(DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. It's important to remember this is all totally fabricated, embellished, and exaggerated for entertainment purposes.)
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***THIS CHAPTER WAS EDITED AND IS NO LONGER CENSORED***
There's only us,
simply because,
Thinking of us makes us both happy,
I think of you every way, yesterday and today,
I think of things we do all the way everyday
Yes | Yesterday and Today
Niall sat in the center of his bed and went over and over how he messed up on one of our sets. I tried to convince him no one had noticed, but he said it didn't matter. He had noticed and it was enough to make him lose sleep.
"Bad vibes, Harold. That's all that is, mate. Can't wait to get outta this place and start over."
"Mate, you gotta chill!" I laughed, approaching the foot of the bed. "Not every night's gonna be perfect—"
"Easy for you ta say. You don't've to worry about playing, do you? Just poppin' 'round. being Harry Styles. Cheeky, curly lad. Me, on the other hand, I look like an idiot out there when I mess up. Everyone's so forgiving of you—"
"You don't think they'd forgive you too? Nialler, c'mon, mate. No one even noticed it tonight. I didn't even know until you told me. Jon missed it too. Just go easy on yourself, alright?"
"What about you?" His lilt intensified whenever he was upset. "You always go so easy on yourself?"
"To be honest, it's a lot easier said than done. I'll admit that."
"Exactly. That's f'sure."
"I still get nervous before every song. But like a...like a good nervous, y'know? Then I can, uh, sort of convert that energy into something useful. I let those nerves drive the performance."
When his brother called, I lay across the foot of the bed and eavesdropped on their conversation. They had big plans for the summer after the tour ended. It reminded me of my mom's wedding which had approached faster than I realized. I'd gotten fitted for a tux the other day and sent the measurements back home to Cheshire. She was worried that if I got fitted too soon with all the exertion I did onstage it wouldn't fit by June—
My phone buzzed and I was elated to see it was Zayn. 'Long time,' was all it said. I bit my lip and tried so hard to be annoyed with him.
"Because you've been acting fake," I replied.
Z: "Just trying to play it cool."
"I'm tired of that excuse. Just admit you're bored of me."
Z: "Never."
Z: "Where are you?" I ignored him for a bit like he'd done me the last few shows.
Z: "Babe?" Now he'd gone soft. I hate how he weaponized that word to break me, since its success rate was invariable. Now it was time to hide my screen in case Niall saw. Fortunately, he was still chatting with his brother, breaking into profuse bouts of laughter occasionally. This bought me a little time to speak without having to leave the room abruptly.
"I'm still here," I typed.
Z: "You busy?"
"You must not be busy, the reason you're calling." I was still irritated. Since Perrie had visited the last two tour stops, he had prioritized her above me without question. He ghosted the second she got into town.
"Perrie must be gone," I continued.
Z: "You know she is."
"Be more predictable." I sent a vomiting emoji.
Z: "C'mon, Haz, you know it's not like that."
Z: "I've got something to tell you. Meet me in the hall?" I didn't.
Moments later I was back in my room, undressing since it'd gotten late. I showered and put some music on ("Jolene" Ray Lamontagne) and tried to chill myself out for what was inevitably about to happen. He came in and my hair had just finished drying. I was glad because I didn't want him to know how I'd rushed back here to be ready for him. Finally, I sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed facing the door in my briefs and dingy t-shirt.
"Hazza, Hazza..." he uttered, the words clipped a chuckle and half-grin. His fragrance filled the room, becoming a silent lure.
"Hey..." I tried and failed to suppress a smile, powerless to hide how giddy he made me. Something about when he first walked through the door always left my stomach in knots, because I knew he was not there as a friend. The mere thought that he had gone out of his way to come see me and not some random chick made me feel remarkable.
"It's cold out," he noted, setting an open can of red bull on the table beside the door.
"Yeah, it's supposed to rain soon." He removed his jacket and heavy boots. I liked to imagine he rode a Harley in those things. Once they came off, he was there to stay. And whether or not he knew it, I could tell he had just showered as well. His hair was fluffy and flopped onto his forehead, free of product. Every time he looked up at me it was through long, thick bangs.
"What's new, babe?" he asked, downing what remained in the can. "Youh gud, yeah?"
"I'm good," I relented, losing a war he had been unaware of fighting. I strode over and took the can from his hand to drink his backwash. "All gone?" His eyes became slits when he smiled.
"Sorry, baby...had that from earlier. It was warm anyweh. Youh wouldn't have liked it."
"What'd you do today?" I asked, crumpling the metal and shooting it into the bin.
"Had lunch with Pez and her mum...did a little shopping before taking them to the airport. Y'know..."
"The usual. How's her mum, anyway?"
"Gud, I guess. From what I could see. She's always fussing at me to eat somethin'...I needed a break from those accents," he sighed, pulling me over and wrapping his arms around my neck.
"What about my accent?"
