Work Text:
*
“I think we should have sex.”
Harry looks up from his mobile and squints toward the doorway of the bus because that sounded like Niall, but he’s pretty sure there’s no way it was actually Niall. Niall’s not the type of person to come bursting onto the tour bus telling somebody that he thinks they should have sex with him. That’s something Harry’s more likely to do, or, well, or no one, really. Just Harry.
It is Niall though, standing there in a pair of basketball shorts and a Miami Heat jersey with a snapback turned backward on his head. His cheeks and neck are flushed pink, and his eyes are wild. Harry looks slowly from Niall over to Lou and raises an eyebrow.
“I think he’s talking to you, babe,” Harry says to her.
Lou shakes her head, twirling her foot around and letting the sandal dangle loosely from her toes. “Not me, Hazza.”
Harry shakes his head and picks up an apple from the fruit bowl on the table next to where he’s sitting. “No, it’s definitely you,” Harry says, voice muffled as he bites into the fruit. “Because the only other person here is me and—“
“It’s you,” Lou says blandly.
Harry chews and swallows. “No it’s not. Niall, tell her it’s not—“
“She’s right,” Niall says. “It’s you.”
And, oh.
Oh.
Harry slowly sits up and puts the apple with the bite taken out of it back on the table. It’s possible he should be paying closer attention to this conversation. “Me,” he says dumbly.
“Yep.” Niall nods.
From the other couch Lou snorts a quiet laugh and holds her mobile up in the air. If she’s making a Vine of them Harry’s going to kill her.
“Right now?” Harry asks. He glances from Niall to Lou and back again. “Because I think maybe Lou wouldn’t want to—“
“Watch?” Lou interrupts with. She puts her mobile down and looks up at them. “I’d love to,” she says, rubbing her hands together, beaming. “Let’s have at it.”
Niall splutters, and Harry covers his face with his hand. “Please tell me you don’t want her to watch, Nialler.”
“What? Watch?” It takes Niall a moment to get it, but Harry’s fairly certain the way Lou is wiggling her eyebrows and motioning for him to sit with Harry on the couch is giving her away. Harry can tell the exact moment he cottons on because his face goes from pink to white and he lets out a startled gasp. “Oh god! Fuck no, Lou, Christ.”
Lou sighs heavily. “Fine.” She stands up and stretches her arms over her head. The bus bumps along the road, and she checks her mobile one last time before shoving it in the front pocket of her jeans and wandering off, only stopping long enough to ruffle Harry’s hair and spin Niall’s snapback around so the brim is facing the front. “I’m going to go find Tom; none of you lads let me have any fun.”
The door bangs shut behind her, leaving the room in a kind of awkward silence. Harry doesn’t feel weird—sure this is a bit strange, but he’s known Niall for years now. Strange is something he’s come to expect—but he doesn’t know exactly what Niall is going for here. Is he looking to shag now or somewhere down the line, or…
“So it’s a good plan, yeah?” Niall asks. He’s hovering in the middle of the room, but he looks a bit more relaxed now. His eyes are crinkled, and he’s beaming at Harry, the same grin Harry’s come to expect from him. “You and me?”
“Yeah, sure,” Harry says. He smiles and shrugs happily. “I’m good with that.” He gestures to himself on the couch. “You want to like—like now?”
“No! Not now, I mean. One day. In the future.” Niall chews on his thumb and shrugs. “When we’re bored or something.”
Harry snorts a quiet laugh. Only Niall would think shagging a mate would be a good way to kill some time when bored on the bus.
Well. All right. It’s not as if the thought’s never crossed Harry’s mind.
“I just figured the rest of the lads are all paired up already,” Niall continues. Harry’s not quite sure why he’s arguing his case so hard; Harry’s already agreed, but Harry’s nothing if not polite. If Niall wants so stand here and list all the reasons why he and Harry should be shagging who’s Harry to stop him, really. They don’t have soundcheck for another two hours. They’ve got plenty of time.
“Well Liam’s not paired up, of course,” Niall says, “but you and I both know he’s never going to really get over Danielle. Not that it matters, because, well, it’s Liam, and I can’t—“
“No, no, I understand,” Harry interrupts, because listening to Niall list all the reasons why he doesn’t want to shag Liam sounds like pretty much the worst time ever. He gestures to his own chest though, wriggles his hips suggestively and winks to lighten the mood. “You don’t have to say it, Niall, I understand. I’m the fittest one, I know. You can’t keep away from it. I’m the total package.”
