Work Text:
the first time zayn walked in on them, like really walked in, it was a thursday.
it was a thursday, and it was fucking pouring outside. he remembers this mainly because the second he saw, he ran back outside, all the way through the hallway and down the stairs, skateboard and thickass hoodie and single headphone in and all, to the record store, to the backroom, bathroom—and threw up.
it’s still the most strenuous physical exercise he’s gotten all year.
in hindsight, it was almost funny. paint the picture: louis braced against the hallway adjacent from the front door, pants only as far down as his knees, as if they couldn’t even wait, as if it was so fucking imperative that they fuck on the floor of the flat. of zayn’s flat. harry on his knees, his glasses placed hazardly on top of his coat, louis’ cock in his mouth. louis fucking his mouth, harry choking on it, zayn feeling his like lungs are about to compress.
almost funny. right.
*
the guy you're madly in love with madly in love with someone else—too. the too plays a pretty big factor, because it's what separates them from just being case of infidelity or 'i've found someone else'. even though, yeah, louis has found someone else, he hasn't left zayn. best of both worlds.
it's fucked, because zayn has been with louis for years, known him even longer than that, and now he's the other woman. it's fucked, so fucking fucked, except that harry's the other woman as well. only one person wins in a love triangle.
(except, okay, sometimes zayn looks at the way louis looks at harry and he wants to throw up again, feels like he's constantly on the edge of doubling over and passing out, sat on the edge of a beach and wondering if he even wants to go home and wonders if it's possible that there could be two winners in this scenario. wonder if he'd be one of them.)
*
zayn digs in the pockets of his stupid expensive coat for his keys, a fag held tightly in between his lips and grande held even tighter in his hand. things are on a seriously delicate balance right now. they always are, though, and zayn is truly a pro; he gets his keys out before the smoke gets too uncomfortable in his mouth and before his palms get sweaty from the heat of the cup and begin to slip. slipping the keys back into the inner pockets, he takes the cig out of his mouth and holds it by the tip of his thumb and index.
harry colour-coded them last week because harry's a fucking shit, but even zayn can begrudgingly admit it's been useful in that he doesn't have to spend an extra two minutes trying to figure out which is which when they all look the same. the label on the one for the shop is grey. "much like your feelings on working there," louis likes to joke, usually looking at zayn with a squinted look like he's not sure whether or not he'll laugh or kick harry out of the flat for touching his shit. zayn isn’t sure either.
he’s been doing an alright job of ignoring the short line of people queued up in front of the door, but he has to acknowledge one of them when they try to move into the store.
“sorry, no, back up,” zayn tells him, holding the door slightly open with his foot. “store doesn’t open ‘til 10:15, mate, it’s 9:50.”
“you can’t actually make us wait twenty-five minutes when we’ve been here so long already, what the fuck,” the guy complains, looking like he wants to shove his way into the store. that’s happened before.
“i can,” zayn corrects him. “and i will, if you don’t back up and ruin my benevolence. excuse me.”
the bloke finally listens. zayn enters, locking it behind him and heading straight for his refuge up front to place the things down and shrug off the coat. it’s still cold as all out, and the heat is sporadic and unpredictable, so he’s got on a thick hoodie and a jacket over that to get him through the day.
zayn switches the main light on. although it’s morning, the skies are grey and heavily clouded, and he isn’t going to risk someone thinking they can get away with stealing just because it’s dark out. that’s more hassle than most of these records are even worth.
setting up shop doesn’t take that much time. within five minutes, give or take, zayn is back at the door and opening the door once and for all. everyone flocks to the newest stand near the front of the store: the 1975 have released their new one—their first new one, zayn thinks, although he can’t say he’s one hundred on that. he tends to block harry out when he goes on and on.
like way too many other artists, harry recommended this one to zayn and convinced him that putting it up wouldn’t be a total waste of time. like way too many other artists, harry was right with this one. since they put the poster up on the window, they’ve had a stupid amount of increased traffic and people actually calling the shop to ask questions about it. zayn can count on both hands the frequency with which he’s had to pick up that phone prior to this announcement.
the band is big, though, as big as the type of shit harry listens to can be. apparently some pathetically obsessed popstar has been promoting the shit out of them to their fifty million twitter followers, he doesn’t know. he seriously does zone out whenever harry says more than five sentences in a row.
zayn centers himself out of his thoughts and back into reality. there’s a decent line and a better bonus waiting for him if this entire stock sells before the end of the week. thinking about harry styles can definitely wait.
