair!”
Niall laughs up at him, breathless and wet-mouthed. “It’s not my fault you’re a babyface,” he taunts, and Harry gapes at him.
“I’ll show you manly and sexy,” he retorts, and kisses Niall hard, until they’re both gasping and laughing in equal measure, and he kind of forgets about Saturdays for a while.
He remembers on Friday afternoon, in the middle of a FIFA tournament with Liam. He’s winning handily, and when the match ends he says as casually as possible, “Li, what’s happening tomorrow?”
Liam freezes and turns to look at him slowly. “I don’t know?” he tries, and Harry crows inwardly, because he does and there has never been a worse liar than Liam Payne.
He widens his eyes. “Oh, don’t worry,” he says. “It’s not a secret anymore, Louis told me, I’m just trying to remember the details of it.”
Liam looks dubious and confused. “I don’t know the details,” he says, a little bit uncomfortable, “and I’m not sure I believe you—“
“Liam, I am wounded,” says Harry, abandoning his controller and swinging his legs onto Liam’s lap. “We are honest people in this house! Defined by our honesty. Are you accusing me of lying to you?”
Liam blinks at him. “No?” he asks, like he’s guessing.
“Alright,” says Harry, and folds his hands over his stomach, smiling at him. “So tell me.”
Liam looks at him for a long moment and then sighs. “Sorry, Harry,” he says. “Zayn said if I tell you anything before Louis can he won’t sleep with me for a month.”
Harry scowls at him. “No sense of self-sacrifice. No heroism.”
Liam shrugs. “Hey, I’m not like the rest of you. If he’s not sleeping with me no one is.”
Harry raises his eyebrows at him. “That doesn’t have to be true,” he says slowly, and Liam chokes a laugh.
“You’re shameless,” he says, and Harry cuddles up next to him. Making Liam blush is kind of one of his favorite new games.
“Completely,” he agrees, and ruffles Liam’s hair. Liam wrinkles his nose at him, baffled but pleased.
“What’s all this, then?” Louis asks as he comes in, arms full of groceries. “Are you tormenting poor Liam, Haz?”
“Never,” Harry declares, and bounces up to kiss him. Louis laughs a little, kissing back, and then dodges when Harry grabs for the bags.
“Predictable,” he accuses, dancing out of Harry’s way, his eyes fond.
Harry peers at the bags, trying to find a glimpse of something that could be for his surprise. Louis stills him with a look, and, okay, he can maybe see why Niall might be scared of him. “Go back to playing FIFA,” he commands. “I’ve got groceries to put away, and anyway…” he smirks a little. “I’ll be seeing you later.”
“Promises, promises,” says Harry, but it doesn’t come off as uncaring as he wants it to because he is literally incapable of being anything other than breathless for Louis. Once upon a time it embarrassed him, but now he’s living in a house with four other boys who understand, so. It’s really kind of nice.
“I knew I was right not to trust you,” Liam mutters as he sits back down. “What happened to us being defined by our honesty?”
Harry shrugs, sticking his tongue out at him. “We are on the important stuff,” he says.
Liam cocks his head at him. “This might be more important than you’re thinking,” he says quietly, and then starts up FIFA again.
Louis works that night, but Harry’s used to that. He strips down and hangs out in bed, half in a sexy welcome-home way and half just because it’s comfortable. Comfort might win out, because he definitely wanders out to the fridge to get grapes while still starkers. It’s just Niall in the living room, not that any of them would have been remotely surprised, and Harry offers him grapes as he wanders by.
Niall looks him up and down appreciatively, from where he’s sprawling across the couch, taking up almost the entire thing. He’s still incapable of checking Harry out without blushing, which is pretty much the cutest thing Harry’s ever seen.
“Hey, you,” Niall says, laughing, Harry dangles grapes over his head teasingly, and Niall nips at them, trying to grab them with his teeth. His hands are tucked behind his head and he looks supremely comfortable, blissed out in a way that’s suspiciously familiar.
