Work Text:
When Niall comes into the small cozy coffee shop has that feeling, not unknown but always worrying, of already been there before.
It’s not true.
Niall is for the first time in Paris, on a school trip with people who he actually doesn’t care about. It’s cold outside, a small breeze that makes the body shiver and Niall slides in the nearest coffee shop, which also happens to be the nicest one and he is glad. The trip isn’t as bad as he thought, leaving Sean and his fellows back in Ireland seemed a way too worst at the time than it seems now. French people are nice and the city has a lot of beauty.
He chooses a small table near the window with an amazing view to the city, glad that there are only a few people on the shop, and enjoys a hot drink that the young waitress claimed to be the best coffee in Paris. It’s quiet, perfect for a bit of a chill just as Niall likes.
He’s lost on his own thoughts when the door slides open in front of his eyes and a lad comes inside, a tanned, skinny, dark-haired lad with absolutely perfect cheekbones, soaking by the tiny rain that begun to form and poured down the city and Niall can’t take his eyes of him. The lad isn’t subtle, struggles hard to keep his papers away from getting wet, which just make him let them fall on the floor. Niall couldn’t really care less if that wasn’t the long eyelashes flattering delicately as he drops down on his knees, reaching the papers from the floor and Niall is running to help, simple as this.
“Oh shit! You don’t need to,” he speaks, quiet and rough, in a very British – sexy way, and Niall finds himself lowering down and staring at the lad, “thank you.”
It happens fast, Niall reaches the most of the papers he can and stands up. He doesn’t really have intention to peep at the lad’s things but they are just there in front of his eyes, delicate paper on his hands, and he can’t help to glare at the black and white sketches. It’s soft, small landscapes, and Niall brushes his fingertips over the lines, feels it under his touch, “you did this?”
The lad nods weakly, Niall can feel it, blushes and looks down.
“I’m Niall by the way, come and sit with me,” Niall smiles, wide and sweet, the sketches still in his hands, and leads to his table, “unless you’re meeting someone.”
He smiles back at Niall, tongue trapped between his teeth, “no, just finding shelter from the rain anyway, I’m Zayn.”
And Niall has to contain himself from not faint, because suddenly it all becomes too much and he believes he never seen someone more beautiful. Zayn smiles wide, shinning amber eyes as he takes his leather jacket and tosses it on the back of his chair.
“You’re staring, blondie.” Zayn says and Niall laughs, loud, because of course he is staring. Had Zayn ever looked at himself? He is so ridiculously attractive to a point that it becomes extremely unfair.
“I like your sketches.” Niall replies seductively, teeth creaking and meeting the Irish accent.
“I like your accent,” Zayn replies back, “and your blue eyes and blonde hair. You would be so good to draw.”
Niall smiles, bites the inside of his cheek, because this Zayn is really something and he likes it. He is about to say something back when the waitress comes from nowhere asking Zayn what he is having and on that same moment Niall can swear Zayn looked at him with the most intense, wild eyes he has ever saw. Tough, Zayn manages to ask for a tea and when the girl disappears, he recollects his sketches from Niall’s hold, smiling slightly.
“I meant it,” Niall says as he points to the papers, “I really like them, is your way to chill?”
“Kind of,” Zayn pauses, licks his lips and Niall finds himself following his tongue’s movements, “I have moved from England to study arts.”
“Here? In Paris?”
Zayn laughs loud, only to make Niall wonder if he had ever heard a prettier sound, and passes his hand in his hair, straightening his quiff as he speaks, “is there a better place, love?”
Niall is not shaking, he is really not, he is just so so overwhelmed with everything that something inside of him twitches.
“Come to mine, see the rest of my stuff,” Zayn defies, bites is lower lip in a way that has everything to be the sexiest thing that Niall has ever seen and he has to take a deep breath to hold himself.
“What? Now?”
“Yeah babez,” Zayn says already grabbing his coat.
“But your tea?”
“I couldn’t really care less.” And that’s what takes for Niall to leave the payment on the top of the table and follow Zayn right back.
It still rains and Zayn has a smirk in his eyes. A fucking stupid smirk that can make Niall’s knees go all weak and it’s not right. Zayn manages to cover his sketches with his coat and rubs his fingers slightly over Niall’s skin, in a way to reach for his wrist, “up for a little run, blondie?” and Niall doesn’t really have to say anything as Zayn is holding his arm tightly and pulling Niall with him.