*
“look at that,” zayn jokes once he’s rung up the last customer and locked up the store, “louis tomlinson actually reading a book. did someone dare you you couldn’t?”
“fuck you,” louis says cheerily, coming around and hopping onto the counter. zayn steps away from where he’s been balancing the register to step in between his legs and bring a hand up to curl at the nape of his hair. he needs a haircut. “it’s a good book. really like… simple? s’not wordy. i like that.”
zayn is the only person he knows of who has managed to get louis to actually pick up books since sixth form. “who gave it to you?”
louis looks hesitant to respond. it’s only for a split-second, but it’s something, and it’s enough for zayn to immediately know who. of fucking course. it’s not a shock when louis finally answers, “harry.”
“right,” zayn says slowly, keeping his face carefully blank. “what’s it about?”
“i don’t know, it’s a collection of short stories. i’ve only actually just started it so i don’t know if there’s a theme. don’t think so, though. c’mon. let’s eat before the nuggets get cold and my heart along with it.”
*
he doesn't think he ever has. not truly, anyway, not for an extended period of time.
there was the beginning, when louis spent so much time talking about harry and that night on the beach when louis ditched him for harry for the first time. he doesn’t even think he hated harry then, just this slow, insistent burning in his body. resentment. not hate.
he's grown to tolerate him. sometimes tolerate is too nice a term, but more often than that, even though he's loathe to admit it to himself or dare even say it out loud, he even likes him.
harry's a fine enough bloke, apart from the fact that he's fucking zayn's boyfriend. he's got a decent taste in music, and is always open to whatever zayn recommends him. he's never seen a white boy in chic glasses and ripped jeans jam to drake as much as harry does.
fit, too. got a shock of tattoos littering his body that took a while for him to reveal, only even happened because louis managed to get him out of those hoodies and shitty jumpers and show off his body. zayn probably would.
so, yeah. he's not adverse to harry. he's adverse to the situation.
*
"what the fuck is on with you?" he finally asks, standing at the entrance if the living room and staring at the two of them. louis is bent over the armrest of their sofa with harry arched over him, fingerfucking him and pressing kisses down his back. zayn is used to—well, no, used to isn’t the right term, he doesn't think anyone can get used to how louis looks during sex, but he knows it, he gets it. he doesn't know harry like that, though, and he's struck with how fucking... good he looks.
his glasses have been abandoned somewhere along the way, leaving him with nothing adorning his face save the long mess of curls sticking to his forehead and brushing against his cheek. his eyes are dark and dilated and, shit, intense from where they're looking back at zayn. his tattoos look stark and brilliant along the flushed expanse of his pale skin and—
"join us," louis says, grinning at him filthily. his voice is blown, his eyes are blown, his mouth looks fucked. zayn really wishes he wasn't getting hard.
"shut the fuck up," zayn answers immediately, and walks back out of the flat. niall's it is. again.
it happens more and more frequently after that.
sometimes it's subtle and sometimes it seriously fucking not. like, zayn'll be watching tv in the living room and louis and harry will show up and rush into louis' room with their clothes halfway off before they even close the door. and they're loud, slamming into the walls, moaning against skin. louis is vocal. very vocal.
other times, it’ll be downright exhibitionistic: the three of them watching the telly, louis sat in harry’s lap, louis grinding down and back on harry’s dick through their clothing. or wanking each other with the loo door partially open. or just downright fucking.
what makes it worse, maybe, is that harry actually has shame. he’s so quick to embarrass in general conversation, but it’s as if whenever he’s having sex with louis, he either doesn’t care about anything or just doesn’t realise that he should. zayn knows the feeling.
what makes it twice as worse are the moments when they’re not being sexual in any way. when they’re just… being, and zayn can tell. louis looks at harry the way he looks at zayn, and that’s never happened before. and zayn would be lying if he didn’t see himself in harry sometimes, head over heels, dumbstruck, and so fucking obvious it’s gotta ache.
what hurts three times as much: harry doesn’t see louis and zayn doing the exact same things.