Niall snorts. “Total package; you’re a total knob.”
“You want my total knob,” Harry reminds him, and Niall bursts out laughing, shaking his head and backing out of the lounge.
“I do,” Niall says his voice falsely serious and a twinkle in his eye. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep until I get some of Harry Styles’s sweet lovin.”
Harry presses his lips together to bite back the smile. “It’s a tragedy; I’ve heard it before.”
Niall looks at him one last time, and Harry lets the grin out easily, letting Niall know that he’s only joking. He winks again though, holds Niall’s gaze long enough that he knows for as much as Harry’s joking he’s also deadly serious.
“So not now but you let me know, yeah?” Harry says. He picks up his apple and chews on it slowly, digging his mobile from his jeans and clicking it on. “I’ll be waiting.”
Niall hold his hand up in a wave. “Yeah. Yeah, all right,” he says and walks out.
Harry watches him go then turns his mobile on, takes a Vine of himself biting the apple all the way to the core. He posts it to his Twitter with the caption: keeping the doctor away and it gets retweeted eleven thousand times in six minutes.
Niall doesn’t come back. Harry doesn’t mention it, and that’s the way it stays for sixteen days.
*
On the seventeenth day, Harry steps out of the shower in his hotel room to the sound of someone pounding either their foot or their fists against his door, he can’t tell which. He rubs a towel over his head and wipes off his chest and thighs and arse and pads to the door, wet feet dripping water into the thick hotel carpet.
He peers out the peephole then grins when he finds Niall on the other side, bouncing from foot to foot and glancing skittishly down the hall.
“Niall!” Harry beams and pulls the door open. It says a lot about their friendship already that Niall doesn’t even notice when Harry answers the door completely starkers. Harry should possibly work on putting a bit of mystery into their relationship.
Niall gives a dopey wave and closes the door behind him. He turns back to Harry and must just notice the state Harry’s in because his cheeks go a little pink, and he rolls his eyes up toward the ceiling.
“Christ, Harry, have you not got any pants?”
“I’ve got pants.” Harry’s lips quirk into a slow grin. “I just choose not to wear them.”
“Right.” Niall drops his eyes then glances back up again. He chews on his bottom lip and says, “That’s. Well. It’s a good choice, considering.”
Harry rubs a hand through his hair and shifts the chain for the cross hanging around his neck so the lock is in the back. “Considering?”
“Remember that time on the bus,” Niall says quickly. It takes Harry a second—there have been a lot of times on the bus to be fair—but when he realizes what Niall’s talking about, and what’s got him so jittery looking, Harry could almost burst out laughing. He feels his face split into a wide grin and tries to hide it; covers his mouth with the palm of his hand as he teases, “Hmm. Time on the bus, time on the bus. I’m not too sure, Ni. I mean, we’ve had a lot of times on the bus; can you be a little more specific?”
Niall looks a little panicked. He flounders for a split second, hands waving in the air as he says, “Yeah, I mean, it was the time—” He stops then when he catches Harry’s smile, steps forward and punches Harry hard in the shoulder. “Oh, piss off, Haz. You know what time I mean.”
Harry laughs. Teasing Niall is fun, but if this is it then this is it. Game time. Niall asked Harry that day if Harry wanted to shag and the answer to that is pretty much always a hell yes. If that’s what Niall came here for right now Harry’s not going to tease him too much. Shagging trumps taking the piss any day as far as Harry’s concerned.
“Yeah,” Harry says. He steps forward slowly, backing Niall into the wall, and looms over him, using the few inches of height he’s got on Niall to his advantage. He gives them both a second to adjust, after all for as long as they’ve known each other this is new. This is something different and extra and special, and Harry’s not going to take that lightly no matter how casual they make it.
He waits until Niall relaxes, his cheeks and throat flushed an even deeper shade of pink, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, and Harry grins. This is maybe the best idea Niall’s ever had.
Because Niall’s great. He’s fit, and he’s funny. He’s one of Harry’s best, best mates ever, and he wants to shag Harry. There’s really nothing bad about any of that if Harry thinks about it.
Harry curls his fingers into fists and rests them on the wall on either side of Niall’s head. His breath is coming short and choppy, the blood pulsing quick through his veins. He can feel the damp hair at the nape of his neck, drops of water sliding down over his shoulders and back, Harry can smell the product in Niall’s hair, the faint traces of his cologne, and suddenly he wants to kiss him so much his entire body aches with it.
