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*
The club is dark, music thumping low through the speakers and making Zayn’s chest vibrate from the inside out. He’s found a girl to talk to, and they’re stood in a dusky corner, his arm stretched up over her head. He can feel the grooves of the wood against his fingertips. His thumb catches on the edge of a nail when it pokes into his skin. He leans in closer when the girl says something, watching the slow curl of her dusky pink lips as she smiles up at him.
She’s perfect, Zayn thinks to himself. She’ll be exactly what he needs for the night.
“What did you say your name was?” the girl asks. She’s got to pitch her voice to be heard over the din of the crowd, and Zayn smiles. He dips his head down and traces his lips over the shell of her ear. Her hair is long and blonde. She smells like something sweet and spicy.
“I didn’t,” Zayn whispers and touches his lips to her throat.
Zayn knows what he looks like right now. He knows how dark his eyes have gone. He can feel the back of his neck, red hot and flushed under the dim lights of the club. He knows the girl’s got no question as to who he is, what he is, and Zayn realizes he probably shouldn’t be doing this. He can hear everyone’s words rattling around in his head - it’s time to settle down, haven’t you been alone long enough, why aren’t you looking for your mate - but he doesn’t want to think about that tonight.
Tonight he wants to take someone home until the itch he’s got crawling around under his skin is gone. It’s been so long since he’s fucked. He wants to have someone in his bed, their body tight around his cock. He wants to be able to take them apart with his hands and teeth and tongue again and again.
He tells the girl this, as soft and concise as he can. He always makes sure his partners know exactly what they’re in for, both before and after. Zayn isn’t going to find his mate in her; he’s not even looking. Right now he needs a body, and he needs the girl to know that’s all she’ll be.
Her blue eyes go wide as she listens. Zayn doesn’t get turned down very often; not even once in the last century. His kind are fairly known. Being chosen by one of them even temporarily is a gift, not a curse. She seems to know that, her body sliding in closer to his as she considers his offer.
The music pounds, and the blood pulses in Zayn’s fingertips. His senses pick up the rapid thump of the girl’s heart, the sharp tang of her arousal. He can smell the perfume she’s wearing from where her skin goes hot, and he knows she’s going to say yes.
He waits until she does, then takes her hand and smiles as he leads her from the club.
*
Zayn wakes late morning to the thud of a door slamming shut and his mum’s shadow coming halfway down the steps to darken his doorway.
“Zayn,” she says curtly. Zayn doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know what she looks like. He can already see the tight pinch of her mouth, the way she’s most likely glaring at the girl in his bed, still naked with her hair spilled bright across his pillows.
“Zayn,” his mum says again. “Your father would like to speak with you.”
The girl shifts and stretches an arm up over her head. Zayn squints his eyes open and takes in the red marks his stubble made against her chest and neck. He can still taste her on his tongue. He pats her hip and sits up, the duvet pooling into his lap.
His mum makes one more disapproving sound in the back of her throat before heading back up the stairs. The girl blinks at him sleepily, her eyes still clouded over from the night before, and Zayn feels a short lick of panic curl through his belly. He thought he’d been fine. He thought he’d held back enough, but this many hours later she shouldn’t still be looking like this, her eyes glassy and face curved in a sleepy smile.
“Hey,” he says gently. He runs the back of his finger over her cheek. The touch seems to snap her out of it a little, her gaze sharpening the longer she looks at him. When she finally fully comes to, eyes focused and clear, she grins at him brightly, and Zayn breathes out a sigh of relief.
“Hi,” she says. Her voice is breathy and thin which means that some of the effects are still lingering. Zayn will have to remember to pick someone stronger next time or try and hold a bit more back. He hates seeing his partners so disoriented come morning. “That was fun.”
Zayn chuckles. He kisses her cheek and leans over to pick her clothes up from the floor. His room is a tip; clothes strewn all over the place, the sheets and duvet a twisted mess half on the bed, half on the floor. No wonder his mum looked like she wanted to skin him alive when she came down. Everything that’s happening right now is the exact opposite of everything his parents want.
Zayn helps the girl get dressed, cursing silently when she stumbles a bit on her heels as she stands. Definitely someone stronger next time. He kisses her goodbye and shows her to the door. She doesn’t ask if she’s going to see him again, and he doesn’t mention it either. That’s not how it works with Zayn’s kind, not unless you’re the person they’ve chosen for a mate, which this girl definitely isn’t. She seemed to know it from the start though, which was nice. No false assumptions or missed communications there.
It’s quiet for a second after she’s gone, and Zayn takes a chance to breathe. He thinks about going outside for a quick smoke before having to face his mum and dad, but the scrape of a kitchen chair on the tile one level above him puts that thought out of his head quickly enough.
“Zayn!” his dad booms, and Zayn sighs and makes his way up the stairs.
*
“It’s not that we don’t understand,” his mum says to him gently. He’s been at the kitchen table for close to half an hour, and no one’s come up for a breath yet. Zayn knows his parents want him to find his mate and settle down, but if he’d known he was in for a bollocking this severe he’d have just fucked the girl in the club last night and been done with it.
She was lovely and he definitely needed it, but he didn’t need it this badly.
“It took me half a century to find your mother,” his dad adds tightly, “but it can be done. You’ve got to actually be looking.”
Zayn keeps his eyes on the table. He’s got a cup of coffee in his hands, and he spins it in slow circles. The ink around his family mark burns the inside of his wrist, the edges starting to glow when he gets angry. His mum must notice because she takes her fingers off his arm and folds her hands together tightly.
“I don’t want you to be cross,” she says and Zayn shrugs.
“‘S’fine,” Zayn mumbles, but that must not be what his dad wants to hear.
“It’s not fine,” his dad yells. Zayn finally looks up, squinting his eyes against the early afternoon sunlight. His mum has copper pots hanging from the ceiling. The sun shines against them through the window so brightly it’s nearly blinding.
“Zayn, you’re nearly two centuries old and you’ve not found a mate to settle down with yet!” his dad yells again.
Zayn blinks slowly. His dad’s face is bright red and angry. Zayn doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this today, but whatever it was he hopes he never does it again.
