~*~ Holly ~*~

♥ Oh, do you know you have the face of a genius? :) ♥


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1D Fanfiction - All Talk (Harry/Zayn)
Bill Nails
hollybennett123
Title: All Talk
Rating: NC17
Genre and/or Pairing: PWP - Harry/Zayn
Warnings: None
Kinks: Anal, barebacking, blowjobs, deepthroating, dirty talk, phone sex, rimming, size kink
Word Count: 2,260
Notes: I've had 'phone sex' and 'another Zarry fic' on my to-do list for a while now, and then the other day I suddenly thought (because I'm a genius and that) why not combine these things? Zarry phone sex? What a delight! Work is absolutely crazy at this time of year and my brain is permanently exhausted with minimal spare time for writing :'( However last Wednesday I spent several hours on trains travelling to clients and decided that the best way to pass the time would be to leave my work laptop untouched like the rebellious employee I am and instead daydream up some fic. I've now managed to get it written up so here you go, enjoy :D I like to think it's set in the same verse as No Less, though it's entirely stand alone and doesn't have to be. I just have a thing for bottom!Zayn, sizequeen!Zayn and FWB!Zarry, really, especially in combination. Mostly I just love writing dirty talk and this was an excuse to write a fic utterly brimming with it ♥
Summary: Harry calls late sometimes. Zayn always picks up.


All Talk

Zayn’s not been in bed long, still more awake than asleep, but nevertheless he’s startled by the sudden insistent buzz of his phone on the bedside table. Leaning over to grab it, Harry’s name flashes up on the screen, and Zayn thumbs over the answer button before falling back down onto the bed.

“S’late, Haz,” Zayn tells him softly. He’d half expected Harry to be out somewhere – at a party or in a club, a conversation over a deep, thumping beat – but there’s nothing but silence at the other end.

“Yeah,” Harry sighs, like Zayn was simply stating a fact that for some reason needed confirmation. Zayn waits a few seconds, eyebrows raised, but Harry offers no further explanation.

Sometimes Zayn doesn’t understand Harry, like, at all, but other times he knows exactly what he’s after without him even asking for it. In that moment Zayn realises exactly what Harry’s angling for, and he smiles; it’s not like this is the first time.

“What do you want, Harry?” Zayn asks him, low and teasing. Zayn knows, and unless he’s missed Zayn’s change in tone, Harry knows that Zayn knows.

Zayn really wants to hear him say it, though.

For a few seconds, however, all he hears is the steady rhythm of Harry’s breathing. “You,” Harry says eventually, and something hot and excited steals through Zayn’s body, electric and bright. “Your mouth.”

Zayn licks his lips on reflex, and wonders if Harry can hear the soft wet click as he does so. He trails absent-minded fingers down over his hipbones and back up, teasing little trails of sensation as his pulse picks up fervent and excited.

“You getting hard for me babe?” Zayn murmurs. It’s hot, under the duvet, skin prickling with the sudden flush of arousal even if he’s got nowt on but his old, soft-worn pair of pyjama bottoms, and he pushes the bedding off himself in a rush of cool air, drawing his knees up and getting comfy.

“M’already hard,” Harry says, low and frustrated and god, Zayn could just listen to the deep, slow tempo of his voice all night and again some more in the morning. “Can’t sleep. Thought maybe you could help?”

Zayn doesn’t ask what Harry’s wearing; Harry never wears anything to bed. He’s naked and hard, covers kicked off to the end of the mattress while he strokes himself most likely, and he’s getting off to the thought of Zayn’s mouth on his cock. Fuck.

“Wish I could be there, Haz,” Zayn tells him. “Really wanna suck you off, yeah? My mouth’s getting wet just thinking ‘bout it.”

“Fuck,” Harry breathes. “Would you take it all the way? Let me fuck your throat?”

Zayn thinks about it, Harry using his mouth to get off; cock sliding into the back of his throat until he gags on it, heavy on his tongue. His own cock’s fattening up at the mere thought. “Nah,” he says eventually. “I’m gonna hold your hips down. Suck on just the head for a bit, lick at the slit till you’re begging for it.”

Harry lets out a stuttered breath. “God. Yeah, Zayn.”

Zayn hears a drawer opening and closing at the other end, followed by the click of a bottle cap. “You got lube there, babe?”

“Mmm,” Harry says by way of confirmation. “Wanted it wet, like your mouth. Just the head though, like you said.”