It’s cold, it’s fucking cold, Niall realizes as the droplets of rain fall in his hair and drip down his face. It’s cold everywhere except the spot where Zayn’s fingers burn into his skin and Niall wants to feel that burning sensation all over his body, almost fighting a willpower to not just pull Zayn into a alley and kiss him senseless.
Zayn looks over his shoulder, smiles lazily at Niall and it’s warm, nice; flatters Niall’s heart in ways he could never know was possible and Niall smiles back, strong grip on his wrist as he follows Zayn all the way down the road, going round the corner and ending up in a small loft over a flower shop, somewhere on the middle of Paris, where Niall doesn’t even know how to come back to his hotel.
“It’s quite simple,” it’s the first words that come out of Zayn’s mouth as they come inside, letting go of Niall’s wrist slightly.
Niall looks around to the studio flat, and he finds it everything but simple. It’s small, in fact, but so full. Zayn has canvas spread all over the shared living room and bedroom, some already painted, other completely blank. In front of his bed, Zayn has a massive woody easel, brushes and pencils on a small table, the top of the Eiffel Tower peeking through the curtains of the big window, lighting up the place and Niall can swear this is the cosiest thing he has seen.
“I like it here,” Niall smiles truly as Zayn drops his sketches and jacket on the kitchen counter stools, settles the kettle on and grabs two mugs.
Niall takes his jacket off, damp and heavy from the rain and sits on the sofa for a while. Zayn sits beside him, hip to hip, handing him a just made tea and some small sketches he had done for college. Niall places his mug on the top of the coffee table and pays attention to every detail, just how soft and tender the sketches are.
“That’s actually from the top of Eiffel Tower,” Zayn points to the small painting on Niall’s hands and Niall feels himself closer to Zayn than any other person he had ever met. He focuses on Zayn for a while, how he smiles so shyly, his lips forming a fine line, soft wrinkles around his eyes and pump, beautiful cheekbones blushing. Zayn smells like cigarettes and lavender, like a perfect mix, and Niall likes it, it feels so Paris.
Zayn places the sketches on the coffee table, along with the steamy mugs, and snuggles up to Niall, bringing both his knees someway up closer to Niall’s, “would you,” the tip of his fingers slowly tracing Niall’s jaw line, quiet voice, “let me draw you?”
Niall closes his eyes for a brief second, leans into the touch and nods from closed mouth. Zayn is quick to peck the corner of his lips on the mere seconds Niall remains closed-eyed and it’s the most torturous pleasure of his life.
“C’mere,” Zayn grabs his wrist again, leading Niall to the bed, and bites his lower lip, “would you take off your clothes for me?”
Niall smiles amused, he strips quietly, searching for the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. He tosses it somewhere in the middle of the floor, trousers and sneakers following the same path, as Zayn adjusts the blank canvas on the easel. It takes a moment for Niall to realize what he is actually doing but he couldn’t do it in any other way – really, because Zayn looks with such an intense gaze, black eyes, and it does something so good inside Niall that he could spend his entire life modeling for Zayn.
“Sit on your heels, in the middle of the bed, alright?” Zayn asks, pointing to the exact place he wants Niall, and searches for his back pocket, cautiously picking a cigar, “would you mind if I smoke? Kind of keeps me concentrated.”
Niall shakes his head and climbs on the bed, still undone, the white sheets soft and cold against his bare skin. He sits on the middle, just as Zayn had asked, and senses the scent of Zayn’s cologne enfolding his body, making him smell like Zayn.
“Is this fine?”
Zayn takes his eyes of the cigarette he had just lighted up and looks at Niall’s figure, overwhelmed almost, where the bright light of the day grazes his milky skin and light him up, eyes blue and bright, the Eiffel Tower barely noticeable behind him.
“You look so gorgeous,” Zayn rises up his cigar to his mouth level and has a drag, slowly clenching his lips around the tip, “bloody stunning, Niall.”
Niall looks down shyly, the way his name slips out of Zayn’s mouth, and feels so exposed, pale and skinny, like suddenly he has become so fragile. It gets worst when Zayn actually hold his pencils and – oh god. He grabs the sheet slowly and firmly, his throat getting dry.
“You’re doing fine, just don’t move,” Zayn speaks, almost sensing the way Niall’s body tensed, and Niall nods, loosens up a bit.
