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So much has happened since Louis and Zayn last spoke. Louis learned how to have one night stands that no one felt too bad about in the morning, and then he had to stop putting that knowledge to use when one of them got pregnant. Zayn, who’s obviously high when he phones, doesn’t know any of that.
“You in LA?” he says, instead of a greeting, the words magnified and slurred like he’s got his mouth right up against the phone.
“Hi Zayn,” says Louis dryly. “Lovely to hear your voice after so long. What a treat.”
“Are you though?” Zayn asks again. “Because I’ve been thinking about your arse all fucking night, babe, and if you’re here, I’d really like to get in there again.”
Louis has to appreciate his forthright attitude, but as soon as he starts thinking about Zayn fucking him, he’s a lost cause. If Zayn’s been thinking about him, even a little, that’s more than he could have expected. It takes all he has not to ask for Zayn’s address. “What do I get out of that, then?”
Zayn laughs, not in a nice way. “You get my dick in you. Just like you want.”
“That is not a good bloody chat up line, mate. Sober up and think about your choices a bit.”
“But you want it, don’t you? You fucking loved it. I remember. I know you remember too.”
I remember you fucked me and then told me you were leaving, you complete twat, Louis thinks to himself but doesn’t say. He wishes he didn’t care, wishes Zayn would believe that if Louis said it. But Zayn knows him too well, wouldn’t hesitate to call his bluff. “Have a wank over how good you are then, and go to bed. Maybe someone will suck your dick tomorrow.”
“Is it gonna be you though? I miss you, Lou.” His voice drops down quiet at the end, and Louis hates what that does to his insides, as though Zayn’s squeezing his heart in one slim-fingered hand.
“You’re off your nut, mate. Whatever you’ve been taking, give it a rest.” Louis ends the call before Zayn can use whatever is next in his bag of tricks to make Louis think he cares. His hands are shaking, but he’s done it, and he has fifteen seconds to feel proud of that before Zayn texts, I’ll be in all night, followed by an address and a room number. Louis stares at it until his phone screen goes black again, and he can’t believe he’s going to fall for this again. But he also knows with absolute certainty that he is.
Louis waits nearly an hour before calling for a car, but it just feels like delaying the inevitable. He knows what Zayn wants, and he knows he can give it to him. Everything beyond that is unnecessary detail. He has time to think about it on the way, time to relive that last night in his own head until it feels realer than anything that’s happened since, and it turns him on and makes him ache with loss. When he arrives at the hotel, he realizes he doesn’t know if he can just go up, but he shuffles into an elevator immediately and no one hassles him.
Louis pads along the thick carpet of a twelfth floor hallway, considers turning around on every step. He can’t hear anything behind the door Zayn directed him to, but that doesn’t mean much in a place like this. He should have at least asked if anyone else was there, strangers who might be interested to see him taking Zayn’s dick. But he hopes Zayn’s not that stupid, or that much of an exhibitionist.
Louis knocks at the door, maybe too softly, and then again, louder. He’s not fucking scared of Zayn, but he holds his breath while someone on the other side throws open the bolt.
And then Zayn’s stood there, shirtless and tousled, blinking slowly and saying nothing. Louis wonders if he’s too stoned to remember he invited Louis over, and that sours his stomach. “Hey,” says Zayn, and if he registers how fucking weird it is that this is the first time they’ve actually seen each other in three months, he doesn’t show any sign of it.
Behind him the room is dim and everything smells deeply familiar, Zayn’s cologne and deodorant and weed. He’s made a nest here, like they used to do on the bus, covering everything in themselves. “Hi,” Louis replies. “Should I come in? Or is there a secret password?”
Zayn flashes into motion, tugging Louis in by the front of his shirt and kissing him against the back of the closing door. Louis’s body forgets to tense, forgets how to fight. Zayn’s mouth is soft and lush, and his hands are working up under Louis’s shirt, grabbing at him greedily. Louis lets it all happen, throwing his arms around Zayn’s shoulders and rubbing at his buzzed hair with electric fingertips.
Zayn doesn’t say anything before he pulls Louis away from the door, shoving him along whilst nipping sharp kisses along the side of his neck. Louis’s knees hit the bed, and he stares at Zayn for a beat before lying down, spreading his legs so Zayn can fit between and keep kissing him. It’s unfair, it’s so unfair, the way Zayn looks at him just the same as always before settling on top of him, no trace of guilt or shame or regret anywhere on his face. But then maybe Louis doesn’t know how to read him. Maybe he never has.
Their bodies fit together, and Louis makes a quiet, desperate noise as Zayn’s hips rock into his. He prays Zayn’s not too high to get hard for him. But Zayn doesn’t seem to be having a problem with that, the solid weight of his cock suddenly pressing tightly into Louis’s hip. His nimble fingers slide under the waistband of Louis’s trackies, cold tips against the hot skin of his hips.