“But I don’t--”
“You don’t need to find a female, love, if that’s not what you want,” his mum says softly again. She touches his arm hesitantly. The glowing stops, and she adds gentle pressure, her thumb caressing his skin.
Zayn never asked to be the most powerful one in his family. He never asked to be the one to have to inherit. It angers Doniya something awful that Zayn’s got everything. That the family mark inked his skin from the inside out on his eighteenth birthday and stayed there, making it known that his power was the strongest. That no matter what Zayn wanted, his powers were always going to come first.
Zayn didn’t want it, though. He’s never really wanted it.
“You can find a nice lad instead,” his mum adds, trying to be helpful. Zayn knows where this is going, and he desperately wishes he could stop it. He slumps down in his chair and looks at his mum who’s watching him carefully. “You found that one boy all those years back, yeah? What was his name again. William?”
“Liam,” Zayn says softly. The name feels like dust on his tongue. Liam had been... Liam had been everything, at least for a little while. He was the first person Zayn told all of his secrets to. The first person Zayn ever thought about a forever with. The first person Zayn kept in his bed and thought what if?
Liam wanted more, though. He wanted normalcy, a family. He wanted everything a century old demon at the time couldn’t give him, and as unfair as it was, Zayn couldn’t fault him for that.
“He was a nice lad,” Zayn’s mum says.
Zayn nods and stands up. “He was,” he says tightly. “It was half a century ago though, Mum. It’s been over forever.” His mum looks like she’s going to argue with him, but Zayn stands up, his chair scraping against the floor. His dad is staring at him silently, arms folded tight across his chest, and Zayn just shakes his head, effectively ending the conversation.
“I’m not looking for a mate,” Zayn tells them. It’s the same thing he’s told them for years. “Mates are nice but they’re not for me, all right? I’ll do just fine on my own.”
They both look like they’re about to argue, but Zayn just says goodbye and leaves, the door slamming loudly behind him as he makes his way from the house.
*
Zayn’s closest friend is a lad called Niall. Zayn met him a few years ago when he was wandering around the music store Niall worked at at the time. Niall’s got a job in a pub now, the music store long left behind, but he and Zayn have remained friends.
Niall’s possibly the easiest person to get along with that Zayn’s ever met. Sometimes when Zayn’s head hurts from his parents pressuring him, or anything else that’s gotten cocked up in his life, just seeing Niall and spending some time with him will be enough to turn Zayn’s mood around.
It’s late afternoon when Zayn finds himself walking into Niall’s pub, the door swinging shut behind him and blanketing the inside of the room in dimly lit paneling. There’s hardly anyone in the pub at all. It’s a bit too late for the lunch crowd that tramples in for burgers and chips every afternoon, but still too early for the dinner rush. Niall looks up, and when he sees Zayn standing there he smiles, teeth flashing bright in a wide grin.
“Zayn!” Niall calls out. “All right?”
Zayn lifts his hand in a wave and wanders over to the bar. There’s one other person sitting there already, close to the end where Niall is standing, and Zayn leaves a few chairs between them both as he goes to sit down.
The closer he gets though, the restless energy he’s been feeling lately kicks up higher. He stops before he sits down, his stomach twisting into knots and his breath catching hard in his chest. Zayn doesn’t understand it. He’s come to this pub more times than he can remember, has spent countless hours in Niall’s company. There’s no reason for his body to be reacting like this.
And then the lad already sitting at the bar turns his head and Zayn thinks, oh.
He’s striking, in the most unconventional way possible. His eyes are bright green, and his skin is pale, the tops of his cheeks going pink when he catches Zayn’s eye. He’s got a wide mouth, a strong jaw. His hair is pulled back into a bun at the nape of his neck, the few pieces that have come undone curling tightly at the side of his face and shoulders. His back is broad, a thin flannel shirt tossed over a tight white t-shirt.
He’s got patchy stubble on his cheeks and a disarming smile. He stares at Zayn, only looking away from Zayn’s eyes long enough to stare down at his mouth before dragging his gaze back up.
The skin around Zayn’s family tattoo throbs like a pulse. He’s never met anyone he’s reacted to this way. The lad smiles again, turning so he’s facing Zayn better, and Zayn looks away, slides onto his own barstool and stares straight ahead.
“Hi,” the lad says. His voice is deep. Something tight and hot licks through Zayn’s belly at the sound. “‘M’Harry.”
“Fuck, do you two not know each other?” Niall interrupts. Zayn manages to look up at him and shake his head. His skin feels too tight for his body. He needs to be both as far away from Harry and as close as possible. He’s never felt so off kilter.
“Zayn, this is my mate Harry. Harry, this is Zayn. I told you about him, yeah?” Niall adds.
Zayn can feel the weight of Harry’s stare. He turns his head and he’s right; Harry is full on grinning at him, his smile wide, eye twinkling with mirth.
“You did, yeah,” Harry says. Zayn can’t keep himself from staring back at Harry. He’s leaned back in his chair now, lazily chewing on a piece of gum and watching Zayn with a hot gaze. “Didn’t mention how fit he was though, Nialler. Could have given me a bit of warning.”
Niall laughs delightedly but Zayn can’t even process the sound, too focused on cataloguing every shift Harry’s body makes next to him. Harry’s legs are long, his thighs thick. Zayn doesn’t even have to think too hard to picture what Harry would look like spread out on Zayn’s sheets, legs pressed back until his thighs meet his chest.
Harry holds out a hand for Zayn to shake, and Zayn stares at him dumbly. He doesn’t even think, just slides their palms together on instinct. The second their skin touches it’s like fire.
“Oh,” Harry says, blinking slowly. Zayn pulls his hand back as if he’s been burned. He stands up, well aware he’s not said one word to either Harry or Niall, but the need to run, to get away from this boy with the green eyes and the lazy smile is too strong to resist. It’s too much and Zayn wasn’t prepared. He’s not ready for this today. Not ready for Harry.
“Zayn, where are you--” Niall asks.