*
this is only relevant because of this: zayn gets shit-drunk and says this, “louis wants me to fuck harry.”
“wait,” niall says, squinting. “why should that matter?”
*
“louis,” zayn announces on his day off, entering the house confidently and cocksure, “let’s get a few things straight here.”
"get what straight?" louis calls back. "i thought you liked that this wasn't straight."
zayn can only see the back of louis' head from this point, and let's out a soft breath of relief. that'll make this conversation way easier. he beelines into the kitchen to get a beer and bag of chips and replies, "i'm not gonna have a threesome with you and harry," before making way into the living room and finding that fucking hell, of course, harry is there.
he's spread across the couch, long legs extending onto louis' lap and over the armrest. his head is propped up on the opposite part, eyes hooded and rimmed red under his glasses. zayn needs to fucking stop finding him attractive, it's just getting annoying now.
"what," louis asks, craning his head to the side. he puckers his mouth up ridiculously, poking his tongue out in a way that makes zayn wonder about him sometimes. even while rolling his eyes, he leans down and kisses him, a quick, pressing thing that he hopes won't put any further ideas into louis' mind.
"harry," zayn nods. harry smiles back at him, a slow grin that seems to imply a lot more than the nod did. "and you heard exactly what i said, louis. budge over."
"go sit on the other side, i'm not moving," louis answers, apparently choosing not to continue with the other source of conversation. good.
zayn eyes harry warily.
"he won't bite," louis says exasperatedly. zayn doesn't think either of them are as sure of that as louis sounds—not even harry himself.
zayn manages to convince himself to sit down. harry holds his head up just long enough for zayn to sit, and then he's putting it back and down resting his cheek on zayn's thigh. it feels less weird than he'd expect.
which is when zayn notices: "is that a spliff in your hand?"
"i cannot believe it took you this long," louis says, bringing it up to his mouth and taking a long drag with a judging eyebrow raised toward zayn. zayn can't either; the smell of weed is fairly prominent in the room now that he takes care to notice and the other two look stoned out their minds. "want?"
"how'd you even get it, fucking ivan went and decided to stop selling and like, go to imperial or some posh shit."
"i go to imperial," harry says slowly, sounding half-offended.
"that's the point, baby," louis tells him, patting his leg. "y'know niall's mate, matty? he knows a bloke who knows this girl who's been selling. anyway. want?"
“fucking duh, lou," zayn says, securing his beer in the crook between harry and the couch and reaching over to take hold.
that's the situation that zayn finds himself in thirty minutes and a footie game later when he asks louis to pass a fresh joint again and he says, "depends," voice dragging and speaking of trouble.
"on what?" man u are behind lfc two points and he's kinda shocked louis is paying attention to anyone when the game is this crucial. this should be the first warning.
"do you promise you'll do it?”
zayn shrugs, thinking it’ll just be to be his slave for the rest of the day or something equally trivial. fuck if he’s not wrong.
“kiss harry.”
zayn thinks this is the climax of every hugs not drugs speech he’s ever heard in his life. his brain cells are rotting and his ability to make moral and just decisions is declining. that’s got to be the only explanation as to why he doesn’t do more than stare blankly at louis for a moment before thinking fuck it to himself and looking down to where an amused harry is looking up at him.
maybe he should ask whether or not harry minds, but—zayn takes in a deep breath, feeling it fill up his lungs slowly, slowly, slowly, and kisses harry.
time doesn’t slow down, but he becomes less aware of it. harry is a good kisser, which zayn wouldn't have expected. he's not entirely unsure that louis wasn't his first fuck, if that sentence works. which it probably doesn't but shit, he's got a warm mouth under his and his boy watching them like some sort of fucking voyeur; he thinks he could be okay with not being at his wits' potential.
the tongue is zayn's fault. harry's getting rough with it, pressure and pull increasing, and zayn's mouth parts, feeling on the right edge of high and buzzed to just go along with whatever he's handed. harry takes the chance almost immediately, grabbing the front of zayn's shirt and pulling him farther down to—well, zayn hates to sound like fucking fifty shades or something, but to tongue-fuck him, he doesn't think there's any other term that could describe the insistent stroke of harry's tongue pressing into the corners of his mouth and just how filthy it is.
it isn't until louis is whimpering, "holy shit," that zayn is aware he ought to pull back.
his mouth feels sore already. he returns louis' stare and licks his bottom lip.