It’s silent after that and Niall doesn’t know how much time passed – four minutes? Fourteen? Forty? He just knows Zayn keeps focused on his work, glaring between Niall and the canvas every now and then, and Niall actually enjoys being there, being the only thing in Zayn’s mind right now.
“Are you naturally blonde?” Zayn asks after a while.
Niall arches his back, passes a hand in his blonde locks of hair, “no, I dye my hair for a while now”. His body feels numb, sore and he rubs the end of his back, groaning a bit to the feeling, “Zayn, uh-“
“Hum?”
“My body kind of hurts,” he speaks quietly, “you think we can do a pause?”
Zayn tosses his pencils at side, coming from behind the easel and stepping forward, he smiles a little, “yeah, we can do a pause, you can lie down love. Do you wanna eat something?”
Niall lets himself lie back down, almost like if hadn’t rested for days, but feels incredibly good, “I’m okay,” he replies weakly, because apparently that’s the only way he can be near Zayn.
Zayn laughs and it sounds like heaven – really. Niall feels the mattress sinking as Zayn sits at his feet and straightens up, pulling a pillow under his head. Their eyes meet, it’s shy and naïve, and for a while it gets quiet, they breathe deeply, look intensely inside one another’s eyes and Niall wonders what goes through Zayn’s mind, if he feels the way Niall does.
“You have uh- charcoal here,” Niall sits and passes his hands on Zayn’s cheek, slowly wiping at where Zayn is dirty.
Zayn smiles quietly, mumbles a thanks as Niall lets his hand fall at his side.
“So, why have you started painting?” Niall asks, actually interested, as if know those things about Zayn was everything to him. Zayn is calm for a moment, turning his gaze to look over the window and Niall observes intently; follows every movement till Zayn looks him in the eyes again.
“It’s a metaphor for control, you know? I had a pretty rebel boyhood, with that kind of really bad stuff; but drawing, painting – it helped. The canvases are my choice, and I can do whatever I want with them, along with the colours, the textures. Set my mind free, be on full control. I don’t fuck it up.”
Niall decides he likes the way Zayn’s eyes shine brighter, his smile full and kind with every word and it’s a nice feeling, it’s just that Zayn is so genuine and pure, almost like something that Niall needed in his life but he didn’t even know till now – oh, and he is glad, so glad. He sits in his heels, closer to Zayn, because every step closer he feels better, full of life, shining inside and he really wants to be closer as Zayn as Zayn will let him.
“Your eyes are so blue, Niall, your skin so white,” Zayn sighs, brushing his fingertips up and down over the edge of Niall’s arms, “the sight of you in my bed is doing things to me that I’m not sure I’ll be able to control.”
Niall’s breath comes heavy, chest bobbing. He wonders if that’s supposed to sound as sexual as it does, not desperate and needy, but strong and confident, and so so sexual. Niall searches for the hem of Zayn’s shirt and pulls it over Zayn’s head, slow movements, tender skin touching. His eyes run Zayn’s bare torso, tanned inked skin, as the shirt follows Niall’s clothes on the floor and Niall takes a deep, slow breathe; passes his fingertips over Zayn’s chest tattoos, “don’t fight it.”
Zayn’s palm comes to rest at Niall’s chest, shuddering along with Niall’s heartbeat. He shoves slowly and Niall falls on his back, Zayn’s hands lowering from Niall’s chest to Niall’s abdomen. Everything is slower that Niall would expect, Zayn takes his time watching Niall’s body minutely, running his finger over Niall’s hipbones and glancing at the skin. He touches the flesh over and over again, sees how white marks emerge from nowhere, delightfully, “your skin is so sensitive.”
It shouldn’t be so intimate, Niall is sure of that, but it is. It’s like he is getting under Zayn’s skin, so quickly yet so slowly. Niall closes his eyes, unsure of what else to do apart from let himself feel, and Zayn straddles one of Niall’s legs, lowering and lying right on Niall’s half, Niall’s arm coming instantly to hold at Zayn’s lower back.
“Can I kiss you?” Zayn whispers quietly, near Niall’s earlobe, briefly blowing hot air against Niall’s skin.
Niall lifts his head, slowly, enough to meet Zayn’s glare, and something akin as a smiles rests on his lips which is what take to Zayn smile back, snuggling into Niall’s embrace and rubbing his lips against Niall’s. They stay like that for a while, breathing each other, a simple, brief contact between their lips as Zayn caresses Niall’s cheek lovingly and it feels incredibly right, like all the world has conspired for this moment to happen.