And isn’t that an image – Harry working slick over the head of his cock, swiping his thumb across the tip in imitation of Zayn’s tongue. Teasing himself, taking his time about it.

“Can I – can I put my hands in your hair?” Harry asks him, like Zayn’s really there, lost in the fantasy of it.

“Fuck. Yeah, go on then,” Zayn says. He’s half hard now, but doesn’t touch; lets his fingers tangle in the drawstring of his pyjamas where they sit low on his hips, playing with it where it’s frayed at the ends, but doesn’t let his hand slip lower. His other hand cards through his hair, fingers flexing to give it a tug. “Fuck, Haz, I don't think I want to wait for it anymore; y’can fuck my mouth, yeah? Push my head down and make me take it.” He has to swallow after, saliva pooling on his tongue at the thought of Harry’s hips pushing up off the bed, the fat head of his cock sliding in deep as he can get it.

Harry groans, loud and really, really fucking hot, like he’s finally let himself have his whole hand, pulling himself off properly from base to tip.

“Sound so good babe,” Zayn murmurs distractedly, toying with the idea of getting a hand on himself. Sometimes he likes to really drag it out, wait till he’s absolutely bloody gagging for it, but it’s late and he can hear the wet slide of Harry’s hand on his prick and he only has so much willpower. “Getting me hard just listening t’you.”

“Are you touching yourself?” Harry drawls, the previously desperate edge to his voice replaced by something more satisfied now that he’s stroking himself properly.

“Nah, I’m a bit busy choking on your cock right now, mate,” Zayn smirks, a hot little tremble of arousal somewhere deep inside at the thought of it.

Harry makes an amused sound, soft crackle of air through the speakers. “I mean really, like – right now,” Harry says, and Zayn can practically hear him rolling his eyes at him over the phone.

“Not yet,” Zayn says. “Was thinking about it. You think I should?”

“Fuck. Yeah,” Harry sighs, faraway and breathless. “Get your cock out, I want to hear you getting yourself off. Fuck, y’so gorgeous.”

Zayn gives in at that, pushing his pyjama bottoms down a bit at the front to wrap a hand around his prick. There’s a damp spot on the fabric where his cockhead was resting and when he pulls his fist up the length of his cock more slick dribbles out onto his belly in an excited little pulse. “Jesus, Haz, I’m so wet f’you right now. Hard and fucking dripping on myself, babe.”

Harry makes a low, desperate sound, just like Zayn knew he would. Harry’s always had a weak spot for being told how hard Zayn is for him; loves to see or hear about how wet Zayn always gets when he’s turned on.

“Sounds like you need a good shag, Haz,” Zayn teases, working his hand up and down the length of his cock steadily. “Fuck, you’re not gonna fuck me bare, are ya?” It’s not like they do it in reality – they’re not exclusive and they don’t take chances – but it’s a really fucking nice fantasy where there’s no risks and no mess, just the idea of it for them to get off to.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes. “Yeah, fuck. That’s exactly what I’m gonna do. Wish you were actually here.”

“I know,” Zayn says, thumbing around the flared head of his cock where it’s sensitive and tracing around the ridge with one finger. “I know. Soon, yeah? Think you should finger me open, get me ready for your cock.”

“Was thinkin’ about eating you out as well, though,” Harry says. “Please? M’gonna get a couple of fingers in you and lick your arse till you get loud for me.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Haz,” Zayn groans, touching a spit-wet finger to his hole. He hasn’t got any lube to hand – doesn’t have bottles of the stuff permanently with him like some people – but that doesn’t mean he can’t play with himself a bit, take the edge off. He presses inside just the tiniest bit, teasing himself open to the thought of Harry pushing his fingers in deep and tonguing around them and the space in between.

“How d’you want me to fuck you?” Harry murmurs. The words all lazily run together now, like he’s too distracted by his own hand to wrap his mouth around them properly.

Zayn barely hears him anyway, his mind unfocused and lust-drunk, losing his train of thought. “Hmm. Dunno,” he says, hollow of his palm rubbing over the head of his cock and making him breathless. “On my back. You’re so big, babe; think you should put it in nice and slow, yeah?”

Whatever word Harry tries to respond with splinters off into a groan like he’s actually pushing into Zayn’s arse, watching his cock slip inside inch by inch. Zayn pictures him at the other end of the phone making a tight ring between thumb and forefinger for him to push his cock into, and then imagines them actually shagging, mind switching between the reality and the fantasy and back again as he strokes himself.

