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Niall is four beers into the night and pleasantly buzzed when it happens. Harry’s staying over, which means that he’ll probably end up falling asleep with his head in Niall’s lap on the couch. That’s the usual when he comes to Niall’s for a sleepover. And then he’ll wake up in the morning with a crick in his back, and Niall’s knee will be sore from sleeping while sitting up.
It’s not so bad though. There are definitely worse things than how he’ll wake up in the morning with Harry putting a tray of brekkie on the table in front of him. Or how Harry will spend a couple of hours alternating between holding a hot water bottle to Niall’s knee, and massaging it gently while they watch golf. Or how Harry will walk around half naked all day so that the glue from the warming patch won’t stick to his shirt, and he’ll lay on his stomach which gives Niall a great view of his perky, plump –
“Ni, it’s raining!” Harry squeals, pulling Niall out of his tipsy, horny thought process. That’s probably for the best. A few more minutes and he’d have needed to excuse himself to the loo to deal with – things.
“That’s pretty standard. It rains all the time in London, Harry.” Niall points out. He just barely keeps the ‘you would know that if you spent five minutes here every once in a while, instead of constantly running off to LA for sunshine and supermodels.’ firmly trapped behind his teeth. It takes a bit of effort, because the drinking tends to make his tongue a bit loose.
But, like always, he manages to keep his thoughts to himself around Harry. Because Harry is his best friend, and Niall has to support him in all of his endeavors. It doesn’t matter if Niall is jealous, or if he’s bitter, or if he kind of wants to trap Harry against the glass door and snog his face off while the rain pounds against the door from the other side. All that matters is that he doesn’t lose the most important friendship that he’s ever had over a few angry words shaking out from a few too many beers.
“It’s so pretty.” Harry breathes out so quietly that Niall almost doesn’t catch it. He turns around to find Harry with his face pressed to the glass. And he can’t see Harry’s expression from this angle, but it doesn’t take much imagination for Niall to picture the lazy smile pulling the corners of Harry’s lips up towards his ears. He has all of Harry’s smiles memorized. “I want to feel it.”
“It’s rain. It’s going to be cold and wet.” Niall hums, turning back towards the telly to watch the documentary about baby seals being clubbed to death in the arctic-circle. Harry had picked the damn thing, always picks these depressing films about tragic things happening right outside of their doors, but he hasn’t sat still to watch it for more than five minutes at a time. That’s probably because it keeps getting him a bit misty-eyed though.
He doesn’t get a verbal response from Harry. Instead, all he gets is the familiar squeak of the door sliding open, and bare feet splashing through puddles on his patio. By the time he stops rubbing at his temples and turns around, Harry is standing out in the middle of the yard, head tilted up towards the sky and eyes closed. Niall’s breath hitches in his throat at the sight. Harry is beautiful at even the worst of times, but he looks absolutely miraculous like this, his hair hanging in heavy curtains and his shirt clinging to him like a second skin, lit only by the soft glow of Niall’s small army of candles streaming light out through the door.
He starts to sway back and forth, and it takes Niall a moment to stop focusing on the motion of his hips enough to notice that Harry’s fingers are unfastening the buttons on his shirt. It falls to the deck with a wet ‘plop’ that echoes through Niall’s skull. Watching Harry take off his skinny jeans normally is a laugh, because he wears them so damn tight, but now they’re soaked through, and it seems to be a real adventure for him to push them down his thighs and calves onto the ground. Niall nearly swallows his tongue when Harry’s pants drop down a moment later, leaving him bare as he starts swaying with a bit more intent.
Niall doesn’t know when he moved, doesn’t know when he got up and crossed around behind the couch to stand in the open doorway, but the cold on his skin alerts him to that fact. And it’s not really surprising, because he often finds himself mystified and mesmerized by Harry, entranced and enthralled to the point where he forgets what he’s supposed to be doing.
“It feels great!” Harry laughs, tilting his head back again and raising his hands up to the sky like he’s trying to touch the clouds that are soaking him so thoroughly.
“I thought you grew out of this quirk.” Niall says evenly, raising an eyebrow. “The whole ‘getting naked’ at any time for any reason thing I mean.”
“You never grow out of some things.” Harry smirks, glancing over at Niall out of the corner of his eye. “Come join me.”
“I’m not going to stand around in the rain like a bloody madman.” Niall scoffs.
“Then dance with me.” Harry grins, resuming his swaying until he’s prancing around, his arms waving in some wild choreography that probably makes sense to Harry, and Harry alone. Niall gave up trying to figure out exactly how Harry’s mind works a long time ago, and instead has learned to just let the mystery wash over him in pleasant waves.
“Sorry, I didn’t take classes in interpretive dance.” Niall snorts.
“Shut up and dance with me, Ni.” Harry muses, flitting across the space between them until he’s standing only a few inches away from Niall, dripping wet and smiling softly.
