#guys I’m working on my portfolio so I didn’t add a mask but trust I will soon

[for-every-question-why]

Cissie wip 💃💃

[madforhoran]

in your skin

OTP: Niall/Harry

word count: 6691

Niall wonders what it would be like, to be someone else for a day or two. Someone who isn't so closed off from the outside world, someone who enjoys life the way Niall isn't able to. Being twenty-eight and feeling like life has been slipping through his fingers way too quick. People around him are travelling, getting married, partying, while he's holed up in his room or at work where he keeps the contact with his co-workers on a bare minimum. He knows he's missing out on so many things, but hiding inside his shell is much more comfortable and easier.

After a particularly mentally draining day at work, the wonder changes into a wish. He's fed up with missing invoices, system errors, people whining about working overtime at the end of each month. Niall is more than done with the bullshit but scared to take the plunge and quit as the money is good. Twice as much as he would earn as a teacher, which he initially studied to be, but never wanted to do. Not that this job is something he sees himself doing for the rest of his life. During the tiring days like this, he wishes he could just sit around and make money by answering to emails with a simple 'I confirm.'

Mum texts him that she can't stand her beautiful son to be alone. Her only thought is Niall's well-being, and Niall knows it. It just isn't that easy to change the way he's become over the past few years.

He falls asleep with dried tears on his cheeks.

*

"Wake up, princess!" a snarky voice brings him to consciousness. Who the fuck is in his flat? Wait, this isn't his flat. What the—

A man in his thirties stands in a doorway with a hand on his hip, losing his patience by the minute. Niall doesn't know what to say. He checks his surroundings and his head spins. The room screams luxury, and Niall notices that the bedsheets are silk. Everything around him looks expensive as hell. There's a faint smell of weed in the air and a gorgeous woman sleeping by his side. Wait, what?

"I'm cutting you off that shit, mate, it's making you act like a twat," the man snarls steps closer to take the joints from the bedside table, and throws them into the bin. "You have the photo shoot scheduled in fifty minutes, so I would suggest you move your arse and clean up. I'll deal with Kendall."

"Who?" Niall asks stupidly.

"Mate, seriously?" the guy answers with a question instead, shaking his head. "Kendall, the model you've been shagging on and off for a couple of years?" He gestures towards the pretty brunette still sound asleep. Fuck.

"Go!" he urges Niall again and proceeds to wake up Kendall gently.

The world turns around when Niall stands up from the bed to enter the adjoining bathroom, his legs wobbly and his knees unstable. However, those are not his knees or legs. His legs are skinny, knees bony, ankles so slim they would be easy to break. His new legs are thicker, toned, more muscular. There's a tattoo of a tiger head on the thigh, couple of more tattoos above the feet, and BIG tattooed on the right big toe. He's scared to see his reflection in the mirror. Whose body is this? Who is this tattooed model freak?

A whispered fuck escapes his mouth when he finally glances up to the mirror. The face is beyond absolutely fucking gorgeous, with green eyes, funny looking little ears, and lips to die for. Niall traces them with his fingertips, taking in more of the tattoos all over the left arm and torso. Niall has to admit this man's body is something else despite the ridiculous doodles all over it.

"C'mon Styles, hurry up! Are ya wankin' there?" he hears suddenly and almost jumps. Talking about cocks, this guy is hung pretty well, to put it mildly. Niall chokes on his breath a little bit. Christ, he only now just realises he has to be a model, and fuck? OK, it can't be that hard, can it? He quickly cleans his face, brushes his teeth, and splashes a bit of cologne he finds on the shelf above the sink to mask the slight reek of the weed.

The guy who woke him up already sent the woman away and arranged a presentable outfit for him.  Well, at least he thought it was presentable enough, but Niall would never wear those things himself. Be careful what you wish for, echoed in his mind before he left the room.

*

"Nice of you to show up!" a man wearing a crazy patterned shirt greets them, light sarcasm painting his tone.

"We're only five minutes late, shut up, Nick," Niall's companion retorts and rolls his eyes.

"Punctuality is the key, dear Louis," Nick opposes and turns back to his camera, adjusting the lens.

"Whatever," Louis mutters, and Niall is glad he doesn't have to ask for his name to embarrass himself even further.

