Archive of Our Own

“Plan of action?” Louis asked, leaning against the bar, twisting his body to stare at him.

“Get drunk, and get laid. Just like every night.” These were the two rules he practically lived by. Nothing more, nothing less. If anything changed those plans, then shit would start getting complicated. And, that's not what was supposed to happen.

Louis smirked, before ordering eight shots between them. He was good like that. He never questioned his motif, and Harry needed that. He didn't need people who tried to change him.

One shot, two shot, three shot, four.

He welcomed the heat seeping down his throat, and slowly dispersing into his stomach; enveloping him in the familiar buzz which threatened to sweep over him. He opened his arms to the invitation, allowing his body to become victim to the harsh burn. He turned his head with a satisfied noise, leaning his body against the damp surface of the wood, scanning the crowd for possible fucking material. He settled on a blonde, with huge tits and a tiny waist. Just his type. Tight, small and fit. He licked his lips, slapping Louis' arm before heading into the crowd.

“Good luck,” the older of the two called back, obviously trying to find his own dance partner for the night.

“Luck is for people who need it, mate.” He called back. Because, it's true. He didn't need luck. Not when you looked like him. Luck was just a pointless things for saps.

He carried his long limbs onto the dance floor, tucking himself behind the blonde, before firmly grabbing her hips. She leaned her body back against his own, pressing her rounded arse back against his crotch to shamefully grind back. Not that he minded. Of course he didn't. The less class, the better. He slid his fingers to the front of her shirt, sliding beneath her skirt and up her thigh to rub long fingers against the thin scrap of lace chick's called underwear. She made a soft whimpering sound, lost in the song blaring from the speakers. Her thighs spread, inviting him to continue, and wow, that took no effort at all. The dark lighting of the room protected them for any wondering eyes, but he didn't care, and she certainly didn't; even if they were caught. People were too lost in their own interactions to notice. He slid his finger against her seemingly slick folds, running his middle finger over her slit, causing her to clench against his finger in the most desirable way. He pulled his finger away, before bringing it to his lips, leaning over her shoulder so she could watch him. He slid his finger over his lips before sucking on the long digit, and that was all it took. That was all it ever took.

He was suddenly being pulled towards the toilets, sending a smirk back to Louis standing at the bar before being tugged into the women's bathroom. He was shoved into a stall, his smirk still on his face as she locked it and dropped to her knees. He was pressed against the filthy wall, his head knocking roughly against the off green. He wet his lips, closing his eyes slowly as his jeans were tugged together, before a small hand wrapped around his cock. Lazy strokes at first, before the heat of the girl's mouth engulfed him, and he hissed from the accidental brush of her teeth against the underside of his length. He dropped a hand to her hair, tugging at the extensions to frustration of her slow pace. She seemed to be teasing him, and he wasn't in the mood for that. He thrust forward, biting down on his bottom lip as she swallowed him down easily. She placed her hands on his hips, her acrylic nails pressing roughly into his hips, causing him to cant his hips forward as the blood red polish scratched over his bone. She gagged slightly, but she didn't stop there.

“Good girl,” he praised, his hand still fisted in her hair as he lolled his head forward, watching as her glossed lips stretched around his dick.

God, he fucking hated lip gloss.

She looked up at him, and tried to smile around him, which just looked fucking ridiculous that he just wanted to laugh and push her off. He didn't, due to her beginning to bob her head up and down more frantically, her fist tight around the base of his cock. She pulled back, settling down on her knees as she stroked him before looking back up at him. He released her hair, before reaching down to lift her from the floor. He didn't want to come in her clumsy mouth. He roughly grabbed the hem of her skirt, before rucking it up her thighs to cling tightly around her waist. He hooked his fingers into her dark purple panties, pushing them down the length of her thick thighs. He lent down, grabbing the wallet from his back pocket, and pulling out a condom. She obviously got the wrong idea, because the neck thing he knew, his curls were grabbed, and his nose was pressed against her clit. She moaned loudly, not even bothering to hide. He smirked, before licking the length of her slit, pushing his tongue against her entrance; nose buried against the bundle of nerves. She whimpered, tugging his curls before rutting her hips up into his mouth. He tongued the slickness, raising his hand to rub his finger over her cunt as he sucked on her clit. He grabbed the condom and shoved his wallet back into his jeans, before pulling his face again. He slid his finger into her tight cunt, looking down at the foil in his hands. He pumped his finger while he tore the wrapped from the latex. He awkwardly rolled on the condom with one hand, licking her excitement from his lips as he did so.