"zayn," louis says. that's all he says, and there's so much inflection and questioning in that one name zayn almost rattles with it.
zayn shrugs.
louis makes a noise in the back of his throat and then, before zayn has even finished breathing back in, is straddling zayn's lap.
harry is sat up now, a leg folded under his thigh. watching. his glasses are skewed and zayn imagines he himself must have the imprint of them on his cheeks.
louis kisses zayn like he's desperate for it, like a man possessed, like he's trying to get the taste of harry at the same time. zayn lets him. his mouth is sensitive and burns, but he lets him. louis is grinding his ass down in zayn's lap, and it seems as if it's entirely unconscious, like he can't even help himself.
his dick is visibly straining against the thin fabric of his joggers. the game kind of changes when harry braces one hand on zayn's inner thigh so that he can reach the other in between their two bodies and take hold of louis' cock and... louis comes.
it's amazing, way amazing: louis shoots up, his mouth parted and eyes staring wide into zayn's and then he, like... convulses. zayn doesn't think there's a better word for it; he convulses and lets out this almost silent gasp and comes in his pants.
zayn can remember the last time louis came that fast and the last time louis came in his pants: 17 and 20, respectively. he'd think maybe harry has been changing louis' sexual habits entirely, or something as fucking stupid as that, but when he glances over, harry looks just as dumbfounded and kind of slack faced as he is.
it's silent and still in the room for a minute or two, save louis' laboured breathing and the slight shivers wracking his body with less frequency as the time goes by. he's slumped over with his face is buried in zayn's neck, harsh air tickling the hairs.
then: "okay, fuck, fuck, c'mon," and louis is moving back and standing up.
neither zayn nor harry have said a word yet and they still don't. the two of them sit there, zayn with his legs spread and harry's still tucked under his thigh, and they watch louis.
he's taking his clothing off: tee, joggers, nothing underneath. his dick isn't even fully soft yet. zayn thinks he's going to throw up and come on himself at the same time. neither sounds too appealing.
"lou," he hears himself say, "come on."
louis has regained his sense of self; he doesn't look like he's about to drop and come again with the right gust of wind. zayn is glad for this. almost always, it’s louis who initiates and guides these situations, and he doesn’t see why this one should be any different, even though harry isn’t just some stranger in a bar.
“get your kit off,” louis tells them, idly running a hand over his hip. zayn manages to do it all while remaining sitting down, but harry has to stand up awkwardly to get his denims all the way down, before sitting back down on the couch and this time mirroring zayn’s position. his glasses came off while he was removing his shirt, but he hasn’t bothered trying to get them back, just squints that little bit more.
louis huffs out a breath and leans his weight onto his right leg. “will you guys, like — harry, will you… get your mouth on him?”
harry blinks, long and slow. “what?”
louis shifts to the other leg. “suck zayn’s cock. and then mine. and then, and then you’re going to fuck me, and i’m gonna blow zayn. at the same time. okay?”
harry makes a choking noise in the back of his throat. zayn feels like he’s about to spit out his lung.
after making sure not to look—which, hell, they’re naked in front of each other; zayn needs to figure his priorities out—he finally looks over at harry’s lap, sees his dick fattening up even more at louis’ words. he’s got a really, really, really stupid nice cock. maybe that’s why louis is so head over heels.
zayn shuts his eyes tight for a millisecond and breathes in deep. opens them and breathes out, out, out, lets himself relax into the situation fully. and like that, he’s fine. weed is fucking great.
he wraps a hand around his cock, watches the way harry licks his lips, still swollen and red from their kissing, and seems to be hyping himself up. zayn wonders what his imperial schoolmates would think of him right now, high off his mind and about to get his mouth fucked by two blokes.