“Either you are very high,” Harry says, “or someone just blew you.”
Niall grins at him, lazy and content. “It was a reward for keeping a secret under duress,” he says, and raises his eyebrows triumphantly when Harry gapes at him. “Zayn was very pleased with me.”
“You’re kidding,” says Harry.
Niall grins open-mouthed. “I might know what Saturdays, are, yeah,” he says, and yelps when Harry drops the grapes on his face in despair.
He stomps back to his bedroom, feeling betrayed and impatient and like maybe he doesn’t want to surprise Louis nicely anymore. He’s gotten as far as pulling on his underwear when Louis slips through the door, looking sleepy and expectant and stupid-beautiful, his hair mussed in the way that his hair gets mussed when he’s been working a lot, and all of Harry’s resentment, which probably wouldn’t have filled a teacup to begin with, evaporates.
Louis pauses when he sees Harry, standing by the bed with his pants in his hand. “Are you getting dressed?” he asks, confused, and climbs onto the bed, perching on the edge next to Harry.
Harry bites his lip, feeling childish. “I got mad that everyone was in on a secret but me,” he says.
“I see,” says Louis, his lips twitching. “Does this have anything to do with the fact that Niall’s out there laughing hysterically and eating grapes off his own chest?”
“Maybe,” Harry admits, still a little pouty.
Louis tsks sympathetically at him and pats his legs, and Harry comes over to stand between them. Louis runs his hands down his chest, his eyes on Harry’s face. “You know we’re not leaving you out except for your own benefit,” he says softly.
Harry scrunches up his face. “Yeah,” he says.
“Good,” says Louis, and tweaks his nipple. Harry gasps and feels himself go a little boneless, and okay, that’s still embarrassing, even if there are four other boys in the house who would understand.
He’s not quite ready to get rid of his tantrum, though, so he says, “Niall lied to me for a blowjob.”
Louis hums and hooks his legs around Harry’s so he stumbles forward a little. “Niall lied to you,” he says, and reaches up to bury his hands in Harry’s hair. He kicks his heels at the backs of Harry’s knees and pulls him down and there is very, very little that Harry finds hotter in the world than Louis’ ability to manhandle him. He goes with it, tucking and rolling sideways so Louis can roll with him. He ends up on his back with Louis perched on his hips, his hands still tight enough in Harry’s hair that the pain of it makes him squirm. “Niall lied to you,” Louis says again, a little bit more breathless, “in order not to spoil a quite wonderful surprise. I would think that’s something you’d be able to appreciate.”
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Harry complains, just to complain. He slides his hands under Louis’ shirt, scratches his nails over his sides, his hipbones.
Louis bites his lip. “Do you know what time it is?”
Harry blinks up at him, letting his hands fall. “What? Like one, maybe two am?”
Louis curls down over him, his hands closing around Harry’s wrists on the bed. “Which makes it, technically,” he breathes, “Saturday.”
Harry stills completely, partly in response to the pressure on his wrists, partly in anticipation. Louis leans down and nips at his lips, all bite and no kiss, tiny shocks of pain that go straight to Harry’s dick. He bites his way along Harry’s jaw to his ear and Harry swallows hard, hears Louis’ lips part, hears the stretch of his smile. “On Saturdays,” Louis says, “Zayn and I share you.”
Harry moans, his hands twitching in Louis’ grip. “Fuck,” he breathes, and then closes his eyes and takes a breath, concentrating on thinking about what this is and not just going yes, yes, please yes. It’s really, really difficult—he’s balanced on the edge of that helpless, gorgeous brainspace where everything is sensation and Louis and the wonderful freedom of giving up control, but he can’t let himself sink, not yet.
Louis sucks hard on the skin behind his ear and he totters dangerously on the brink. “W-wait,” he stutters out. “Wait, wait, Lou—“
Louis stills completely, and when Harry opens his eyes he’s looking down at him, eyes worried. Harry lifts a hand and Louis lets him, biting his lip like he thinks he may have done something wrong, and Harry wants to cry a little bit at that. He struggles to find words, smoothing his fingers over Louis cheek.