He stood, hooking his hands under the backs of her thighs before lifting her up and pressing her against the wall. As he pushed in, he thought about the exam he should study for.

Meeting back at the bar, Louis gave him that look. “Looks like you didn't need the luck.”

Harry simply smirked, ordering a pint before scanning the crowd once again. “Never do.”

He carried his bag into the changing rooms, throwing it down on the bench between the lockers. He groaned, rubbing at his eyes beneath the shades.

Niall laughed, pulling the tank from his head and throwing it into his locker. “You'd tink you would 'ave learnt by now, mate.”

“Nothing to learn,” he retorted, grabbing his cleats from the bottom of his sports bag.

“Coach sees ya in a bad state again, he's gonna be pissed,” the blonde laughed, pulling on his football shirt.

Harry grunted, pulling off his shoes and socks before strapping on his shin pads. “Coach isn't gonna know, Niall.”

The other lad scoffed, and Harry sat down on the bench to properly pull on his socks, sending a glare towards his team mate.

Niall was hardly the voice of reason, a beer more than likely shoved at the bottom of his gym bag. He knew the blonde was taking the piss, but it still annoyed him. But, that was Niall. He liked to annoy people. The dude with the naked chicks taped to his locker door, sporting huge tits and string for underwear. Used gum pressed into the corners of his locker, and half eaten bags of crisps shoved at the back with the other discarded wrappers. The dude who was completely laid back, but had a temper on him when it was needed. He'd been on the receiving end on more than one occasion when Harry refused to pass the ball, and ending in them missing out on a goal. But, an hour or two later; the blonde would be laughing and shoving Harry, the inside of a burger sliding between his fingers, and ketchup on the corner of his mouth. And, it was as if the violent cursing and angered pink cheeks were a figure of his imagination.

Once the team were kitted and ready, they began running drills, and dribbling balls through the cones. They were then split into two teams, green bibs vs. orange bibs. Green ran laps, while orange stretched. Liam lead the green, running at the front; encouraging the others to keep up. Harry easily kept up, his long legs allowing him to hold a factor over his team mates.

“Tommy's 'avin a party tonigh'.” The blonde spoke up, talking behind him.

Liam nodded, his pace not faltering. “Danielle's coming, too. Just got back from that trip with her dancing class.”

Harry inwardly scoffed. Relationships. What an awful word. But, that was Liam. And, he'd be really hypocritical to get angry over people trying to change him, if he was just as bad and trying to push his own personal views on them. So, instead he just replied with a, “Bet you're excited.”

He knew Liam like the back of his hand, so he could tell just from the back of his head that he was grinning. “Definitely. I'm picking her up from the airport after this, so I have to duck out slightly earlier.”

“Coach won't be happy.”

“Coach knows, mate.”

Niall snorted, “And, he's just cool with you cuttin' practice?”

“Well... No. I have to make it up in my own time, but, that's alright.”

Harry nodded, wetting his lips. “Call me up when you wanna train, I wouldn't mind putting in a few more hours.” He was dedicated to football, so he didn't have a problem with helping a friend out. Helping himself out in the progress.

Win, win.

After three more laps, they switched so they were now the one's stretching. Not before a slap on the back from Louis as he passed.

“Tommy's?”

“Tommy's.”

Windsor's parties were known for being great, but Harry would be the judge of that. One or tw parties might be great, but the next might be complete and utter shit.

After training, in which the orange team completely thrashed the green's, which really fucking annoyed Harry; the boys all dressed, before discussing the party once again. Well, it depends on what you'd classify as discussing, as the conversation went like this:

“You goin' Tommy's tonight, Louis?”

“Yeah, mate.”

Fin.

Literally, that was it. They weren't fucking girls. They didn't discuss meeting up, or what they were wearing; just all checking to see if the other was going. The first thing he really thought about was who he'd pull tonight. How many would he pull.

He smirked at the thought, before throwing his gear over his shoulder, and giving a quick goodbye to the other lads.