"Shall we begin?" Nick asks, with his head still facing the camera. Niall stays frozen in place as Louis leaves, his ear attached to his phone.

"Harold, I don't have time to spare for your shenanigans. Go get changed."

Seemingly Nick's assistants grab him and lead him to the improvised dressing room/makeup room full of expensive and the ugliest clothes Niall has ever seen. This certainly isn't something he had in mind when he was thinking about living another person's life even if only for a while.

"Holy moly, darling!" a woman with silver hair approaches him and sits him down on a chair. On a table next to it is a palette with makeup. "We have to cover up those nasty dark circles under your eyes," she says and begins doing her magic, while other two women run around and combine a photoshoot outfit for him. Bloody hell.

When it comes down to the actual photo shoot, Niall gulps as Nick asks him to pose in the ridiculously thick coat the women gave him to put on.

"Damn it, Harold," Nick curses under his breath. Niall must definitely look as awkward as he feels.

"Sorry," Niall apologises, getting sweaty under the stupid coat he would gladly burn in a furnace no matter how bloody expensive it is.

"Your sorry won't pay my mortgage," Nick snaps back. "Stop grimacing as if you were constipated."

Niall tries his best after that, but Nick isn't satisfied with any photo he takes and calls it a day an hour later. He orders him to come next time when he stops being a twat. Niall guesses Louis won't be happy about this. He's waiting for him outside, drinking Starbucks, and having a smoke.

"Interesting," Louis announces when he sees Niall walking out with head between his shoulders in shame.

"What?" Niall asks and something tells him Louis knows.

"Some Irish bloke called me and told me he woke up in a bed that isn't his own. Said he looked shaggable, but it wasn't him. He tried to convince me he was Harry, which is pretty unlikely considering that Harry only finds himself shaggable, but then he started rambling about Kendall and getting high last night to prove it was him. Care to explain? Is this some kind of Freaky Friday bullshit? Who are you?"

"I'm Niall."

"Great," Louis huffs, looking a bit lost. "Harry's on his way here. Hopefully, we figure this out."

"Give me back my body!" are the first words Harry grits out in the Irish accent as he grips Niall by the collar of the shirt. Louis quickly separates them and pacifies them both into the car, thinking his house would be a good neutral location to do some research.  

The car ride is dead silent until Niall breaks it with a soft, "sorry, I fucked up your shoot."

"I bet you did," Harry snaps back venomously.  

"I didn't mean to. I was just—"  

"What?" Harry cuts him off, "bored with your own life, so you've decided to fuck up somebody else's?"

Niall frowns. "Fed up, not bored. If you knew, you would wish for a change too."

"I haven't found anything except the bloody movie," Louis admits, and Niall prepares himself for another outburst of rage from Harry. To Niall's surprise, he comes up with something entirely different and absolutely unacceptable.  

"I will continue modelling in this body, and you," he points at Niall, "I will teach you how to pose. I can't afford to lose my contracts."

"But what about my job?" Niall asks, shock tightening his throat. Even though quitting is something he wanted to do for a long time, modelling wasn't exactly a new career path he would choose.  

"You wanted change, so?" Harry waves his arms dramatically, "get the papers done and I'll take them to wherever the hell you work at. In the meantime, Louis can arrange a meeting with my agent to sign you slash me up. A piece of cake."

Louis actually looks impressed. "Brilliant! I can't believe it's you who've come up with this."

Harry pouts. "I'm not as dumb as you think, Tommo."  

"Two iPhones flushed down the toilet in three months beg to differ," Louis points out, and Harry sighs exasperatedly. "Just let it die, for fuck's sake."

"Never," Louis counters, quite obviously amused by this entire situation. Niall, on the other hand, is not. Harry's 'brilliant' plan won't work because Niall's too old to start with modelling. Aren't you supposed to be fourteen or sixteen to begin? His baby face would probably pass for a twenty-two-year-old when he's clean shaven, at best. More so that his body is nowhere near a modelling material. Harry's agent would have to be half blind to sign him up.

*

"How old are you, darling?" Harry's agent enquiries, eyeing him inquisitively from head to toe.  

"Twenty-two," Harry answers firmly.