Zayn just gives him a desperate look, waving him off and mumbling something about how he just remembered he has something to do this afternoon and can’t stay after all. He hears the thump against the floor when his chair bangs back down after he stands up. He barely glances in Harry’s direction as he leaves, but as he manages to call out a goodbye to Niall he can feel Harry’s eyes on his back until he walks out the door.
*
Zayn can’t stop thinking about him.
He thinks about Harry when he’s out during the day, wondering if he’s going to bump into him again now that they’ve met. He thinks about him at night before he falls asleep when he’s wound up, insides too tight to relax and drift off.
He thinks about him in his dreams. Long, winding tales about Harry’s hands on Zayn’s skin, his mouth on Zayn’s cock. Zayn thinks about all the things he would want to do to Harry. The way he could picture his fingers pressed in tight against Harry’s hips. His teeth set in Harry’s pink skin. His cock, long and thick buried deep in Harry’s body.
He wonders what Harry would let Zayn do to him. He wonders if Harry would let Zayn fuck him, if he would let Zayn have him with his mouth, tongue licking him out until he’s shaking and crying in Zayn’s bed. He wonders if Harry would let Zayn use him, if he would fuck Zayn back, if he would slick his fingers and fuck Zayn with his hand and mouth over and over again.
Zayn thinks Harry would. He doesn’t even think it would be a question.
“Is everything all right?” his mum keeps asking. Zayn’s mind has drifted off more often than not lately. He manages to nod, convinces everyone around him that he’s fine, that nothing strange is going on.
When Zayn wakes every morning he swears he can taste Harry on the back of his tongue.
*
Zayn sees Harry again a week later completely by accident. He’s out getting a coffee for Doniya at a small place a little bit further out than he usually travels. He’d needed some space, though. Zayn knows his family can tell something is happening - that they know that something’s happened - but he can’t go into it yet. Not when he barely knows what’s going on himself.
Zayn wonders if this is what it felt like when his mum and dad found each other. He’s heard stories of the things that can happen when two mates finally come together, but he’s never paid them much attention, too firm in the fact that he was going to be mate-less as long as possible. He’s worked so hard on keeping his mating instincts buried. He’s perfected his control to the point that he can go out like a mortal and meet someone without having to give away all of himself.
Zayn’s not nearly ready to find someone he wants to claim as his. It’s been forever since he’s met anyone he would even think about considering, so when he sees Harry it’s both expected and unexpected. Zayn’s been tied up in knots since they first met, and it’s almost a relief to see Harry again and be instantly disarmed by his smile. It should worry Zayn but it doesn’t. At least he knows he’s not been imagining it all. At least he knows there’s really something there.
“Hi,” Harry says, clearly surprised to see Zayn in front of him. Zayn curls his hand tighter around the coffee cup. The heat burns his his fingers. “Zayn, yeah?”
Zayn clears his throat. “Yeah,” he says, voice gone scratchy. Harry’s hair is down today, falling in loose waves to the tops of his shoulders. He’s in a dark grey henley, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, curling loops and swirls of black ink coloring the skin of his arms. “Harry, right?”
Harry nods. He’s a few feet in front of him, but Zayn can smell his skin. He wants to touch his lips to Harry’s throat. He wants to mark him up, right here in the middle of a crowded coffee shop if Harry would let him.
If the way Harry is looking at Zayn is any indication, Zayn think he would.
“Do you…” Harry trails off. He looks at the cup in Zayn’s hand and licks his lips. “Do you want to sit with me?” he asks. “Maybe have a coffee together?”
Zayn looks at the coffee he’s holding for Doniya. She takes it overly light and so sweet it makes Zayn’s teeth ache to think about it. Zayn drinks his coffee black. Harry is still watching him though, a cup curled in his own hand, and Zayn can’t stop staring at his fingers, the short cut to his nails, the ink black cross tattooed into the curve of his thumb.
He should get as far away from Harry as possible, Zayn thinks. There’s no possible way this is going to end well. Harry’s not someone Zayn can fuck for a night and get over, he’s sure of that already.
“Yeah,” Zayn hears himself say regardless, and Harry smiles. “Let’s go grab a table.”
*
Zayn gets home that night well after the sun’s gone down, the inside of his head a tangle of confusion and his heart aching in his chest.
“Thanks for the coffee, Zayn!” Doniya calls out from the kitchen. When Zayn rolls his eyes at her she only cackles and grins.
He clomps down the stairs to his room, flopping face down on the bed with his head buried deep into his pillows. He knows someone’s going to come down after him. He’s been on edge enough lately for everyone to know something is happening, and to go out for coffee and not come back for close to five hours isn’t exactly in the realm of normal where Zayn is concerned. He wonders if it’s going to be his mum or his dad coming to find him, and the soft footfalls on his steps a few moments later confirms what he suspected.
“All right, love?” his mum asks quietly. Zayn grunts and shoves his head deeper into the pillows. She only hesitates a moment before coming over, the edge of the bed dipping down when she sits next to him. Her hand is gentle on his back. “You’ve met someone, haven’t you?”
Zayn shrugs one shoulder. He knows he barely needs to answer, that she wasn’t asking him a question as much as wanting him to confirm what they all know already. “Where did you meet them?”
“Friend of Niall’s,” Zayn mumbles. His mum moves her hand from his back to the nape of his neck, scratching lightly and combing through the ends of his hair. It’s gotten so long lately, the top and sides grown out enough to pull back into a bun if Zayn wants. It reminds him too much of Harry though. These days it seems everything does. “He’s called Harry.”
His mum stays quiet for a few moments, letting Zayn work through his thoughts. He’s got no idea what to say though. He doesn’t know how to explain the way Harry looks at him, like Zayn’s every single thing Harry’s ever looked for all at once. Like he wants to eat Zayn alive as much as take care of him. Zayn doesn’t know how to put into words the way Harry settles him as much as he tears him apart.
“Does he have your mark?” his mum asks. Zayn shakes his head. He’d looked at Harry’s wrist explicitly for the edgings of Zayn’s family crest but couldn’t find anything. Not that that means Harry’s not the one; it might need a touch or connection to come to the surface. Zayn’s not sure he wants to find out though. He doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to know for certain.