“I, I just—“ he starts. “You’re doing this for you, too, right?”
Louis stares at him for a long moment, and then he breathes, “Harry,” and curls down over him, slotting their mouths together tender and disbelieving. Harry kisses him back, fingertips tracing the line of his jaw, the nape of his neck. It’s a slowing down and it’s a reassurance and the pure joy he tastes in Louis’ mouth is all the yes he needs.
“Okay,” he says, when Louis pulls back. “Okay. Good.”
“You’re an idiot,” says Louis. “Of course I am. I’ve been fucking shaky-legged all week, I nearly jacked off at work because I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”
Harry makes a small noise in the back of his throat, involuntary, at the idea of Louis in the restroom at the bar, flushed and desperate, one fist around is cock, the other pressed tight to his mouth so he wouldn’t make noise. It’s a scene he knows, except the hand around Louis’ cock had been his and he’d been able to swallow the small whimpers Lou couldn’t hold back.
“This is something I want,” Louis says seriously. “I know what you’re worried about and god I love you for it, but don’t be, okay?” He runs a hand through his hair. “Maybe, maybe in the future it’ll be Saturdays for just you and Zayn, I haven’t. I don’t know, yet. We’ll worry about that then.”
Harry thinks about Niall being in awe of Louis, and knows how he feels. “God, ” he says. “Just. God.”
Louis raises an eyebrow at him. “You can just call me Louis,” he says, smirking, and leans down to nip at Harry again, sharp and loving. He works his way down Harry’s throat to his collarbones, biting just on the edge of too hard and then soothing it with a flicker of tongue or a soft kiss. Harry arches and arches and arches into him, letting himself fall.
He’s twitching and desperate already by the time Louis brushes a kiss over each of his nipples and then pulls back, smoothing his hands down Harry’s side. “You ready, babe?” he asks, and Harry gulps in air and nods.
Louis slides off the bed and disappears.
Harry closes his eyes and doesn’t move. He knows the rules. He may not be tied up but Louis is in control, now. Louis has a plan. Louis knows, so, so well, exactly what will make Harry feel best.
The door opens and Zayn slips inside. He falters when he sees Harry on the bed in nothing but underwear, his hands stretched up above his head, and his lips part. He runs his eyes all over Harry, his hands twitching at his sides.
Harry smiles open-mouthed at him. “You can touch,” he says, and hears his voice come out low, kicked down by Louis’ teeth at his throat. “So long as Lou says it’s okay.”
“God,” says Zayn, “Harry.” He comes slowly over to the bed, shrugging out of his shirt and trousers as he goes.
“You’re quite quick at that,” Harry observes absently, his eyes glued to the shift of Zayn’s muscles at his stomach, his thumbs where they’re caught in the waistband of his underwear, and then Zayn sheds those, too, and Harry’s too far gone to be embarrassed by the way his mouth literally waters.
He twists his hips, arching into thin air, as Zayn climbs slowly onto the bed, like he’s not sure what to do with Harry now that he has him. “Has anyone ever told you,” Harry says, grabbing fistfuls of sheet so as not to touch, “you have a beautiful cock?”
Zayn swallows and swallows again. “Fuck, Harry, if you could see yourself.”
Harry blinks slow at him. “Don’t need to,” he says. “I can see you.” He bites his lip. “Lou,” he calls, because Louis has to be here somewhere, “can I touch him?”
Zayn reaches out, smoothing a shaking palm across Harry’s stomach, and Harry gasps and squirms at the contact, at the warmth of Zayn’s palm.
“Go on then,” Louis says from the doorway. “Tell him what you want, Haz.”
Zayn raises his eyes to Harry’s face. “I want to suck you off,” Harry says, honestly, because he lips are aching with Louis’ nips and he wants them stretched, wants Zayn’s hands in his hair and his taste in his mouth.