Harry leans in, goes to bury his face in the soft curve of Niall’s neck and taste his skin, when someone bangs on the door behind both of their heads, sending Niall jumping about a foot into the air, the top of his head banging into the bottom of Harry’s chin and snapping his teeth together.
“Fuck!” Harry shouts. The edge of his tongue blooms in pain, the sharp tang of blood in his mouth from where he bit it with his teeth. “What the hell, Niall?”
Niall’s eyes are wild as he backs away from the door. “I’m sorry. I got startled. Who’s at the fucking—“
“Oh, sick!” Ashton calls, and fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck, Harry fucking forgot he invited the lads over for a Fifa tournament. He drops his head into the palm of his hand and moans quietly. His life just went from brilliant to terrible in about point three seconds. A new record, even. “Haz, it’s us. Is Niall in there, too?” Ashton asks.
“Niall’s in there?” Harry hears Michael say from out in the hall. “Oi! Cal! Get your arse over here, Niall’s in, too!”
“Niall’s in there?” Cal yells, and Harry rolls his eyes.
“They’re acting like you’re the bloody Prince of Persia,” Harry mutters. “Christ. What’s the big deal if you’re in here. No one gets that excited to hang out with me.”
“Is that really what you’re focusing on?” Niall blinks. “Not the fact that we were five seconds from shagging but are now having a bloody Fifa tournament instead. You’re cross because people think I’m cooler than you?”
“They never said that,” Harry pouts. “No one thinks you’re cooler.”
“We do, actually,” Ashton says from the hall.
“Niall’s definitely cooler,” Cal adds.
“You’re a fucking dork, Haz,” Michael says, then giggles. “We’re just using you because you’re room is posh, and we’re tired of sleeping on the bus.”
Harry chuckles and steps back from Niall, pushing the hair back from his face and sighing heavily.
“Later,” Niall says quietly. “Go get some trousers on and let them in. I’ll find you later, yeah?”
He’s grinning up at Harry, and Harry huffs but wanders off to pull a pair of pants and jogging bottoms from his luggage, tugging them on as Niall opens the door. Everyone spills into the room holding bags of crisps and bottles of pop, and Harry is good with it. He’s fine really. It can’t be long until they manage to hook up again now that they’ve taken this first step. The step of intent, Harry likes to think of it as, because apparently he intends to fuck Niall senseless, and really, how long can it possibly take for that?
They keep missing each other, though, and things get crazy on the tour, and it stays like that for twenty-three days.
*
On the twenty fourth day they have a day off. Harry is hot and cranky and tired and is planning on spending the entire day in the hotel hiding in his room and dodging phone calls for as long as humanly possible. He texts Cal about his plan and tells Cal to get out and do some sightseeing without having to watch Harry’s back at every spare second. Cal answers quick enough that Harry thinks maybe he’s been waiting for a bit of a break. Maybe they’ve all been.
He eats some fruit on the hidden balcony of his suite then rings his mum and Gemma. He texts Nick pictures of all the posh things in his hotel room, because he knows Nick’s working on location and is probably covered in mud and bird droppings by now and will get proper cross about the photos. He watches an infomercial on the telly about a special kitchen tool that cuts fruit and sandwiches into funny shapes, and orders three of them to be sent to Louis’ flat at home as a joke. Tired of sitting, he goes to the hotel gym and runs on the treadmill until his legs are burning and his lungs feel like they’re ready to burst from his chest.
Somehow it’s still only ten am.
Harry fiddles with his laptop. He pulls up some porn he’s had saved forever, but he’s a bit bored with it by now, and the idea of looking for new porn seems so daunting, sitting here by himself in a pair of sweaty track pants with a towel slung around his neck. He pick up his mobile and starts scrolling through his contacts looking for someone else to bother, when he spots Niall’s name and it hits him like a ton of bricks.
Harry has a free day. Niall has a free day. It’s only ten a.m., and if Harry moves fast he can probably convince Niall to come to Harry’s room and they can spend the day watching crap on the telly and ordering room service and shagging their faces off.
Harry beams and opens a text. Sometimes he’s amazed at how brilliant he can be.
you awake
Harry hits send and waits a few minutes, chewing on his thumb and kicking around the clothes on his floor into piles in an effort to tidy up. When his mobile buzzes back Harry checks it immediately.
yep, just got out of bed hbu
been up for ages, Harry answers, then bites his lip and adds, so hey remember that time on the bus?
