Note: This is a scheduled post. I am still on hiatus.
Poor!Hamza x BurgerBachcha!Uzair. Based on a request.
TW: Class division, slight implied homophobia, sexual content.
Uzair leaned against the wet balcony of his family’s generational haveli. The rain was dampening the back of his kurta, the city lights blurring behind him. He had a cigarette lit in his hand.
Heir to one of the biggest businessmen in the country.
Hamza: Still coming tonight?
Uzair’s thumb hovered. He knew he should delete the message. Delete the number. Delete the boy who had somehow crawled under his skin in the last few months.
Uzair: Usual place. 11:30. Be safe.
Hamza wiped the dirt off his hands with an old rag outside the juice shop he worked at, in Lyari bazaar. This was a second job he took to pay for his mother’s hospital bills. The neon lights flickered above him as he locked up. His terracotta kurta was faded, sleeves rolled up, exposing his strong forearms sprinkled with old scars from working since a young age.
He wasn’t supposed to do this. He was supposed to be a dedicated son, doted brother, but definitely not a rich boy’s dirty secret. Yet, here he was, sneaking out at night to meet the same rich boy whose brother could swipe his entire existence with a single phone call.
But Uzair had become an addiction he couldn’t quit.
Their first meeting had been accidental.
Uzair’s jeep had broken down near the workshop where Hamza worked. While the driver argued with the manager, Uzair had stepped out, irritated and unfairly handsome in a white pathani and sunglasses. Hamza had been the one assigned to check the engine.
Their eye-contact lasted a second more than it should have.
Three days later, Uzair came back alone. Claimed he wanted to thank the mechanic personally. That visit turned into chai. Chai turned into late-night drives. Soon, the drives included stolen kisses in the back of the car. Some while dropped Hamza off, some while Uzair left for business trips.
And now, here they were, four months later, deep into something that felt like love but stung like heartbreak.
The cheap hotel room in a quiet lane of Clifton smelled of old incense and damp walls. It was the kind of place where no one asked questions. The arrivals were hushed and everyone knew better than to reveal what happened once the doors were locked.
Uzair walked in first. By the time Hamza reached the room, he was soaked from the rain. Uzair pulled him inside and locked the door.
“You’re freezing,” Uzair muttered, already peeling the wet kurta off Hamza’s broad frame.
Hamza let out a shaky laugh. “Not everyone has a driver and AC car, you burger baccha.”
The nickname was teasing, but it still stung. Uzair cupped Hamza’s face, thumbs brushing raindrops from his cheeks.
“I hate when you call me that.”
“I hate that it’s true,” Hamza whispered, eyes filled with exhaustion and longing.
Their kiss was desperate from the start. Uzair pushed Hamza against the wall, hands roaming over damp skin, tasting rain and motor oil and the faint sweetness of the tea Hamza probably drank on his way. Hamza moaned softly into his mouth, fingers gripping Uzair’s linen kurta.
They stumbled toward the bed. Uzair laid Hamza down gently, like he was something precious, even though Hamza always joked that he was “street tough.”
“You have no idea what you do to me,” Uzair breathed against his neck, kissing down the column of throat, sucking lightly at the pulse point.
Hamza arched, a moan escaping.
Clothes disappeared slowly. Uzair took his time tonight, like he was trying to memorize every inch. He kissed the faint scars on Hamza’s ribs, the calluses on his hands, the sharp jut of his hip bones that spoke of too many skipped meals.
When he finally took Hamza in his mouth, the poor boy nearly sobbed. Uzair worked him with slow, wet heat, one hand pressing Hamza’s hips down when he tried to thrust.
“You can,” Uzair commanded, pulling off just enough to speak. “You’re going to take everything I give you tonight.”
He prepared Hamza carefully with slick fingers, whispering praises between kisses. “So beautiful like this… so tight for me… my good boy.”
Hamza was trembling by the time Uzair finally pushed inside him. Their foreheads pressed together, eyes locked even in the dim light.