The party was in full swing by the time he got there, the small house crowded with people; practically piling out of the door. Harry greeted a few people. Everyone knew him. Not always in a positive light, but knew him none the less. That's all he cared about. He grabbed a beer from an almost tapped out keg, before heading into the stream of people, looking for potential bodies. He downed his beer, before spotting a brunette with pale skin, and pale eyes. Like most nights, he huddled up behind her, before she spun and looked up at him. He smirked, looking down at her as he grabbed her hips.

“Harry,” he greeted.

“Steph.” He could practically hear her panties hit the floor.

Piece of cake.

Twenty minutes later, he stepped out from a bedroom; buckling his belt back up. He looked down, pushing the metal prong through the leather fastening, completely missing his body connecting with someone else's. He stumbled back, shoulder smacking against the wall.

“Fucking hell, mate, watch where you're going.” He said, frustration evident in his voice as he stared up from his belt to the victim who'd knocked him.

He looked down at the tanned male staring up at him, looking slightly panicked, but at the same time annoyed.

“Sorry, man.” And, fuck. Wasn't this lad just... Pretty. He had tanned skin, and fucking amber eyes. Like melted caramel. Black hair, and delicious looking stubble clinging to his fucking jawline and chin.

Jesus Christ, what a jawline, indeed. Nothing compared to those cheekbones, though.

This moment right here had him questioning his sexuality, because fuck.

Look at those fucking eyelashes. And, those lips. Holy shit.

He offered a charming smile, before nodding. “No worries. Completely my fault.” He offered a hand, shoving the other one into his pocket. Before he opened his mouth, the girl from earlier opened the door, stepping out and looking at him.

“Bye, Harry.” She said in a filthy voice, biting her bottom lip. “Call me, yeah?” She said, before hurrying back downstairs. Not doubt to brag.

Clinger.

He nodded, before turning back to the boy. He seemed to find this amusing, taking the hand.

“Nice to meet you, Harry. I'm Zayn,” he said, and fucking what? Even his name was ridiculously attractive.

“Pleasure's all mine.” He wet his lips, and stared down at the boy. “Haven't seen you before. What're you studying?”

Zayn took his hand back, shoving his flecked fingers as if that were enough. “Art.”

Of course he's a fucking artist. He could practically see the thick framed glasses perched at the end of his nose, and the paintbrush in his hand; not hard to imagine at all.

Harry nodded, tonguing the corner of his mouth. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for Zayn to ask him about his major. After a few seconds of eye contact, he spoke up. “Not gonna ask me what I study?”

Zayn looked at him, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “Law?”

He shook his head, leaning against the wall.

Zayn pursed his lips, his eyes looking over his as if that would help. Under those eyes, he felt naked. “Definitely not English.”

Harry raised an eyebrow once again, “And, why not?”

“I can just tell. I give up, what is your course.” He said, as if exasperated.

“Sports therapy.”

Zayn raised a thick eyebrow, tonguing the front of his teeth. “I bet you're really good with your hands.”

Harry smirked, “Oh, you have no idea.”

And, just like that. It started.

Two months later, he had Zayn pressed against his bed, shirtless and quivering. He mouthed at the older boy's collarbone, slamming his hips forward. Zayn moaned, his fingers twisted through Harry's hair and tugged him closer.

“Fuck, I love you,” he whimpered, pressing his mouth against Harry's shoulder as he continued to slam into him. He ignored the words, like he always did, focusing on fucking Zayn into the mattress. “I love you so much,” he breathed, brushing his lips against the veins in Harry's neck.

Fuck love, it doesn't exist.

Instead of saying it back, he angled his hips to slam repeatedly into Zayn's prostate, shutting him up about the subject of loving him. Zayn was being ridiculous, he'd realise soon that love is just a figment that people created to sell more cards, and cash in more money. The boy would soon see that it's all bullshit.

Harry fucked him harder, trying to fuck out the sense of love inside him. Abolish it from Zayn, save him from himself.

He did this every time Zayn would open his stupid fucking mouth and say something that would make Harry's chest hurt a little.