“Ah, well. It could be coming,” she adds, and Zayn shrugs. She’s silent for another moment, before quietly adding, “You could pick him, you know.” She sounds thoughtful, distant even. Zayn wonders what she’s thinking about, what she’s remembering. “If you want to that is. I know you’ve not been looking for your mate Zayn, but maybe this was what you needed. Maybe you needed your mate to find you.”
Zayn doesn’t tell her yes or no. He doesn’t tell her maybe. He doesn’t say anything at all, lying there instead with his eyes closed, thinking about a boy with long curls and mouthful of promises Zayn’s not sure he wants to ask him to keep.
*
Zayn decides to handle the situation with Harry the most effective way possible: he starts avoiding him at all costs.
It shouldn’t be this hard - Zayn’s only just met him and they’ve barely spent any time together - but before Zayn left the coffee shop that night Harry programmed his number into Zayn’s mobile and took Zayn’s number as well. He’s been texting Zayn for days now, little messages and funny pictures and clips of videos he thinks Zayn would like.
Zayn does like them. He likes everything Harry sends him. It’s disorienting how well Harry seems to know Zayn after only a few days. How he just seems to get Zayn’s sense of humor. How he can almost tell when his texting is too much. Harry will start texting Zayn in the morning, and as soon as Zayn starts feeling overwhelmed for the day Harry will stop. He just gets it. He gets Zayn, and it’s scaring the shit out of him.
Harry doesn’t let up though. Even when he leaves Zayn be for the night he’s back again in the morning first thing. Little messages saying good morning and asking Zayn what he’s doing that day.
Zayn answers them all, but as soon as Harry starts hinting around at them spending more time together Zayn blows him off. He gets “too busy to text back”. He finds any reason under the sun not to spend any more time with Harry directly in his presence, because if anything, the time they’ve been spending just over the phone is almost too much for Zayn to handle. He can’t even imagine what would happen if he had to see Harry in person again. He’s got no idea how he would be able to handle the sheer volume of fondness he feels for Harry already if he had Harry right here, in front of his face.
Naturally, that’s when Harry decides to come to see him.
Zayn knows he’s there before the doorbell even rings. He’s lying down, belly on the mattress with his feet hanging off the end of the bed and his sketchpad in front of him when the air seems to shift. He can feel a faint buzzing under his skin. The lines of his tattoo throb like a heart, the blood rushing around under his skin like it senses someone is coming for him.
Zayn keeps his head down and pretends not to notice.
He hears Harry knock at the door, and then the low murmur of his voice as he speaks to Zayn’s mum. Zayn’s sure Harry is being unfailingly polite. He can see what he looks like in his mind’s eye: the sweet curve to his mouth, the sparkle in his eyes. Zayn’s mum will love Harry, and the thought of his family ever leaving him alone again after Harry’s come over to charm them all seems to vanish into dust right before Zayn’s eyes.
There’s two sets of footfalls on the stairs, his mum coming first and then Harry’s heavier, slower step coming down from behind her. Zayn flips his book closed and puts his feet on the ground, standing up just as they both come into his room.
The breath punches out of Zayn’s chest when he catches Harry’s eye. Harry trips over his own feet, stumbling forward a step, and Zayn reaches out to steady him with a hand on his arm before he even realizes he’s moving. His skin prickles where it touches Harry’s. He looks up, and Harry’s watching him with wide eyes, his mouth opened in a quiet gasp.
“Oh,” Harry breathes. The space between their bodies crackles. “Hi.”
Zayn drops his eyes but leaves his hand on Harry’s wrist. He can feel the beat of his pulse under the tips of his fingers. His mum tuts around the room, straightening up the clothes on the floor and plumping up pillows, but Zayn barely notices her. He can hardly see anything that isn’t Harry.
“Hi,” Zayn finally says. His mum kicks his ankle gently and raises her eyebrows. “Oh. Um. Do you want to sit?”
He gestures to the edge of the bed which is somehow completely made up, and rolls his eyes when his mum waggles her eyebrows in a knowing grin before reaching out to shake Harry’s hand.
“It was so nice meeting you, dear,” she says. Harry leans over and kisses the back of her hand and she giggles. Zayn bites his lip and looks away.
“It was lovely meeting you too, Mrs. Malik,” Harry says.
“Tricia,” his mum scolds lightly. Zayn rolls his eyes. “Please call me Tricia.”
“Tricia it is then,” Harry says. He looks at Zayn and wiggles his eyebrows, giving Zayn’s mum one last wave before she makes her way up the stairs.
The door closing behind her blankets the room in silence, the only sounds Harry’s soft breathing and the way Zayn can hear his own heart tripping in his chest. He realizes he’s still got his fingers curled around Harry’s wrist, and he pulls his hand away quickly, rubbing the pads of his fingers against his thumb where they’re still tingling from the contact. Harry looks away from Zayn only to touch his other hand to his wrist, tenderly touching the skin Zayn just had under his hand.
“Feels like it’s burning, almost,” Harry says quietly.
Zayn breathes out because there’s not a question anymore, if there ever really was one. Harry is it for him. It’s comforting in a way Zayn never imagined to know that for certain.
“Sorry,” Zayn says, voice low.
“It’s fine,” Harry says. He looks up and holds Zayn’s eye. “I don’t mind.”
Zayn shakes his head. “Harry, you--”
“You’re avoiding me,” Harry says flatly. He takes his hand away from his wrist, and Zayn can see the skin there is flushed pink. Zayn wants to taste it. He wants to put his teeth against the mark his fingers made and suck on Harry’s skin.
“I’m not.”
“You are,” Harry insists. He’s stepped away now and is touching things in Zayn’s room. His fingers trail over Zayn’s desk. He touches the picture Zayn’s got of his family hanging on the wall. He sees Zayn’s sketchbook and his nostrils flare. Zayn can feel Harry’s desperation like it’s a tangible thing. He knows Harry wants to see things, that he wants to touch everything around him, but he’s holding back, keeping it in and waiting for Zayn to tell him it’s all right.
Zayn’s not going to do that, though. He can’t. He needs to give Harry an out, a way to leave before it gets to be too much for the both of them.
