WARNING: This chapter contains mature scenes and a few graphic sexual descriptions.
Love, he said, gas
kiss me off,
kiss my lips,
kiss my hair,
my fingers,
my c*ck, my b*lls,
my eyes, my brain,
make me forget...
Charles Bukowski | Love Lyrics
*** THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN EDITED AND IS NO LONGER CENSORED***
During a swim we had a game of volleyball where I skinny-dipped, and the boys made fun of me. Z stuck to the shallow ends of the pool and helped me as best as he could from there. He wasn't much help though, because his phobia of the water made him slow and he was overly careful of his every step. We lost dreadfully.
"C'mon, bro! Sh-t, Zayn!" I cried after he let them score again. "Zaynnnnn!" After we dried off and got dressed, I was determined to do something about it.
"Mate, that can't happen again." I told him from across the bed upstairs. "They'll never let uz live it down." He lay back across the center of the bed with a laugh.
"I did my best, Haz, what're youh on about? I can't be as quick as youh guys, youh now that. I'm not drowning over some stupid game."
"I know, I know..." I said, pacing back and forth and knocking the heel of my hand against my head in frustration. "What if I taught you to swim? Like now? Like today!"
"There's nothing youh can tell me that me instructors haven't already tried. It's useless, maan. Just forget it."
"Useless, maan." I mimicked his accent since I was annoyed, which in turn annoyed him. "Well, we have to do something, alright?" I huffed, ruffling my hair. "We can't just give up, y'know? That's what they want us to do. What if your life depended on it?!"
"On us winning?"
"On you swimming, ya knob!" He sat up and looked at me like I had a point. His eyes always got soft and lazy this time of evening.
"Um, well then I supposed I'd be f--ked then right?"
"Only if you want to give up and accept it!"
"Then what do youh want me to do, Harreh?" he asked with a smirk that let me know he was simply humoring me, as though I were a petulant child who wouldn't accept that he knew best.
"I say we go downstairs, find my old floaties, then tomorrow before we start filming, you and I...we just go out and start from scratch." He let out a tehehe sort of snicker, burying his face into the mattress. It was ridiculously cute. I slapped his bum and started out the door.
"Cmon, come with me!"
"Why don't youh go alone, broh, since youh know soh much?" He grinned, propping onto his elbows.
"I have to go in the cellar..."
"Youh scared or sumthin'?"
"No..."
"Stylerrr...?"
"Alright, look...there's bugs down there, alright? And it's really dark now since the sun's setting. I just need you to come with, ok?" He got up right away.
The cellar was as long as the house and filled with old furniture and hanging suits that looked like men in the shadows. The entire place had the off-putting smell of a thrift store, peppered with decades-old mildew. My stepdad had made narrow aisles to pass straight through to the opposite end of the house, where things were a bit more spacious and orderly.
As Z and I made our way through piles of old newsletters and boxes stacked as high as the ceiling, he grabbed a hold of my shirttail and I reached back and held his hand a little. He stroked my fingers absently, and instead of setting my nerves at ease, it made them electric and frenzied.
Pushing forward through total darkness and clutching for the first overhead light was frightening, but proved far less frightening than acknowledging the heat swirling around the pit of my belly, elicited by his touch. A touch he probably didn't think twice of, and which I was now obsessing over. He drew so much out of me without thought, and I couldn't help but wonder if I was capable of drawing anything out of him.
Halting beneath the light, my fingers slipped from within his and I felt cold all over. When I pulled the chord, nothing happened. Not even a spark of electricity to light the next few feet. We had to make our way to the second one while the shadows deepened, since there were no ground-level windows here.
"Youh gud?" Z whispered, noticing I had slowed.
"All good," I whispered back, trying to recall where the second switch was from memory. I could barely see my hand when I lifted it in front of my face, but sensing his pressure behind me, keeping up with my every step—listening to him breathe—somehow made me feel comforted, like I was strolling through a sun-soaked English garden and not this crypt-like death-trap.
"Got it!" I triumphed at last, pulling the chain with ease since it was longer than the last one (having grazed my forehead as I walked by). A weak light flickered to life and filtered dimly throughout the next hundred feet, right to the threshold we called "the square" (the cellar opened up into what looked like a town square, tiled in red.) It used to be a bar, and the stools still lined the outer side of the bartop in cracked leather upholstery.
"Sickkk!" Z laughed, hopping behind the counter and searching through the old glassware. I heard him popping the top off an empty decanter while I rummaged. Then I heard him sneeze a few times as he kicked up dust. After the third sneeze I gave up blessing him and just told him to get from over there.