“Zayn,” Niall breathes against Zayn’s mouth, “move.”
And Zayn does. He moves his lips, teasing, way too slowly, but he moves his lips and manages to kiss Niall properly, brings one hand up to cup Niall’s chin down and open his mouth, slipping his tongue inside and deepening the kiss. It’s hot and intense, Zayn tastes as something that Niall is sure to be mint mixed with expensive tobacco, and Niall decides he likes it – quite a lot. Zayn sucks on Niall’s tongue, Niall hands running up and down Zayn’s bare back, gentle, so gentle it becomes torture and Niall wants more, like he can’t get enough of Zayn. Zayn smiles into the kiss, pulls apart, very breathless, his fingers tracing small circles Niall’s chest and straddles Niall’s torso, hands on each side of Niall’s waist, lowering his body to mouth at Niall’s collarbones.
Zayn’s lips, warm and wet, burn against Niall’s skin, sucking lovebites and leaving marks. Niall likes the shivers as Zayn presses his body against Niall’s, crotches grinding against one another’s. It almost feels like an eternity, the time Zayn spends marking Niall’s neck but it looks amazing when Zayn lifts his head and his lips are cherry red, swollen and so desirable to kiss.
“Ugh, c’mere,” Niall demands, lacing his arms around Zayn’s neck and pulls him to a kiss.
It’s more intense this time, eager and passionate almost. Zayn bites Niall’s lower lip till he tastes blood and licks his tongue over it as Niall fiddles with the hair on the back of Zayn’s neck, moaning quietly into the kiss. Niall is breathing heavy when Zayn leaves his mouth to trail kisses up his jaw line, catching Niall’s ear, “let me make you feel good.”
Niall nods, he learnt in the past couple of hours that Zayn is not a talkative person but every time he opens his mouth to say something it sounds so sexy and intimate that Niall’s whole body trembles with anticipation. Zayn pecks Niall’s lips slightly, a few more times, and lowers down, attaching to Niall’s neck again, both hands pressed against Niall’s chest. He kisses the spot between Niall’s shoulder and neck, makes sure to give attention to every inch of skin, not leaving a single bit untouched or unkissed and it’s warm, a burning feeling running through Niall’s body.
“Zayn, ugh,” Niall moans quietly as Zayn mouths one of his nipples, nibbling gently and pinching the other. He throws his head back in bliss, arches his back and Zayn manages to trail kisses all over Niall’s waist.
Zayn can’t help to fiddle with Niall’s hipbones again, loves to see how it goes from flushed red to snow white with a simple touch. He sucks at the spot harshly, hand stroking Niall’s cock through his briefs slowly, feels him hardening up in his hand and Niall jerks his hips because suddenly it all becomes too much.
“Zayn, please, Zayn…”
Zayn glances, amused – and somehow completely into it – at Niall, the needy expression, eyes dark and desperate, an inner fight. Zayn takes the hint, mouths at the head of Niall’s clothed cock, tip leaking and soaking the briefs, obscene in so many ways. Niall has to moan, loud and in a totally-pornographic-yet-absolutely-sexy way, and Zayn grins at his crotch, the bastard, pleased with the sounds that leave Niall’s mouth. He searches for the hem of Niall’s briefs and Niall loses the ability to form coherent sentences, even words, because as soon as Zayn takes Niall’s briefs off, he kitten licks at the shape, kisses the red, swollen tip and Niall wants to die. It’s filthy, the way Zayn grabs Niall’s cock in his fist and a small string of pre-come rests on his lips, it’s extremely obscene Niall is sure but Niall totally loves it, Zayn’s eyes dark and full of need.
Zayn takes him fully inside of his mouth and Niall is a mess, Niall is a completely and utterly mess, breathing harshly and running his hands through Zayn’s hair and he’s definitely not thinking about how badly he wants this to be more than an onetime thing because Zayn is hollowing his cheeks to create more pressure, bobs his head up and down Niall’s dick, pumping his fist at what his mouth can’t reach and it feels so good, makes Niall forget his own name, holding himself to not actually cry out in pleasure.
They share a look somewhere halfway, too intimate to two strangers, and Zayn lets go off Niall’s dick, with an obscene and wet sound, to briefly lick at the tip, holding Niall’s hips strongly.
“You alright?” Zayn manages, hoarse and raspy, and Niall can’t help to smile at the thought of being the one doing that to Zayn’s voice.
