Work Text:
What room r u in?
1122. When you back?
After pizza. Make sure I can get in?
Always. Sleepy. See you soon. x
Michael shoves the phone back into his pocket and tries to stop the smile from taking over his entire face. Too late.
“Oh, Mikey. Got a sexy text, yeah?” Luke kicks his leg under the table as they wait for their pizza.
“Nah. Just Harry.”
“Mmm hmm. Not a thing sexy at all ‘bout that one,” Ashton butts in, dimples flashing.
“Fuck off.” Michael rolls his eyes and tries to act bored. “Where the fuck is our food?”
“Anxious to get back to the hotel for some reason, Mike?”
“Just hungry, asshole.” Mike pulls the phone back out of his pocket again, glancing at the time. Only just nine o’clock.
The thing about Mike is that the second you put him in a moving object - plane, car, tour bus - he’s out like a light. Slept like a baby the entire ride through from Kansas City. Now they’re in Houston, and they’ve done fun shit all day, but Michael’s nowhere near tired. There’s no way he’ll be in bed before 3 or 4 a.m. local time.
Harry, on the other hand, can’t sleep on the bus. He’s taken to riding the crew bus because he’s the only one of the boys that can’t sleep and usually gets some form of motion sickness. So instead of keeping the others awake and miserable, he rides with Lou and Cal and some of the security team. They never seem to need much sleep and stay up with him, watching dumb films and playing video games. Michael finagled his way onto the same bus as Harry a few times early on in the tour, but he learned quickly that was a poor idea. There are a lot of things a bored Harry Styles can do to you when you sleep like the dead as soon as the bus starts moving.
Anyway, so Mike is sat with his bandmates waiting for some pizza eating challenge Calum came up with, and he’s pretty certain Harry will be sound asleep when he finally makes it back to his room. It’s cool. Another night of staring at the TV and Twitter like a zombie while Harry Styles snores softly next to him. Could be worse. Whatever this thing is that they’ve been doing - this cuddly sleeping thing in hotels all across America - well, there are a lot of worse things that could happen, that’s for damn sure.
Their pizza comes and they all eat entirely too much, each boy trying to outdo the others. By the time they meet the fans that have crowded around the entrance, get in their car, and slowly work back across the city, it feels late but it’s still only midnight when the car pulls up to let Michael out at the other hotel. Calum is the only one that still gives him shit about staying with Harry. The other guys just assume they’re hooking up at this point, even though nothing more than a hug and a cuddle has happened between them. Oh, and that time he woke up with Harry spooning him, and he pretended to be asleep for another hour just so he could lie there with Harry’s front pressed to his back. He smelled really good.
Michael goes through the back entrance, nodding at a security guy he recognizes and taking the keycard he’s offered as he hops on the elevator. When the doors open, he looks out before walking down the hall. Sometimes there are girls that just magically end up hanging out on the floor Harry is staying on. He’s pretty sure Harry wouldn’t care but it probably wouldn’t be great if there were pics of him going into the other boy’s hotel room while the rest of 5SOS go to another hotel.
When he stops at room 1122, the hallway is deserted, so he sticks the keycard in and turns the handle quickly, letting himself into the dark room.
“Haz? I’m here,” he whispers, knowing full well Harry will sleep through him coming in and getting settled.
Mikey makes his way through the room, stumbling over shoes and a belt Harry must have discarded before he crawled into bed. Finally, his eyes adjust, and he can just make out the bed with a lump on the right side, and the remote lying on the left empty pillow. His cheeks redden a bit at the thought of Harry putting it there for him, knowing he wouldn’t be ready to sleep. He pulls his shirt off over his head and toes off his shoes, thinking for the hundredth time that he should have brought some shorts or something. Sleeping in tight jeans is getting old, but he’s not convinced yet that Harry wouldn’t be shocked if he stripped down to just his pants. Once his phone charger is plugged into the desk lamp and his wallet tossed on the nightstand, he’s ready to slide under the covers.
He flicks the TV on, hoping he can just zone out to Twitter with some stupid funny movie on in the background. No such luck though. Flipping through quickly leaves him with poker, ESPN, and some teen romance called A Walk to Remember as his options. He watches ESPN for about thirty seconds before realizing he doesn’t have to act like he cares about sports because no one else is awake in the room and decides to switch it to poker. He turns it down to a low hum and pulls his phone out, plugging it in and settling back against the plush pillows as he opens Twitter.
After scrolling through hundreds of mentions of people asking for a follow and telling him they watched him stuff his face with pizza tonight, Mike searches the usual words, looking for indirects. He knows he’s not “famous”, not really anyway, but the fact that he can search the word “Michael” in Twitter and eighty percent of the tweets that pull up are about him? Well, that’s pretty fucking cool, and there’s not much that makes him smile more than surprise tweeting some of them a response.