“There’s no music.” Niall points out.
“You’re a singer.” Harry counters. “If you need music, make it.”
“We’ll get sick.” Niall tries. “It’s too cold.”
“Moving around will keep you warm.” Harry fires back.
“I – I’m out of excuses.” Niall sighs.
“Good.” Harry hums, grabbing Niall by the wrist and tugging him out from the safety of his warm house and out into the pouring rain. Niall gasps when the cold water starts soaking through his t-shirt, but Harry cuts him off by placing a finger over his lips. He grabs the hem of Niall’s shirt, and tugs it up and off before the blond can even process that it’s happening. “It’s better without clothes.”
“If there’s a pap around–” Niall stammers.
“Don’t you think we’d already know by now?” Harry cuts him off. “It’s not like the flashes are hard to see. Especially when it’s this dark.”
“If we’re on the cover of The Sun tomorrow with our dicks out, I’m literally going to kill you.” Niall growls, shucking his joggers before Harry does it for him, as the fingers trailing down his side tell him Harry is about to do. “I will bash your head in with a nine-iron, and I won’t hesitate or regret it.”
“Wootton would have a grand old time with that.” Harry giggles, bouncing away from Niall and resuming his wild swinging and swaying.
“What about this is supposed to be fun?” Niall asks, wrapping his arms around his stomach and shuffling from side to side just to keep himself warm.
“It’s more fun if you actually dance, you git.” Harry laughs, shaking his arse at Niall.
“I’m too cold to dance.” Niall huffs, rubbing his hands up and down his arms in a vain attempt to ward off the chill sinking into his bones.
“Do it anyways.” Harry tells him, grabbing one of Niall’s hands and tugging it so that Niall twirls around under his arm. “It’s not so bad once you actually start moving.”
“I don’t even like dancing.” Niall says with a light laugh, moving a bit more despite his words.
“You dance all the time on stage.” Harry points out, shaking his head back and forth so that his hair is a constant storm of flailing whips, spraying even more water all over the place. And Liam was kind of right when he said that Harry looks like ‘Baby Tarzan’ when he’s wet because of his dopey smile and big eyes and sopping hair, but he also looks like Tarzan as an adult. The rippling muscles and – other things – see to that.
“I shake my bum or do a jig.” Niall argues. “Not dance around like I’m one of the ‘Charlie Brown’ kids.”
“I’ve seen you dance in clubs.” Harry tries.
“With people and to music, not by myself with the sound of the rain.” Niall snorts. “I’m not going to hump the grill just to satisfy your weird, drunken urge to dance naked in a rainstorm.”
“Then dance with me.” Harry says lowly, making his way towards Niall.
“Shut up.” Niall scoffs.
“I’m serious.” Harry tells him. “Dance with me.”
“We’re naked.” Niall reminds him.
“So?” Harry questions, sidling up in front of Niall.
“So it – It’s – It’s weird.” Niall stammers. “Isn’t it?”
“I don’t think so.” Harry hums, his hands finding Niall’s hips. Niall is fucking freezing, but Harry’s touch is like fire, heating Niall up from the outside in until he feels like he’s about to burst. “Is the idea that uncomfortable to you?”
“Tommo will never stop giving us shit for the rest of our lives if he finds out about this.” Niall sighs, turning around so that his back is to Harry. Just the touch is nearly overwhelming, but combined with the sight of Harry like this, it’s just too much to push down. At least if he turns around, he limits the stimuli. “Do you want to lead?”
“I think you should lead.” Harry murmurs.
Niall is fine with that. He starts slow, swiveling his hips in time with the beat he starts playing in his head. It’s nothing specific, just another generic club beat, but it gives Niall something to focus on besides the way Harry’s hands fit so perfectly on his hips, or the heat of his chest against Niall’s back, or the slick slip of wet skin sliding against wet skin.
Harry finds Niall’s rhythm after a moment, matching him move for move. Niall appreciates that. Appreciates that Harry doesn’t need to hear the music in Niall’s head to follow him. Then again, he might just be hearing his own music with the same beat. Harry’s a bit magical like that. Or maybe Niall is just a bit smitten and sentimental and sauced. It could go either way, or both, or neither. Niall’s too intoxicated on the fingers that Harry’s dragging over his stomach to figure it out right now.
His head lolls back onto Harry’s shoulder, letting it rest there while his arm comes up and snakes around Harry’s neck to anchor himself in place as the rest of his body starts to join the pulse of the song thrumming through his veins. Harry’s hold on him tightens, searing his fingerprints into the skin of Niall’s stomach. The pounding of the rain against his shoulders, the chill of the wind blowing over his flesh, the fear of getting noticed by anyone – none of it is half as intense as Harry’s hands wandering over Niall’s body. His fingers graze over everything, tracing the lines of Niall’s collar bones, following down over his sternum, ghosting along the patch of hair at the bottom of his stomach, and coming to rest in the dips of Niall’s hips.