He joined me at the boxes and we began to carefully take them down one at a time, searching for any sort of flotation device. There were heaps of old postcards and polaroids in each box, and when Zayn found a camera he watched me through the viewfinder with his signature half-grin.
"Can't believe he keeps all this stuff," I muttered, sitting in the center of the square with a box full of old albums from the 80s.
"Where's it from?" he asked, kneeling on the floor across from me and rummaging without relent.
"Trips with his first wife...stuff from his parents and family and old jobs."
"Haha check this..." He handed me a picture of a brunette woman with big glasses and a poof of curly hair. "Tell me that's not youh, Haz."
"It's not!" I cried with a laugh, tucking the pic away. He found another of Robin at the beach smoking a cigar and called it "G. sh-t".
"We're gonna be here all night."
"The other bois are probably like: 'where the hell did they run off to?'" He laughed, the tip of his tongue poking between his teeth. "We forget to tell 'em, yeah?"
"They'll figure it out soon enough."
"Maan, I love it here. I love explorin'". It was the single most adorable, unguarded thing I had ever heard him say. He was becoming comfortable with me and saying earnest stuff that made me smile.
I kept on blushing as he dug deeper into the box, brow furrowed, oblivious that I was doting on his every word. When he glanced back up and looked me in the eye, I felt a warmth fill my core, even more than before. We had never looked at each other so unguarded before. He seemed to sense this too, since he eventually flushed and looked away.
"This place is cool..."
"You think so?" I asked, toying with the tape on the edge of the box. It reeked of damp cardboard.
"Apart from the dust."
"Yeah..." I laughed. "Apart from that." He looked at me again and we got quiet. His gaze drifted unhurriedly to my lips, and back up again. When he did it the second time, I could almost hear what he was thinking. I clocked the languidness in his gaze and the beat of my own heart. I licked my lips to moisten them, just in case he looked down again. I wanted—┌no needed—him to like whatever he was seeing.
Watching me relentlessly, he reached over and rubbed the back of his forefinger down my cheek, so tenderly I could barely tell if he touched me or not. By now his eyes had grown heavier, and he stared at me through hazy slits, dragging the back of his finger around the underside of my bottom lip.
I pulled my lip into my mouth, biting it self-consciously. My arms and legs were beginning to tremble with what I assumed was anticipation. Cocking his head with a curious smile, he pulled my lips apart with his thumb and let his fingertip stroke their pillowy warmth. Before I knew it, he was leaning across the box and pressing his mouth to mine, sucking my bottom lip in between his. I nearly panicked, listening as he pulled away—our lips separating with a tiny smack. That smack was earth-shattering. It made the moment raw. It was a sound I was only used to hearing with girls. A sound I had never thought to share with a guy before, least of all Zayn.
Zayn. My bandmate. My older brother. Zayn. He had kissed me. His lips had been cool and softer than I imagined. I stared at him now as he looked down, fumbling with the box again. I took the time to envision him in a new light. One that made me recognize the luster of his dark hair, the curve of his nose, the sheen of his bottom lip, and his gorgeous golden skin. His fingers were pretty too, laying absently on the edges of the box that separated us.
Now remembering the pressure of his kiss from moments earlier, I became jittery. I wanted it again, but he looked regretful.
"I can't feel my legs." I muttered, trying to break the ice.
"M'sorry,"
"Don't be," I assured him. "Don't worry about it, ok? It was strange, but nice."
"Nice?" He glanced up.
"Yeah..." I drawled, nearly grinning. "Things don't have to be weird between uz either. It was just a thing that happened." He nodded.
And just like that, the magic was dispelled. Reality set in and we remembered we were sat in the middle of the floor in a dusty, bug infested cellar. I got up when I saw a centipede, and after he killed it for me, we walked hand and hand back the way we'd come—floaties long forgotten.
WARNING: This chapter contains mature scenes and a few graphic sexual descriptions.
That night in bed, he was emboldened. He wanted to kiss more, and made it known by brushing his bare feet against mine, slowly working his way up my calves in calculated strokes. He wouldn't speak a word, and neither would I. The silence facilitated all we needed to convey, making us feel blanketed and understood.
The caress of his feet sent shivers up my thighs, straight to my groin. He was seducing me. Now, I lay facing away from him, watching the walls, but eventually he pulled me backwards to his side of the bed and buried his face in my hair.
