One Direction ficlet | Harry/Zayn | PG | 1,000 words
One Direction Ficlet
Harry/Zayn | PG (drug use) | ~ 1,000 words
For harriet_vane’s prompt: I just think you should write a lot about Harry and Zayn touching, is all.
And estrella30’s prompt: ZAYN AND HARRY GET DRUNK AND TOUCH EACH OTHER A LOT. THERE. THAT IS MY PROMPT. DO IT.
And then I did it. Except I made them stoned instead.
Zayn’s hair is an entire landscape of complicated. Harry sets the joint down carefully on the arm of the chesterfield and rotates at the waist so that he can inspect Zayn’s head more carefully.
“How does it even do that?” Harry asks.
Zayn turns his face toward Harry, and says, “Mh?” his eyes still mostly closed.
Harry makes an oscillating wave with his hand. The quiff and the second quiff and the floof and then back around to the first quiff.
“Oh,” Zayn says, trying to reach across Harry for the joint without opening his eyes the rest of the way. “You were there. She had the. She had the tongs or whatever.”
“Yeah.”
The best thing about photoshoots is that they all leave with really fancy hair but the worst part is that after 16 hours of looking dashing, they’re all too tired to exploit that and just roll themselves straight to bed. Except for Harry and Zayn, who fell asleep on top of each other in the backseat of the van and now can’t sleep. That might be ironic, Harry’s not sure, but it’s definitely exceedingly strange that he and Zayn are the ones up the latest, passing a joint back and forth on the hotel balcony. Just a little smoke before bed, take the edge off, get them both to sleep.
The joint that Zayn is almost definitely going to fumble onto the ground from the way he’s flapping his hand about, so Harry grabs his fingers, tucks Zayn’s palm against Harry’s stomach where it will be safe and reaches across with his other hand to pick up this joint. He’d put it in Zayn’s mouth, but Zayn’s face is at this weird angle, like almost flattened against Harry’s shoulder, so instead Harry takes a long toke, dips his head down until he can feel Zayn’s eyelashes flutter against his cheek, exhales slow and steady.
It works better when Zayn finally catches on and opens his mouth, but Harry’s almost out of air by then. A solid effort, they just need more practice, so Harry takes another long drag. A bit too deep and his eyes start watering with the effort to keep from coughing but he keeps it together, inhales some clean air for safety, and bends to Zayn’s mouth.
Zayn parts his lips right away this time and it’s. Distracting, like now Harry’s looking at Zayn’s mouth when he was supposed to be... oh yeah. Harry nudges in a little closer and purses his lips, exhales slowly.
“Ha,” Harry says, soft and happy, because this time when Zayn breathes out there’s this little stream of smoke.
Slightly less good, but in his concentration, Harry did drop what was left of the joint somewhere on the floor. But he’s still cradling Zayn’s hand to his belly, so it’s just too much work now to crawl around on the floor looking for it. They’ve left all the lights off so that no one can see them in the dark. Except now that Harry’s eyes have adjusted, he can see Zayn, so it’s funny how the dark works.
Zayn moves, and Harry hopes he doesn’t think he’s taking his hand back. Zayn’s hand is lovely, and Harry’s using both of his own hands to hold it in place, his fingers curled around Zayn’s wrist now that he doesn’t have to hold onto the joint.
Zayn’s just reaching into his pocket for a pack of smokes, which Harry will permit. That only requires one of Zayn’s hands, Harry will be able to keep the other.
“Lighter,” Zayn mumbles, a cigarette already resting between his lips.
He does need a lighter, Harry agrees, and then he remember that he used Zayn’s lighter to start the joint, so probably it’s around here somewhere. He lets go of Zayn, just with one hand, so Zayn knows he’s not to go anywhere, and starts patting around. Zayn’s t-shirt is cold on the outside but then when he flattens it to Zayn’s belly, Harry can feel it get warm. When Harry’s fingers dip beneath the hem of the shirt, it’s warm right away.
“Lighter,” Zayn says again, and Harry reluctantly stops dragging his fingers against the soft, soft stretch of stomach. He dips his pinkie into Zayn’s bellybutton as he pulls away. Just ‘cause.
The lighter also isn’t in either of Zayn’s jean pockets, Harry learns after rubbing his palm up and down Zayn’s thighs carefully. He edges his fingers under the flap just to be sure, but there’s nothing there. It also hasn’t fallen to the seat between them, which is really not a lot of space because Harry has to work hard to wedge his hand in between their thighs. He thinks maybe he should check under Zayn’s t-shirt again, that was going quite well, but stops to check his own pockets first, and, oh, there it is.
He presents the lighter to Zayn, beaming. Zayn tilts his head toward Harry’s hand, and Harry gets his fingers working, flicks it on and lights Zayn’s cigarette. He pushes the lighter into Zayn’s pocket, following after it with his fingers to make sure it’s in there safely.
Zayn moves his hand, and Harry thinks, oh no, he will fight Zayn to get that hand back. But Zayn just wraps his arm around Harry’s shoulder, which lets Harry curl against Zayn’s side, tucking his face into Zayn’s neck while Zayn quietly finishes his cigarette. Just the two of them in the dark, though maybe the sun will start to rise soon. Zayn is warm where Harry touches him, and eventually Zayn uses his stolen hand to pushes his fingers through Harry’s hair, scratching at the base of Harry’s scull in that way that makes Harry’s toes curl, so that’s alright, Harry supposes. He will allow it.
