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Maybe it’s a tad inappropriate.
Liam knows what these flashing moments look like to outsiders, as in, the ones not involved in the flickering eye-contact or the ghosting touches. He’s seen it way, way too often on Louis and Harry, how they would circle each other, dimples distinct, smiles cheeky, blazing with what could only be described as sexual frustration. And if given the option, they surely would’ve used the ten minute break far more efficiently than sitting around nipping on a bottle of coke… which in Harry’s case involves a lot of tongue.
Yes, it had made Liam uncomfortable, like he had been prying on something extremely personal, like he just boldly entered the room and squeezed in between them. So right now, in this moment, Liam can only offer the other lads, and perhaps a few members of their crew, his sincere apologies, because he can’t, just can’t take his eyes off Zayn.
Maybe he should specify, lest it would sound too romantic.
He can’t take his eyes off Zayn’s arse.
The way the fabric of his black skinny jeans are stretched, or a bit bunched up at places, the way the movement of his hips just… well, yeah. And for the last part, Liam’s pretty certain his best friend is swaying with just a bit too much vigor.
So maybe Zayn’s quiet, he’s subtle about things that Louis, for instance, would prance in anyone’s face, and perhaps that is something that Liam particularly likes about him – whatever it is they have, it’s private, not screamed out by thousands of fans, or printed in the tabloids. But really, Zayn’s mastered the refined art of teasing while keeping his hands to himself, skidding out his tongue only for a split second, hips wiggling only slightly so.
And to be honest, that’s an even bigger turn on for Liam.
Niall is at the other side of the room, popping candy into his mouth every few minutes, Harry and Louis both checking their phones, limbs tangling together, as always. The guy doing sound-check has shot them a few confused glances, but otherwise, people aren’t really looking anymore.
Zayn’s taking random gulps out of his water bottle, back turned to Liam, looking completely at leisure, relaxed even. But the way his eyes roam over Liam ever so often betrays his supposed ease.
Liam finds himself taking slow steps forward, sticking his hands in the pockets of his pants, just in case. Then he’s right behind Zayn, breathing onto the back of his neck, and he swears he can feel a slight shudder ripple through the other boy. Vivid imagery, scenes that he generally tries to avoid while in public, pop out from nowhere: The way Zayn’s eyelashes feather over his cheek, or how the inside of his thigh is smooth and tan, how his lips look wrapped around… things. Yeah.
“Still sore, are you?” he mumbles into the crook of his neck, and is almost shocked by the boldness of his own wording. Zayn’s blushing, Liam can tell from the sudden heat, or the glowing tips of his ears.
“No that sore.” He mutters back, and yes. That’s a challenge. And a promise.
“For God’s sake!” Niall’s come close, immediately backing away. “I didn’t need to know that.”
Zayn just laughs, and Liam’s eyes slide back to his back side.
Somewhere between their first interview of the day, Zayn’s stopped his subtle flirting and gone to licking his lips obscenely whenever the lady, stammering slightly whenever switching between the boys, clearly new to the business, is chucking the usual questions at the other three.
“So, Harry, what do you look for in a, ahem, a girl?”
Zayn’s eyes are squinted in a grin, one that is just a tad to cheeky for him, and Liam can feel his pants becoming tight at certain parts. If he loves Zayn all spread out and yielding, then he really fucking loves Zayn biting back, scratching, pushing up against him –
“Someone who genuinely likes you for who you are, really, that’s all…”
It feels like reconquering him every night, Liam muses. Knocking him down, admiring the bruises and then apologizing by making him feel really, really good. It sounds a bit sick in his head, but it’s true. If Zayn wants to play, he’ll play along. Either way, someone will get shoved up against their hotel door tonight.
“Uh, and, Louis, what would you say?”
Zayn’s rubbing the junction between neck and shoulder, and Liam shudders a bit at that. He can feel that exact patch of smooth skin at the tip of his nose, his hands clenching and unclenching subconsciously, visualize it from a foreign angle, even – the way he breathes against Zayn’s collarbone, fists tight at the back of his knees, heat sliding all over his –
“Liam, mate?”
Niall’s tapping him on the shoulder, slightly cautious. On the other end of the couch, Zayn’s shuddering with silent laughter, Harry and Louis both looking bemused. “Sorry, missed that bit.” Liam gives the lady an apologetic smile, that ends up more of a grimace because honestly, his pants are so tight right now it actually hurts a little.
Back in the van, Liam tags behind a little just to let Harry and Niall get in between himself and that evil teasing monster he calls a friend. He avoids looking in Zayn’s direction and tries texting his mom about his day instead.
‘u angry’
Liam blinks at the sudden message, but his heart speeds up a little at the thought of Zayn, barely a meter away, is texting him, all worried and guilt-ridden.
‘of course not, not really.’
He sends the text, and can’t help but smile a little. It’s almost cute how Zayn needs a little reassurance every now and then.
‘gd, coz I still wan to suck u offff’
Scratch that, all of that. Liam shuts his eyes and tries very hard to breathe evenly. He can already picture those skinny jeans on the ceiling, dangling from that fancy lamp the hotel’s got.
___
Liam stays patient through the rest of their ride, occasionally joining in on the joking and ranting. He chants tiny whispers of ‘later, later, later’ to himself in his head and tries to urge down his diamond hard… problem with sheer mental force.