harry finally gets off the couch to kneel in between zayn's open legs. he places his hands on zayn's inner thigh; he's got huge hands and zayn doesn't have very thick thighs, making for an interesting image. louis has moved to sit next to zayn on the couch, one hand tightly wrapped around the wrist of the other.
harry's not very graceful with this at all: he kind of just falls onto zayn's dick, mouth suddenly lightly wrapped the head and, "oh my fuck," zayn gasps. his dick twitches, sliding out and streaking a line of come across harry's cheek.
harry looks up him, the smallest hint of a smirk on his face, before he goes to town, leaning down and deepthroating zayn in one go.
holy fucking shit, though. fucking shit.
zayn can’t help the noises coming out of his mouth, and he’s not even usually vocal. louis is moaning right alongside him, of course he is, louis is always so fucking easy and ready for it. zayn can’t focus on insulting louis, though, because harry is sucking tightly around zayn’s cock, still deepthroating him, breathing harshly through his nose with his eyes wide open. that’s the most striking thing about this, zayn thinks, the way that harry just doesn’t shut his eyes. bright and forest green and getting more and more teary as the seconds go by, but he leaves them wide and so… zayn doesn’t know. smugness. pride, maybe, even though zayn doesn’t know why. lust.
harry’s hair is falling into his eyes, and louis reaches a hand forward to push it back, lingering with what looks like a slightly tight grip. harry makes a… snarling noise around zayn’s cock, something that doesn’t even sound human, eyes snapping up to louis’ face with the fiercest look zayn has ever seen. it makes his entire fucking being flare up, pulse spiking and cock hardening impossibly more. fuck, if harry’s got a cock like that and can look this way in bed, no wonder. louis leans in to say conspiratorially into zayn’s ear, “he doesn’t have a gag reflex.”
zayn feels like his entire body is wired. ready to snap. he can’t fucking believe he’s getting head from a kid he wants to strangle half of the time.
harry pulls off for a second to suck in a harsh, shaky breath before going right back at it. zayn watches his head bob, hands still tight and bruising on the inside of zayn’s thighs. he unwraps his lips, frees a hand to take a loose hold of zayn’s cock and licks a solid stripe up the underside, swirls around the slit and laps up the precome there and okay, okay, zayn needs to—
louis grabs harry by the hair again and pushes his head back right before zayn reaches the edge of something sharp and frightening and elating.
“not yet,” louis pants, flicking his thumb over the sensitive and swollen tip of zayn’s dick. he watches zayn’s face clearly, and doesn’t remove his grip from harry’s hair until he finds something in zayn’s face that reassures him that he won’t blow his load within the next five seconds. louis makes a kissy face at him, winking slightly. there’s a warmth spreading all throughout zayn’s body, and it’s lovely, louis is lovely, harry’s tongue spreading flat against the slit of his dick and letting the precome fall onto his tongue is lovely. everything is so fucking lovely.
when louis stands up, zayn is too lost in the sensation of harry scraping his teeth over the base to wonder what he’s doing, but that question is answered quickly for him either way. louis somehow finds a place to comfortably stand where he can nudge the—oh, wow… wow… the head of his once-again hard cock against the corner of harry’s lips. that are still on zayn’s dick.
wow.
harry raises a lone brow, goes on about sucking the head of zayn’s cock, seemingly ignoring the way louis’ dragging his cock all over his cheek, chin, lips. he looks amused. it isn’t until louis actually starts putting his cock in that harry gives any signal to noticing, making a short noise in the back of his throat and pulling his head all the way back, even when louis takes hold of his hair and tries to haul him back in.
“no,” harry rasps, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth. “‘ve got to present in neurobio tomorrow. not this time.”
“not this time,” louis repeats, like he’s getting a taste of the words. zayn is so so so so so close to losing it. he doesn’t think he’s hardly said ten words.
harry sits back on his haunches, mouth spit-slick and puffy. his cock is standing heavy and thick and long, looking way too neglected. “louis.”