A few girls are talking about how he loves pizza so much, so he replies to them with a simple I should marry pizza right?
One of the very next tweets mentions Harry.
Michael and Harry should just like come out already. I mean it’s so obvious Harry is hitting that on the daily yo.
Mike’s eyebrows shoot up. He’s not sure what he feels. Giddy that a fan thinks they look like they’re together? Embarrassed that nothing has even happened between them? He settles for mildly amused and half-hard before scrolling more. He wades through some tweets about Michael Jackson and some more about pizza, glancing over at Harry’s sleeping form before changing his search terms.
“Michael and Harry” he types, angling his phone a bit as his cheeks flush. What even is he doing? Hundreds of results pop up instantly, most of them variations on the first one that piqued his curiosity.
Omigod Michael and Harry should be a couple.
Are Harry and Michael together? Like together together? *dreamy sigh*
Can Michael and Harry just bone and get it over with? The tension, it is sexuallllll.
Remember when Harry and Michael used to play FIFA together and cuddle? I want that to happen every day.
Michael’s phone buzzes right then, and he nearly drops it, fumbling to silence the text tone before it wakes Harry. It’s from Ashton, and it’s so eerie, Michael looks around for a hidden camera.
How’s it goin in the fancy hotel Mikey? Pining after a sleeping Harry Styles?
Mike doesn’t respond right away, a bit grumpy that everyone is still teasing him about his little crush. He tries to put the phone down and watch a bit of poker, but it’s not very interesting, and Harry is making little snuffling noises now. He rolls over from his side to his back, and the covers slip from his chest to just below his waist. Michael gulps. Harry’s only wearing a pair of tight gray pants. Very very small pants. Fuck. Michael is more than a little hard from the tweets he was reading when he was interrupted, and the sight of Harry in his underthings makes him palm himself involuntarily.
“Shit,” Mike mumbles under his breath, closing his eyes as he pushes back against the pillows. It wouldn’t be weird if he just unzipped his jeans a bit, right? Just to ease the pressure a bit, is all. Not so he can actually get a proper wank. That would be weird.
Gently, Michael eases his zipper down, cock practically springing free in relief. He looks at Harry out of the corner of his eye, but he hasn’t stirred at all since turning to his back, one arm thrown over his head and the other across his suntanned abs. Fuck, Harry’s fit.
Mike turns back to the TV, willing himself to calm down and stop being creepy. He needs more of a distraction than poker though. Remembering he never texted Ashton back, he picks up his phone again and sends off a cheeky Watching late night poker with my wang out before scrolling through Twitter again.
Eventually he ends up looking through pictures on one of the 1D update accounts. A string of pictures in a row are all of Harry on stage at the Kansas City show from the previous night, and he looks so good -- tight black jeans, black shirt, tattoos peeking out under the sleeves, and that stupid bandana he came back from LA wearing. Michael pulls the covers up over his lap, reaching one hand down to palm the head of his cock as he flips through the pictures again and again.
The sensation feels so good that he moans softly and turns a bit on his side, facing away from Harry. After stroking himself roughly a few times, Mike licks his hand and impatiently shoves his jeans down further, groaning when he finally gets a firm grip around his length.
“Fuck,” he can’t help but whisper.
Several strokes later, he’s fighting every urge to thrust his hips upward into his own hand, telling himself he’ll just touch himself a few more seconds then tuck it back away. This has definitely gotten weird. Harry’s sleeping right there. The least he could do is go wank in the bathroom or something.
Michael shifts forward a bit, and his phone falls to the floor with a soft thud. He freezes, listening to the soft sounds of Harry’s breathing before continuing to pull on his dick, eyes clenching shut with the effort.
Just when Michael realizes he’s not going to stop and could probably come soon, an arm wraps across his chest and soft lips touch his ear.
“Fuck, Mike.” Harry’s voice is deep and gravelly, a bit scratchy from sleep.
Michael tenses, hand stopping immediately and eyes opening wide.
“Harry, I - it’s not what it looks like, I,” he manages to stutter out.
But Harry just rolls him gently onto his back, leaning over him to cover Michael’s lips with his own. “You’re fucking touching yourself in my bed. Fuck, I wake up and you’re fucking hard and moaning. Jesus, Michael. Finally.” Harry kisses him, deep and slow and exactly how Mike imagined he would kiss. His tongue is soft and teasing, gently slipping between Michael’s lips at first, then exploring his mouth more urgently.