Hmmmm time on the bus time on the bus. Idk Haz there have been a LOT of times on the bus, yeah? at least that’s what you said when I asked you a few weeks ago
“Ha ha ha,” Harry mutters quietly to himself. “Fucking wanker.”
ha ha very funny. So what do you say, you up for it?
It feels like it takes a million hours for Niall to answer, which is ridiculous because this entire thing was Niall’s idea to start with. When Harry’s mobile buzzes again, Harry reads the text and a slow smile spread across his face.
be there in ten
*
Harry takes a fast shower before Niall gets there which is fine because it takes Niall forty minutes to get to his room, and then they fuck around playing Fifa and prank calling Calum and Liam for another twenty before they flop back onto Harry’s bed, arms and legs thrown wide across the duvet. Harry’s in just a pair of gym shorts with his hair pushed back in a headband, and Niall’s in an American flag singlet that looks to be about a hundred years old and a pair of sleep pants Harry would bet a hundred dollars he saw on Zayn just the other night.
“Oh my god, Liam’s going to kill us when he finds out we’re the ones who sent the singing telegram up to his room,” Niall gasps. He covers his eyes with his forearm and giggles helplessly into Harry’s shoulder.
Harry laughs. He tips his head down and growls into the top of Niall’s hair, catching a hunk in his teeth and tugging. Niall bats at Harry’s chest and shoves him back. His right leg slides between both of Harry’s, and Harry manages to get an arm around Niall’s back and pull him closer.
“Are you eating my hair?” Niall asks.
Harry blinks and spits the hair out of his mouth. “Um. No?”
“God, Haz, you’re so fucking weird,” Niall says, but he’s wriggling around and grinning. Harry can’t stand it anymore, because while it might have been Niall’s idea originally, Harry’s been on fucking board with this whole shagging your mate idea from the beginning, so he leans down and fists his hand in the back of Niall’s hair and kisses him.
Niall freezes, and Harry has a split second to panic in thinking that maybe Niall’s not really as into this as he thought he’d be. Things sometimes sound good in theory but then lack in the execution. Harry knows that as well as anybody, but he’d hate to think that he’s winding up on the side of lacking somehow. He shuffles closer to Niall on the bed, tilts his head and licks across the seam of Niall’s mouth, and it’s like Niall finally cottons on or wakes up or just sodding gets it, finally, thank Christ, because he’s actually kissing Harry back now and wow.
Just.
Just wow
Harry had not been expecting this. Whenever he’s thought about him and Niall shagging recently he always kind of figured Niall to be a pleasant but somewhat passive partner. He figured Niall would be happy enough with what Harry was giving him and that he’d let Harry lead and just kind of go along with whatever pace Harry would set.
Harry never thought, he never expected—
“Fuck,” Harry bites out. He’s lying flat on his back, every inch of his skin covered by Niall’s hands or teeth or lips. Niall’s kissing his mouth, sliding their tongues together, kissing Harry so fiercely Harry’s head feels it might actually explode off his fucking shoulders. Niall’s hands are strong. He presses his fingers into the cuts of Harry’s biceps, holding him down into the mattress, his thigh slotted between Harry’s legs, dick hard through his sleep pants and rocking into the side of Harry’s hip.
“Niall, fuck,” Harry curses again. He digs his fingers into his own hair and yanks on the ends, digging the heels of his hands against his eyes. Niall’s sucking bruises down Harry’s chest, pulling his gym shorts down. It’s frantic and feverish, Niall touching him everywhere, his calloused fingers on Harry’s dick. Harry can’t figure out how to do anything but lie there, completely useless to anything but taking it, breath stuttering out a choking moan.
“’M’gonna suck you off and then you can do me, yeah?”
Before Harry can even answer Niall crawls down the bed and takes Harry in his mouth, and Jesus flipping Christ, Niall Horan is wrecking him.
“Yeah,” Harry grunts. Niall does something insane with his tongue, and Harry bites his knuckle and tries to think of revising for maths or eating avocado sandwiches or seeing Barbara from the bakery in her knickers, anything to keep from coming in the first six seconds Niall’s blowing him. “Yeah, Niall, just—“
“Harry. Mate.” Harry’s dick slides out of Niall’s mouth with a soft pop, and he looks up, face flushed a hectic red, mouth shiny with spit. “Stop fucking talking and come in my mouth, all right?”