"I wanna kiss youh..." He nuzzled my hair and inhaled. "Again...and again...and again," he murmured breathlessly into my flesh, dropping feathery pecks to my nape.
"Why?" I quavered.
"Because you're youh," His tone admonished me for even questioning why he found me attractive. "You're really really gorgeous, Haz, and I can't take it anymore. I've wanted this for so long. Youh... all of youh. And you're just so f—king soft and warm." His hands squeezed my belly and I clenched up. "I just want to kiss youh, Harry...all overh. Please..."
The heat of his breath on the back of my neck, the vanishing and returning pressure of his lips—it all felt so good that my eyes rolled into the back of my head. I was glad he couldn't see them.
"Is that ok?" he asked. I nodded.
With my surrender, he pulled me around and set his mouth to mine for the second time that night. Fully; hungrily. With the first brush of his tongue, I lost it, whimpering unchecked. Everything shifted. I no longer just felt those sensations whirling around my belly. They were now elsewhere...lower and deeper and more persistent. The sort of things I had only felt with females, and I was usually the one in control. The one doing the taunting. Now the tables had turned, and I was squirming beneath the sheets at his clemency, intertwining our legs, desperate for more.
Z took my capitulation as consent to venture further. I was consumed by the taste and smell of him. Totally bizarre. Totally male. Totally Zayn. His hair smelled sweet. His tongue was slippery and silky. I couldn't imagine him tasting any different. I relished the heat of him, the hint of his toothpaste. He moaned against my mouth, deepening the kiss and letting his tongue delve for more—anxious for me to return his zeal.
Everything he did was so languid and sensual that I lost my composure, shuddering at the brush of his tongue as it tortured mine. He broke the kiss and we gasped; lips swollen. I had no words. I just lay there watching the ceiling, gulping in lungfuls of zayn-infused air, pulsating between my thighs. There was a tingling... a hardening in my briefs. I was extremely embarrassed for him to see me hard, so I snaked a hand beneath the sheet to hide it. I turned onto my side, facing away from him again, longing for sleep.
Ultimately I didn't know how to feel, and I was torn over why I was enjoying the things happening to my body, particularly since they were caused by a dude. I wanted to feel disturbed, but couldn't. Then I became disturbed by the fact that I wasn't disturbed. Was this something I had wanted all along? Had I always been into guys? What the f--k were we even doing? This was Zayn, not Caroline. Not any of the other nondescript females I'd met since the X-Factor. It was my bandmate, my brother. A dude. And since when was I so giddy and submissive?
I touched a few fingers to my lips and felt myself tearing up in frustration. I felt him moving behind me but was too on edge to bother with communication. I was sure he was already dozing. None of this stuff affected him the way it affected me. He could do and forget. Come morning, he'd regret nothing because this sh-t just didn't matter to him. I could do, but I couldn't forget. I obsessed over every tiny thing, reliving it again and again and again as if it hadn't happened only moments earlier. As if he wasn't still lying beside me.
Suddenly he crawled across me, forcing me to make room for him on my side of the bed. I scooted backwards to where he had been laying, trembling and upset that I was shirtless. It was freezing now that he had stopped touching me, and my body visibly shook.
"Hey..." Z whispered, sensing I wasn't ok.
"Hey," I croaked, looking him in the eye; his face lit in the milky radiance of the moonlight that suffused the room. We had left the drapes open since he didn't like to sleep in total darkness.
"Youh ok?" he wondered, stroking my hair away from my forehead. It was so tender that I felt unworthy. I shrugged, unable to speak.
"Youh cold?" I nodded. Right away he took the t-shirt off his back and helped me to put it on.
"Better?" I nodded again. He pulled me onto his chest and I settled between his legs, laying flush against his abdomen. His fingers were in my hair, stroking my scalp and creating shockwaves that rippled down to the tips of my toes.
Since I was semi-hard, I couldn't just lay against him and not meditate on the intimacy we were experiencing. I was his, totally and completely. Withholding nothing. No more subterfuge and pretending. No more curiosity. Time to act. I didn't care what others may have thought of it. Suddenly, I wanted more. I could feel that he was equally aroused, pressing full-on into my belly like a knot—all of him storming all of me.
Somewhere between here and the cellar, we had crossed a line. Squashing my inhibitions, I lunged up, kissing him for the first time. His groans were reawakened, filling the room; weak-willed and unabashed. Vivid. I heard our lips meet and part repeatedly, then the onrush of our breath, and finally our tongues as they roamed one another.