“You should go,” Zayn says firmly. Harry leans back against Zayn’s desk and folds his arms over his chest. His legs are stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed, and he cocks his head to the side and watches Zayn carefully.
Zayn licks his lips. “I mean it, Harry. You need to leave.”
Harry stays quiet, and then he shakes his head so slowly the curls bounce gently around his face. “I don’t think I’m going to do that.”
Zayn huffs. He’s come to realize how stubborn Harry is just from talking to him over the phone the past few weeks. Harry’s strong willed and determined, and when he wants something he doesn’t stop until he gets it. Normally Zayn would find that trait desirable. He’s got no time for people who can’t make up their mind, or who just sit around and wait for things to come to them. It’s the fact that Harry’s seemed to decide that it’s Zayn that he wants that petrifies him.
“Harry, you don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“I think I do though,” Harry says. He steps away from the desk and comes to where Zayn’s stood in the center of the room. He’s just the slightest bit taller than Zayn, his body wider, his arms longer. He reaches out and curls his hand over Zayn’s shoulder, and Zayn hisses, his eyes falling closed and fingers clenching into fists.
The need to pull Harry into his arms and just take is overwhelming. Zayn can barely breathe through it. He needs him so badly he’s aching.
“Zayn, you have to feel this,” Harry says. His voice is pitched low and rough. His fingers tighten on Zayn’s shoulder, and Zayn sways closer, still with his eyes shut tight. “You can’t - I can’t be the only one.”
“You’re not,” Zayn chokes out. He forces his eyes open, and Harry’s watching him so steadily Zayn can’t focus on anything else. All he can see are Harry’s eyes, the way they’re pinning Zayn in place. Harry’s mouth is pink and wet. Zayn wants to taste every inch of his skin. “But you don’t understand, we can’t--”
“Zayn,” Harry whispers. “Zayn.” And then he’s leaning in, tipping his head down and kissing Zayn, and there’s not a single thing Zayn can do to stop him.
Harry’s fingers are gentle on Zayn’s face, holding him close as he licks into Zayn’s mouth. The second their tongues touch they both gasp, and Zayn reaches up to tangle his fingers in Harry’s hair and pull him in closer.
Everything burns hot as fire. Zayn’s skin is tingling, his fingers twitching against Harry’s skin. He breathes into Harry, and Harry swallows it whole, gasping for air as he kisses Zayn harder, his body hard and mouth wet where they kiss.
It’s everything Zayn’s never felt before. It’s beating hearts and sweating hands and kisses that are as hard as a bruise. It makes his blood swirl up, hot and frantic in his veins, the desperate need to take, to claim, to make Harry his almost too much for Zayn to keep under control.
Harry starts to go limp under his hands, his body shaking as Zayn’s kiss puts him under. Zayn’s worked so hard on controlling himself, and it’s all burning up like a lit match thrown onto gasoline. Zayn can’t imagine what it would be to have Harry under him, to be able to do the things his body really wants him to do.
It’s the thought of that that has Zayn pulling away, cursing to himself when he sees just how desperately he’s fucked Harry up already from just one kiss. Zayn’s worked too long to be able to pretend with people. He doesn’t know why but Harry is different. He can’t seem to keep his control around him, can’t make himself want anything less than everything, and that’s not something he can ask of Harry. Not yet.
“You need leave,” Zayn says again. His voice is softer than a whisper. Harry’s eyes have gone cloudy, the green the dullest Zayn’s ever seen. This is what you do to him, Zayn thinks to himself. He’s never asked for this.
“What…?” Harry asks and licks his lips. He looks wrecked. His hair is a mess, and his skin is flushed. He looks like he’s just woken up from a dream, and he blinks at Zayn as if in a daze. “Zayn, what--”
“Harry, go,” Zayn says quietly. Harry stands there until the color comes back to his cheeks and then he nods, and walks up the stairs.
*
Harry doesn’t try to call or text Zayn after that, and Zayn is glad for it. He’s weak and off kilter for days from trying to keep himself reigned in from kissing Harry just once. It’s clear that Zayn can’t handle being around Harry without wanting to mark him as his, but Zayn could never ask that of him so it’s best if he doesn‘t have to see him at all. It’s just easier for everyone all around.
Zayn waits until he’s sure he’s safe to be around people and then he goes to see Niall. He takes off one cloudy afternoon with a scarf twirled around his neck and his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, the colder air swirling around him as he walks. Zayn’s mum has been nearly impossible to live with after meeting Harry, and he needs some time away from everyone. His parents think he’s being ridiculous, that it’s clear Harry is his mate and that Zayn should be doing everything in his power to get Harry to want to be his.
They don’t understand how reluctant Zayn is to try and convince someone of that, though. Zayn’s never asked for any of this. He doesn’t understand how he’s supposed to ask it of someone else.
The pub is quiet when Zayn gets there, Niall calling out a happy hello from behind the bar. Zayn grins back and takes his coat off. He’s just done unwrapping his scarf and draping it over the back of his chair when the door to the loo swings open and Harry walks out, the smile freezing on his face when he sees Zayn standing only a few feet in front of him.
“Oh,” Harry breathes. His smile wobbles, and he drops his eyes. “Erm. Hi.”
“Hi,” Zayn says back. Harry licks his lips, and Zayn tries not to follow the flicker of his tongue. He clenches his fingers into fists because it’s the only way he can think of to keep himself from reaching out and pulling Harry towards him. He wants Harry so badly he can barely think.
“Oi, lads, I’ve got to run into the kitchen for a second,” Niall calls. Zayn drags his gaze to where Niall’s standing at the end of the bar, looking between him and Harry curiously. “Can I grab you anything before I head back?”
Harry says no and Zayn shakes his own head, waiting until Niall is gone before looking back to where Harry is stood. He’s in a thin black t-shirt with a purple scarf tied around his head. He’s watching Zayn closely, and Zayn doesn’t even realize until it’s already happening that he’s synched up his breathing to match Harry’s. That their hearts are thumping to the same pulse.
“Why did you make me leave that day?” Harry says without preamble.