"Show me your portfolio," she requests, and Harry's face falls. Shit, he forgot about the portfolio, fuck!  

"I—uh," Harry stutters, his excellent plan almost ready to blow up. Niall is about to make a smart 'I told you so' comment, even though he didn't say anything about it when he had a chance. So he bites his tongue. "I vouch for him," he lets out instead. "Trust me; he's good."

"I'm not going to sign someone just because you think they are good, Mr Styles," she counters and looks at Harry. "I rather choose to trust my instincts. Mr Horan is not up to standards of our agency. Thank you, gentlemen," she adds, signalling the end of discussion.  

"How dare she?" Harry mutters once they're out of the agent's office. Niall shrugs.

"I'm too short, my legs are too skinny," he offers with an apologetic smile. "That's nonsense, you are beautiful," Harry protests and places both hands on Niall's shoulders, squeezing them lightly.   He gazes at him like he truly means it. Niall averts his eyes, and Harry coughs, taking a step back from him. "Anyway, back to the more important stuff right now. Your posing skills. We have to work on it before I lose my job too."

"How do you propose we do that?" Niall's stomach twists despite the fact that he keeps repeating to himself that staring into the camera is not rocket science.  

Harry rolls his eyes and unlocks his car. "You gonna pose for me, how else?"  

"Stop squinting," Harry demands, slightly irritated. "Let the pretty face and body do the work for you."

"Gee," Niall huffs. "Now I finally get it."

"Shut up," Harry retorts. "I had to cancel two of my shoots, faking an illness, so you don't get to be pissy with me."

"I'm sorry, okay?" Niall raises his voice, desperate and tired of trying to put on a normal facial expression that wouldn't make Harry want to barf.  

"I know! But that doesn't fix things!" Harry yells and starts to pace back and forth in the living room. Niall wants to cry. Before going to bed last night, he wished to return to his normal life and woke up still trapped in Harry's body. He definitely doesn't have the famous Luck of the Irish.  

"Let's continue, please," he murmurs.  

"The saddest part is that I can't even punch you. I have to keep my face intact, though I'm not sure for how long as your squinting will soon give me wrinkles."

"What if we used the bathroom mirror? I could imitate your posture and all that," Niall suggests. Harry stops in his pacing, grabs him by the elbow and guides him to the bathroom. "Fine, let's do it. Empty your mind and relax completely first. Watch me."

Niall is sort of mesmerised by the way Harry makes his body take the space around him. No stiffness he was so used to at work, with his shoulders and neck slanted, staring into the laptop like a praying mantis. When he sees it, it's much easier to do it.

Harry smiles at him eventually after two hours and calls Louis to get a rain check on the photo shoot with Nick at the end of the month. Maybe Niall isn't a hopeless case after all.

*

"Shit, it's Kendall!" Harry panics, throwing the phone at Niall who barely catches it before it hits the floor. "Tell her I have an STD or something."  

"Christ, are ya sure? I mean, I can shag her," Niall offers matter-of-factly. It's been quite a week, and he needs a bit of a release. No, they still haven't figured out what to do about the body swap so he might as well do something productive.

Harry gawks at him. "No way in hell!"

"Why not? Figured the two of you aren't exclusive."

"If you need a wank, suit yourself, but I'm not letting you near her," he scoffs dismissively. "Now pick up the bloody phone!"

"Okay! Jesus, sounds like you need a wank too, man."  

Harry throws a pillow at his face, grinning sheepishly. He did something. "Don't tell me you touched my cock!" Niall squawks, his voice going into a fistula. However, he has to admit it's kinda hot. Fuck.  

"Pick up the phone, Niall!" Harry roars back. Niall clicks to accept the call and clears his throat. He can deal with the asshole later.

"Hey, Kendall, what's up?" he muses, thinking of an acceptable way of telling her he's not available for a shag.  

"Heyyy, any plans for tonight?" she asks sweetly, and Niall is tempted to agree on anything she suggests, just to spite Harry, whose eyebrows raise so high they almost touch the hairline and he mouths "chlamydia!"

"Uh, sorry, I can't. I've got the …a weird rash on my dick, I have to get it checked," Niall says, and Harry jumps from the couch, encircling his hands around Niall's throat pretending to strangle him.  

