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"You study, you learn, but you guard the original naiveté. It has to be within you, as desire for drink is within the drunkard or love is within the lover." - Henri Matisse
Zayn is tired. He trudges up the stairs, unfastening first his coat, then his belt before shedding his work shirt. He steps out of his boots and stretches, his back cracking along with the spots of paint that dot his arms, before padding down the long hallway of the Victorian flat. The smell of dinner guides him to the kitchen, where he finds exactly what he knew he would: Harry at the stove, bare chested, bare footed, blowing over a steaming spoon. Zayn shuffles up behind him, sliding his hands around him and down to rest on his hips, white speckled fingers tracing the valleys of muscle and bone that bracket Harry’s belly as he presses his lips to Harry's neck. Harry "mmm's" and offers the spoon up to Zayn’s lips.
"What is it?" he asks and Harry chuckles.
"Dinner, you picky bastard."
"M'your picky bastard, though. So?"
"French lentils and spinach," Harry says leaning his head back for a kiss. "Now open up."
Zayn obeys and the savory, salty taste lingers on his tongue. "What's that, turkey?"
"Duck."
"It's nice, I like it."
"Thought we'd have a treat," Harry says, leaning back again for another kiss, before giving the pot a last stir and turning off the burner. "It'll be ready in five. Go on," he says giving Zayn a nudge with his ass.
"Right," Zayn replies, stepping back and slipping his vest over his head. Harry turns, catching Zayn's belt loops just before he heads for the kitchen door, hauling him close again for a sucking kiss to his bottom lip. Zayn anticipates him, raising his chin and closing his eyes for the kisses Harry plants on each eyelid and then at the corner of each eye before pulling back. "Go on, then, Van Gogh."
A smile tugs Zayn's mouth at the nickname as he walks backwards toward the door, slowly popping the buttons on his jeans as Harry looks on, narrowing his eyes and tonguing his bottom lip. Just as he parts the flaps and pulls them down, Zayn ducks back into the hallway, giving a laugh at Harry's indignant, "No dinner for you, Renoir!"
He showers quickly, pausing only to scrub at the paint flecks on his hands with a well-worn nail brush before rejoining Harry at the little two-top in the kitchen, knocking their knees together in his haste to sit and tuck into the food.
"Jesus, it smells good."
"In a hurry?"
"I'm sooo hungry."
"You're in luck, then," Harry says, piling the food high on the mismatched plates.
They get started, and for long minutes the only sound is the clink of silver and the occasional hum of appreciation. They eat in relative silence, watching through the window as the fog rolls in and spying on the neighbor's cat as she stalks an invisible foe along the back staircase. They exchange easy grins as they shed the day and watch the light fade.
Zayn reaches up at last to wipe an errant lentil from Harry's chin and they bark out laughs in unison.
"You're such a child, Harry, I don't know how your mum put up with you."
"This child made you dinner, Warhol."
"Oh, I only get the Warhol when I've properly riled you. C'mere," he says, cupping his hand around Harry's neck to draw him in. It's a plush kiss, all slick lips and closed mouths. "I love you," he whispers, the words brushstrokes of breath against Harry's cheek. They leave a glow in their wake as Harry returns them in kind with a kiss pressed to Zayn's forehead.
Harry pulls back, watching Zayn, waiting. "So?"
Zayn taps his fingers on the table. "Yeah, so?"
"Did you do the thing?" Harry quizzes, scooching his chair closer.
"She was out for most of the day today. So."
"Ah, well that's--" Harry starts, before Zayn continues.
"But, well, she came back right as we finished up the kitchen. She had all these groceries. So, I helped her bring them in and just sort of told her that I did a lot of different kinds of painting and murals as well. I said I had an idea for the baby's room and did she want to see the sketch for it."
"And?"
"And, she loved it. Really. She was a bit taken aback, a bit, I guess at first. She thought I'd gone and sketched something on the walls."
They both huff out laughs.
"But I sorted her out and showed her the pictures and she loved it. She said she'd never seen anything like it," Zayn says. He feels Harry's hand on his and basks in the smile Harry beams at him.
"Are they gonna do it?
"She said she had to speak to her wife about it and asked if I would leave my sketchbook. I didn't think that through at all; I'll have to do it differently next time ‘cause I nearly said no. I hate the thought of leaving it somewhere."
"I know, babe, but wow. When's she gonna let you know?"