Mike isn’t sure what to do with his hands, one of them still loosely wrapped around his dick and the other clenching the sheet beneath him. He closes his eyes again, just letting himself feel everything and slowly moves the hand in his pants out and to the sheet next to his leg.
“Don’t stop,” Harry murmurs against his lips and reaches down to put Mike’s hand back where it had been. “Wanna see you.”
Michael nearly chokes, face flaming red. He doesn’t want to admit that if he keeps going, he’s going to come all over Harry’s leg in a few seconds, but he doesn’t want to ruin the mood either so he gently strokes, his foreskin moving up and down.
“Harder. Wanna see you come.” Harry’s lips have moved from his own to his neck and collarbone, and Michael thanks fuck that he took his shirt off before getting in the bed. Soft sleepy kisses spread back and forth in lazy patterns across his shoulder, and Harry slides further over his body, threading his legs with Michael’s own.
Harry is long and lean, seemingly all clumsy limbs and awkward hands. But right now, in this moment, he knows exactly what to do with each leg, each arm, hand, toe. Michael feels how hard Harry is against his thigh instantly, but his brain is too fuzzy from all the head-to-toe skin contact to focus on it. All he knows is that Harry is big and hard and rubbing against his thigh, telling him he wants to see him come.
So he pulls on his cock a bit more roughly, hissing at how dry it’s become as Harry continues kissing his shoulder, neck, cheek.
“Here,” Harry says, and pulls Michael’s hand up to his mouth, spitting and letting a long string of saliva fall to Mike’s palm. “Again.”
Michael reaches back down to touch himself as Harry leans back, eyes wide and dark as he watches Mike push his head back against the bed, stifling a moan that means he’s close.
Harry reaches down and tugs the jeans and pants off of Mike, tossing them to the floor without a glance away from where Mike’s hand works, where his hips thrust up into it faster now.
“Fuck, wanted to see this for so long, Mikey.”
Michael finally finds his voice. “Yeah? Wanna see me come? Think about me?” His brain knows this is happening but part of him needs the reassurance that this is what Harry wants after all this time.
“Fuck yes. You think I’ve wanted you in my bed every night because I like emo company?” Harry crawls forward again, hovering over Michael and leaning down to kiss his forehead, cheek, nose, chin. “I mean, I like you more than just that.”
Harry covers Michael’s body with his own, moving back in for another deep kiss as he ruts gently against Mike’s thigh. “Can’t stop thinking ‘bout it some days. Wondered if you ever got off,” Harry whispers, beads of sweat forming on his brow. “Come for me.”
Michael loses it, two more sharp tugs causing spurts of cum to coat Harry’s leg and little grey briefs. “Fuck, Harry,” he mumbles, lifting his head off the bed and burrowing his face in Harry’s shoulder. “Shit.”
Harry doesn’t slow down, breaths warm and hard in Michael’s ear and cock hard against his leg. “So good. Want to see it again, Mikey. Want to suck you off.” His thrusts speed up, and he grunts a few times before crying out, his entire body going stiff as he rides out his orgasm. Michael feels warmth on his thigh, can’t take his eyes off Harry’s face above him, eyes clenched shut and mouth open wide. Nothing Harry does is small or quiet, that’s for sure.
“Fuck, Mike,” Harry says, rolling to his back on the bed beside Michael. “Holy shit, that was. Fuck.” Harry catches his breath for a moment with one hand resting on Michael’s leg and the other draped over his eyes, and after an entirely too short recovery time, he jumps up to his knees, bouncing on the bed. “Come shower with me,” he says, already climbing off the bed and pulling the cum-smeared pants off to the floor.
“Mmm, sleepy,” Michael mumbles, rolling toward the center of the bed. “Come back.” He makes a pathetic attempt at reaching toward Harry, but Harry walks to the bathroom anyway.
“I’ll be right back. Just gonna clean up a bit.” Harry whistles as he runs warm water over a flannel and cleans himself off at the sink. When he returns to the bed, Mike is sound asleep on Harry’s side.
“Dammit emo, you know I can’t sleep on the left,” Harry mutters fondly, walking around the bed to the other side. He climbs in, wide awake now and notices the poker game on the television. Fumbling around for the remote to change it to a movie or something, he finds Mike’s phone instead so he switches it on to check Twitter for a second. When the app opens, there’s a series of tweets from some 1D update account that are all pictures of himself from a show.
Harry gets hard again, realizing Mike was looking at pictures of Harry when he was jerking off. He grins and looks over at the boy’s sleeping body, cuddled up around a pillow. He sighs, not wanting to wake Michael and curls his own body around his, pressing his front to Mike’s back. Harry smiles, pressing a grin into Michael’s shoulder, thinking about all the ways he’s going to wake him up later.