I broke the kiss and pressed my lips to his cheeks, and around to his ears. They were warm and clean, responding to the stokes of my tongue and making him grind up into me. I whispered unintelligible things to him—things I'd never said to anyone before. I asked him to marry me. I asked him to f--k me.
Typically I went dead silent when I was turned on, but somehow he compelled me to speak—unfiltered. I longed to tell him how much he owned me. To confess how much I wanted to be used by him. I wanted so badly to be used that I was feigning for it, but nothing I said made sense. Still, he understood wanted, replying with a fevered incoherence that equaled mine.
His hands snaked up the back of my shirt, scratching me lightly, then down into my drawers. He caressed my bare ass for the first time, grabbing fistfuls of my flesh and spreading me apart, stroking my opening with a few impatient fingertips. I gasped against his mouth, unsure of what to do next.
"You're so warm..." he breathed, dragging his fingers around my clenching hole.
In a flash he had flipped me onto my back, staring me in the eyes so hard I was afraid to blink. Then he snaked a hand up my shirt to tease my nipples; rock-hard. I rushed to cover them, because I felt awkward and feminine, but his fingertips stroked them so torturously I nearly jumped out of my skin.
When that wasn't enough, he shoved my shirt up my body to get at them fully, flicking them with his thumbs before taking one into his mouth. I let out a deep groan and he put a hand over my mouth to quiet me. I set a pillow onto my face to muffle the sounds he elicited, concentrating on the moist heat of his tongue, languidly savoring my erections to no end.
What shocked me more was when he moved lower, kissing down the center of my chest, down between my protruding ribs and refusing to neglect what some would call my 'third and fourth nipples.' That's when I knew he was just as f—ked as I was. For him to devote particular attention to my imperfections, as though they were a part of me that he would never dream of ignoring, made me dizzy. He was weird for me, and that made me emotional.
Finally, he slipped a hand down the front of my briefs, his lips returning to mine before sweeping along my jaw. When he took me into his hands—rigid and throbbing—swiping his thumb along the engorged tip to gather the drip that had formed there, I came explosively. Harder than I ever had before. He stroked me through it, massaging my balls and squeezing my length until he was sure I was empty.
Afterwards I lay quivering, feeling every nerve-ending in my body stand to attention. I covered my face with my arm, embarrassed that I came so fast, and embarrassed that I had soiled his hand in the process. He seemed completely unfazed, cleaning both of us off with a few tissues from the nightstand.
"Hey...youh alright?" he murmured, kissing my cheek, continuing to worship my spent flesh. He took it into his hand again, stroking it at his leisure, (and even though I felt sensitive and touched-out, I let him play with me for as long as he wanted, becoming acquainted with my every inch).
He kept whispering that I was perfect. That I had the most gorgeous body he had ever seen. I wondered if he meant in general, or just for a boy. Then I felt bad that I hadn't done anything to finish him off, but he didn't need my help. He was the expert.
He lay back beside me, grabbed a bit of lotion from the nightstand drawer and stroked himself. The sounds he made fascinated me, spouting from within his chest—abrupt and muffled. There was also the fap of his flesh against his hand.
I grabbed him because I was curious of how it would feel to hold another man. He was warm from the friction, slightly moist from the lotion, and silky smooth. He tensed up when I touched him, and after a few inquisitive strokes he relaxed, pushing his hips up into my hand until he came.
He let out a breathy moan when he climaxed, sounding like nothing I had ever heard before. He tried to be as quiet as possible, but failed. Cum was everywhere. All over the sheets. I freaked out, afraid the others might see.
We got up and cleaned ourselves—especially our faces—removing any traces of what we had done. Afterwards we stared at each other in the piercing light of the bathroom, clad in nothing but our briefs.
"That was nuts," I sighed.
"Mm," he replied, lowering onto the edge of the tub with a grimace.
"So what happened?"
"Fuck, maan...I'm not even sure..." He took a minute to collect himself, contemplating it all. "I think we just sort of fooled around, y'know?"
"Should we be worried?"
"Noh, not at all." His eyes were tired slits. "It was just for tonight...y'know?"
"Yeah..." I played nervously with the waistband of my briefs before sitting beside him on the tub. He nudged me with his elbow.
"How do you feel? Any gud?"
"Reallly good." I smiled. "And tired." At that he grabbed me and tossed me over his shoulder, carrying me back to the bed with a growl. We lay entangled for most up the night, separating by morning in case the other boys came rushing in to wake us.
(Please vote for the story! Thanks for reading!)