The good thing—one of many good things—about having Zayn naked next to him is that he can literally see his dick jump in response, and he reaches out a hand, pleased. He stops just before he touches, casting a glance at Louis, who nods. He looks glassy-eyed and overwhelmed, leaning against the doorway for support, and Harry resolves to put on a show.
He curls his fingers around Zayn’s cock, sitting up a little and tugging so Zayn will walk on his knees up to him. Zayn’s breathing hard, his eyes wide and disbelieving, and for something that was supposed to be a surprise meant for Harry he seems to be the one able to roll with it the best. He smirks up at Zayn. “Relax, love,” he says, stroking him slow and teasing. “You’re in good hands.”
He sits up more, holding Zayn’s eyes, and slides the hand on his dick around and up, fluttering his fingers soft over Zayn’s stomach and ribs. “You’re rare,” he says, feeling his smile turn genuine. “You were writing poems to my mouth before I did this.”
Zayn laughs, soft and amazed, and Harry grins back. He leans down and licks a long, slow stripe up Zayn’s cock. Under his hands, Zayn’s stomach muscles jump, and he hisses a curse. From the doorway there’s a bang, like someone slammed a fist into a wall, and Harry laughs hot around the head of Zayn’s cock.
Zayn keeps making low, strangled noises. “Harry,” he says brokenly, “Harry, please—“
Harry lowers his head again, repeating the slow lick, tongue flattened, and then lingers at the head, licking quick and deliberate around the slit, never in the same spot twice. He wants, god, he just wants to swallow Zayn down, bury his nose in his curls and feel the fullness, the weight of him, in his throat, but. But not yet.
Louis finds his voice, catches on like Harry knew he would. “He a fucking tease, isn’t he, Zayn?” Louis says, his voice rough with arousal, and Harry closes his eyes to focus better, both on him and on Zayn. “He could do this all night, just keep you wanting like this and never bring you off.” He takes a breath. “If you want more, you have to take it.”
Zayn takes a shaky breath. “Lou—“
Louis steps closer, and Harry mouths gently at the tip of Zayn’s cock, opening his eyes again.
“He wants you to,” Louis says, and out of the corner of his eye Harry sees him stripping. “He loves it when you fuck his face, don’t you, baby?” He’s naked now and he slips up behind Zayn and god, he’s so, so beautiful, he’s the most beautiful person Harry’s ever seen. He takes a breath in through his nose and raises his eyes to Zayn’s, who’s looking down at him dark-eyed and gasping and gorgeous. His hips are twitching, twitching, twitching forward as Harry pulls of completely and licks his lips. “Please,” he breathes, because he needs it, this is isn’t enough.
Zayn makes a moaning, helpless noise and reaches tentatively for his head. Louis slides up behind him, pressing himself along Zayn’s back, and runs his fingers down his arms so he’s holding onto his wrists. He guides Zayn’s hands into Harry’s hair. “Go on,” he says, and Zayn’s fingers tighten, and that’s all Harry needs. He takes Zayn in in one smooth movement and god, the weight of him against his tongue. He hollows his cheeks, pulling off slow and suctioned, and then Zayn’s hips snap forward and he can’t do anything but close his eyes and let go, bliss in the press of Zayn’s nails against his scalp, bliss in the motion and the need and the ache of his jaw.
He opens his eyes, once, to see Zayn with his head thrown back, grunts and curses dropping from his lips. Louis has his head hooked over his shoulder, his hands sliding up and down, up and down Zayn’s bare chest, but his eyes are on Harry, on his mouth and his eyes and the slide of Zayn’s dick between Harry’s lips. Harry moans around him, his eyes slipping closed again, and Zayn says something that sounds like “Holy fuck—“ and Harry mouth is full of wet heat. He hollows his cheeks, absently pleased with himself but mostly so hard he can barely move. He feels like there’s nothing to him but the ache in his mouth and the pulse in his dick, like he’s electric wire strung between those two points of intenity, and he pulls slowly off Zayn’s softening cock and licks his lips, unable to catch his breath and barely wanting to.