Harry grabs Niall by the ears and shoves him back onto his dick, and Niall pretends to choke and gag and die but then he settles down, both of them giggling a bit as he curls his fingers around the base of Harry’s dick and starts jerking him roughly, working him into an orgasm quicker than Harry remembers coming in years.
“Holy shit,” Harry breathes. He’s panting up at the ceiling, spots of color dancing in front of his eyes. He’s not even had a minute to get himself together when Niall’s shoving his pants off and climbing up, straddling Harry’s chest and wanking himself off. “Can you give me a second? I can help you with that if you just—“
“Shut up,” Niall chokes out. He leans forward, braces himself with one hand on Harry’s chest and says, “I’m going to come all over this stupid fucking butterfly if it’s the last thing I do.”
“It’s a moth,” Harry huffs, and that’s what does it, those are the words that have Niall squinting his eyes and choking out a laugh and coming in pulses against Harry’s chest.
When he’s finished he tips over to the side, rubbing the edge of the sheet over Harry’s skin to wipe the come off, and Harry would like to protest, remind Niall that he has to sleep here later, thanks so much, but then Niall’s done and he’s grabbing the duvet and yanking it over them, burying his head in Harry’s pillow and leaning over to chew on Harry’s shoulder.
“It’s a moth. My god, Haz, no wonder you pull so much if those are the lines you use in the clubs.”
Harry laughs quietly. “I do all right,” he tells him. Then he runs his fingers through the back of Niall’s hair and pulls him close enough that his face is in Harry’s armpit and holds him there.
Niall flails his arms and makes horrible wretching and gagging sounds, and Harry just smiles to himself, a grin so wide he feels his cheeks ache and thinks that maybe this is a pretty good arrangement. Maybe him and Niall will have to do this again really, really soon.
They don’t manage to hook up again for nine days.
*
On the tenth day Harry thinks his dick might actually explode. It’s been nine days—nine days—of aborted attempts and near misses and just general fuckery that’s kept the two of them from managing to have any time alone together whatsoever.
Harry’s desperate. He’s so desperate he’s doing something he’s told himself he would never do, and he doesn’t even care about it that’s how desperate he is.
Things are never really that bad, he’s always reasoned, because they’ve never been before. There’s no reason you can’t wait, he’s told himself, because waiting is a skill and patience is a virtue and getting off has never been this deep of a pressing need before now so he’s never had to break his one and only tour rule.
Until now.
“On the bus?” Niall squeaks, but Harry just covers Niall’s mouth with his hand and darts his eyes around quickly. They have forty minutes before sound check—forty blessed precious minutes—and Harry doesn’t care if the bus decides to explode. He’s going to get off and then get Niall off in the goddamned lounge if it’s the last thing he does before they blast off into space.
“Yes,” Harry says firmly. “I thought it was fitting, seeing as how you propositioned me here in the first place.”
“It was a suggestion,” Niall argues, “Not a proposition, and anyway, who’s to say someone’s not going to come in here and—“
“Because I told everyone I had to hide in here and have a wank,” Harry interrupts. Niall stops talking so quickly his teeth make an audible snap.
“You did?”
“Yes, I did, because yes, I’m that desperate.”
“Aww, Harry,” Niall teases. He’s got his head tilted to the side and is smiling cheekily. “I didn’t know you cared.”
“I care about having a wank, yes,” Harry says flatly. Niall is still beaming at him though so Harry just rolls his eyes and pulls him up the steps, locking the door to the bus behind him. “And I’m tired of being interrupted. Calum needs to borrow my phone charger. Josh wants to play soccer. Paul needs us to go sing.”
“It’s a right quandary, I know,” Niall muses.
Harry shoves him against the wall and kisses him quiet. It only takes a second for Niall to get on board, curling his hands over Harry’s shoulders and shoving him back, walking him through the bus until they get to the lounge where they can spread out on that ridiculously oversized bed.
“How much time’ve we got?”
“Forty minutes,” Harry pants. Niall’s got his teeth in Harry’s neck and is shoving him down onto the bed.
“Good,” Niall says. “And then at the hotel tonight I’ll stay in yours.”
“Yes. Tonight. Great.” Harry’s good with that. Niall always has the best ideas. “But right now can you—“
“I’m on it,” Niall says, and takes off Harry’s pants.
