I'm Not Gay

14

But everything changed. Now that the floodgates were opened, Harry couldn’t shut them again. He seemed completely unable to see Zayn as a friend anymore, his eyes lingering helplessly on the curve of  Zayn’s mouth, his firm jaw, and his ridiculously fit body.

It was fucking horrible. The worst. Harry didn’t know what to do with himself, how to stop wanting those gay things, how to go back to normal and stop drooling over his best mate. At this point, Harry was pretty sure he wouldn’t choose a naked bombshell with a strap-on over a naked Zayn with his distinct lack of tits and his hard, heavy body. It was so bloody gay, and Harry was so very confused. He didn’t feel gay. He didn’t suddenly start checking other blokes out; he didn’t stare at other men’s bodies or hands—only at Zayn’s. 

The worst part was, Zayn seemed completely unflappable and impossible to read. After the handjob in Andy’s loo, he hadn’t asked for more unreciprocated handjobs and he didn’t seem to act any differently around him. Harry felt…stupidly disappointed, and it pissed him off. It pissed him off that he was starting to feel all kinds of gay and needy while Zayn either treated him as a platonic best mate or fucked Harry so good he bloody saw stars—before rolling off Harry and going back to being his best mate.

It wasn’t that Harry didn’t want his best mate around; he just…he just didn’t seem to be able to turn off the wanting after the sex was over. Clearly Zayn didn’t have the same problem.

Harry forced himself to stop thinking about it and tried to focus on the TV screen. The 85-inch display the Maliks had bought recently was a thing of beauty, and the movie they all were watching was entertaining—at least Harry presumed it must be entertaining, because everyone else seemed engrossed in it, as far as he could see.

Harry was already starting to regret that he’d ended up staying for the Malik's’ movie night, but it would have been rude to refuse, considering that he’d come to Zach’s house uninvited and didn’t expect the entire Maliks clan to be there. Zayn had already been sprawled lazily on the couch at the back, and he patted the space next to him when he’d seen Harry. 

That was how Harry ended up squeezed next to Zayn on the loveseat that was far too small for two big men, or at least it felt that way. He was acutely, painfully aware of the heat radiating off Zayn’s body, of the mere inch separating their thighs.

Zayn seemed freshly showered and shaved, the scent of his aftershave making Harry’s cock chub up in his loose sweatpants. It was the fucking worst. It was particularly maddening because Zayn seemed to be in his best friend mode tonight, showing no interest in Harry whatsoever.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, trying to tell himself that he was perfectly content with just hanging out like bros. They were bros. Right? He could totally live without putting his hands on Zayn. He absolutely didn’t want to slip his hand under Zayn’s shirt and have a good grope.  

Ugh. It was like Harry was a teenager all over again, his hands itching to touch and his cock hard just from being so close to the object of his lust. It didn’t even seem to matter that there were a dozen other people in the room; Harry still wanted to climb into Zayn’s lap, shove his tongue down Zayn’s throat, and sit on his cock, not necessarily in that order. Even his nipples were hard and oversensitive against his shirt, aching for Zayn’s attention—his hands, his mouth, anything. Harry dug his fingers into his own thighs, hoping against hope that the pain would erase the totally insane, totally gay thoughts from his mind. 

On the screen, someone screamed.
Harry flinched, startled and confused. 

Next to him, Zayn chuckled. “Come on, it isn’t that scary.”

Harry eyed the screen, only now realizing they were watching a horror flick. At least the revolting, hairy thing eating the blonde alive was a pretty big clue that it was a horror flick.