He stepped out of the bathroom, a girl in tow behind him. He wiped at his mouth, removing the girl's overwhelming orgasm form his lips. He looked up, beginning to walk down the stairs. Green eyes met amber, and he could see from the look on Zayn's face that he was hurt. He didn't know why, though. They'd agreed, and Harry had pushed that what they were was casual. They could both fuck whoever they wanted on the side. But, Harry had a suspicion that Zayn hadn't been with anyone else over the course of five months. He was always available when Harry called him at two in the morning, or when he stumbled to him drunk after a party; his dorm would be free of other people. It was probably because of all that love shit. Zayn still said it. In texts, on calls, when he left in the morning. Or, when Harry kicked him out. He still never said it back. Not once. He didn't love Zayn, so why lie?

Zayn turned up to practice one morning, a month later; large clothes hanging off his small frame. His eyes were red, and his hair was flat at one side. He clutched Harry's phone, walking straight onto the pitch, ignoring the Coach's curses for him to get off. He simply smiled, and Harry could tell that he'd just woken up. He must have found his phone, and came straight here. Fucking hell, he must have walked, too. Zayn couldn't drive, and he barely had enough money to catch a bus.

As the boy walked onto the pitch, he heard mutters from behind him before a couple of obnoxious wolf whistles sounded.

“Who's the fuck is tha'?” Niall's distinctive Irish voice questioned. Harry turned, looking at his team mate who's eyes were completely locked on Zayn. His jaw was clenched, but his tongue snaked out to wet his lips as the blue eyes looked over Zayn's thin frame.

“No one,” he answered back, his own jaw tight as he continued to stare at the blonde. He felt the stab of possession, and jealously twinge in his gut. He knew he had no right to say that, but he fucking did.

He strolled over to Zayn, locking his hand behind his neck and pulling him against him, their lips roughly connecting. He immediately pushed his tongue into the boy's mouth, receiving a soft sound of shock and pleasure as he rubbed his tongue along the back of the older boy's teeth. He pulled back after a few minutes, looking down at Zayn's flushed face, and the unmistakable curve to his lips.

“I-I brought your phone,” he said, handing him the contents in his hand.

Harry nodded, taking it and sliding it into the pocket of his jacket. “Cheers. You can go now,” he dismissed.

Zayn nodded, face still flustered, but a look of disappointment behind his eyes. What was he expecting? For Harry to ask him to stay behind so he could give him a lift. No.

“I'll see you later, yeah?”

Harry didn't answer, simply turning back to his team mates. It might have been cruel, but he didn't like the way Niall was looking at him. Still looking at him, apparently. He turned his own head, watching Zayn walk off the field, and back onto the street.

“Horan. Head in the fucking game, mate,” he said, shoving him with a shoulder. Niall's arms and body was broader then his own, but Harry was taller.

Niall didn't seem to take this lightly, giving a rough shove back, hands connecting with Harry's back. “You got a problem?”

Harry opened his mouth to say something, before the Coach suddenly blew his whistle, causing the pair to snap to his attention. He didn't realise, but Liam's arms were around his body, and by the looks of it, Louis had Niall pulled back. He shrugged out of the hold, before heading further onto the pitch.

“Let's fucking play, alright.”

By the time he got back to his own dorm, he was welcomed with the sight of Zayn sat on his bed, and a bag full of Chinese food by the pillow. Harry raised his eyebrow, dropping his kit down on the floor.

“What's this?” He asked, shutting the door behind him.

Zayn smiled, tearing open the plastic bag. “Just thought you might be hungry.”

“How the fuck did you get in Zayn?” He asked, anger coursing through him suddenly.

Zayn seemed slightly taken back by this, his fingers halting on the bag. “There's a spare on top of the door, remember? I just thought I'd do something nice... Sorry.”

Harry looked at him, and he felt that stupid fucking tightening in his chest again. Zayn had actually done something incredibly sweet for him, even though he'd been a huge cunt earlier; practically sending him away. Well, no. He did send him away. He gave a tight smile, before setting down on the bed.

“Thanks.” He took the bag, and ripped it open, before popping open the containers. He couldn't help but be slightly surprised, seeing all of his favourite dishes. Beef in black been sauce, lemon chicken, butterfly king prawns, and sweet and sour pork balls. He grinned, his stomach growling. “Cheers, mate. You got everything I love.”

Zayn's face dropped slightly, eyebrows dropping an inch before he clearly forced the smile back on. “You're welcome.”