"That's the thing. She called me on the drive home and said they want to do it. I told you, her wife is like an animal specialist at the zoo. She showed it to her when she got home and she really liked the whole forest theme and the animals and such. They want to meet at the weekend to go over some ideas they had and everything, but like…" and Zayn shakes his head, looking up at Harry with wide eyes. "She said they'd be up for spending, like, $1200 just for the mural wall. That's nearly our rent money, Harry. For just three or four day’s work."
Harry blinks at Zayn, astonished by his flood of words and news, before he’s on his feet, pulling Zayn out of his chair. "Whoop! Yes! Well done, Malik!"
They stumble as Harry grabs Zayn's hips and both end up in Zayn's chair. Harry straddles his thighs, his broad body looming over Zayn as he assaults his face with curls and Eskimo kisses. He layers kiss after kiss after kiss on Zayn's lips, whispering "So proud. I knew it. I knew it."
Zayn squirms from it, the warmth flooding him, fizzing under his skin. Harry fingers his ribs, hinting at a tickle as he runs his lashes along Zayn's cheek and shimmies on his lap. Zayn ducks his head at the weight of so much joy, but Harry cups his chin, tilting his face back up.
"Of course they loved it. Of course they did, babe," he murmurs against Zayn's brow. "How could they not?"
Zayn tugs Harry down to quiet him with his mouth. He runs his fingers up Harry's neck, rubbing small circles into the taut muscles there. Then he slides them into Harry’s hair to scratch lightly along his scalp. Harry gasps into his mouth and shifts his hips closer. Zayn smooths his hands down Harry's back to the bare swell of his ass, his fingers gripping and dragging Harry flush against him. Zayn rocks up into the heat of him, the chair offering the only sound of protest as their breaths stutter out between the wet smack of lips and tongues.
Harry shifts again to muffle a moan into Zayn's neck before standing and tugging Zayn to his feet. Zayn follows him, out of the room and down the hallway, fitting his palm to the shadowed curve of his hip.
They strip off wordlessly before Harry pulls Zayn onto the bed, his big hands firm on Zayn's shoulders as they press him down. Zayn stretches up for a kiss, feels the prickly hair of Harry's thigh brush his balls and cock as Harry slides one leg snug between his own.
Harry kneels up, his long body rising above Zayn, an endless imprint of shadow and light playing on skin. He lifts Zayn's hands, bringing one to his mouth to run the thumb across his lower lip.
"Chagall," he says, pressing a kiss to the tip. He moves to the next finger, nibbling the end with his teeth before pronouncing, "Picasso." Zayn feels the grin split his face before he can stop himself.
"You're the worst," he responds, shaking his head.
Harry chuckles, unabashed, before lifting the next finger to his lips. "McGee!" he proclaims, kissing it quickly.
"Yes! Twist McGee!" Zayn approves with a laugh.
"Woodruff." Harry licks the next finger lightly, before moving on.
"Sadequain," he murmurs, sucking the length of Zayn's index finger into his mouth. Zayn shivers from the heat of it, from the flick of Harry’s tongue against the side of his finger.
"Alston." Harry lifts Zayn's other hand up, worrying small sucking bites into the pad of his thumb.
"Klee…Haring.” Harry strokes his tongue over, then between the next two fingers.
"Matisse." He sucks at the next finger noisily. The sound alone has Zayn shifting his hips to rut his cock against Harry's thigh.
"Rivera," Harry says, rubbing the last finger back and forth over his closed lips.
"No." Zayn pulls back slightly with a quiet grin. "Kahlo," he says, pressing the tip to Harry's lips. “’I was born a bitch--” he begins.
“--I was born a painter,’” Harry finishes, echoing Zayn’s grin.
Zayn traces his finger once around the wet circle of Harry's pink mouth before raising his palms. "What about these?"
Harry sighs. "Zayn. Malik," he says, pressing a kiss to the warm, calloused skin at the center of each, before raising his head.
"I want to suck you," Harry whispers, his dark gaze fixed on Zayn’s.
"I know." Zayn breathes out, bringing two fingers to Harry's mouth, tapping lightly on his bottom lip.
Harry lets his mouth fall open, pushing his tongue out in offering and Zayn is reminded of nothing so much as a worshiping supplicant. He slides his fingers along Harry's tongue, into the depths of his mouth. Harry sucks them in further, hollowing his cheeks and swallowing down a moan. Harry closes his eyes as a shudder rolls through his body.
Zayn pulls his fingers out, resting his hand along Harry's jaw and waiting until Harry opens his eyes again to tilt his head in the barest nod. Harry smiles then, the sweetness of it stolen from Zayn's sight as Harry bows down to suck at the skin of his belly, lapping at the bead of precome he finds there.