“right,” louis says tightly. nothing stresses or elates zayn more than seeing louis this frazzled and losing it before his cock has even been properly touched. “okay. zayn, go get the stuff from the room. there’s prolly a condom under the bed?” he looks at harry.
harry smiles, small and laced with meaning. “don’t want a condom.”
when zayn walks back into the living room after locating the lube and no condom, louis is sat on harry’s lap and they’re making out on the floor. harry’s dick is sliding in between louis’ asscheeks; zayn can see the precome where it’s caught at the rim. harry has his hands splayed across louis back, louis with his arms entangled at the wrists around harry’s neck, kissing with a whole lot of tongue. zayn can’t hear what louis is murmuring into harry’s mouth, but he can at least tell the shift in harry’s face, right back to that downright animalistic look he’d had when louis’ grabbed his hair.
“i wanna make you cry,” harry says conversationally, just loud enough that zayn can hear.
louis replies with something along the lines of, “baby, you can try,” and then grinds back on harry’s and smirks devilishly at the way harry’s eyes flutter and his mouth parts on a soft breath. he really is pretty nice looking.
zayn’s beginning to realise even more that he doesn’t quite have harry styles all figured out the way he’d thought and hoped.
he finally makes his presence known, clearing his throat and walking back into the room. the other two don’t pull away from each other when they see zayn, and that’s reassuring in a way that zayn doesn’t even have an explanation or words for.
“hurry up already,” louis complains, “you took a fucking hour. we haven’t all gotten our dick wet yet.”
“shut up,” zayn says easily, reaching them and dropping gracefully onto his knees. “hands and knees, lou.”
“but then—” harry starts, voice croaky and sounding way fucked. “i wanna, i wanna suck louis off. i was supposed to. wanna. just don’t want two in my mouth.”
“not this time,” louis repeats. harry smiles again, a small and wicked and crooked thing that sends a spark all the way down to his toes.
flash: louis is on his back, feet splayed flat on the floor and knees bent. there’s a throw pillow underneath louis’ ass, propping him up. zayn’s kneeling in between his legs; harry has draped himself over louis’ body with his knees on either side of louis’ hips. it looks like they’re about to do 69, except harry angles his hips up and away so that louis won’t be able to properly get his mouth on there. it’s got to be uncomfortable, but he doesn’t seem to mind, and is already kissing around louis’ thighs, mouthing at his balls and steadfastly avoiding his dick.
louis whimpers when zayn gets the first slick finger in, moans when harry tongues at the slit. zayn might be longer, but louis is thicker and amazingly, harry does not seem to have an issue with getting through either. it’s like he was fucking made to suck cock, no discrimination, and he looks damn good doing it, too. the way his lips are stretched around louis’ cock almost distract zayn from his own part in this.
not quite, though, and zayn gets in another finger, curling and twisting it until louis groans out an extended, “fuck,” and grinds his ass down. and then fucks his hips up. he can’t even make up his fucking mind, and that’s astounding, zayn thinks, because he hasn’t met a person who can be as focused about what he wants (at least when it comes to sex) than louis.
harry has some mad suction going on, apparently so tight that it’s got louis babbling, “harry, please, fuck, zayn can you—” and trying to fuck up against the tight grip harry’s hands have got on his hips to keep him down. zayn doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say; he’d make fun of louis for losing it this badly before anyone’s even proper inside him, but he’s already come so the incoherence can be excused.
three fingers in, louis is pushing harry’s head away and telling zayn to, “get out, m’ready, m’ready now.” he’s collapsing onto his stomach the second harry finally moves his mouth off, looking a little disappointed a little when he does.
“how’re we gonna do this?” zayn asks harry, seeing as how louis has his cheek pressed against the dirty and looks another breath away from passing out.
“i’m fucking him,” harry says slowly, simultaneously a challenge and a question.