Louis prays that Zayn won’t say anything, that he can get through this with his brain on autopilot, pretend this is a normal shag and no big deal. He kicks off his shoes before Zayn can start tugging his bottoms down over the swell of his arse, but that’s where Zayn pauses, licking his lips, eyes nearly black in the dim light. He looks at Louis with his mouth parted, and anything he could say would still be worse than the hot, panting silence. Louis nudges him into another kiss, keeps his mouth occupied as Zayn strips them both down. His cock fits so nicely against the cut of Zayn’s hip, and he works himself there for a moment, biting at Zayn’s lower lip. Zayn detaches from his mouth again, but only to kiss the side of his neck, only to find more of Louis’s skin to slide across. He mouths at Louis’s collarbone and tugs at one of his nipples with his teeth.
It feels like coming home, sliding back into something familiar, and Louis wonders if Zayn has thought about this in the months since he left, if he’s stroked his dick and imagined Louis’s body under his. Louis’s can’t bear to imagine he hasn’t. Zayn’s mouth flickers down the smooth plain of Louis’s belly, and he nuzzles at Louis’s cock through his pants. Louis squirms and arches his back, eyes shutting before he forces them open again, wanting to drink in the sight of Zayn mouthing at his dick. “Go on then,” he says, too desperate to hold in the words, and Zayn drags the waist of Louis’s briefs down over the thick jut of his dick.
“Say please,” says Zayn, sitting back on his knees, and it’s so jarring, so arbitrary, that Louis just stares at him for a moment. He’s never had to beg before.
“Please,” Louis says in a voice that’s trying hard not to give anything away, and Zayn’s mouth curves into a satisfied little smile before it opens over the head of Louis’s dick.
Louis watches Zayn suck him, and it’s the same as it was in March, the same slick suction, the same strokes up the shaft of his cock while Zayn laps greedily at the head. It’s all the same as it was, and Louis wants to hate it and resent it, but he loves it too much for that. He cups a palm over the back of Zayn’s shaved head, rubbing at the fuzz of his hair, soft bristles beneath his fingers, and Zayn sucks him until he’s near to coming, thighs tensing and toes curling, helpless little gasps spilling out of him.
And then Zayn lets him go, pulls his hand and his mouth away in one devastating movement. He puts both hands between Louis’s thighs, spreading them wider, and Louis knows what comes next before the flat of Zayn’s tongue slides over his arsehole. He’s so easy for it, doesn’t try to hide the pleasure that spikes in his blood as Zayn licks at him. His stubble scrapes and tickles between the cheeks of Louis’s arse, and Louis lifts his knees, giving Zayn easier access.
“Fuck,” says Zayn. “Your perfect fucking arse.” He spreads Louis wider with his thumbs, eats him out until Louis’s arsehole feels slick and wide open with his spit. He wants Zayn to fuck him, but he can’t ask for that. Zayn’s already too sure of him, too confident he knows exactly what Louis needs. In this one way, he’ll deny Zayn the satisfaction. “Been thinking about this arse,” Zayn tells him, just the sort of thing Zayn’s allowed to say because he holds all the cards. If Louis mentioned how much he thinks about Zayn--about Zayn’s dick inside him, but also Zayn’s laugh in his in-ears, Zayn’s arm around his waist as they dozed off together in the back of the bus—he’d just sound pathetic. He is pathetic. He shuts his eyes and moans for it, lips parting around the soft sound.
Zayn’s thumb pushes at his rim, teases into him, and he doesn’t know if Zayn’s even got proper lube, or condoms, or anything. And Louis’s going to fucking take it however he can get it. And they both know, they must both know. He keeps his eyes closed as Zayn pulls away, kisses the inside of his thigh. “Been thinking about you,” Zayn says, quieter, like a secret against Louis’s skin, almost like an apology Louis can’t accept. He keeps rubbing over Louis’s hole, promising more and then pulling back. “You want me to fuck you?”
Louis nods so he doesn’t have to hear the broken, pining sound of his own voice. Zayn moves away and then comes back, and now his fingers are cool and properly slick, opening Louis up. He’s gentle but intent, fucking into Louis with slow, stoned concentration. It works Louis up all over again, makes him restless, his dick aching for a hand on it. Zayn uses two fingers next, but he stills after a moment. “Do you want a condom?” he says, his eyes flicking between Louis’s face and the spread of his arse.
“I’d prefer it,” Louis replies as steadily as he can. “Dunno where you’ve been.”