"I loveeee to hear youh speak..." he groaned, kissing my jaw. "I could listen to it all night, all day. All yearh." My skin tingled all over; from my scalp to my toes like I'd fallen into a bed of poison ivy. I was so anxious around him lately. And it didn't help that he smelled so f—king good. Right away we cut the small talk and crushed each other. I could never resist squeezing and lifting him until his feet left the ground. My mouth found his.
"I was waiting on you..." I said huskily, decimating my guard and any pretense that I'd been fine without him. "I'm so f—king happy she's gone. So f—king happy—" I rasped against his mouth. "I want you to f—k me so hard I forget about her, ok? You hear me?"
His fingers dug into my hair while he murmured he'd do anything I wanted. We went there right away, and this was one of the few times we understood immediately that we could take those sorts of liberties. There was no nervous build-up this time. No reluctant back and forth. No pretending we didn't want exactly what we wanted. These times when no one watched us were hard-won, so ideally there was no room for confusion or miscommunication. But the signals weren't always clear. Sometimes our moods got in the way and we often misunderstood what the other wanted.
Not today. Our lips met (more like crashed) and our tongues brushed together with a zealous appetite; struggling to speak the words that our gasps could not articulate. Paul Simon's "I Do It For Your Love" came on. Z led me by the hand to the edge of the bed, and when he turned around I accidentally stepped on his toe.
**********
I think of you every way yesterday and today,
I think of nothing but you...things we do, things we do.
Yes | Yesterday and Today
Nearly eye-to-eye, we watched each other like strangers. His gaze slipped down my body, laying bare the plans he had for it. I would be anything for him. That was a weak and sickening notion. He could do no wrong in my eyes, and I feared the day he would take advantage of that hold over me.
He took a seat onto the edge of the bed and lightly pushed his fist into my belly. Instinctively, I lifted my shirt so he could kiss it, but he lunged and tickled me instead. "No! No!" I cried hoarsely. "Z, please!" I dissolved into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, twisting away because if he got me pinned down, I would piss myself. I knew that from experience.
"Nooooo!" I croaked, voice overcome with incessant laughter. His chuckles filled the room as I fell.
"Okay, okay..." he said, pulling me up by both my hands. Now I stood in front of him again, ready to double over to protect my belly if needed.
"C'mere..." He snatched me closer and wrapped his arms around my hips, planting his face onto my stomach. The fire of his breath through my shirt was an absolute tease, so I lifted it to experience it directly. He kissed me now, mumbling about how pretty my navel was, how soft I was. "...and warm," he added eventually. "M'butterfly..." His fascination with that tattoo began the moment I got it in March, and rarely a day passed where he didn't find an excuse to kiss it. He gazed up at me after doing so, and his eyes were huge and full of hunger. When I dragged my thumb along his bottom lip, his tongue slipped out and encircled it.
"Oof..." I stuck it farther into his mouth and he rotated it until my knees gave.
Swapping positions, I now sat on the edge of the bed while he stood over me like judge and executioner. Never breaking eye contact, his hands found his belt and took it apart, making my stomach leap. My insides contracted and burned with a need for him that I could never put into words. I forgot I should have been negotiating my own terms.
My breath became laborious, even as I sat and simply watched him undress. Instead of tossing the belt aside, he slung it onto the back of my shoulders, ignorant of what he was unleashing in me. While he removed his pants, I looped the belt around my throat and pulled the long end tight—just short of choking. The excess leather became a leash of sorts, and I was perturbed to find I was perfectly ok with that. I yanked it once or twice and imagined him guiding me around on all fours in that way.
"Hey..." he halted, marveling at my actions. Laying backwards atop the bed, I spread my arms and legs in indication that I was ready, available for any and all he had in mind. I lifted my foot up onto his chest, then his chin, so he kissed it.
"Haz...?" he smirked. When I didn't answer, he knelt onto the edge of the bed and hovered over me to meet my eyes. I bit my tongue, trying to keep from making any noise. I was too afraid to let him hear how turned on I was by his belt being around my throat. It was strange. It was self-sacrificial. It was strange. He would probably hold it against me the next time we argued.
"I'm an idiot," I uttered, slapping a hand to my forehead.
"Stop, Haz. You've gotta quit treatin' yourself that way. Okay? It's okay. Believe it or not, I, uh...kind of get it..."
"Oh yeah?"
"Mm-hm." He scooted closer on his knees and removed the belt from my throat. Now he rested a hand to the center of my rising and falling chest. "I could listen to your heartbeat for ages. Buh-bump...buh-bump...buh-bump. Youh could make a sick beat, y'know?" he snickered. "You're shaking, Haz?"
"I'm so f—ked up...I can't...I can't even tell you everything..."
"I already know." Hearing him say those words absolved me of the crimes I'd committed against myself in the vilest reaches of my mind, things I would never speak aloud to anyone. A tear slipped from the corner of my eye because I felt so unreasonably cared for. So understood. I wiped it away with the back of my wrist, deluding myself that he hadn't seen.