Harry tucked in, shovelling food onto his plate, and practically inhaling it. He offered Zayn one of the pork balls, sliding a few onto his plate. Zayn instantly froze, his fork halting on his plate. Harry frowned, noticing the tense posture of the older boy. “What's the matter?”

Zayn looked up, staring at Harry through his ridiculously long eyelashes, and he felt that fucking dead heart race. “You really don't know?” He said, his voice quiet, and empty.

Harry frowned, looking down at the floor, and the food as if something was wrong. “Uh, no?”

Zayn licked his lips, offering a small smile. “I don't eat pork.”

He continued to frown, before taking the pork back from his plate. “Oh, sorry. Are you allergic or something?”

This seemed to trigger something in the dark skinned boy, before he placed his plate down, wiping his hands down the length of his jeans. “I'm Muslim.”

Shit.

“Shit, yeah. I forgot.”

Zayn let out a little laugh, before standing up. “What's my favourite food?”

Harry leaned back against the wall, continuing to pick from his plate. He shrugged, spooning beef into his mouth. “Chicken?”

“You're fucking unbelievable... What's my middle name?”

“Thomas?”

“Where did I grow up.”

“I don't fucking know, Zayn. How am I supposed to know?!” He asked, anger pooling into his limbs.

“We've been together for six fucking months, Harry! That's how I expect you to know.”

What.

“Mate, we're not together. We've been through this.”

He could practically see Zayn's heart break, his face instantly losing anger and dropping of all emotion.

“But, I fucking love you.”

“I don't love you.”

Zayn sniffed, his skin paling.

Harry sighed, pushing his plate away onto the bed. He folded his arms across his lap, shaking his head. “Look, I think we need to call this a day, now. You're getting in too deep. We've had our fun, but enough is enough,” he added another sigh at the end.

The body across from his didn't move, but Harry could see his eyes fill with tears. His heart twinged, and he actually wanted nothing fucking more than to pull the smaller boy into his body. But, he didn't. He stayed on the bed, his face blank as he watched Zayn fall apart in front of him. He didn't bat an eyelash.

He sighed, “You should go.”

Zayn nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand before grabbing his shoes and coat and leaving.

He wouldn't admit that the sight of this hurt. He wouldn't admit that he wanted to go after Zayn. And, he definitely wouldn't admit that he was in love with him. Because, he wasn't.

Harry smirked, sliding his tongue against the shell of the blonde's ear, pressing a kiss to the soft spot beneath. He rolled his hips forward, pressing his hard on against her practically bare arse. She moaned, reaching around and wrapping her arm around the back of his neck, holding him there. He licked his lips, lifting his eyes to look around for any better talent.

No fucking way.

His eyes settled on a pair not too far away, and his heart froze. Fucking froze in his chest, before plummeting downwards.

Two unmistakable bodies were pressed together, hips rocking to the beat of the song. Niall's hands gripped Zayn's hips, his broad chest pressed tightly against Zayn's back. His Zayn's back. His mouth was pressed to his neck, while Zayn's fingers slid through the back of Niall's hair, carding through the mixture of blonde and brunette strands. The full lips parted, before a smile broke out on his face. Niall pulled back, smirking slightly as he whispered something in Zayn's ear, causing the smaller boy to bite down on his bottom lip.

Harry watched with a locked jaw as Niall's fingers slid up under Zayn's shirt, revealing his dark skin. He could practically hear the whimper that would fall from those perfect lips, he could see it.

He should have known that the sleaze would step in. He knew it from the moment Niall looked at his Zayn.

Except for the fact that Zayn wasn't his to claim. Wasn't his to get jealous over.

He continued to watch, his frustration only growing. His eyes dropped down to their hips, the way Niall's rolled against the older boy's arse, rutting against him, slightly. Zayn's head fell back against Niall's shoulder, grinding obviously back. Their lips connected, and Harry growled. Who the fuck was Niall to touch something that was his?

Niall's head turned, and their lips connected, starting filthy at first, before the blonde said something against Zayn's damp looking lips, before laughing.

How fucking long have they known each other?

It's been four months since Zayn and him had... Gone separate ways.

He wouldn't say 'broken up', because they hadn't. Hadn't even been fucking dating, for Christ's sake.