“Turn around.” Harry whispers in his ear.
Niall follows the instruction without objection, too lost in the inebriation and intimacy of the moment to remind himself of what a bad idea this is. He knows better, he does, but he can’t find the presence of mind to stop his body from turning around so that his arms are wrapped loosely behind Harry’s neck, and one of his legs is slotted between the brunet’s.
“Much better.” Harry breathes out.
“Is it?” Niall asks, resuming his former rhythm.
“I think it is.” Harry says softly. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s fucking cold out here.” Niall laughs, closing his eyes and tilting his head back so that the rain is pouring straight on his face while they grind slowly against each other.
“I can tell.” Harry murmurs. “You’re shivering.”
“We haven’t all got these to keep us warm.” Niall hums, teasing his hand down Harry’s body to put it on his love-handle.
“Don’t be rude.” Harry huffs, moving his own hand from the small of Niall’s back to deliver a quick smack to the exposed cheek of his arse. Niall gasps and barely manages to bite down on his lip in time to muffle a moan. It only gets harder to hold back when Harry leaves his hand there, rubbing slow circles in the skin to soothe the sting. “Ni?”
“Yeah?” Niall asks breathlessly.
“Are you ever gonna let me kiss you?” Harry asks.
“I – Uh – I–” Niall stutters, closing his eyes to inhale deeply and clear his head of Harry’s intense gaze. He takes a moment to find the right words, but eventually replies with, “Not unless it would really matter.”
“Of course it would matter, Ni.” Harry whispers, knocking his forehead against Niall’s. “I’ve been patient. I’ve waited for so long.”
“So you just want to kiss me because you’ve been waiting?” Niall asks.
“I’ve been waiting because I really want to kiss you.” Harry corrects. “I want to kiss you, and I want it to matter, and I’ve waited for five years for you to see that.”
“So why now?” Niall asks.
“Because I’ve finally got you in my arms, and I don’t want to let you go if I don’t have to.” Harry murmurs, his lips ghosting over the skin of Niall’s cheek. “Because we have a break coming really soon, and I want to know if I actually get to finally make my plans around you, or if I need to find some other way to live my life.”
“Would – Would you really do that?” Niall asks him. “Would you make your plans around me?”
“I’ve been waiting five years just for the opportunity.” Harry hums. “Even more than kissing you.”
“Then yes.” Niall whispers. “You can kiss me.”
It’s nothing and everything like Niall imagined all at once. He thought that Harry would kiss him hard. That Harry would press him up against the wall and drag the breath from his lungs in a kiss so heated that it would sear itself against Niall’s lips for the rest of his life. He knows this is a kiss he’ll remember, a kiss that will tingle on his lips every time he thinks about it until the day he dies, but it isn’t what he thought it would be.
It’s slow, and gentle, and the fireworks behind Niall’s eyes aren’t a bright red flash, but a soft golden shower instead. And in all the times Niall pictured this, he never came even close to imagining the perfect softness of Harry’s lips, or the strange comfort of his stubble rubbing against Niall’s, or the awkward bump of their noses when they both move too far. He never foresaw the way the kiss ended prematurely because their lips stretch into smiles and they giggle quietly like they’re still seventeen and crammed into one bunk on the bus, watching videos on YouTube because the adrenaline from a show hasn’t worn off yet.
“You’ve been waiting five years, and that’s all you’ve got?” Niall teases, blinking slowly and looking up into Harry’s eyes. “Wootton would have a grand old time finding out that the rumors about you are exaggerated.”
“That’s definitely not all I’ve got.” Harry growls, nipping lightly at the tip of Niall’s nose. “I’m easing you in. Exposing you to everything I’ve got all at once would be too much. We’ll work you up to it in gradual doses.”
“I haven’t seen much incentive to let you kiss me again.” Niall muses.
“You sure about that?” Harry smirks, shifting his leg to bring Niall’s attention to his growing erection.
“Alright, maybe there’s one or two reasons.” Niall chuckles. “But not out here. I’m fucking freezing, and I don’t fancy catching cold just to snog you in the rain.”
“Get inside then.” Harry hums, delivering another smack to Niall’s bum and making him laugh. “I’ll get our clothes, you get towels.”
“Hey, Harry?” Niall asks.
“Yeah?” Harry questions, walking Niall backwards towards the house.
“Think we can sleep in the bed tonight, instead of on the couch?” Niall requests.
“I think we can work something out.” Harry grins, pressing Niall up against the cold glass of the door. Before Niall can gasp, Harry is licking into his mouth, one hand on the back of Niall’s neck to hold him in place. And yeah, this is more what Niall fantasized about. He didn’t picture the arse-print that he’s leaving on his door, but he can roll with it, because this is a kiss that will live on Niall’s lips until his last breath.