Zayn looks away and shakes his head. “Harry--”
“No, Zayn, I want to know,” Harry insists. “I just--” He bites his lip and looks off to the side. Zayn watches as a nerve ticks in Harry’s jaw. He wants to know everything about him. He feels like he could keep Harry with him forever and never want to let him go.
“Come on,” Zayn says, and holds out his hand. “Come for a walk with me.” He needs to talk to Harry. He needs Harry to understand.
Harry looks at him warily for a second, before sliding their palms together. Their skin touches and there’s a flash of heat between their hands. Harry twines their fingers together and Zayn can feel the beat of his heart in their fingertips.
“Yeah,” Harry says quietly. “Yeah, let’s go.”
*
There’s no one home when Zayn gets back with Harry for which he is supremely grateful. They go straight down to Zayn’s room, only stopping long enough for Zayn to flick on a small table lamp, leaving the rest of the room in darkness.
Harry takes off his jacket and hangs it on the back of Zayn’s desk chair. Zayn’s sketchpad is open and a charcoal doodle of Harry’s cross tattoo stares up at him from the top of the desk. Harry touches the picture with his thumb, the black smearing under his skin. When he looks back up his eyes are glittering.
“I want you so much I can’t even think about anything else,” Harry whispers. He swallows and his throat bobs. Zayn’s never been ripped open so easily by someone’s words. He’s never had a boy’s voice unravel him like Harry’s does. “I think about you all the time. I dream about you.” He looks up, and his eyes are bright green and piercing. “Do you dream about me?”
Zayn nods. There’s no point in lying anymore. “Yeah.”
“I could tell,” Harry says. He laughs quietly. “I could feel it, if that makes sense.”
Zayn sighs and runs his hand through his hair. He’s tied it back earlier today and now he yanks out the hair tie, letting it fall loose to one side of his head. Harry steps closer and touches his fingertips to the shaved part that curves over Zayn’s ear.
“Harry, I have to tell you things,” Zayn says. He drops his head and takes a step back. He’s not done this in years, close to half a century at least.
“I already know what you’re going to say,” Harry says, and Zayn shakes his head. “I do,” Harry insists.
“You don’t,” Zayn tells him. He looks back up and narrows his eyes. “You don’t know what I am.”
Harry rolls his eyes. “Of course I do,” he says with a huff. “I’m not an idiot.”
And that’s not it, not entirely. “I know you know, Harry, but you don’t--” Zayn cuts himself off, frustrated at the way his words and thoughts are coming in fits and starts. “It’s not the same with you.”
Harry watches Zayn carefully, his eyes fixed and steady.
“It took me so long to be able to go out and find someone for the night, yeah?” Zayn says. “Years and years.” He plays with the rings on his fingers, spinning the silver skull in circles over and over again. “And it’s usually not a problem. I can go out and find someone and as long as they know what I am I’m able to hold back, to keep things from getting to be too much. It could be dangerous if I don’t, do you understand that?” Zayn waits for Harry to nod before he adds, “I could hurt you if I lose my control. I could probably kill you.”
Harry swallows thickly. Zayn watches him blink and nod.
“It was too much with you, Harry,” Zayn admits. He bites his lip hard enough to draw blood and shakes his head. “I’ve never felt like that before. All you did was kiss me and I wanted to take you apart. I wanted…” Zayn trails off. “I don’t think it’s safe, the things I want. Not for you.”
The silence hangs thick between them. Zayn can hear the clock ticking softly from all the way upstairs. The floorboards creak around them.
“Is there a way for it to be safe, though?” Harry asks. “For you to not hurt me?”
Zayn can’t look away from his face. He’s never found a person who’s even asked him this much. There’s never been anyone willing to go this far for him, even just to question what it would take.
Zayn shrugs. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve never…” he trails off, and Harry makes a small, hurt sound in the back of his throat. “It would take so long,” Zayn whispers. “Years, probably.”
Harry steps in closer, and Zayn’s blood ripples under his skin. Harry curls an arm around Zayn’s waist and pulls him in. He noses the side of Zayn’s hair and kisses the shell of his ear.
“Sounds lonely,” Harry says quietly.
Zayn shrugs and doesn’t say anything.
They stand there silently for long enough that Zayn wonders if Harry’s going to say anything at all. In the end Harry doesn’t really, just kisses Zayn gently, his lips leaving behind a press of heat when he steps away.
“I’ll come back, all right?” Harry says. Zayn blinks and looks away. His throat is tight; he didn’t realize how much he’d wanted Harry to say yes until the second he’s said no.
“It’s not a no,” Harry says, almost reading Zayn’s mind. It’s eerie how well they seem to sync already. It’s scary how badly Zayn is realizing he wants that. “I just. I need to think.”
“All right,” Zayn says. Harry holds his gaze for another moment before looking down and letting himself out.
*
Harry doesn’t come back for three days, which is long enough for Zayn to convince himself he’s never going to see Harry again. It shouldn’t be this devastating. Zayn didn’t even know Harry existed a month ago; the fact that he’s somehow managed to thread himself through Zayn’s veins so deeply in such a short period of time is almost terrifying.
Zayn never wanted a mate, but now that it’s clear that Harry is his - that he’s out there - the idea of not being with him is ripping Zayn apart.
Zayn’s home alone when Harry comes to find him. The rest of his family’s gone away for the weekend, but Zayn chose to sit home in his basement and brood for a few days instead. It’s probably not the most productive way to spend his time, but Zayn’s not been thinking too clearly lately. Every time he closes his eyes all he can see is the outline of Harry’s mouth, the curve of his fingers and the smooth bone on the edge of his wrist.
Harry knocks at the door and before Zayn can even get up to let him in Harry comes down the stairs.
Zayn’s leaned back on the bed with his hands folded neatly in his lap. The sight of Harry stood in front of him is enough to make his bones ache. Harry’s cheeks are flushed, his chest heaving with stuttering breaths, and Zayn watches as he curls his fingers into fists over and over again.
“The door was unlocked,” Harry says softly. Zayn’s throat goes tight from the sound of his voice. Harry takes a step closer and stops. “I thought about it - about what you said.”