Zayn smiles back, kissing the inside of Niall’s thigh when Niall begs, fisting Zayn’s hair lovingly, “just don’t stop, please Zayn.”
Zayn is all gentle and delicate, leaves a trail of wet, heated kisses up Niall’s thighs and Niall feels warm inside with the way Zayn mouths his skin only to brush his fingertips over the same spot right after. Niall likes it. Niall likes the way Zayn touches him, so soft and sweet, as if Niall was some kind of glass about to break. He likes the attention that Zayn seems to give to each part of his body equally and it feels amazing when Zayn holds Niall’s hips, strong enough to leave bruises, which Niall expects Zayn to kiss later.
“Just don’t stop,” Niall begs again, arches his back when Zayn pulls his legs apart further, leaving soft pecks around Niall’s rim, tongue licking at his hole, slickly and carefully to wet the spot and drive Niall’s completely insane, “oh, shit!”
Niall let his body twitch, and he has to press a palm to the sheets, grabbing them harshly not to thrust back in Zayn’s tongue. There’s spit sliding down the crack of his arse as Zayn nibbles at the ring of muscles and Niall’s toes curl at the pleasure.
“Holy fuck, Zayn,” Niall curses loud, not caring with the noise for the first time, focused only on how good it feels and how Zayn gets more into it, presses his tongue past the rim, deeper, nose pressed against Niall’s perineum, turned on for Niall’s sudden sobs and gaps.
Niall pulls on Zayn’s hair with more pressure, fingers lacing the soft locks, bringing Zayn closer so he can thrust his tongue inside Niall deeper, mouthing and swirling around the hole.
“Ugh, fuck,” Niall purrs, Niall fucking purrs, way to wrecked to manage something more coherent; and Zayn loves it, eyes him, hands holding Niall’s thrusts, clearly amused with Niall’s body reactions and works his tongue inside Niall.
Niall has to turn his gaze to not come untouched on Zayn’s tongue, and Zayn makes it worst, reaches his fist up to grab Niall’s throbbing cock and grips the shape to be able to work his fist properly, roughly. Niall’s hips jerk to the sensation, slightly swapping in between fucking himself on Zayn’s tongue and into Zayn’s fist, reaches for his arm, nibbling the inner flesh to hold the moans, too loud and obscene.
Zayn reaches for his free hand, letting go off Niall’s hips where dark bruises will remain later for sure and rubs his fingertips over the edge of Niall’s rim, pleased with the way Niall shivers under the touch. Niall wonders if that’s possible to someone he had just met to get to know his body so well, all the best places to touch and kiss and lick, because Zayn just knows exactly how to send Niall over the edge and Niall can’t quite handle that.
Zayn lingers on time enough to wet Niall’s hole, licking obscenely where his fingers have been dancing around before he pulls his tongue out. He swirls one finger around the rim and pushes inside calmly, observing how Niall’s crack clenches and unclenches at the pressure. It’s almost painful how slow Zayn enters his digit, and Niall has to bite hard at his arm, holding to not scream, which Zayn seems to notice because not long after he begins to work his finger in and out on a steady pace, rhythm matching his strokes on Niall’s dick.
“Zayn, ugh,” Niall moans, muffled sounds against his forearm, tiny droplets of sweat collecting on his forehead, back arching.
Zayn takes his eyes from where his finger is buried; softly licking one more time to make sure it’s wet enough, and glances at Niall, wrecked body fucking back on his finger and arm covering his mouth; Zayn has to moan at the sight.
“Don’t come,” Zayn kisses the base of Niall’s cock, letting go off his grip, “don’t come till I say so, babe.”
“Zayn!” Niall hisses back, moaning, some way along protesting, because he doesn’t think he will be able to last longer.
“You’re so pretty like that, Niall,” Zayn smiles, “just don’t come.”
Niall throws his head back, tries to catch his breath; it’s possible that Zayn maybe will kill him by the end of all of this but it’s not like Niall is actually caring, not when Zayn is adding a second finger along and pecking slight kisses at the base of his dick and dancing his tongue over his hole as well every now and then. It’s hot, insanely hot and Niall’s breath come in rush spurs, chest bobbing, feels his stomach twitching.
“Zayn,” he warns, mumbles the words like a mantra, “Zayn, please.”
