Buses & Bunk Beds (Zarry)

Chapter 53

It turns out that Nancy was serious about keeping Harry and me apart as much as possible. The number of interviews we were scheduled for had been drastically decreased, but when we did have to do one they separated us into groups, and needless to say, he and I were never grouped together.

They also changed our choreography so that he and I were hardly ever on the same part of the stage at once. It became almost like a game, trying to come up with excuses to ignore our stage directions and accidentally bump into each other. And the lingering looks we managed to give each other, even from the other side of the stage, started to feel a lot like foreplay.

And I could understand why management was so insistent on keeping us apart; it felt like a good rule to have in place when I'd look over at Harry, singing his heart out, and I'd have to stop myself from running over to him so that I could lick at the skin peeking out of the vee of his t-shirt, not stopping until I tasted his sweat. It made it painful to look at him sometimes, how beautiful he was and how open and loving he was with the fans. I swear I was just as starstruck with him as they were, amazed by how he seemed able to whip everyone into a frenzy with a strong note or even one of his silly jokes. He was fucking amazing, and I couldn't believe that he was mine.

Seeing him perform and listening to his raspy voice - god was there anything sexier than the soft growl of his voice? - made me forget at times that I was there to put on a show and not just watch him. At those moments I had to look away, instead focusing on the sea of screaming faces, thankful that most of our fans were young girls so that I didn't have to see any couples kissing as they swayed along to our music, since that was all I wanted to be doing with Harry. I wanted to kiss him as we stood in a crowd of strangers, so long and so hard that our lips became swollen and sore. I hated that the idea of being able to kiss him like that seemed like an impossible dream, so I pretended that it wasn't, fantasizing about what it would be like to snog him in public with no shame or repercussions.

By the time the shows ended I was usually so hot for him that I could barely wait to get back to the hotel, and if it was a night that we were going to be on the bus then we made sure we found a place to be alone in the arena, be it a bathroom or a dark hallway, or once the back row of the nosebleed section.

Harry'd told me before, in the breathless moments before he came, how much he enjoyed me dominating him. His whispered confessions about how good my weight felt on top of him, about how the strong grip of my hands made him come harder than he ever could with anyone else, made me want to fuck him harder and grip him tighter. I suspected that the reason he liked it was because those moments, when it was just the two of us, naked and needy, were the only times when he didn't have to worry about making millions of fans happy, because for that short period of time, when he would do anything I wanted, I was the only person he needed to please.

I could tell from the way that he was eyeing me from across the room before the show in Turin, Italy, ignoring all the girls at the meet and greet who were throwing themselves at him, that it was going to be one of those nights. He wanted me to be in charge, to order him not to come until I said he could. He wanted it rough, and I knew that I was the only person who could give it to him hard enough to make his toes curl and his eyes roll back in his head.

And even if I knew that no girl, no one really, could ever fuck him or love him like I did, it still felt like I was competing with the whole world for his attention when a busty girl made a show of slipping him her hotel key. So I was going to remind him of why I was the only one for him, as soon as the show was over.

On that particular night it was pouring, so hard that I was surprised they still expected us to perform. We were absolutely drenched before the end of the opening number, and I was fucking miserable. The other guys seemed to be having fun with the rain, splashing around like this was their idea of a good time, but I was struggling. The only thing that kept me going was the way that Harry was looking at me, his gaze following me wherever I went. He looked at me like he was dying of thirst and I was a tall glass of water, and the idea that he wanted me, even soaking wet, was the only thing that kept me from throwing in the towel. We had been separated for most of the show, but as soon as we were in the same vicinity I felt his hot breath against the back of my neck.