Keep the Car Running (Zarry AU)

Chapter 15

When Harry gets back down stairs, Zayn is doing what he always does and drinking a glass of scotch like nothing has happened. He has an excuse prepared, something about an early flight to New York this time, not that he needs it because the cab’s probably already outside. But before he can say anything, Zayn nods at the coffee table.

‘You made me tea?’ Harry says, staring at the mug (on a coaster, of course).

Zayn’s never made him tea. He’s never done anything other than try to usher him out of the house as quickly as possible.

He’s standing by the bookcase and smiles smoothly when Harry reaches down to pick it up. ‘Thanks for the copy of Fifty Shades Of Grey,’ he says, holding up his glass and Harry laughs so suddenly that he almost spills the tea. ‘When did you do that?’

‘Last week,’ Harry admits, walking over to where he’s standing.

‘It’s, um, well thumbed,’ he says with mock disgust, the battered paperback like a blister in the neat row of pristine books.

‘I got it in a charity shop.’

Zayn looks so horrified that Harry laughs again and it sounds so loud in the huge living room that he covers his mouth with his hand and apologises.

‘So what’s with you and the books?’ Zayn asks, sipping on his scotch as he waits for Harry to catch his breath. ‘Every time you come here you fiddle with them.’

‘What’s with you and the books?’ Harry counters as he watches Zayn rub his thumb down the spine of one of them with the sort of fondness usually reserved for pinching a baby’s chin.

‘I was supposed to be an English teacher.’

‘Shut up!’

‘You sound surprised.’

‘No.’ Harry waves his hand when he sees Zayn’s jaw clench. ‘No. I mean. No. My first y’know,’ he stops to think about it, ‘my only, I guess, was an English teacher.’

‘At Cambridge?’

‘Yeah,’ Harry says, turning to tap the top of one of the books with his finger as he tries not to think about that morning, the morning after he and Zayn met when Harry barged into his house and sprayed crazy all over him. ‘That’s how I knew I was-’ he rubs his lips together. ‘I mean, I knew, but I didn’t know for sure until I met him. I had a girlfriend at the time, but I could only get off when I thought about him and me in the library.’

Zayn chuckles. ‘The library?’

Harry lifts his chin and grins at him. ‘Haven’t you read Atonement?’

‘No, but I think I need to.’

‘They do it against the bookshelf. It’s the hottest thing ever.’

‘Oh yeah?’

Harry looks into his mug of tea. ‘I was so lucky that he was my first. He was so sweet and patient and-’ he stops as he feels the words line up on his tongue – What was it like for you? – but before he can say them, Zayn edges closer.

‘So did you ever do it in the library?’

‘Unfortunately not.’ Harry rolls his eyes. ‘He liked his job too much.’

Zayn licks his lips. ‘That’s a shame,’ he says, putting his glass on the shelf. Harry doesn’t realise what he’s doing until he takes the mug of tea from him and puts it on the shelf next to it. ‘Like this?’ Zayn says into his ear, standing behind him and putting his hands on Harry’s hips, turning him to face to the bookcase. Harry nods, even though it isn’t like that at all, but he’s so scared that Zayn will stop that he doesn’t make a sound, just reaches up to grab the edge of one of the shelves as Zayn grinds into him, letting him feel that he’s hard again. He does it again, nudging Harry into the bookcase, the shelves hitting his knees, stomach and chest, all at once, and knocking the air out of him.

‘Do you have anything?’ Zayn asks, his breath hot and quick against Harry’s ear.

He nods weakly. ‘Inside pocket.’

When Zayn unbuttons his jacket, Harry begins to shake. ‘Don’t let go,’ Zayn warns, Harry’s heart banging as Zayn’s hand slips under his jacket to reach into the inside pocket. He finds the small bottle of lube and the box of condoms and when he puts them on the shelf next to Harry’s right hand, Harry has to look away, staring at the copy of Breakfast at Tiffany’s that’s back in it’s rightful place as Zayn reaches around to undo his trousers. Touch me, Harry almost says, but presses his lips together before he can, holding his breath as Zayn lets Harry’s trousers fall and gather around his ankles before hooking his fingers into his underwear and tugging the back of them down, leaving Harry’s erection trapped under the thin black cotton.

When he reaches for the lube, Harry closes his eyes, swallowing back a sigh a moment later when he feels the press of Zayn’s wet finger. He pushes down as Zayn pushes up and it feels so good that it sounds like he’s choking as he fights the urge to gasp.

‘It’s okay,’ Zayn says into his ear, inching his finger in deeper. ‘I wanna hear.’

‘Thank you,’ Harry breathes, giving into a groan as his thighs quiver.

‘Say it again.’

‘Thank you,’ he says when Zayn crooks his finger slightly, just enough to have Harry on his tiptoes, his chin banging against the shelf.

Zayn’s never spoken to him like this – never even acknowledged that he’s there during sex – so it’s almost too much, Harry shaking as Zayn eases another finger into him and begins working it in and out. Not like he usually does, not with a hurried sigh, as though he’s waiting to fill up his car at a petrol station, but slower – so slow – as though he wants Harry to feel it and isn’t just doing it because it will make it easier to push inside him.

‘Like this?’ Zayn asks again and Harry nods, his knuckles white as he clings onto the shelf. ‘Is this what you wanted him to do to you? Tell me.’

‘Yes. Like that. That,’ Harry pants, pushing down on Zayn’s fingers until he feels a punch of pleasure so intense, he almost falls back.

‘You want me to fuck you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Say it.’

‘Fuck me.’

Zayn pulls his hair and Harry can’t see him, but he knows he’s smirking. ‘Ask nicely.’

‘Fuck me, please,’ Harry bites out, rubbing himself against the bookshelf. ‘Please.’

He does. He fucks Harry until he’s breathless and shaking and the spine of Breakfast at Tiffany’s goes out of focus. But again Zayn doesn’t touch him. He doesn’t kiss his cheek or nudge him with his nose, just holds his hips and thrusts into him until Harry is limp, his sweaty fingers slipping on the black lacquer as he struggles to hold on.

Harry comes first, a second before Zayn does, and he tries not to, but he gives into the weight of his head, letting it tip back onto Zayn’s shoulder as he blinks up at the glass ceiling until all he can see is stars.

‘Are you okay?’ Zayn says into his ear, fingers curled around Harry’s throat. But Harry doesn’t say yes this time, he shakes his head.

‘I think if you ever touched me, I’d die,’ he says with a tender sigh, but Harry doesn’t realise that he’s said it out loud until he feels Zayn kiss his cheek and his heart flares then burns out like a spent light bulb.