Zayn stands up. His knees wobble, and he wonders how he’s going to make it through the conversation standing. “All right,” Zayn says quietly.
“I thought about it,” Harry repeats, and then he takes a deep breath, focuses on Zayn’s face and says, “and I’m in.”
Zayn sucks in a hard breath. He can’t believe what Harry’s saying, not really. “Harry, what? You--”
“I’m in. I want you,” Harry says. He’s stepped closer, the heat from his body coming off in waves. Zayn can smell him. He can smell Harry’s breath and his hair, and Zayn’s nostrils flare, desperate with the urge to lay Harry down and breathe in every inch of his skin. “I looked things up and I talked to people and I just--” He breaks his sentence off, breath coming out shaky and thin.
“Nothing matters to me as much as how much I want you,” Harry whispers. He takes Zayn’s hands in his, slides their fingers together and holds on tight. “I want you, Zayn. And all of this.”
Harry lifts their still clasped hands and gestures to the room. Zayn knows that Harry means he wants the space that Zayn’s in, that he wants to be a part of Zayn’s existence, for however long that may be.
“Harry, are you sure?” Zayn asks, because he needs to know. He knows what Harry’s saying, but he needs to be certain that Harry means it. Zayn doesn’t think he’d be able to live if Harry said yes to him and then went back and changed his mind. He knows there are never any guarantees, but Harry’s already given him more than anyone ever has. Zayn’s having a hard time wrapping his head around the idea that this might be it, that he might have finally found who he’s been trying for so long not to look for.
Harry just smiles at him, his face flushed and pretty and open. His eyes are bright green and he leans in and kisses Zayn carefully. It’s like everything shifts, like every single thing Zayn never knew he needed settles deep into his bones.
Harry kisses him like he’s sure. He kisses Zayn like he knows everything Zayn is, like he wants to get to know the rest of the parts of him as well. Zayn kisses him back just as desperately because he barely knows Harry - there are so many things about him Zayn’s still got to learn - but the basic things, the parts of Harry’s soul that make him Harry Zayn feels like he knows already. He feels like he’s maybe known Harry forever.
They stumble back onto the bed and the kiss turns from sweet to desperate the minute Harry’s skin hits the sheets. Zayn leans over him, threads his fingers through Harry’s hair and spills it across his pillows like he’s seen in his dreams every night since the first time he laid eyes on him. Harry blinks up at him sleepily. Zayn knows that Harry’s already falling under, that Zayn’s already doing a poor job of holding back, but when he goes to move away Harry slides his palms up Zayn’s arms, cupping Zayn’s elbows and pulling him in closer.
“No, c’mere,” Harry murmurs. Zayn bites his lip. He dips his head down and kisses Harry slowly, licking into his mouth and moaning quietly in the back of his throat. “I want--” Harry squeezes his eyes shut, planting his feet on the bed and rocking his hips up when Zayn settles between his thighs. “Fuck, just touch me. Please, I need--”
“Ssh, babe,” Zayn whispers. He drags his lips over Harry’s cheek, up the side of his jaw, over to his ear. He kisses the shell of Harry’s ear and slides his fingers over Harry’s chest down to the waist of his jeans. Harry shifts restlessly and whines high in the back of his throat. When he opens his eyes his pupils have gone black as ink, his cheeks and throat a hectic pink.
“I need you to fuck me,” Harry chokes out. He’s almost shaking apart on the bed, his fingers dug deep into Zayn’s back pulling him in close. “Please, Zayn, I need it.”
“I’ve got you,” Zayn says again. He pops the button on Harry’s jeans and Harry falls apart so prettily Zayn doesn’t think he’s ever going to think about anything else. Harry’s skin is pale, a fine sprinkling of hair on his thick thighs. Zayn takes Harry’s clothes off and tosses them into a pile on the floor. Harry’s chest is heaving. He’s reaching for Zayn with greedy hands, and Zayn knows he needs to be careful, that the minute he fucks Harry Zayn’s body is going to know that he’s found his mate and he has to try and keep control of that. He’s got to make sure Harry stays with him.
“You need to listen to me, ok, babe?” Zayn says. Harry’s staring up at him, his eyes already gone cloudy and dazed. Zayn digs his nails into Harry’s hip to bring him back, and Harry gasps, his eyes going clear and his cock fattening up, already wet at the tip. “If it’s too much we need to stop.”
“Ok, yeah, yes,” Harry babbles. Zayn’s pulled a bottle of lube from his drawer and presses a condom into Harry’s hand which Harry promptly tosses on the floor. Zayn looks at him and blinks, but Harry just shakes his head, pulls Zayn down and kisses him hotly, one leg curling up and around Zayn’s hips to pull him down.
“Don’t want that,” Harry mumbles into Zayn’s mouth. Zayn tries to protest, but Harry shakes his head and keeps talking as they kiss. “Don’t need it. I’m clean and you’re mine. This is--” He leans back and stares up at Zayn with a gaze so unwavering Zayn’s heart clenches. “I’m choosing this with you. I want everything.”
It’s humbling to have finally found someone who wants everything Zayn has to give. He closes his eyes and cups his hands over Harry’s cheeks, holding his face tenderly as he kisses him. He tries to tell Harry thank you and I’m glad it’s you in the way he kisses him. Harry holds on just as tight and Zayn thinks that maybe he understands.
The room is going dark, the sun falling low in the sky outside Zayn’s windows. He shucks the rest of his own clothing, shivering when they’re laid together with nothing between their skin. He makes sure to keep saying Harry’s name, whispering things against Harry’s lips as he slicks his fingers and opens Harry up. Harry makes sure to nod, to answer Zayn back and let him know that he’s not gone too far under.
“You all right?” Zayn asks softly. Everything around them is still. The air seems to have frozen in place, the space between their mouths a tiny pocket of shared breath.
Harry nods and drags Zayn closer with his heel against Zayn’s back. Zayn reaches down to position himself; the head of his dick snubs against Harry’s hole and Harry’s legs fall open, his body tight and hot. Zayn presses inside, and it’s too much. All the blood in his body surges up; his skin feels stretched too thin and tight.