Zayn’s humming to himself, looking way too cheerful for his own good during their elevator ride, and Liam just considers following him to his room and ripping his shirt off for good measure. But then he swallows back his groan and stays put until they’re on the floor where the room he shares with Niall is located.
Niall goes ahead and rips open a bag of crisps, shooting him the ‘No comment’ look he always sports when things get hot and heavy and announces that he’ll be getting himself a sandwich via room service and Louis’.
Liam takes off his T-shirt and rearranges the items in his toiletry bag, folding his freshly pressed shirts thrice over. His mind keeps skipping back and forth between these tedious but absolutely necessary tasks and images of Zayn bending over in a specific type of jeans.
He almost jumps when there’s a knock at the door.
Zayn gives him a coy little smile, that, for Liam just screams: ‘please take off my clothes violently and have inappropriately fervent sexual intercourse with me this instant.’ – Only with a slightly different choice of vocabulary.
He lets Zayn in and momentarily takes pride in the fact that unlike his brain, he’s acting pretty normal. Not that it’s uncommon for him to be thinking about Zayn a lot, they’re best mates after all, and in a boy band, frequently falling asleep together in crammed up positions, and some such –
He doesn’t get the chance to follow his trait of thought, because once the door is closed and locked, Zayn is rushing over and slamming their lips together with so much force that it must’ve been pent up.
Liam kisses back, putting his hands on Zayn to steady himself. Fuck yeah, how he’d been craving all day to just shove his hands under random parts of Zayn’s clothing and lick down his cheek bone, just like that… they’re making out so heavily that it would’ve done horny teenagers justice. Which they were, obviously.
“Oh God.” Zayn’s pushing Liam towards Niall’s bed, cheeks flushed and bulge nice and visible in those goddamn skinny jeans of his. Suddenly, Liam is reminded how Zayn had been teasing him all day, and that embarrassing slip up with the blonde beginners lady. “Liam, just, please?”
Liam remains tall and upright, watching intently when Zayn throws himself on the mattress and starts yanking his shirt off.
“Wait.” He manages to say with a voice that doesn’t sound shaky and on-edge. “Hold still.”
And Zayn does.
Liam walks over slowly, zipping open his fly, pulling out his cock, leaking and thick. He can hear Zayn swallowing – he meant what he said in his message, earlier. But Liam’s got other plans: “Turn around.” he instructs, and when Zayn doesn’t oblige immediately, he grips those familiar hips and flips the boy over until he is on all fours.
Only then does he unhurriedly begin to unzip and pull down those pants, feeling the close-fitting fabric under his palms, until it bunches around Zayn’s knees. Same with the underwear.
He can’t help but let his finger stroke over the exposed skin, relishing every soft whimper that Zayn lets slip when his fingers dance close to the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. “Liam, you… just, uhm, do it.”
“Sure, Zayn.” Liam gets up and backs up against Zayn until his crotch is pressed against the slender curve of his arse. They both moan out loud at the sudden intensity of skin-on-skin contact.
Liam moves a little, his rigid erection grinding against the back of those smooth thighs, and Zayn is straining to spread his legs wider apart, back arching obscenely with the effort, the muscles of his back rippling softly. So Liam does it again, this time with more aim, he rubs the head of his cock against the heat of Zayn’s hole, nudging him.
“For fucks sake, Liam… just, ah, just fuck me already.” Zayn’s getting impatient, bucking back against him, looking for more friction, for being spread wide open and taken without preparation, because Liam can sense that he just needs it that much. Instead, he only grinds against him once more, this time harder, and he has to admit that he’s dying inside to just violently spread those cheeks and shove in, to feel the amazing heat and crushing tightness. But listening to the desperate sounds Zayn is making, it really is sort of worth it.
Zayn is beginning to reach, unstably, for his own erection and Liam swats his hands away quickly. He pushes his pelvis forwards and sees tiny flecks of light sparkle at the edges of his vision: it’s so good, but just not good enough to make him come, a constant, teasing suspense – and it’s probably the same for Zayn, because the noises he is making now seriously would put any mega porn star to shame.
“Liam, oh, bloody hell… ah, please just, I want you inside of – oh fuck.” Zayn is trying to twist his head back as much as possible, so he can look Liam in the eyes pleadingly, and Liam just simply can’t say no to those brown orbs, he knows that, too. So he gently forces Zayn’s head back into position by taking a hold of his jaw, hips still rutting, the tip of his cock nudging, dipping in ever so slightly, but never penetrating completely. He uses his hand in action to coax open Zayn’s mouth and starts sliding his index and middle finger in and out, feeling the obedient swirl of tongue and the strangled groans vibrating.
Zayn is close to sobbing now, cheeks flushed, and Liam can imagine how his pupils are blow wide, and how he’s probably biting his lower lip now – and that thought make him come, without any warning. Zayn gives a truly pornographic moan when he feels the hot wetness splattered across the back of his thighs, and then he reaches his high too, without anything but Liam’s hand supporting him, fingers still moist against the flat of his tongue.
“Fuckin’ hell.”
Zayn flips himself over and gets come all over Niall’s bed sheets. He looks so ravished, still raw with need and breathless, that Liam feels himself growing hard all over again. Zayn gives half a laugh, then he fumbles the last few buttons of his shirt open, sliding the fabric off easily. Liam swallows at the look that’s glinting in his eyes.
“Should I turn around again?”