*
That night though Michael has some kind of emo breakdown over some girl he met three cities back who just decided to stop calling and texting out of nowhere, and when he shows up at Harry’s room, eyes red and wet with a bag full of ice cream pints and sour gummies, Harry can’t really ask him to leave.
Niall is fine with it. He squeezes Harry’s side and hangs out with them both until Michael passes out in a depressed heap on Harry’s sofa, then heads back to his room with balls as blue as Harry’s.
The next day is no better. Zayn wants to go shopping and can’t find Louis, so he kidnaps Niall at the hotel pool and drags him out to the shops all day. Harry receives text after text:
help me
This is terrible
I’m picking out knickers for Perrie
I SAID HELP ME YOU COCK
But he’s stuck at the hotel with a weepy Louis who keeps missing Eleanor’s calls and can’t do much for Niall anyway.
They have a show that night and then it’s a bus travel night. The next day it’s an interview and then a meet and greet and then a show, and if Harry manages to corner Niall in the sodding loo at the venue for a quick blowjob you really can’t blame him. This is ridiculous.
“My my my,” Louis tsks quietly as Harry slips from the loo when he and Niall have finished. His hair is falling loose from his beanie, and his shirt is rucked out of his jeans and unbuttoned. Harry jerks his head up and tries to look nonchalant. The thing is Louis knows what Harry looks like when he’s just gotten off. If Louis is paying attention at all this should barely be a question. Plus Harry’s sure he’s got a jizz stain on the right thigh of his jeans but maybe—maybe somehow, some way—Louis won’t notice.
Of course that’s exactly when Niall decides to walk out behind Harry with a beaming grin and tucking himself back into his jeans as well.
Louis notices.
“Well now!” Louis says, clapping his hands together and staring at them delightedly. He looks back and forth between Harry and Niall, his cheeks pink with excitement, blue eyes twinkling. “What a coincidence you both found each other in the loo there, yeah? Was this an accidental meeting or did one of you trip and fall mouth first onto the other’s dick or—”
Harry rolls his eyes. “Piss off, Louis.”
“Yeah,” Niall says. “We were just playing Fifa.”
“In the loo?” Louis questions. “With your shirts out? And is there no air in the loo? You both look a tad bit sweaty.”
“Bye Louis!” Harry shouts as he grabs Niall by the hand and drags him down the hall. They glance at each other quickly, and Harry feels laughter bubble up high in his chest, a giggle spilling from his lips. “Well, I guess that cat’s out of the bag.”
Niall grins back. “I suppose so.”
And it’s stupid, really, but suddenly Harry wants to talk about it. Talk about everything they’re doing and have done and could possibly do. Because he likes Niall and he has fun with Niall and he doesn’t want to make this into a thing, exactly, but if it happened to be a little thing then Harry maybe wouldn’t be so upset with that.
“So, hey, listen,” Harry says. He tugs on Niall’s hand until he stops walking, pulls him closer so he’s standing in front of Harry with the toes of their trainers touching, bodies only a few inches apart. “I was maybe thinking—“
“There you are!” Liam shouts. Harry whips his head up and finds Liam and Zayn coming at them from the opposite side of the hall, and he sighs. “Paul needs us to sign some photos, and Cal was looking for you, Haz. Something about getting you in touch with someone he knows from LA. I’m not too sure what he was saying.”
Harry opens his mouth to tell Liam to go away; that he and Niall are busy, dammit, but Niall just squeezes his hand and leans in, his mouth warm against Harry’s ear.
“Later, yeah?” he says. “Pictures can’t take long. I’ll text you in an hour, and we’ll meet up.”
Harry huffs but nods and steps away. “Ok. An hour,” he says.
He doesn’t get to talk to Niall until the next morning.
*
Harry’s tired and cranky and has got himself so worked up that by the time he gets to Niall’s room he’s half convinced his head is actually going to explode.
The problem is that yet again the night before, too many things came up. Harry had made plans with Lou and Tom that he’d forgotten about, and Niall was out to dinner with the band.
It got Harry thinking.
Maybe if it wasn’t such a secret, maybe if people knew about him and Niall they’d stop inadvertently cockblocking them at every turn. Not Louis, of course. If anything Louis knowing what’s going on will probably make him cockblock them even more but Harry’s prepared for that. It’s all this other innocent bullshit that’s really getting on his nerves.