Zayn works his finger in and out, a steady rhythm in his movements and Niall likes it, likes how comfortable Zayn makes him feel, almost like if they had been doing this all of their lives, like if they knew each other for ages, what is really mind-blowing for Niall. He reaches for his forearm again, tries to muffle the cries and sobs and groans and moans and all that kaleidoscope of feelings that Zayn’s fingers are doing to him, bites hard on his own skin, trying to focus on something else than the urge to come.
Zayn watches Niall’s body mindfully, mesmerized; the way he rocks his hips every time Zayn hits the same bunch of nerves and the way he shivers when Zayn plants kisses on the inside of his thighs.
“I wanna hear you, alright?” Zayn asks and gets up onto Niall’s legs, licks below his bellybutton. Niall lets go off his arm, where the shape of teeth marks the skin, looks at Zayn for a second and almost loses it; lips cherry-red, swollen and wet, eyes dark and possessive, wild, matching his locks of hair.
“I- Zayn, I can’t…”
It feels like be taking apart, inch by inch, skin damp and burning, all the blood in his body running adrift and in all of the directions. Almost like a psychedelic state, brain muddle, eyes big and pupils dilated, a slightly distortion of the sensory perception. Flavors mixed with sounds and touches and sights, too much at once, but a perfect synesthesia.
“Wait babez,” Zayn traces kisses along Niall’s belly, sucks at his hipbones and reaches to grab Niall’s dick again, “not yet,” tongue coming to lick at the cockhead, swirling over the slit; hand stroking the shape a couple of times, “just not yet.”
Zayn’s fist works hard, wet with the leaking pre-come and the pressure of his palm his just right; his other hand still working on Niall’s crack, thumb slightly dancing around Niall’s perineum.
“Fuck, Zayn, Zayn,” Niall whimpers, too far gone to form any words apart from Zayn’s name and Zayn likes it, the pleading noises that come from Niall’s sweet lips, his begs and cries. Niall is loud, breathes heavy, fighting hard not to come but Zayn knows he is close, so so fucking close it must hurt.
“Almost there babe, wait, wait,” Zayn hits his fingers hard against Niall’s prostate and reaches to mouth at Niall’s dick, “now babe, come for me,” he swallows Niall’s length down his mouth , warm and damp; and Niall loses it, fists Zayn’s locks, firm and hard, feels Zayn’s tight mouth and sees white.
Niall comes high, dizzy; hot spurts down Zayn’s throat, curses loud and moans as Zayn works him through his orgasm, bobbing his head up and down till Niall is done, cock spent. Zayn’s palms come to rest at Niall’s thighs and Niall finds hard to come down from his orgasm, feels sleepy for a moment, boneless, but Zayn is warm touching him and Niall manages to look at him, which is almost sinful – really. If Niall hadn’t just come, he sure would be hardening again because Zayn is just the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and this sexual thing about him makes Niall go all weak in a matter of seconds.
“You have, ugh –“ Niall shuts up, doesn’t recognize his own voice, but manages to reach thumb over the corner of Zayn’s mouth, where Zayn has his come, Zayn fucking has Niall’s come on his lips, and if that’s not the hottest thing, Niall almost wants to die.
Zayn smiles, passes his tongue over his lip and sucks at Niall’s thumb, filthy and wet, and Niall feels his throat dry.
“Shit, c’mere,” Niall moans, drags himself for a sit position and hauls Zayn with him, pulling him to a rough-dirty kiss.
The taste on Zayn’s lips is bitter, salty, his own taste but it isn’t less pleasurable because Zayn is a good kisser, a really good one, moving his lips firmly, tongue stroking at Niall’s lower lip, fingers running up and down Niall’s thighs and Niall feels almost in another dimension. Zayn digs his fingers into Niall’s hips and Niall lets himself be kissed till he is out of breath and has to pull out; runs his thumb across Zayn’s cheek, lightly, looking into Zayn’s hazel eyes.
“You alright?” Zayn asks then, reaches for Niall’s forearm, kissing the mark of his teeth on the skin and Niall wants to laugh – seriously; because he can’t remember no one ever being this gentle with him. He pecks Zayn’s lips, instead, presses their mouths together.
“Lie down,” Niall says, lips against Zayn’s, palm pressed against Zayn’s chest, lowering him. Zayn lays his back down, parted lips in an almost unnoticeable grin and Niall rubs his hand against Zayn’s torso, dancing his fingertips across every bit of inked skin. It’s hypnotizing – really; the way Zayn shivers and twitches under his touch, rolling his eyes only to shut them up right after and letting quiet whimpers escape from his mouth.