“Yeah,” Zayn agrees. If this were a few months ago, Louis would tell him he got a girl pregnant and he’s fucking scared out of his mind when he thinks about sex with strangers now. But a few months ago he wouldn’t have been going home with strangers anyway. Zayn produces a condom from somewhere over the side of the bed, and Louis doesn’t question it. He watches Zayn’s face as Zayn rolls on the condom and starts to work his cock into Louis’s arse, his dark eyes giving nothing away. Louis doesn’t know what he’s looking for, making aggressive eye contact as Zayn opens him up, but a spark of something maybe, a recognition of how things used to be.
Zayn fucks him deep and hard and slow, nailing into Louis like he’s staking a claim, and Louis likes it so much, knows as soon as Zayn’s hips press flush to his that he’s going to come like this. He’d like to touch his dick, but the fact is it’s unnecessary. He’d like Zayn to kiss him as well, and right now that feels more urgent. Louis palms at the back of Zayn’s neck, pulls him in close and kisses him deeply. Probably all of this would have been easier on his belly or his side, but if he’s going to torture himself, he damn well wants to see Zayn’s face while he does it. Their mouths meet again and again as Zayn fucks him, crashing into each other with teeth and soothing with tongues. Louis hopes his mouth is bruised with this in the morning, as though he needs a reminder of the way he’s still easy for Zayn, even after everything that’s happened. Maybe he’ll never stop being easy for him.
“So good, babe,” Zayn murmurs into his mouth. “Fuck, your perfect arse.”
Louis squeezes tight around his dick, chasing his orgasm, trying to be selfish, but Zayn just slows inside him, circling his hips to let it build more. Their eyes meet, and Zayn smiles, a fond, conspiratorial smirk like Louis’s in on the joke, whatever it is. Louis kisses him again, but gentler, less likely to bruise, and Zayn kisses him back the same way.
Zayn’s thrusts speed up again, and suddenly Louis’s not sure he wants it to be over yet. Zayn puts a hand down to cup his dick, and Louis breathes out, “No,” half expecting Zayn to ignore it.
Zayn pauses, and Louis wonders why he’d thought he wouldn’t. “No?”
“I can come like this,” Louis explains softly. He’s undone, raw with sensation, opened up to Zayn as much as he ever has been.
"Feel so good in you," Zayn tells him, nuzzling at Louis's cheek, jarring tenderness in his voice. Louis wonders how many other people he's said that to in the last few months. How many people have been subjected to Zayn's soft words and gentle touches since the last time they slept together? Zayn is too fucking good at one-night stands, at sliding in and out of people’s lives.
"I got a girl pregnant," Louis says quietly, as Zayn bites the lobe of his ear, working their hips together in tight little circles. He doesn't know why he says it or what he expects. But Zayn's startled little laugh stings a bit.
"You what?" Zayn says, pausing and lifting his head. He's got this incredulous fucking grin on, and if anything could make Louis go soft, it would be that. But he's too close to fight about it.
"Fuck off, I didn't say stop." He shuts his eyes and tries to lose himself in it again, the way Zayn's filling him up, the thick, wet drag of his cock as he hitches Louis's hips up tighter to his. Zayn makes a sound that might be a sigh or might be a snicker, and Louis has never felt more betrayed. He's going through this fucking terrifying thing, and he doesn't know what to do, and when he puts it out there, Zayn just finds it funny. Louis's fault for saying it though. Don't pour your heart out to someone who booty calls you when they're stoned. He finds Zayn's mouth with his and kisses him fiercely again, digging one heel into Zayn's back.
Zayn pounds into him harder, doesn’t try to say anything else, and Louis is grateful. When Zayn groans against Louis’s collarbone, Louis knows he’s close, and he clenches down tighter on Zayn’s dick, trying to catch up. He thinks Zayn’s holding back, letting him finish, stroking over his hip as he shudders over the edge. Louis comes in long streaks, Zayn still working deep inside him. It’s only a minute before Zayn pulls out and strips off the condom to stroke himself to orgasm, adding to the mess on Louis’s belly.
Louis looks up, Zayn flushed and breathing hard above him. He wonders if this is it, if he should wipe himself down and go before Zayn starts talking again. But Zayn’s expression is soft and open, and Louis doesn’t want to run away yet. He puts one arm out beckoning Zayn in, and Zayn settles against his side.
Part of him wants Zayn to ask questions, to care, to do something to make up for laughing, but the thought of having to answer makes him feel ill. Louis shuts his eyes and listens as their breathing syncs up, Zayn’s face planted in the curve of his neck. The waiting silence stretches on and on, until Louis starts to relax in spite of himself. He’s been so tired all the time, and there’s no end in sight, everything changing faster than he can get his feet under him. He falls asleep with his cheek pressed to the top of Zayn’s head, everything looking and feeling and smelling familiar, just for this one night.