Harry grunted, dragging the girl into another room, where he proceeded to fuck her senseless, pouring his heart and soul into each thrust. Her screams only egging him on, desperate for her to be Zayn. Zayn's hands gripping his shoulders. Zayn's stubble rubbing against his neck and jaw, rather than smooth skin. Full, damp lips pressed to his own, rather than a blood red mouth, staining his lips with lipstick, rather than suction.

Once he was done, he headed to the bar, stopping immediately when he spotted Zayn leaning over the bar, obviously waiting for his drinks.

No doubt for him and Niall.

He walked over, moving to stand next to the boy. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Zayn turned to him, his relaxed face instantly hardening. But, it wasn't harsh. It was the look Zayn took while meeting a stranger. The older boy offered a stiff smile, nudging him slightly. “How you doing?”

Harry shrugged, ordering a beer. “I'm good. I see you and Niall are getting quite comfy. When did that happen?” He tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice, as well as the desperate need to know.

“We're dating, actually.”

And, fuck. He wasn't expecting that.

“Oh, right. That's great.”

Zayn nodded, turning back to the bar.

“So, how, uh, did you two meet?”

“Well, there was the football pitch, that time. But, we met properly at a party, and we got to talking and he's a really great guy.” He swallowed, and Harry could see his knuckles tensing. “He really loves me, Harry. He cares about me, a lot.”

He nodded, because what else could he do? But, he couldn't help it. He had to say something. “He's a bit of a prick, though, isn't he?” He laughed, taking a sip from his beer. “Got a bit of a reputation. You don't really wanna get into that, do you, Zayn?” He licked his lips, taking a step closer; staring down at the... Beautiful boy.

The older lad swallowed, but kept his composure. “I trust him. I love him, a lot.”

Harry smirked, placing his hand on Zayn's hip. He lent down, pressing his mouth to Zayn's ear. “Come back to mine,” he ordered. “I'll fuck you until you forget him.”

The boy backed away, staring up at Harry with a tense face. “You broke me.”

Harry's heart felt like it shattered, right then and there.

“Zayn, I--.”

He was suddenly cut off by a gruff voice, followed by his unwanted appearance.

“Is everything okay, baby?” Niall suddenly appeared, pressing his chest back against Zayn's small, thin back; pulling him possessively closer. He eyes stayed locked on Harry's, and he could see the anger deep within those usual laid back eyes.

Harry felt his muscles tense, his eyes not moving from the blue one's. “Everything's fine,” he answered for Zayn.

“I believe I asked me boyfriend, mate.”

Harry's fists tightened at the word.

Boyfriend.

Zayn nodded, turning his head to look at the blonde. “Everything's okay, I was just talking to Harry. I got your drink,” he smiled, and Harry's heart broke some more. That smile. He'd seen that before. Actually, no he hadn't. The smiles he received weren't nearly as bright.

Niall grinned, his harder exterior melting as he looked down at Zayn. “Tanks', beautiful.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to those full, pouted lips. And, Harry just wanted to fucking punch this stupid, Irish prick.

He couldn't take this. He needed to leave. So, that's exactly what he did. He left.

At football practice, he was dreading seeing Niall. Every time he thought about him and Zayn, he saw them fucking. Niall thrusting inside of Zayn, causing the beautiful boy to whimper. He claw at Niall's pale back, his ankles crossed against the base of the blonde's spine. He yanked open his locker, looking at his reflection in the small mirror glued to the door. He risked a glance, staring at Niall across from his. His eyes wondered to his locker. The naked chicks still remained, but now there was two new pictures.

Photographs.

One showed both him and Zayn standing next to each other, both dressed smart in ties and dress shirts; obviously taken at some formal event. The other was a stand alone picture of Zayn, pulling a ridiculously adorable face at the camera, his body laid out on a couch. He watched as Niall focused on the pictures, smiling in complete adoration of him; going as far to brush a few fingers over the picture of Zayn. His Zayn.

Except he wasn't his.

He was Niall's.

Niall shut the locker, before heading out of the locker room; cleats noisily treading across the tiled floor.

Harry clutched at the door of his locker, mind racing with a million and one things. And, each thought containing Zayn.

Zayn and his soft, melting eyes. His adorable smile, with too much tongue. His scrunched nose and creased eyes when he laughed.

Huh.

So, this is what being in love feels like.