Niall can’t resist tracing his tongue over Zayn’s tattoos, lingering on to nibble at the damp skin, feel it between his teeth. Zayn is very patient, Niall notices, he breathes loud but slow, chest rising just a bit where Niall has his lips; and doesn’t seem to want to hurry Niall, just enjoying every little thing Niall has to give, what is nice, Niall thinks. He presses his mouth to Zayn’s neck, leaves wet kisses all the way up till reach his ear, sucking at Zayn’s earring.
“’m gonna ride you, Zayn, alright?” And Zayn nods, words trapped on his throat, pulls Niall to a heated kiss, so deep and astonishing that Niall doesn’t know how much time he spends there just lazily kissing Zayn, but he manages to move, reaches for the zip on Zayn’s pants and palms him through the fabric, feels the hard shape of Zayn’s cock, “let’s take you out of the clothes, shall we?”
Niall unbuttons Zayn’s dark jeans, lowers himself to kiss at the exposed skin right above the waistband of Zayn’s briefs and grabs it between his teeth, pulling it down, enough to set free the tip of Zayn’s cock. Zayn gasps at the feeling of Niall’s tongue licking the split, where it’s red and swollen, leaking; he arches his back, dizzy, closes his eyes lost in lust and Niall takes it to pull out his clothes.
Niall swallows Zayn’s length, no entirely but enough to feel the weight on his tongue and suck most of it, making sure to make it wet and sloppy, spit mixing with pre-come. He bobs his head a few times, vibrations of his throat around Zayn’s cock, and pulls out, with a loud pop, placing a kiss at the tip, with which he can feel Zayn’s body twitching in anticipation.
“Stay still,” Niall whispers quietly against Zayn’s skin, where he licks the inked draws on Zayn’s hipbones. It’s warm, Zayn is warm, heated skin, and Niall likes it as he straddles Zayn’s legs, sits at his waist and Zayn can’t help to trace the patrons of Niall’s milked-skin thighs with his fingertips, slow and gentle, a steady pace.
“You sure? I can just wank, you know,” mutters Zayn, wrecked, croaky voice, when Niall grabs Zayn’s cock and rubs the tip over his hole.
“Oh, shut up, Zayn!” Niall hisses, almost in an angry, desperate tone because he really wants this, like pretty bad, as if the possibility of this being a onetime thing made his heart squeeze inside his chest and he really need to go the further possible with Zayn, “and I would ask for a condom,” he nips at his lower lip, palm tight around Zayn’s cock, “but I really don’t want to.”
Zayn eyes him delighted, almost hypnotized by damp blonde locks of hair, naïve blue eyes and warm pale skin. It’s just that Niall looks so young and innocent, so small, and Zayn really wants to protect him and make him feel good, mark him as his, “yeah, ugh, yeah, alright.”
Niall nods at Zayn’s words and closes his eyes, nips harder at his lower lip lifting his hips a little bit enough to guide Zayn’s dick inside his hole. A slight, sweet moan escapes from his mouth, feels himself burning from inside out, all of his body nerves being stretched. Zayn caress Niall’s thighs, deep breathing, till Niall is all the way down on his cock, sitting on Zayn’s waist, hands pressing hard Zayn’s chest.
Niall has to close his eyes, feels too much and a shy little tear falls from the corner of his eyes.
“Niall,” Zayn hurries, brings his elbows up, laying supported on them and eyes Niall, concerned look on his face.
“Just, ugh, wait,” Niall replies back, breathes hard and keep his eyes shut, the palm of his of his hands pressed hard and damp against Zayn’s waist.
“Let me pull out, Niall,” Zayn straightens up, grabbing Niall’s middle till he’s facing him, Niall sitting in his lap. The thing is Niall does that movement with his head in which he shakes it but he’s clearly hurt and Zayn can’t quite do it to him, hurt him, “shit, Niall, let me, I’m hurting you.”
Niall opens his eyes, slowly, a few tears rolling from his eyes, shakes his head again, “gimme a minute,” he smiles a little, fiddles with Zayn’s hard nipples and Zayn can’t help to kiss Niall on the corner of his mouth, where the skin is wet and tastes salty. He reaches his hand to wipe at Niall’s cheekbones and Niall instantly, pleasantly closes his eyes, melts into the touch.
Zayn kisses his way up Niall’s cheek, as if it wasn’t any new for him, reaches Niall’s eyes and wipes away the tiny little droplets, “you alright, babez?” Zayn whispers against Niall’s cheek and Niall nods, shoving Zayn down and Zayn pecks his lips quickly before laying down again.