Cupping Zayn's balls in his hand, Harry dotes on each in turn, pausing to whisper secret words against the soft skin. He tongues a kiss to the base of Zayn's cock before cradling it steady in his hand as he paints long licks up the shaft. He teases the head with the brush of his lips, opening his mouth to hover around it, as if daring himself to taste a forbidden fruit. At last, he seals his lips around the ridge, and the long slow suck he gives sends a jolt through Zayn that has him bucking up into Harry's mouth, overwhelmed.
Harry pulls back with a choked sound before he sucks him down deeper, again and again. Zayn's hands in his hair encourage Harry to linger, dragging a low moan out of Zayn as he swallows around his cock before pulling off.
"More?”
"Yeah. No--wait. Come here," Zayn urges, stretching for the lube, turning back in time for Harry to lay a kiss on his mouth. Harry's tongue laves against his own as Zayn slicks up his fingers and reaches between them. He runs his knuckles in a soft stroke down the length of Harry's cock before sliding his fingers behind his balls and pressing two fingertips inside him to the first knuckle. The groan that bursts from Harry isn’t unexpected and Zayn curls his other arm up around Harry's shoulders to steady him.
"Okay?" he asks.
Harry nods. “Yes. Please,” he bites out as he buries his head next to Zayn's. Zayn slides his fingers in further and twists them slightly. He feels Harry's panting breath, hot on his neck. With his free hand, Zayn grips Harry's neck. He pulls him back and, with a gentle press of the fingers in his ass, guides him up Zayn's body until he's straddling Zayn's chest.
Zayn runs the head of Harry's cock over his lips before sucking him in. And then he begins a slow advance and retreat, fucking his fingers into Harry's ass, pressing Harry's cock forward to fuck shallowly into his mouth. He works a third finger in slowly and hears Harry's fingers scrabbling against the headboard. He casts his eyes up to watch Harry muffle curses against his forearms. Zayn sucks down hard on the head of Harry's cock, working his tongue at the slit, and feels the moment Harry breaks and begins fucking himself on Zayn's fingers in earnest.
He slips his fingers out, urging Harry down his body with his hands on his hips.
"Ride me, yeah?"
"Yeah. God." Harry says from the hushed, slightly dazed space Zayn knows he goes to in his head when he's wound up and desperate.
Harry rises up on his knees and sinks down slowly onto Zayn's cock with a single, fluid push. Even through the wash of pleasure, it reminds Zayn of the way he works; his fingers so familiar with a given brush, so practiced at the stroke, that he sometimes doesn't recall how – when he finally surfaces – the vision in his head is suddenly alive on the canvas. Harry rides him like that, each stroke practiced and perfect, a mastered art. Zayn’s pleasure is Harry’s clear purpose as he clenches down on him. He shifts his hips to grind against Zayn's until Zayn is moaning senselessly and seeing stars though his clenched eyelids.
Zayn reaches up blindly for Harry’s cock. He presses his thumbs to the base and hears Harry’s pleading groan. Wrapping both hands around the shaft, Zayn pumps hard and tight. As Harry’s own thrusts falter, Zayn slides two fingers over the wet mess at the head. Another pass of his fingers sends Harry shuddering over the edge, his come spattering over Zayn's belly.
Zayn grips Harry's hips, his fingernails speckling them with tiny half-moon marks as he thrusts up into the tight, clenching heat of him again and again until Zayn is coming hard, arching back against the bed and crying out.
When Zayn rouses long minutes later, Harry is draped over his chest, curls matted to the sweat of his forehead. He smooths them away and Harry lifts his head, his gaze sated and sleepy. Zayn traces the fine line of his brow, his nose, the divot above his lips. He brushes his thumb in a feather light stroke across Harry’s cheek, studying what he already knows by heart.
"Time for sleep, Michelangelo. You've got masterpieces to make tomorrow," Harry mumbles, humming as he turns his face into Zayn's hand to press a kiss to his palm before rolling onto his side. Zayn leans down to trace his ear. "Just so we're clear, this was not the Last Supper," he grumbles, pointedly. He feels Harry's shoulders shake with laughter as he tucks himself against his back. When he hears Harry's breathing even out, he strokes his fingers down Harry's arm and then back up the marble smooth skin of his belly to rest over his heart. "Goodnight, David," Zayn whispers against his skin, holding fast to the slumbering slayer of his fears.