“eiffel?” zayn asks, raising an eyebrow.
harry’s confused. “i don’t know what that is?”
smirking, zayn responds, “you’ll figure it out fast. get ‘im on all fours.”
harry has to manhandle louis a little to get it done. louis is practically dead weight at this point. harry curls a hand under louis' waist and roughly pulls him up, ignoring louis' grumbles, until louis finally gives up resisting and holds himself up. they've done this before, zayn and louis have, but for some reason this feels... new. way new. maybe because zayn knows that if louis gets his way, this'll happen many times after with every sort of variation.
zayn guides himself into louis' mouth, feeling a sharp burst of affection in his gut and warming his body when he sees the contentedness on his boy's face. he feels a little guilty. louis is clearly so happy about this, and zayn knows for certain that he was the major roadblock in him getting it. makes you wanna hurt yourself, just a little, knowing that you've prevented louis from getting just what he wants. or even delayed it.
louis pulls back a little to complain, "hurry u—oh, fuck," breaking off into a breathy swear when harry finally enters him in one smooth, harsh thrust, fucking him right back onto zayn's dick.
louis is good at giving head, but he's also human. he's messy and kind of amateur about it right now, more spit put into the equation than there needs to be. it's less him sucking zayn off and more harry fucking him into the action. out, in. pause, grind his hips in: most of zayn's cock in louis' mouth, moaning around it.
harry has his hands braced on louis' hips, tight enough that his veins are popping out, that louis is sure to have bruises in the morning. his hair is falling into his face, curling around the temples and sticking because of the sweat.
"'m not gonna, shit, oh god," harry moans, bringing a hand down to grope at louis' ass, presumably to hold him open and watch himself going in. zayn knows that's what he would be doing, what he likes to do. "last."
that's perfectly okay. zayn's been a hair's breadth away from orgasm for probably seven years now.
when zayn leans forward over louis' body and tells harry to, "c'mere," he reckons that he can blame it on loads of things later on. mostly, though, harry's just a bloody good kisser, and zayn really likes kissing.
harry doesn't even contemplate if he should do it like zayn had to. he just curves his body forward eagerly, never pausing the motions of his hips into louis' ass. his mouth meets zayn's almost awkwardly, but it's good anyway. harry hisses at the first touch; his lips are swollen and bruised as fuck. still.
harry curves a large palm around the back of zayn's neck to pull him in closer. this kiss is even dirtier than the other one was, more teeth and more tongue. more push and pull, more groaning and digging his fingers into the soft give of zayn’s neck.
“fuck,” harry breathes against zayn’s mouth, rubbing his free hand down louis’ back. it looks comforting, even while he continues to fuck him so hard and so deep that even zayn is pushed forward and almost losing his foothold. “fuck.”
louis comes then, letting out this… zayn doesn’t even know, it doesn’t sound like anything he can put a name to. it’s hot as hell, though, sends the most stellar vibrations around zayn’s dick, ten times more intense than anything else, and finally sending him over the edge as he bites down hard on harry’s bottom lip.
even once zayn has slumped down onto the floor, louis is still coming and harry is still fucking it out of him. his arms have collapsed, cheek pressed against the soft carpet and breathing laboured.
“h,” louis says, voice cracking. there’s so much emotion in that one syllable it’s near stifling.
“okay,” harry sighs, and comes just like that, stilling his hips once he’s bottomed and grinding his cock in as he rides it out.
it’s awkward for but a millisecond after harry pulls out. until louis slurs, “fuckin’ took you two long enough.” and that’s that.
*
he’s managed to convince parents that staying in london for the first half won’t decimate their entire relationship, or some shit; zayn doesn’t really pay attention. harry rambles.
holiday times tend to have mad album releases, all rushing in one after the other to try to get maximum intake from christmas sales. mid-december is the only period wherein the shop gets consistent and high revenue. this year especially.
harry spends so much time at the shop now, loitering and doing homework and bothering zayn while louis’ at work. at least zayn can make him help with sales and stock. especially sales. zayn has watched harry convince a thirty-year old russian woman that kissland is exactly what she’s been waiting her entire life to hear. liam’s even agreed to pay him part-time for it. and zayn is his pseudo-boss, so he can justify making harry carry all the heavy packages now without louis trying to guilt him.
harry, as per, has a bunch of mildly obscure assholes releasing EPs and albums around now, too, and he harrasses zayn to put them on until he finally caves in. to be fair, it’s only so that he doesn’t have to keep hearing harry’s inane bullshit.
and harry always blows in in the backroom if he accepts, but. that’s besides the point.