“Fuck,” Zayn exhales, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he splays the fingers of one hand out across his belly. He can almost feel it in him, spearing him open, even if it’s not real. “So fucking deep.” He imagines drawing his legs up, knees lazily sliding against Harry’s sides as he fucks him slow and thorough; Harry’s warm hands sliding under Zayn’s thighs so he can spread him wider, shove in deeper.

“S’it good for you?” Harry pants. If Zayn closes his eyes it’s almost like Harry’s really with him, breathing close and ragged against his ear as he fucks him harder. “Fuck, Zayn, it’s like – fuck.”

He’s not even making sense any more, just saying words, and this is the fastest Zayn ever hears him speak – knows Harry’s getting close when he gets like this.

“It’s so fucking good. You’re so fucking good. Think you should fuck me on my hands and knees, Hazza,” Zayn breathes. “You should pull out and let me turn over; it’ll only take a sec, babe, and then you can have at it hard as you like.”

Harry makes a soft sound that’s somewhere between agreement and need, and Zayn bites down on his lip, pleased; loves it when Harry loses it like this, even if he only gets to hear it.

Zayn works his hand over his own cock that bit faster in response, closing his eyes so he can almost feel the sheets against his knees and the scratch of cotton against his fingernails where he’s braced on his hands, even though he’s not moved at all in reality. It’s just him, in this bed, but when he hears Harry’s voice he can feel like he’s somewhere else entirely.

“I’m getting -- really close,” Harry says, voice tight and on edge. “Can I?”

Zayn grins, and waits – enjoys the sound of Harry’s breathing, rough-edged and needy, and gives him time to bring himself right to the brink.

“Well fuck, babe,” Zayn says, voice dropping even lower than before. “Maybe you should hold me down while you nut inside me.”

There’s a rush of air over the line as Harry gasps out a breath and comes, groaning. Zayn’s suddenly startlingly close to nutting off himself, hitting him out of nowhere; the inevitable combination of hearing Harry come for him and the image in his mind of Harry shoving him roughly down with a hand on his shoulder, pinning him in place while he comes deep inside him.

Harry’s quiet for several long seconds, breathing still deep and wrecked, and Zayn keeps himself on the precipice with slow, long pulls on his cock. He could let himself come, no bother whatsoever, but it’s far more fun if Harry talks him through it.

“Wow,” Harry says, entirely unhelpfully. It’s oddly endearing, though, how useless he is sometimes when he’s just come.

“You gonna help me get off, babe?” Zayn asks him, slipping a hand into his pyjama bottoms to cup himself and then stroking back up the length of his cock again with a tight grip.

“Mmm,” Harry says, slow-motion like he’s still spacey and ruined from coming so hard. “Yeah, like – I’m just gonna finger your arse while you’re still full of my come. S’that what you need?”

And yeah, that’s definitely enough; Zayn swears under his breath and wanks himself off in fast, rough strokes, orgasm overwhelming and perfect as he spurts over his belly, coating his fingers with it and making a mess of himself.

He practically melts into the bed after, comfortable and warm, body lax with it. He hadn’t realised how much he needed it, till now, every part of him that was wound up tight now relaxed and sated. Neither of them says anything for while after, catching their breath in tandem, and Zayn eventually pushes his pyjama bottoms all the way off and uses them to wipe the come off himself, chucking them to the floor to be forgotten till morning.

“Shit, Haz,” he laughs. “Came all over myself and now I’m gonna have to sleep naked like you.”

“It’s freeing,” Harry says sincerely, and Zayn scoffs at him.

“Sure. Whatever,” he mutters, sitting up and pulling the duvet up over his knees. Harry’s totally silent at the other end, and Zayn’s not even entirely sure that he’s still got the phone to his ear. “You falling asleep on me?” Zayn says, voice gone soft again. A little bit fond, probably, because he can’t help it.

“No,” Harry says drowsily after several seconds of saying nothing at all.

“I’m gonna go, babes. But, like – soon, yeah? For real? It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” Harry mumbles contentedly, clearly half asleep. “Really soon. G’night, Zayn.”

“Night, Hazza,” Zayn smiles, and hangs up; settles into the warmth of the bed, and finds that sleep comes easily.

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