Harry/Zayn | PG (drug use) | ~ 1,000 words
For harriet_vane’s prompt: I just think you should write a lot about Harry and Zayn touching, is all.
And estrella30’s prompt: ZAYN AND HARRY GET DRUNK AND TOUCH EACH OTHER A LOT. THERE. THAT IS MY PROMPT. DO IT.
And then I did it. Except I made them stoned instead.
Zayn’s hair is an entire landscape of complicated. Harry sets the joint down carefully on the arm of the chesterfield and rotates at the waist so that he can inspect Zayn’s head more carefully.
“How does it even do that?” Harry asks.
Zayn turns his face toward Harry, and says, “Mh?” his eyes still mostly closed.
Harry makes an oscillating wave with his hand. The quiff and the second quiff and the floof and then back around to the first quiff.
“Oh,” Zayn says, trying to reach across Harry for the joint without opening his eyes the rest of the way. “You were there. She had the. She had the tongs or whatever.”
“Yeah.”
The best thing about photoshoots is that they all leave with really fancy hair but the worst part is that after 16 hours of looking dashing, they’re all too tired to exploit that and just roll themselves straight to bed. Except for Harry and Zayn, who fell asleep on top of each other in the backseat of the van and now can’t sleep. That might be ironic, Harry’s not sure, but it’s definitely exceedingly strange that he and Zayn are the ones up the latest, passing a joint back and forth on the hotel balcony. Just a little smoke before bed, take the edge off, get them both to sleep.
The joint that Zayn is almost definitely going to fumble onto the ground from the way he’s flapping his hand about, so Harry grabs his fingers, tucks Zayn’s palm against Harry’s stomach where it will be safe and reaches across with his other hand to pick up this joint. He’d put it in Zayn’s mouth, but Zayn’s face is at this weird angle, like almost flattened against Harry’s shoulder, so instead Harry takes a long toke, dips his head down until he can feel Zayn’s eyelashes flutter against his cheek, exhales slow and steady.
It works better when Zayn finally catches on and opens his mouth, but Harry’s almost out of air by then. A solid effort, they just need more practice, so Harry takes another long drag. A bit too deep and his eyes start watering with the effort to keep from coughing but he keeps it together, inhales some clean air for safety, and bends to Zayn’s mouth.
Zayn parts his lips right away this time and it’s. Distracting, like now Harry’s looking at Zayn’s mouth when he was supposed to be... oh yeah. Harry nudges in a little closer and purses his lips, exhales slowly.
“Ha,” Harry says, soft and happy, because this time when Zayn breathes out there’s this little stream of smoke.
Slightly less good, but in his concentration, Harry did drop what was left of the joint somewhere on the floor. But he’s still cradling Zayn’s hand to his belly, so it’s just too much work now to crawl around on the floor looking for it. They’ve left all the lights off so that no one can see them in the dark. Except now that Harry’s eyes have adjusted, he can see Zayn, so it’s funny how the dark works.
Zayn moves, and Harry hopes he doesn’t think he’s taking his hand back. Zayn’s hand is lovely, and Harry’s using both of his own hands to hold it in place, his fingers curled around Zayn’s wrist now that he doesn’t have to hold onto the joint.
Zayn’s just reaching into his pocket for a pack of smokes, which Harry will permit. That only requires one of Zayn’s hands, Harry will be able to keep the other.
“Lighter,” Zayn mumbles, a cigarette already resting between his lips.
He does need a lighter, Harry agrees, and then he remember that he used Zayn’s lighter to start the joint, so probably it’s around here somewhere. He lets go of Zayn, just with one hand, so Zayn knows he’s not to go anywhere, and starts patting around. Zayn’s t-shirt is cold on the outside but then when he flattens it to Zayn’s belly, Harry can feel it get warm. When Harry’s fingers dip beneath the hem of the shirt, it’s warm right away.
“Lighter,” Zayn says again, and Harry reluctantly stops dragging his fingers against the soft, soft stretch of stomach. He dips his pinkie into Zayn’s bellybutton as he pulls away. Just ‘cause.
The lighter also isn’t in either of Zayn’s jean pockets, Harry learns after rubbing his palm up and down Zayn’s thighs carefully. He edges his fingers under the flap just to be sure, but there’s nothing there. It also hasn’t fallen to the seat between them, which is really not a lot of space because Harry has to work hard to wedge his hand in between their thighs. He thinks maybe he should check under Zayn’s t-shirt again, that was going quite well, but stops to check his own pockets first, and, oh, there it is.
He presents the lighter to Zayn, beaming. Zayn tilts his head toward Harry’s hand, and Harry gets his fingers working, flicks it on and lights Zayn’s cigarette. He pushes the lighter into Zayn’s pocket, following after it with his fingers to make sure it’s in there safely.
Zayn moves his hand, and Harry thinks, oh no, he will fight Zayn to get that hand back. But Zayn just wraps his arm around Harry’s shoulder, which lets Harry curl against Zayn’s side, tucking his face into Zayn’s neck while Zayn quietly finishes his cigarette. Just the two of them in the dark, though maybe the sun will start to rise soon. Zayn is warm where Harry touches him, and eventually Zayn uses his stolen hand to pushes his fingers through Harry’s hair, scratching at the base of Harry’s scull in that way that makes Harry’s toes curl, so that’s alright, Harry supposes. He will allow it.