igrab
in
grabi_hands
♮ A Singular Alignment ♩ Louis/Zayn/Harry
A Singular Alignment
Louis/Zayn/Harry
♪ 1,040 words
Zayn had thought it would be Harry's curls he was staring at all day during filming - that was pretty much a given at this point - but to his surprise, it was someone else entirely who'd caught his attention.
Louis. Louis, puppydog Louis, best-friend Louis, Louis who he thought he would never be able to see as more than a close friend, despite the way they shared Harry - that Louis. Louis in a bowtie, Louis with his hair feathered and perfect, Louis with the tan skin and slim waist and gorgeous, clear, blue eyes.
He'd never noticed before. He'd thought he'd seen them all at their best, he knew the wonders that makeup could work. He'd always preferred his bandmates out of costume - just out of the shower, in bed, rolling around on the floor and Harry's messy curls and face streaked with flour. But this. This was different. Louis was trim and sleek and he was wearing clothes that fit him, that were made for him, and for once he wasn't being ridiculous, wasn't trying to hide how handsome and beautiful he was, and Zayn could see that now - could see that that was part of it, part of the reason he overreacted. Because, on some level, he felt he didn't deserve this. Didn't belong with them, these four talented, handsome, gorgeous boys - so he hid behind his actions, so no one would notice.
It never worked. It never had, it had only made him all the more dear to them, but this was the first time that Zayn had seen it, seen the true and unfettered nature of his friend shining right out from his face, his hands - his voice.
Fuck. He had such a problem.
It was less of a problem when they were on the way home, and Louis was about to mess up his hair and yank off his suspenders and make some ridiculous noise at the top of his lungs - Zayn had to stop him. He couldn't let the moment vanish, not without saying something - doing something.
And Harry was exhausted. He didn't need Louis' antics right now.
So he kissed him. It wasn't a thing that the other boys would find terribly odd; they all knew how Zayn felt about Harry and how Harry felt about Zayn and Louis and how Louis felt about Harry, and hell, probably Zayn as well. Probably everyone. But he was theirs. Harry's, and Zayn's.
Right now, he was all Zayn's.
His lips parted and he huffed out a breath, then smiled, as if he knew - knew exactly what Zayn was doing. His eyes closed, his hand slid up to cup Zayn's neck, then they were kissing, deep and low and pleasant, like they did this every day.
Usually, when Zayn kissed Harry, he was in control. Mostly. Harry would lead him with gentle curls of his tongue and a featherlight press of his fingers; Zayn would be pulled along inexorably, but always to take. Always.
Louis let him control the kiss for approximately four seconds.
Then, suddenly, he moved. He nipped at Zayn's lip, swiped it with his tongue, smoothed and his fingers curled and scratched and his tongue was crawling into his mouth like it belonged there, and he shifted - rolled a leg over the younger boy's lap, pressed all up against him in a completely wanton and forthright way. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before; it made Zayn's head spin.
Now that he'd gotten him off guard, Louis seemed to shift into an even higher gear. He made a little noise into Zayn's throat, smirked, then - his fingers slid roughshod down Zayn's chest, flicking buttons open, and this was way not all right for a car ride, but they were stuck in traffic and who would care, really? Really. Niall was fast asleep with his head lolling on the seat back in front of them, but Liam was watching over his shoulder, his brown eyes tired and amused. He certainly hadn't any fucks to give.
Louis took Zayn's attention back by force, with his nails scraping the sensitive skin of his belly. He jumped - and realized, very suddenly, that Harry wasn't asleep at all. Harry had been awake the entire time, watching over Zayn's shoulder, and now, with the jump, he chuckled all quiet and warm right under his ear. Fuck. He was so fucked. He was so, so fucked. He hadn't been thinking about Harry all day on account of Louis' face, but when he thought back, his memory rang in loud and clear. Harry, in that burgundy turtleneck that perfectly matched the color of Louis' jeans; Harry, on his lap and practically falling off because he'd known if he scooted any closer they'd have Problems On Camera and their director would kill them. That Harry.
But there was no director now; there were no cameras. A rare time in their lives, but they'd somehow found a way to make it work, to get a little bit of their own back. So Harry's hands slid down his back and under his pants and cupped his arse; Louis straddled his lap a little more firmly and scraped his nails over his nipples and sucked in his surprised gasp with a smiling, smirking mouth. Liam sort of watched, sort of drifted, and Niall slept through it all, which he'd surely be disappointed to hear in the morning.
Louis pulled back and his eyes were bright in the low darkness; his lips full and wet and Zayn could've sworn that nothing in the world was more beautiful than a post-coital Harry Styles, but perhaps he was wrong.
"Took you long enough," he whispered, and Zayn thought maybe he was right. All of this felt right. Right like their band, right like the one direction they were all facing to walk down the road of life together. Right, because nothing any of them could do with each other could ever be wrong.