"Oh, I hope it's nothing serious, gotta go now, bye Harry." She hangs up, and Harry cries out theatrically. "A rash on my cock, what the fuck?"

"That's definitely better than fucking chlamydia, buddy!" Niall chuckles. A second later he realises he should be the one strangling Harry, not the other way around.  

"You touched it, did you?"

Harry looks bashful, and Niall sort of likes how his cheeks turn pink. "You've got a nice cock, so I just—,"  

"Fair enough," Niall interrupts him, hoping he doesn't blush too hard. A strangely comfortable silence falls between them and Niall reckons he doesn't want to leave Harry. Somehow he's got used to his presence and apparently Harry feels the same way because he invites Niall to stay for dinner. It's not creepy, or is it?

*

"I think we should fuck," Harry suggests and Niall chokes on his spit. It's been sixteen days since the body swap and they're in the middle of a fashion show, designers and models running around; everybody's stressing out. The last thing Niall needs to add onto his nerves is Harry's filthy ass mouth. He's supposed to act as his assistant, Louis's substitute, as they haven't figured out what else to do yet.

"Louder for the people in the back, damn it!" Niall scoffs, desperately trying to button up the collar on his blouse. Sweat is pouring down to his arse crack, and he feels like fainting. Harry eventually decides to be of use and helps Niall with the buttons, and pats his forehead with a handkerchief to get rid of the droplets of sweat.  

"Just saying," Harry continues, "good sex never killed nobody."

"With other people or with each other?" Niall whispers, suddenly oddly hotter from Harry's closeness. It's all bullshit, though, right? How can he be aroused looking at himself? It doesn't make any sense.  

Harry snorts. "Of course with each other! I've kinda always wanted to see my cum-face."

"Prick on a stick, Styles, you can't be serious!"

"Maybe it will trigger the switch," Harry ponders and steps away from him right before one of the eccentric designers yells at Niall that it's his turn on the runway.  

He goes up a couple of stairs leading to the moment of truth. The lights are flashing, people staring, his heart is thudding like crazy. The only thing on his mind right now is that he can't disappoint Harry, he won't. He owes him that much. Walk the straight line, make a turn, walk the straight line again. Put on a different outfit, walk up to the front, walk back. He has to repeat this process five times and then the show is over.

The first walk leaves him shaking like a leaf, the second one is better, the last one is the best. Much to his surprise, he didn't fall flat on his face, and the rush of adrenaline feels great, he's exhausted, but exhilarated at the same time. Harry looks proud and relieved, and he hugs him tight. "Ready to get pissed at the after party?" he mumbles into the crook of Niall's neck. Niall can't help the shivers running down his spine. It hits him suddenly how quickly Harry has adjusted to the absurdity of their swapped identities. He just…goes with it. Obviously, his earlier suggestion meant that he would like to get this thing over with. Nevertheless, Niall doesn't think Harry hates him for what he did. Niall smiles at him and nods.  

The party happens to be in a club down the road, reserved for this special occasion of rich and pretentious to unleash their inner demons. The bar is busy, the music is loud, Harry's hand is warm at the small of Niall's back. The liquor is starting to affect them both, even more in Niall's case since he isn't in his own skin, with his Irish system used to drinking so much more.  

"I love this song!" Harry roars into Niall's ear when DJ smashes Black Eyed Peas's remix of I've had the time of my life from Dirty Dancing. "Wanna dance?"  

"I don't dance!" Niall protests rather weakly as Harry's eyes (his own eyes, damn it, this is confusing) glimmer in the colourful flashing lights.  

"Oh c'mon!" Harry snorts and chugs down the rest of his tequila sunrise. He intertwines their fingers and drags Niall onto the crammed dance floor. Usually, Niall would run as quick as possible; he hates crowds, he hates strangers nudging into him and violating his personal space. It's been too long since he stuck his nose in a night club, to be honest. However, this is the change; maybe it isn't exactly what he wished for, but he likes Harry's company. That's more than enough to keep him in here.  

Harry gives him a devilish smile and attempts to perform some classy dance moves with him, of course, failing miserably because of their clumsiness, drunkenness, and both of their inability to dance whatsoever. Niall finds himself laughing anyway; it's so liberating. Also, Harry's laugh is ridiculous which makes him laugh even more. It's like a high-pitched maniacal squeak.  

