I'm Not Gay

11

The following month was the strangest in Harry’s life.

His and Zayn’s friendship seemed to be totally broken. At least Harry didn’t think what they now had was friendship. There was nothing friendly about the way Zayn treated him. Zayn wasn’t mean, exactly; he just wasn’t his good-natured and laid-back self. Zayn was…different. 

Sometimes Harry caught Zayn staring at him really intensely, as if Harry was the most interesting thing in the world. Other times Zayn would barely look at him, and even when he did, his gaze would be hard and unkind. It was all so very confusing.

Harry didn’t know how to handle this Zayn. He wasn’t sure he even liked this Zayn. This Zayn was a bit of an asshole, to be honest, but his stupid body seemed weirdly into that asshole and into all the gay things Zayn had forced on him lately.

Zayn was no longer careful and considerate of Harry’s straight guy sensibilities. He seemed to take perverse pleasure in trying to freak Harry out by doing totally gay things like kissing Harry during sex. Harry put up with it, because…because he was positive Zayn actually wanted him to freak out and stop what they were doing. So obviously, Harry’s contrary nature just wouldn’t quit. He was determined not to lose the weird version of gay chicken they had been playing lately. (Was it gay chicken if one of them was gay? Harry wasn’t sure, but he was resolved not to lose anyway.)

Zayn’s kisses were bloody terrible, though. Harry could barely stand them; they were too intense, weird, and overwhelming. Zayn, the asshole, knew how much Harry was freaked out by them and kept kissing him, but Harry refused to admit defeat.

Sometimes Zayn kissed him for what felt like hours until Harry felt so raw and desperate and oversensitive that he felt like his head was in a fog and his balls were going to explode. Other times, Zayn refused to give him his cock until after he groped and kissed Harry everywhere, which was almost as annoying and frustrating as the long kisses.

Zayn also touched Harry’s cock. A lot.

“Come on, this is so gay,” Harry tried to say the first few times it had happened, but Zayn was undeterred.

“This isn’t gayer than having my dick in your ass,” Zayn would say flatly, stroking Harry’s cock until Harry forgot his protests, his mind becoming foggy and useless again. It really wasn’t bloody fair that his body turned into a complete traitor lately.
Seeing his erection in his best mate’s large, male hand felt incredibly wrong, but apparently he was into all the wrong things now.

And then there was the Other Thing—the thing Harry was determined not to think about. As far as he was concerned, it didn’t happen. Until it did. And even when it did, it didn’t really count. Because Harry wasn’t some kind of freak. He was a totally normal guy who wasn’t into that sort of thing. Not that he had anything against people who were into that sort of thing; he just wasn’t one of those people.  Except when he was.

“Yeah, oh, oh, fuck yeah, pound that pussy, love your cock, give it to me, yeah, yeah, like that!”

Afterward, Harry kind of wanted the ground to open and swallow him up, but during the sex he seemed to absolutely lose control of his mouth. Like, don’t get him wrong—he had nothing against some dirty talk—but he was a man, for fuck’s sake. He was supposed to be hearing those kinds of words from some hot babe under him, not saying them himself while his best friend pounded into his asshole. It was absolutely mortifying.

All in all, these days, Harry felt like his head was going to explode from confusion. He understood neither Zayn, nor himself.
 
* * *
 
Harry liked to think he was a decent guy.  For all his man-whoring, he’d never picked up taken women. He didn’t want to be that guy.

So he kind of wanted to know whether Zayn was still dating Brad or not, but he was too afraid to ask after Zayn’s reaction the last time they’d talked about it. What’s it to you?

The fact that he was afraid of talking to his best mate about his dating life showed how weird things had become between them.

Not to mention that lately they hadn’t done much talking, full stop. These days, they barely even texted each other. Zayn just showed up at his flat, and then they fucked. Like, Harry had tried to just hang out like friends a few times, but Zayn wasn’t very responsive to his attempts to restore the balance. Zayn seemed to be always in the mood for sex when he arrived, ignoring Harry’s weak attempts at conversation and just manhandling him until Harry’s mouth was full of either Zayn’s tongue or Zayn’s cock.

One day in early November, Zayn sucked his cock. In Harry’s defense, he was too turned on to say no. It was one of those rare times Zayn came before him, leaving Harry teetering on the edge of orgasm, frustrated and horny. So when Zayn slipped down his body and fucking swallowed his cock, Harry could only stare at him with wide eyes.

Zayn’s mouth felt incredibly good around him—wet, soft, and skillful—but the sight of it…Seeing his best friend’s lips stretched around his cock was such a gut-punching sight, Harry didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Don’t,” he managed, thrusting into Zayn’s mouth. He didn’t mean to, but he seemed unable to stop, needing—just needing.

Zayn fucking rolled his eyes at him and started bobbing his head up and down, his finger massaging Harry’s hole. Harry groaned, thrust a few times into Zayn’s mouth and came.

“This wasn’t cool, man,” Harry mumbled afterward, unable to meet Zayn’s eyes. “I didn’t ask you to…to…”

“Suck your cock?” Zayn said, zipping up his fly and reaching for his shirt. His expression was blank, impossible to read.

Harry licked his lips. They felt swollen and sore. “Yeah. I mean, not that it wasn’t good, but you know—I’m not…”

“You’re not gay, I know,” Zayn said, slipping into his jacket.

There was the now-familiar hard edge to his voice that lately never seemed to fail to irritate Harry and turn him on a little at the same time.

Annoyed with his body, Harry nodded stiffly, pulling the sheets to cover his lap.

“See you,” Zayn said and left without waiting for his response.

Harry whispered, “See you,” to the empty room.

Frowning, he flopped back on the mattress and let out a groan of frustration.He hated what their friendship had become. Even though he saw Zayn every day, it felt like they hadn’t talked in ages. 

It felt like they were drifting apart, further and further with each day.