Louis/Zayn/Harry
♪ 1,040 words
Zayn had thought it would be Harry's curls he was staring at all day during filming - that was pretty much a given at this point - but to his surprise, it was someone else entirely who'd caught his attention.
Louis. Louis, puppydog Louis, best-friend Louis, Louis who he thought he would never be able to see as more than a close friend, despite the way they shared Harry - that Louis. Louis in a bowtie, Louis with his hair feathered and perfect, Louis with the tan skin and slim waist and gorgeous, clear, blue eyes.
He'd never noticed before. He'd thought he'd seen them all at their best, he knew the wonders that makeup could work. He'd always preferred his bandmates out of costume - just out of the shower, in bed, rolling around on the floor and Harry's messy curls and face streaked with flour. But this. This was different. Louis was trim and sleek and he was wearing clothes that fit him, that were made for him, and for once he wasn't being ridiculous, wasn't trying to hide how handsome and beautiful he was, and Zayn could see that now - could see that that was part of it, part of the reason he overreacted. Because, on some level, he felt he didn't deserve this. Didn't belong with them, these four talented, handsome, gorgeous boys - so he hid behind his actions, so no one would notice.
It never worked. It never had, it had only made him all the more dear to them, but this was the first time that Zayn had seen it, seen the true and unfettered nature of his friend shining right out from his face, his hands - his voice.
Fuck. He had such a problem.
It was less of a problem when they were on the way home, and Louis was about to mess up his hair and yank off his suspenders and make some ridiculous noise at the top of his lungs - Zayn had to stop him. He couldn't let the moment vanish, not without saying something - doing something.
And Harry was exhausted. He didn't need Louis' antics right now.
So he kissed him. It wasn't a thing that the other boys would find terribly odd; they all knew how Zayn felt about Harry and how Harry felt about Zayn and Louis and how Louis felt about Harry, and hell, probably Zayn as well. Probably everyone. But he was theirs. Harry's, and Zayn's.
Right now, he was all Zayn's.
His lips parted and he huffed out a breath, then smiled, as if he knew - knew exactly what Zayn was doing. His eyes closed, his hand slid up to cup Zayn's neck, then they were kissing, deep and low and pleasant, like they did this every day.
Usually, when Zayn kissed Harry, he was in control. Mostly. Harry would lead him with gentle curls of his tongue and a featherlight press of his fingers; Zayn would be pulled along inexorably, but always to take. Always.
Louis let him control the kiss for approximately four seconds.
Then, suddenly, he moved. He nipped at Zayn's lip, swiped it with his tongue, smoothed and his fingers curled and scratched and his tongue was crawling into his mouth like it belonged there, and he shifted - rolled a leg over the younger boy's lap, pressed all up against him in a completely wanton and forthright way. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before; it made Zayn's head spin.
Now that he'd gotten him off guard, Louis seemed to shift into an even higher gear. He made a little noise into Zayn's throat, smirked, then - his fingers slid roughshod down Zayn's chest, flicking buttons open, and this was way not all right for a car ride, but they were stuck in traffic and who would care, really? Really. Niall was fast asleep with his head lolling on the seat back in front of them, but Liam was watching over his shoulder, his brown eyes tired and amused. He certainly hadn't any fucks to give.
Louis took Zayn's attention back by force, with his nails scraping the sensitive skin of his belly. He jumped - and realized, very suddenly, that Harry wasn't asleep at all. Harry had been awake the entire time, watching over Zayn's shoulder, and now, with the jump, he chuckled all quiet and warm right under his ear. Fuck. He was so fucked. He was so, so fucked. He hadn't been thinking about Harry all day on account of Louis' face, but when he thought back, his memory rang in loud and clear. Harry, in that burgundy turtleneck that perfectly matched the color of Louis' jeans; Harry, on his lap and practically falling off because he'd known if he scooted any closer they'd have Problems On Camera and their director would kill them. That Harry.
But there was no director now; there were no cameras. A rare time in their lives, but they'd somehow found a way to make it work, to get a little bit of their own back. So Harry's hands slid down his back and under his pants and cupped his arse; Louis straddled his lap a little more firmly and scraped his nails over his nipples and sucked in his surprised gasp with a smiling, smirking mouth. Liam sort of watched, sort of drifted, and Niall slept through it all, which he'd surely be disappointed to hear in the morning.
Louis pulled back and his eyes were bright in the low darkness; his lips full and wet and Zayn could've sworn that nothing in the world was more beautiful than a post-coital Harry Styles, but perhaps he was wrong.
"Took you long enough," he whispered, and Zayn thought maybe he was right. All of this felt right. Right like their band, right like the one direction they were all facing to walk down the road of life together. Right, because nothing any of them could do with each other could ever be wrong.