"What's so funny, Horan?" Harry blurts out, bringing him closer. He's grinning. Niall must definitely be drunker than him.  

"You!" Niall exclaims and Harry chuckles.  

"So you mean you?"  

"No, you as in you you!" Niall babbles, not sure he's making sense. Frankly, he doesn't give a fuck.  

"And you're cute," Harry mumbles, his hot breath fanning across Niall's ear. So close. Too close.  

"You mean, you are," Niall counters, cackling once again.  

Harry smirks, his arm definitely being too low on Niall's back now. "You, Niall Horan, are adorable as fuck. You're beautiful too, and I'm glad it's you who's in my body. Because I get to touch yours when nobody sees me, I get to—,"  

"Jesus, Harry," Niall cuts him off. He can't get a boner in the middle of a fucking club. He can't.

"The really funny thing is, that I'd love to get into my own pants right now. If you allow me to."

"I—I don't know," Niall stammers, fisting Harry's shirt.

"First I wanna see myself cum, then hopefully look at you, with my own eyes," Harry says with unfaltering seriousness and Niall's stomach does a flip. "Let's take this someplace else."

"Not long ago you wanted to punch me," Niall counters. It's a weak defence, he knows. Perhaps he doesn't have to resist after all. Or does he?

Harry takes him by the hand, heading for the club's exit. "I've grown quite fond of you," he admits, his words slightly muted by the loud music, and Niall thinks it's too good to be true. In the long history of unrequited feelings and bad choices, he finds it difficult to believe Harry. These things don't happen to someone like him, never. Despite his mind being fuzzy with alcohol, he isn't delusional, not anymore. Nevertheless, his hand remains in Harry's as the walk outside.

"I can stop, just tell me and I will," Harry whispers, towering over Niall drawing circles on his hips with his thumbs. Niall's tight jeans are even tighter with the erection, and he's losing the grip on reality. Hard to say what's real or fantasy at this point. "Keep going," he mumbles, and Harry leans over to connect their lips. It's sweet, almost innocent at first, but then Harry adds pressure, adding to the building fire in the pit of Niall's stomach. The kiss is deep, fiery, leaves Niall breathless, asking for more, and Harry is more than willing to fulfil it.

The touch of his fingertips under Niall's shirt is feathery and gentle, teasing once his fingernails graze the waistband of Niall's jeans. Niall bucks his hips, ready to take whatever Harry wants to give him. He takes the leap.

When Harry strips them both off their clothes, it's no turning back.

There's another silent question that Niall answers with a nod, right before Harry coats his fingers with lube and presses them against Niall's ring of muscles. He moans and curses under his breath. It's been a long time and Niall almost forgot what it feels like.

"Relax, love," Harry muses and kisses him tenderly on the tip of his nose. Niall obeys and thrusts his hips against Harry's finger, getting used to the sensation quicker than he would if the roles were reversed. His own neglected body wouldn't be able to adapt that easily.

"Ready for more?"

"Yeah, please."

Niall gasps as Harry's pushes in the second finger and immediately reaches the right spot. "Oh, fuck! Harry!"

"Gonna fuck you real good, I promise."

Harry times his moves perfectly, Niall thinks, his head becoming a jumbled mess when Harry shoves the third finger in and goes a bit faster. Niall is so close, so close to losing his mind entirely. Harry knows and removes his fingers, swiftly rolls on the condom, and lines himself up with Niall's puckered hole. "Look at me," he slurs out. Niall chuckles, realising that his own face is above him, realising how fucking insane it is.  

"Why are you laughing?"

"I haven't had sex for ages, and this…? You have to admit it's hilarious that I'm gonna be fucked by myself."

Harry smiles and shakes his head. "We don't have to do this."

"I want to," Niall confesses. Harry kisses him again and enters him, starts fucking into him slow and deep. The room echoes with Niall's whimpers and moans and everything turns into a blur, a cacophony of sounds, skin against skin, heated kisses that are more teeth and tongue.

Niall comes on his stomach untouched, Harry collapses on top of him, panting.

