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Zayn slams the cabinet of the tour bus’ small kitchenette and curses when some coffee grounds fall on top of the counter. As he waits for the brew, he sits down at the table and stares out at the early morning road that speeds by.
In late October, it was Niall’s brilliant fucking idea to have No-Fap November “because, well, No-Shave November is out of the question, and it’s Simon I quote.” Somehow, men had to – just had to – prove their masculinity further with fellow males and November was the fucking month – just as any last hopes of summer officially gone and autumn turns to winter just to piss everyone off even more.
Zayn tugs on his bedridden hair and curses again at how painful he unintentionally pulled. When the fuck did the coffee machine take so long? Like, seriously, what even?
Louis slugs out from the bunks and closes the dividing door quietly. To say Zayn was having a rough time this month was an understatement. When he tried cigarettes to contain his stress and moments of weakness, there was either Liam or Harry nearby to snap at him. This month was extra hard on him because he had to give up not only masturbation but partially smoking.
He’ll admit, he thought for sure he would win because if worse came to worse, he’d smoke. The end, problem solved, good night and good luck. Liam and Harry didn’t take that to liking, though, and watched him like a hawk during the day while listening like foxes at night.
It was un.fucking.fair. and he wanted his damn.fucking.coffee.
Louis sits beside Zayn and runs a hand down his back but Zayn flinches away, grumbles, “Don’t fucking touch me.”
Louis chuckles and Zayn glares. He’s always so fucking happy. It’s six in the morning and the guy has a smile on his face despite not jacking off for three weeks and the coffee machine is his worst enemy andandand–
Louis kneels, presses his nose to Zayn’s cheek and exhales through his mouth warmly. His hand squeezes Zayn’s trembling thigh and he promises, “I won’t tell.”
Zayn gets more on edge but not on the spectrum of anger; just... edge . Of the honesty rule and commitment and loyalty and oh thank god the coffee is done–
Louis drags his fingers up Zayn’s pajama bottoms and curls the tips around the band, kisses to the corner of Zayn’s mouth and again promises, “Our little secret. It doesn’t count; you won’t touch.”
And so it happens.
Zayn slouches on the kitchen’s bench, legs spread and hips raised as Louis hastily pulls down his pants and boxers. Louis keeps his face nearby, kisses gently to his parted lips and sucks roughly to his exposed, sensitive neck. He wraps his sweaty, slightly shaky hand around Zayn’s cock and pulls hard and fast. Time isn’t on their side, so the quicker he gets Zayn to release, the better it is for him and the band.
Zayn’s bitching only caused the others to bitch about his bitching. No one was winning, here, and Louis had had enough about two weeks ago.
Louis pants in Zayn’s ear, palm pressed hard against the head of his cock while his thin fingers work the length. “Ya need ta come for me, mate,” he whispers in broken syllables and he kisses down to Zayn’s jaw, whimpering. “Ya need ta, love. Please.”
He does, six rushed heartbeats later.
As Zayn lies on the bench, chest frantic and head dizzy, Louis stands up and pours him his cup of coffee, cursing loudly when some splatters on the counter because, how the fuck did he splash, there wasn’t even that much in there to begin with.