He opens his eyes and looks up at his boys, his eyes flickering between their faces, and waits for Louis to tell him what to do next. The way Louis is looking at him sends jolts through his wire, makes him squirm and twitch and run his tongue over his lips again and again and again just to feel where they’re stretch and raw. Zayn’s hands are still in his hair but they’re gentle now, petting the skin behind his ears, and Louis breathes, “good boy, Haz,” and he’s three, he’s three points, aching lips and desperate cock and heart full to bursting.
Zayn’s fingers slide forward under his jaw and Harry tilts his head to accommodate them, turning his eyes to Zayn’s face. Zayn looks like he still can’t believe this, lips parted, and Harry surges up to kiss him, sticky-lipped and needy. Zayn kisses back, letting out little post-orgasm moans that Harry swallows up happily. There’s hands on his hips, suddenly, and then a mouth at the back of his neck, and Louis murmurs hot against his ear, “I’m going to fuck you now, but you should keep doing that.”
Harry nods desperately, too many times, and Zayn starts to pull away in confusion but Harry wraps his arms around his neck and clings, nipping and sucking at his lips as Louis’ hands trail down his back. He pushes at Zayn a little so Zayn slumps boneless backwards, and Harry squirms his way so he’s held up by his knees and Zayn’s neck, still kissing him. Zayn wraps his arms around Harry so he’s holding him up and Louis’ fingers are pressing slick at Harry’s hole and it’s so much.
He gasps ragged into Zayn’s mouth when Louis pushes a finger inside, and then two, and fucks Harry open almost too fast. Zayn’s caught on, now, his fingertips tracing over the skin of Harry’s back in a slow, frustrating, perfect accompaniment to the thrust of Louis’ hand, and Harry tries, he tries to keep kissing him but he ends up just clinging on for dear life, mouthing embarrassing high noises into his throat.
“Did you think about this, Zayn?” Louis says from behind him, his voice ragged. “Did you think about how Harry’d look like this, so desperate? He’s gonna come just from my cock in him, aren’t you, babe?”
Harry nods and breathes harsh against Zayn’s collarbones. He wants to say that he could come from just this, just Louis’ fingers and Zayn’s mouth at his temple, kissing him fond and calming, but he doesn’t have the fucking words, he has no words at all. He settles for pushing back onto Louis’ fingers and burying his hands in Zayn’s hair, hanging on for dear life.
“Of course I thought about it,” Zayn says softly, almost just to Harry. “You’re beautiful, Harry, you’re so beautiful.”
When Louis pushes into him Harry sees stars, has to clamp his teeth down on Zayn’s shoulder so as not to scream. Zayn gasps and his hands tighten on Harry’s sides, his nails digging into Harry’s skin and god, god that’s so good.
“Nails,” he manages to gasp out, and Zayn goes, “Sorry—“ his hands relaxing, and Harry shakes his head mindlessly. “No,” he spits, "more—“
He can feel Zayn gulp, and then his nails dig into Harry’s sides again and drag slowly, deliberately upward, drawing lines of heat and pain up Harry’s back, and Louis leans down to mouth at the trails they leave and it’s too much, all his electric wire snaps sharp and blinding white.
Harry opens his eyes to see Zayn and Louis both staring down at him, their faces identical mixes of wonder and concern. “You alright, Haz?” Louis asks, gentle fingers brushing his curls out of his eyes, and Harry shudders at the touch. His mouth works, his lips swollen, his whole body limp and thrumming all at once.
“God,” he finally manages. “Don’t think I could handle that every Saturday.”
Louis cackles at him, and Zayn shakes his head, grinning open-mouthed. “I’d say not,” he says. “You passed out, mate.”
Harry nods, his eyes slipping closed. “That was a good idea,” he says, already slipping away without the faces of his boys to anchor him. “I’m gonna do that again.”
He feels Louis curl into his side, and Zayn’s lips brush quick and fond over his, and then nothing at all.