"Do you think—," Niall begins to ask, but Harry cuts him off with another kiss and nuzzles into his neck. "I don't care, Ni."

*

The second Niall wakes up on the same side of Harry's bed he fell asleep on; he knows it didn't work. Harry brushes it off and checks in with Louis for travel itinerary for upcoming fashion shows. Milan, Paris, New York, in a span of a month, all the shows Harry is supposed to attend, but he has to look at them from the sidelines. The excitement from night before that took over Niall's troubled mind is now gone.

"I know you said it doesn't matter, but I've stolen your life from you," Niall says to him, "regardless of my wish, this isn't fair to you."

"Maybe because we didn't do things the right way," Harry realises, "there are parts of your wish that haven't come true yet. What did you wish for exactly?"

Niall sighs, raking his fingers through his hair and collecting every negative thought about himself that led him to all of this. "I wasn't very specific; I just thought that my life was tedious, and also I isolated myself from others by choice. I knew I sucked at social interactions anyway, so I stopped trying, I felt like it wasn't worth wasting my energy trying to talk to people. I gave up on finding more friends, on finding a partner. I didn't like coming out of my comfort zone too, I guess. But I still felt like something was missing, and the only way to change it would be to change myself entirely. I wanted to be someone else, and doing something exciting instead of sitting on my arse every day for eight hours, then sitting on my arse at home. It probably makes zero sense to someone like you, someone who does what makes them happy, someone with so many options. That's whom I wished to be."

"Niall, I—,"

"See you at the airport, Harry." Niall averts Harry's gaze as he gets dressed and walks away.  

*

"Ya both look like y'all climbed out of Satan's butthole," Louis comments, and takes a sip from his Starbucks cup. Harry glares at him, then hides his eyes behind atrocious glasses with thick white frames. Niall reckons that's by far the most ridiculous thing Harry's chosen to wear. At least he's opted for a regular shirt and looser jeans. "Sod off, Tommo," he grunts out.

Louis chuckles. "This still fucks me up, to be quite honest."

Niall expects a smart comeback from Harry, but he seems to be deep in thought and already heading towards airport security desks. Louis turns to Niall, mildly puzzled, although not surprised. "What could've gone wrong at eight in the morning?"

"Dunno," Niall shrugs and adjusts the small duffel bag on his shoulder.

"He's been acting strange recently, even before this whole body swap witchcraft, ya know?" Louis reveals, "and I don't understand why. The lad has everything; looks, charm, the designers throwing money at his flat arse. Women and men are thirsty for his dick. I don't get it. Every time I asked what's wrong, he shut me down. Haven't he told you, by any chance?"

Niall shakes his head a bit too swiftly. "N-no, why would he?"

"No reason," Louis smiles at him good-naturedly and leads them both to the security check. Harry's done, waiting for them on the other side, and Niall wonders what Harry is hiding. He doesn't strike him as the type with issues of getting or achieving whatever he wants. Niall wonders whether he would say anything if Niall didn't storm out like a coward last night.

They're travelling first class, and Niall has clicked on every possible button on the console in front of him. The stewards served them breakfast that made his stomach burst, the seat is comfy with infinite leg space very much required for his longer body, he can choose to listen to the music or watch from the selection of films. Too bad he can't focus so he closes his eyes instead and melts into the headrest, hoping to take a nap that would suffice to get him through the rest of the flight with Harry quietly sitting next to him and staring out of the window. Niall understands he doesn't want to talk, and he won't push him; he doesn't know what there is to talk about exactly. They've had sex, no big deal. But fuck. It is a big deal for Niall. However, now Harry knows Niall is a pathetic loser who hasn't managed to get his shit together like other people his age, and it most probably won't happen again.

After a while, a hand covers his and gently draws circles with the thumb. Niall keeps pretending he's asleep not to disturb the moment. Just then, the pilot announces landing in twenty minutes, and Harry removes his hand.

*

The applause, he could get used to it, even though he hasn't done a thing to earn it. Of course, all the clapping belongs to the designer, but that doesn't mean Niall can't be positively thrilled. It's an entirely different experience compared to the job that he left, a complete opposite. It's filling Niall's veins with energy and excitement which are things you would never associate with working for an IT corporate. He mostly blamed them for becoming a mentally drained hermit. He feels like he's truly living right now. He's alive; he's a breathing person instead of a hollow shell.