He knocks a few times at Niall’s door in warning before using his key and letting himself in. Niall’s lying in bed with the covers kicked down around his waist, and Harry wants to bite him. He wants to crawl onto the mattress and chew on every inch of skin Niall’s showing and then work on the inches that are hidden. Harry pretty much wants everything, and it knocks the breath out of him when he realizes how desperate he actually is.
“So the thing is,” Harry says abruptly. “I like this.”
Niall puts his mobile down. “Ok.”
“Like this this,” Harry says, waving his hand across the space between them. “Us. Your idea, I think it was a good one.”
“Cool,” Niall says, and shrugs. He picks his mobile back up and clicks it on and Harry’s had it. He goes over to the bed and plucks the mobile from Niall’s hands, tossing is over his shoulder where it lands with a quiet thump. “Hey!”
“I’m being serious here!” Harry throws his hands up in the air. He climbs onto the bed, straddling Niall’s hips, one knee on either side of him on the mattress. Niall looks up at him, cheeks flushed pink, eyes sparkling blue and his hair falling softly over his forehead.
“All right, sorry,” Niall says, pretending to be serious. His lips are twitching into a smile, but Harry ignores it, pokes him hard in the chest and frowns. “You were saying?”
“I was saying that I like this with us, whatever it is,” Harry says quietly. “And I want to keep doing it. Like, officially or summat.”
Niall watches him quietly, eyes set on Harry’s and then he grins and nods. “Ok.”
“No, I mean I don’t want us to stop.”
“Ok,” Niall repeats. “Then we won’t.”
“I don’t think you get what I’m saying here,” Harry continues before his brain plays back everything Niall’s said to him, and he stops, feels his cheeks heat. “Wait. Ok?”
“Yeah.” Niall shrugs happily. “Why not.”
“But like, for how long?” Harry bites his lip.
“Until the day we die,” Niall says solemnly.
Harry panics a bit at that. “Erm. Well—“
“Oh my god, Haz, your face.” Niall laughs, smacking his thigh and jostling Harry off his lap in the process. Harry tips over onto the side of the bed and rolls his eyes. Leave it to Niall to be a complete twat during a discussion about their feelings. Then again, leave it to Harry to be the twat who started the conversation to begin with. One day Harry hopes to be half as cool as people seem to think he is, because in reality he’s a complete and utter knob.
“Seriously, though,” Niall says, “This is good, yeah? We can just do this until we don’t want to. No time limit or expiration date or anything.”
Harry grins and ducks his head against Niall’s shoulder. “That’s good.”
“And we can maybe tell people,” Niall continues, “The lads, at least, and Paul and a few of them. That way if we want to beg off for a quick shag no one will be looking for us, all right?”
“Yes.” Harry nods emphatically. Since when did Niall get to be the smart one anyway? “Wow, you’ve got some great ideas, Nialler,” Harry says, smiling helplessly.
Niall stretches his arms out over his head and grins smugly. “I’ve been told that on occasion.”
Harry laughs and leans in to kiss him, but just then a sharp knock rattles the door.
“Nialler, you in there?” Zayn bellows. “Paul says you’ve got to—“
“Tell Paul I’m busy shagging Harry, and we’ll both be down in…” he looks up into Harry’s face. “Twenty minutes?” he whispers.
“Better make it half an hour.”
“—Half an hour,” Niall calls.
“Wait!” Zayn splutters. “You’re what?”
“Shagging Harry.“
“Hi, Zayn!” Harry calls.
“Tell the others that we’ll fill you all in on the bus, but for now unless you want to hear what I sound like when a bloke’s sucking my dick—” Niall calls out.
There’s a thump and some muttered cursing and then Zayn shouting, “No, please! Carry on. Take your time. We’ll wait.”
They wait until they hear footsteps walking away from the door and then collapse into a pile of giggles in the mess of sheets, Harry’s legs slotted with Niall’s under the covers. He kisses Niall’s shoulder and shudders when Niall slips his hands under the waistband of Harry’s jogging pants.
“Half an hour, huh?” Harry says.
Niall wiggles his eyebrows. “Better make it count, Styles.”
*
No one interrupts them for the whole half hour, and Harry sees Niall that afternoon and then after the show and then the next morning on the bus. They don’t skip a day for three days and then five and then fifteen and then twenty.
And then Harry stops counting.
-end-