“I love you,” Uzair whispered as he bottomed out.
Hamza’s breath hitched, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes. “Don’t say that. Please.”
Uzair’s hips stuttered. He kissed Hamza hard, swallowing the protest, and started moving — deep thrusts that made the old bed creak. Every stroke spoke of the heartbreak and longing they were to bear soon. It was their trial to hold on any moment they could.
Hamza clung to him, nails digging into Uzair’s back, legs wrapped tight around his waist. “Harder,” he begged.
Uzair gave him what he wanted. The rhythm turned rougher, more desperate. Skin slapped against skin. Hamza’s moans grew louder, broken. Uzair fucked him like he could erase the class divide between them, like he could keep him forever if he just went deep enough.
When Hamza came, it was with Uzair’s name on his lips and tears on his cheeks. Uzair followed moments later, burying himself deep and spilling inside him with a choked groan.
They stayed connected for a long time afterward, Uzair holding Hamza close, stroking his long hair.
The next few weeks were a blur of stolen moments.
They met in parking lots after midnight. In empty cinemas during late shows. Once, daringly, in Uzair’s car on a deserted beach road while rain hammered the roof.
But the cracks were widening.
Hamza’s mother was getting sicker. The medical bills were piling up. He worked three jobs now — the garage during the day, fruit shop for any hours available and delivering food at night. Uzair tried to give him money once. It ended in their first real fight.
“I’m not your charity case!” Hamza had shouted, eyes flashing with hurt pride.
“I just want to help you!” Uzair yelled back. “I love you, you idiot. Let me do something.”
“You want to help? Then stop pretending this has a future. Your brother will marry you off to some rich girl by next year. And I’ll still be fixing cars.”
Nothing was said after this, and the silence hurt more than the words itself.
The night of horror arrived sooner than they anticipated.
Uzair’s cousin had seen them together near the hotel. Rumors were starting. His brother had started asking questions about why Uzair was “always out so late.”
They met at their usual hotel.
Uzair looked wrecked. “Rehman bhai wants me to go to Dubai next month. To ‘learn the business properly.’ He’s already talking about engagement with some family friend’s daughter.”
Hamza, sitting on the edge of the bed in just his boxers, laughed bitterly. “Of course he is.”
Uzair knelt in front of him, hands on Hamza’s knees. “Run away with me.”
Hamza stared at him. “What?”
“I have money saved. Not much by my standards, but enough for us to start somewhere new. Lahore. Islamabad. Even abroad if we’re careful. I don’t care about the empire. I care about you.”
Hamza’s eyes filled with tears. He touched Uzair’s face like he was memorizing it.
“You’re a dreamer, Uzair. I’m a realist. I have my mother. My younger sister. I can’t abandon them. And you… you’ve never lived without money. You don’t know what it’s like to choose between food and medicine.”
Uzair’s voice cracked. “So we just end this?”
Hamza pulled him up and kissed him fiercely. “Not tonight. Tonight, I want you to love me like it’s the last time.”
They made love slowly, emotionally raw. Uzair entered him face-to-face, eyes never leaving Hamza’s. Every thrust was accompanied by whispered confessions.
Tears mixed with sweat. Uzair stroked Hamza through his orgasm, then followed, holding him so tight it hurt. They cried together afterward, tangled and naked and terrified of tomorrow.
Two weeks later, the inevitable happened.
Rehman found out. Not everything — but enough. A private investigator had photos. Hotel records. Messages.
The confrontation left Uzair enraged.
Uzair stood in his study, shaking with rage as he raged about family honor, about shame, about how he would destroy Hamza if Uzair didn’t cut all contact immediately.
That night, Uzair went to Hamza’s tiny rented room in Lyari.
He found Hamza sitting on the floor, staring at his phone. Someone had already threatened him — anonymous calls telling him to stay away from “that rich boy.”