The thing with corporates is, you're just a number, and you're not important in the long run. Everything spins around numbers, money, numbers, money. Niall was good at his job; nevertheless, he didn't get any sense of accomplishment whatsoever or see a product of his work, if you will. Modelling isn't exactly a prime example of a life-saving, productive profession, but it's still better than wasting years of his life as a corporate rat.

Harry smiles at him sheepishly once it's over, Louis is proud but tries to hide it. That's all that matters to Niall, really.

He's neatly folding all of the outfits into the plastic bags and handing them over to whoever is responsible for collecting the clothes. Harry is not much of a help, distracted by the reflective surface next to the clothes racks, and Louis is busy flirting with a pretty petite brunette who goes after name Danielle.

"Shit," Harry curses through gritted teeth, suddenly breaking from his trance, "Kendall. She's coming here!"

Frankly, Niall didn't even notice her presence; he was too pumped up because of the whole glittery fashion show madness.

"We have to go." Harry grabs him by the arm and beelines out of the building, completely ignoring the fact Louis is in charge of getting them safely back to the hotel.

Thankfully, Louis catches up with them, surprisingly quick on his shorter legs. "Oi! Bloody hell, Harold? Danny was just about to give me her number!"

"Kendall," Niall offers a short, self-explanatory answer, and Louis's eyebrows fly up at the top of his forehead. "Damnit, Styles!"

"What?" Harry squawks. "Should I kill myself for being an ace in bed?"

"Don't be so sure of yourself, lad," Louis retorts and calls for the taxi. Niall's cheeks turn bright pink, thinking of how Harry made him cum, and he rather bites his tongue. Louis doesn't need to know.

*

It's getting late, and he's about to take a shower before hitting the hay. He has to be fresh for tomorrow's photo shoot that Louis arranged. A knock on the door startles him. He finds Harry standing there, looking like a lost puppy.

"Hey, is everything okay?" he asks. Harry nods and steps inside, closing the door behind him.  Instead of answering, Harry surges forward and connects their lips in a searing kiss. Niall gasps as  Harry pushes him against the wall and cups his arse, and there's something needy and primal in his touch. Knowing Harry wants him, makes Niall's knees go weak. He shouldn't do this, but he can't resist, no matter how sick this may be.

"Everything's okay, yeah," Harry whispers, sinful as ever, and wraps his hand around Niall's stiffening cock. Boxer briefs don't stand a chance against Harry's nimble fingers. He uses the precum as lube, twists his wrist so cleverly it makes Niall moan like a fucking pornstar, and he's pretty sure Harry's other hand will leave marks on his arse cheek. "Fuck," Niall whimpers. FuckFuckFuck.

"I'd love to fuck you like this, but I'm afraid it would hurt your legs or back," Harry grins into the kiss.

Niall snorts. "How very considerate of you."

"You have precisely a second to tell me to back off," Harry whispers, catching Niall's bottom lip between his teeth, giving it a tug. Niall manages to acknowledge the fact that his critical thinking has already left this room and he shoves Harry towards the bed. It turns out he's completely naked under the huge grey hoodie and baggy sweats, and he's got lube and condoms stashed in the left pocket. Miraculously, Niall is no longer taken aback by this twist of events, too aroused and giddy to think straight.

He positions himself on top this time, kissing Harry sweetly as the other lad wraps his legs around his waist, bringing him lower, so their erections rub against each other. Harry is full of guttural sounds and filthy moans, his fingertips leaving burning trails over Niall's skin. He rolls them over, grabs the bottle of lube, generously coats his index finger, and gently rubs it around Niall's hole.

Niall squirms when Harry's first digit passes through the tight ring of muscle, gasps for air when Harry presses further. All of his senses are heightened, his cock pulsating, begging for release. "Fuck me," Niall breathes out weakly as Harry inserts the second finger and begins scissoring Niall from the inside, hitting just the right spot.

"I'll take care of you, love," Harry muses, his tone coloured with lust that makes Niall's toes curl. Harry continues prepping him gently, making him turn into a whimpering quivering mess of limbs. He hums appreciatively after the muscles finally obey him, and Niall watches him roll the condom on in a way that should be banned. Even though he's looking at his own body, it doesn't make it any less hot, any less Harry.