"I think I'm just tired," I fidgeted. His hand massaged my belly through the shirt, then he slipped beneath and I felt the surfaces of his palm brush my third and fourth nipples—my navel, my treasure trail.
"You shaved?" he remarked, noting my pubes were gone and scratching my bare flesh. Now he slipped back up, deep beneath my tee to swirl his fingertips against my hardened nipple. I whimpered as his caress slowed and became more concentrated. When he gave the other one the same attention, I writhed and expelled a gratified sigh. Pulling my shirt off in hopes that he would use both hands, I shuddered when he finally did.
Z shifted closer, pulling my feet towards the head of the bed, running both palms up and down my bare torso. His slight weight bore down on me and I didn't know whether I wanted to fall asleep or make love. He eventually decided that for me. The massage dipped to the inside of my sensitive thighs, and he lifted my right leg onto his shoulder, settling between. I propped up on my elbows to watch him, because he looked so out of place between my legs, having been with Perrie the last few days. It also felt really comfortable, so I relaxed the limb against him, not caring how heavy it was. He understood the human body on a different level and manipulated it to his purpose. In bed, he just moved differently, and I'd come to accept that long ago.
After a heated staring contest during which he trailed kisses up and down my inner thigh, his gaze left mine, and in a dare like glance it moved to my crotch. There, his mouth parted, eyelids fluttering. No more Perrie, no more p---y. Only me.
When he looked at me again, he stuck out the tip of his tongue and wiggled it as though it were languidly flicking the tip of my c*ck. How was it that I felt every sensation and he had yet to touch me? How was it that he could implant such a specific thought into my head without uttering a word? I twitched in my briefs, springing to life beneath his scrutiny.
His tongue had landed there, soaking the flimsy fabric and teasing the head like he'd promised only seconds before. Weakened, my leg fell off his shoulder. I bent my knees to brace myself and he pushed them as far apart as they would go. Now his mouth slipped along the ridge of my penis, clamping onto the dripping tip and nearly sending me through the roof.
"F—kkkkk..." I sputtered. He told me I was mouth-watering. His voice was low—too tender for me to function. When his thumb stroked the tip of my rosy cock through the wet fabric, I contorted against him, arching my back and stifling my moans.
"Let it out..." he demanded, brushing his thumb against my taint. The pressure there was like a jolt, to which I recoiled, but he dragged me back for more. As he removed my underwear, I was already oozing and springing up toward my belly. He took a hold of me and pumped me a few times, wringing me so firmly I thought I'd piss myself.
Then he stuck a few fingers in his mouth to lube them, before shoving them soaking wet into my clasping ass. His exploration knew no bounds. Never had. He fingered me without mercy, dragging himself in and out until my resolve broke and I wailed unreservedly. It was what he wanted. He liked me reactive. He liked to watch me respond. He liked to hear me be vocal. I panted his name and he met my eyes, watching me sleepily (fingers at play.)
I clenched around him and let out a groan loud enough to wake the entire floor. Why weren't we asleep like them? He'd found my prostate. He made a sound that let me know he was sated by the intensity of my response. I grinded down onto his hand, reaching for my throbbing cock to alleviate the tension caused by its neglect, but he flung my hand away.
"Not until I say," he muttered, stimulating my prostate without ruth. I cursed repeatedly and rose off the mattress in an indecisive protestation to the severity of the pleasure he inflicted.
Every now and again he pulled his fingers out and spat on them, and the chill of his spit sliding into my fiery folds was like a stun-gun. I thought I might sh-t all over him. Once he hunkered over my cock and swallowed it, I levitated off the bed, ramming myself down his throat until he gagged and drooled down my shaft. At that he set a hand to my belly and planted me back on the mattress, stroking my length with his free hand until I came all over myself with a curse.
"How... the f—k....did you...do that..." I panted, tossing my head back onto the mattress and covering my face. After he cleaned me, he took the time to find lube in my bag, then applied it liberally to himself. He entered me with ease, exclaiming that he couldn't believe how hot I was. My walls clench around him with a possessive ferocity. It'd been too long since he was inside of me. Even a day was too long now. He knew it and I knew it; and we both knew this was something we could never live without, no matter how long we tried to abstain.
He railed me harder than he ever had, comfortable that I was becoming accustomed to his entry, and that I had changed to fit him. He told me I was made for him. That any discomfort I felt was a lie. I believed it, biting my cheeks and taking the pounding like my life depended on it. The pain shot down my spine and up into the back of my throat, but I swallowed it and took it on the chin—all for him.
When he wanted to switch positions, I didn't hesitate to climb onto my hands and knees, presenting my ass for him like some kind of ape. He spit inside me, filling me in seconds, f—king me harder than ever before.
Later I lay on my stomach and tried to calm down. My heart was beating up into my throat and I felt embarrassed to look at him for some reason. He pulled me fuller up onto the bed and held me until I fell asleep against his chest, whispering he was so in love with me before I drifted.
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