Harry cups his hands on his knees and pulls his legs up against his chest, teeth sunk deep into his bottom lip as Zayn fucks him. Zayn takes care to keep talking, to hold Harry’s hips and make sure Harry doesn’t go too far under, but Zayn’s never actually felt like this before. He feels like his insides are shifting all around, like they’re slotting out of and back into place along with Harry’s under his skin.
“You,” Harry gasps. His eyes fly open and he reaches out to take one of Zayn’s hands in his. “Fuck, Zayn, all along it’s always been you, and I never even knew.”
Zayn drops his head against Harry’s shoulder and buries his face against Harry’s chest. When he closes his eyes he can see him - can see Harry with him now and then flashes of Harry and of Zayn, of the two of them in the future.
Harry lying under him on a bed, one leg over Zayn’s shoulder as Zayn buries his face and licks Harry out until he’s shaking and coming apart on the sheets. Harry with his fingers deep inside Zayn, opening him up for the first time Zayn takes Harry’s cock. He sees Harry’s mouth bitten red and wet. Sees their hands clasped together, Harry’s chest pink and scratched up from Zayn’s stubble.
He sees more than that though. He can see Harry and him in a room that Zayn intrinsically knows is theirs. He sees Harry standing in a kitchen, mixing a bowl and looking up at Zayn to smile. He sees their families around them. He sees two puppies with their ears tied back in bows and Harry with his hand on Zayn’s waist and the look of forever in Harry’s eyes every morning that they wake up together from this moment on.
Zayn knows the second that Harry sees it too. His eyes fly open, and Zayn recognizes the look in them. The astonished wonder he’s seen in his dreams.
“Zayn,” Harry cries out, and then he’s coming, his body squeezing tight around Zayn’s dick.
Zayn keeps fucking him, Harry whimpering as he goes soft and overly sensitive. He slides his fingers into Harry’s hair and yanks his head to the side, tugging on the side of too hard and relishing in the feeling when Harry’s dick jerks under Zayn’s belly because he still wants so much.
“Come in me,” Harry’s murmuring. “Come on, fill me up.”
Harry’s eyes are fucked out, his face damp and too pink. Zayn knows he needs to stop but the overwhelming urge to keep taking, keep fucking is too hard to ignore. Harry grits his teeth and plants his feet back on the bed, rocking his hips up and letting Zayn dick into him again and again until Zayn finally cries out and comes with his teeth set deep in Harry’s shoulder.
Zayn only waits a second before pulling back to check and make sure Harry’s all right. He looks a little worse for wear, his breath thin and the color of his cheeks too flushed to be healthy. Harry leans into Zayn’s hand when he touches the tips of his fingers to Harry’s cheek though, and he smiles around the gentle bite he gives to Zayn’s thumb.
“You all right?” Zayn asks nervously. He’s pulled out and grabbed a handful of tissues from a box on the floor. He half heartedly cleans himself up and hands a fistful to Harry who just smiles at them dopily and throws them back onto the floor. “Harry, are you--”
“‘M’great,” Harry mumbles. He finally opens his eyes, and they’re cloudy but not entirely blown out. Zayn breathes out a sigh of relief. He drops his head on Harry’s chest and laughs weakly.
“Scared me for a second,” Zayn whispers. Harry tuts quietly, fussing around with the sheets and the duvet until they’re both underneath, his back presses against Zayn’s chest and Zayn’s arm curled tightly around Harry’s waist.
“I told you,” Harry murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Zayn doesn’t say anything, just listens to the quiet in the room and lets his heartbeat slow back down to normal. It takes him forever to respond to Harry, and by the time he does Harry’s already snoring softly, his face buried deep in Zayn’s pillow.
“I hope not,” Zayn says, before he falls asleep.
*
Zayn wakes in the morning to soft footsteps on the floor above him and a hunk of Harry’s hair in his mouth. He shifts slowly, his muscles aching and back throbbing from where he thinks Harry scratched his nails too deep, and it hits Zayn then - he remembers Harry, and Harry being there, Harry choosing him - and he sits up with a start.
Harry’s already awake and sat at Zayn’s desk in nothing but a pair of black pants, his hair tied back in a bun and a soft smile on his face. He’s not looking at Zayn but down at his own wrist instead, fingers gingerly pressing against his skin.
Zayn knows without even asking what Harry’s looking at. He rolls onto his back and sits up a little, the sound startling Harry into looking over at him in the bed.
“Oh,” Harry says. He smiles sweetly, his cheeks pink and eyes a bright, clear green. Zayn wants Harry to stay with him forever. For however long that may be. He taps his wrist and stands up, coming over to the bed and sliding back in under the sheets. “Looks like I got something this morning.”
Zayn doesn’t have to look at it to see what it is - he’s been looking at the same marking on his skin for years - but he’s curious anyway. Harry shifts around so his back is on Zayn’s chest. He looks up from over his shoulder and holds his wrist out for Zayn to inspect.
It’s the same marking for sure, in the same spot as Zayn’s own. The lines are lighter, but Zayn knows they’ll go dark with time. The skin around the area is red and when Zayn traces his thumb gently around it Harry hisses. Zayn shushes him, then leans over to touch his lips to the spot, soft as air.
“So,” Harry says quietly. “This is like, a big thing, yeah?”
Zayn laughs and runs a hand through his hair. He slides his arm under Harry’s, turns Harry’s wrist up with the crest facing out, and slots their fingers together.
“Pretty big, yeah,” Zayn says.
Harry hums quietly in his throat. He touches the mark with his other hand, then snuggles happily against Zayn’s chest, pressing his lips over the steady thumping of Zayn’s heart.
“All right,” Harry says simply. He sounds so sure, so matter of fact Zayn has to close his eyes. Surely it can’t be this easy.
“Harry, are you certain that--”
“Yes,” Harry says. He leans up and kisses Zayn fiercely before flicking the duvet up so it flutters in the air before coming back down to cover them both. “I’m sure. Zayn, I’m…” he trails off and looks in Zayn’s eyes. He touches the crest again and leans in to press his lips to the corner of Zayn’s mouth. “I’m sure.”
-END-