He lines himself up and enters Niall so painfully slowly that Niall digs his nails into Harry's back, and gives out a jumbled moan. Everything is blurry around him now, he only sees his own blue eyes glued on him, his own mouth cursing and panting with each perfectly calculated thrust.

"Come for me," Harry encourages him. He lifts Niall's leg and puts it on his shoulder to get a better angle, to get deeper inside him, and Niall can hardly breathe when Harry's hitting his prostate like a fucking champion. He isn't going to last much longer. It's like every fantasy he could've dreamed of, even though it is slightly twisted and he isn't sharing the moment with a person he's in love with, but Niall doesn't want to dwell on technicalities when Harry Styles is pounding the living hell out of him.

His cock needs only a couple sharp tugs, and he comes all over his chest, Harry following him right after, twitching inside his hole with the orgasmic aftershocks. He pulls out, breathless and red-cheeked, his expression unreadable, and Niall is too weakened and fucked out to stop him from putting on the hoodie and leaving the room in a hurry.

"Great," Niall grits out once the door closes. He gets off the bed to take that damn shower to wash off the jizz along with the feeling of being used.

*

None of them brings it up and Niall ponders whether third time is going to be the charm for switching back their bodies. Third sex, that is.

Paris is their next city, romanticised thousand times in cheesy ass films. Niall finds it overhyped (no offence to French people). There's nothing romantic about it except the Eiffel Tower which he sees from the hotel window. He unpacks, planning to go down to the hotel restaurant to grab some food, but Harry already stands in the hallway with a small platter, ready to knock on his door. He's brought two buttered croissants and a glass of orange juice. Niall isn't sure if it's an apology or something else, maybe it doesn't mean anything and Harry is just being nice; most probably the latter. He lets him inside and hopes his heartbeat will calm down. It's already complicated enough; he doesn't need feelings involved.

"These are my favourite," Harry says with a soft smile, "thought you might like them too."

"Thanks." Niall takes a bite of the croissant and chews under Harry's inquisitive stare as if his entire existence depended on Niall's opinion. "It's nice, thank you, Harry."

Harry clears his throat and starts playing with the hem of his shirt. Niall wishes he knew how to read him.

"I—I've been thinking," he begins, "is this gonna be permanent, if we don't figure it out?"

Niall's face falls. "I have no idea, I'm sorry."

"Roughly we've done most of the things, except—"

"The boyfriend part," Niall realises. This whole thing is dumb as fuck, how is he supposed to do it when he isn't himself? Not to mention, finding a boyfriend wasn't his primary concern, he gave up. Why did the universe decide to fuck him over?

"I know a guy," Harry admits.

"Harry don't, I can't date anybody, not like this," Niall shakes his head, his heart thudding again like crazy, all because of Harry. Not cool, Niall, not cool. He can't let this overpower him, he needs to think straight. Be a reasonable twenty-eight-years old man.

"I meant me, silly," Harry chuckles and wipes the butter and crumb from the corner of Niall's mouth. "I had a wish too…to find someone who'll see me as Harry, not Harry Styles trademark, a rich kid with a huge cock."

"Oh, so you're saying that—"

"—that I wanna be your boyfriend, Niall Horan, if you give me a chance," Harry finishes and cups Niall's reddening cheeks.

"You won't just shag me and run away without a single word like the last time?" Niall asks cautiously, not trusting his ears. It's a bit too much to take in. A bit too unexpected, a bit too Harry.

"No," Harry smiles and kisses the tip of Niall's nose, "I'm gonna make love to you. Then we'll see what happens next."

*

"We need an exorcist if there is such a thing," Louis remarks on their way to New York. "You're doing great, Niall, but we have to get this shit sorted."

Harry and Niall exchange knowing looks, and Niall can finally sink into the depths of emerald green in Harry's eyes. It's only the beginning of the new chapter of his life, a new territory he's about to explore with Harry by his side, and for the first time in years, he's excited. Maybe slightly less when Harry starts talking about a daily intake of kale and the most popular juice cleanses, but in an awfully charming way that Niall finds himself grinning like a stupid idiot.