“I’m sorry,” Uzair whispered, voice breaking as he dropped to his knees in front of Hamza. “I never wanted this for you.”
Hamza touched his face with trembling fingers. “I knew it would end like this. From the first day.”
They made love one final time on Hamza’s narrow bed. It was desperate, heartbreaking. Uzair took him slowly, savoring every sound, every gasp, every whispered “I love you.”
When Uzair came inside him, Hamza held him close and cried silently.
Afterward, Uzair tried to stay, but Hamza made him leave before morning.
Uzair sat in a Dubai penthouse, staring at the city lights. He was engaged now. The wedding was in three months. Everyone called it a perfect match.
His phone buzzed with a new number.
Unknown: I saw your engagement in the newspaper. You look happy. I’m glad.
Uzair’s hands shook as he typed back.
Unknown: Don’t reply. Just know I still love you. Even if we were never meant to be. Take care, burger baccha.
Uzair cried for the first time in months.
He never wanted Hamza’s confession to come from beyond a screen.
In Lyari, Hamza turned off his phone and went back to work on an old motorcycle, the silver chain Uzair had given him hidden under his collar — the only proof that any of it had been real.
Some loves were never meant to survive daylight.
But in the shadows, they had burned brighter than anything else.
A/n: No idea what the next fic is. I have, like, 7 more requests to schedule but most probably a combo of a request by @laal-pari and lavender and roses part 2. Also, I will be back when I have to post for Hamlina angst. It got a very similar response on Hindi and urdu, which indicates ki main abhi bhi utni hi confused and according to my wrinkly and folded brain, I am just going to write a mix of hindi and urdu. I haven't started writing it yet.
Taglist (My usual Hamza and Uzair taglist because I didn''t know who would want to read this one so agar koi double tagged hai, first of all, love you, secondly, I am very sorry for the tagging you two times)
@savagedrama @debsreads21 @rini4everdreaming @riddhi-on-break @laal-pari @lakshana-ke-lakshan @sea-breeze-in-my-hair @girllostinfictionworld @harrystyleskiwi9 @prettyprettypleaseplease @yetunekyakiyaa @granddynamonovajbvgjjj @iamadelusionalwriter @idonthavechatpateusernamed @gulaabjamun08 @thirteensome @love-me-not27 @bollywoodfandoms8 @nilishaaa @atithidevovaba @lavenderwinkle @luvvkk @virtualship @aditititiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii @scarletskysworld @armygamer123 @heartsforyouworld @kajuuuukatliiiiii @runaway21lone @carmenred28 @chai-aur-chaand @seasonofthenerd @ninnimouse @marauderbitchesassemble @goodnightkatherine @thebookyworm7 @potterhead17312 @chunkychocosblog @fixerofeffups @maladaptive-anxiety @uzairpaglu @teenagenerdrascalsports-blog @goldenharrysworld @multifandom-enthusiastt @livelaughlovebylerr @jayayayaya @minnielovesme @damn-itz-sam
@shadylovedhurandhar @cloudmast @araasa @dumbassdictionarysds @harrystyleskiwi9 @scentedwolfdragon @legendmoonstone @tehmam @faebutterflygayaf @goldenharrysworld @manjari08 @iamadelusionalwriter @bobcuts-blog @ai-manre @carmenred28 @velvetdakait @pleasetagmejaaneman @rehmandakaitswife @buchanana00 @yembarzal @niyadarealart @marlena-marlena @laal-pari @shadyalpaca13 @riddhi-on-break @sea-breeze-in-my-hair @yetunekyakiyaa @pixiiiiiiiiidust @gulaabjamun08 @thirteensome @idonthavechatpateusernamed @prettyprettypleaseplease @granddynamonovajbvgjjj @lakshana-ke-lakshan @rini4everdreaming @savagedrama
@debsreads21 @love-me-not27 @lcvjun @writrsblu @ib-gremlin @eypresho @mrgrungusthefrog