Niall keeps his hands on Zayn’s chest, feels the stretching ardor being replaced by a sweet wave of pleasure and rolls his hips in a small figure eight, not a proper thrust, just a small, slight roll of hips and Zayn wants to scream, holds himself down to not just fuck into Niall.
Niall groans, sweet sound escaping from his tiny pretty lips, intensifies the rhythm of his rolls, grinding on Zayn’s crotch and feels the head of Zayn’s dick slightly brushing over the bunch of nerves inside him. It’s not long till he lifts his hips all the way up only to slam down right after, not rough but definitely firm, fucking himself. He rolls his eyes, chews on his bottom lip because this is all a lot at once. Zayn just seems right, with eyes closed and parted lips, grip tight on Niall’s thighs as Niall begins a steady pace of thrusts. Zayn just seems so fucking right and Niall wants to have this feeling – fuck, he wants to stay like this forever.
“You can go faster, if you want,” Zayn’s voice is raspy with lust, keeps his eyes shut, Niall’s hands pressed hard against his ribcage, leaving bruises – most probably; and Niall goes faster, breathes heavy between thrusts, bouncing up and down Zayn’s dick and doesn’t even care how sore he will be after.
Niall reaches down to mouth at Zayn’s neck, works his hips in a steady pace, trailing wet kisses down Zayn’s skin. Zayn throws his head back, gives Niall more room to work his tongue, hands going up from Niall’s thighs to Niall’s back, somehow getting closer and Niall has to let out a moan, cock trapped between their torsos, hard and heavy.
“Shit, Zayn, fuck,” Zayn’s cock rubs over Niall’s prostate more often with the change of angle, and it feels so good – incredibly good; and Zayn thrusts up to meet Niall’s hips movements halfway.
Niall sucks on Zayn’s collarbone, feels the bloody running till he thinks it’s enough and Zayn has a beautiful red mark, changing to black later for sure; Zayn holds him closes, rocks his hips up, “talk to me, Niall.”
“I can’t, I–“ Niall sits straightened on Zayn’s lap, head thrown back, he can’t, he really can’t. Zayn just feels like he was made just for Niall, so good inside him and Niall bounces up and down like he can’t get enough of Zayn, nails scratching Zayn’s chest, legs shaking with the strength of his thrusts.
“Tell me how it feels, Niall,” Zayn demands.
“Zayn, please, I–“
Zayn groans because Niall’s doesn’t know how good he is, how good all of this is actually. Niall is so tight around him and he is just so loud, Zayn loves it, wishes all the neighbors can hear him. Niall scratches Zayn’s chest and it should hurt, nails pressed in the skin like sharp claws, but Zayn is so into it, “c’mon babe, speak to me.”
“My legs, Zayn, it just, ugh – hurts.”
Zayn turns them around in one single movement, just like that, Niall's back flat against the bed, strong grip at Niall’s body, and Niall gapes, because that is really sexy. Zayn bents down over Niall to peck at his earlobe, sucks the skin there, one hand at the side of Niall’s head to support, the other down at Niall’s waist to pull him close to his crotch, cock buried deep inside Niall, and whispers, “I’ve got you.”
Niall can’t tell when his body got so nerveless, like if he had no control over it and only Zayn could handle him, take care of him, and it isn’t that bad – really; Zayn has this possessive-yet-totally-gentle way of touching him and Niall doesn’t want anything more, hands manhandling him, fingertips bruising his pale skin.
“I’ve got you,” Zayn crashes his lips hard against Niall’s, firmly, and it’s like floating, Niall thinks; believes somewhere halfway he lost himself because this can’t be this good, can it? Barely indescribable, behind words, mind and soul roaming somewhere.
Zayn’s thrusts are steady, hips lifting only to slam back, he keeps a strong grip at the back of Niall’s thigh, pulling Niall closer every time he thrusts in, holds him in place and his cock throbs inside Niall with warmth and tightness. He has to bury his head on the spot between Niall’s neck and shoulder, breathes into the skin, arms almost giving up and Niall can’t contain his moans, interlaces his arms around Zayn’s middle, nails diving into the skin.
Their chests are pulled closer and Niall’s dick is just right there, the enough friction of their bodies working together, “I think I’m gonna come again.”
Zayn lifts his head and he is in heaven, “alright, alright,” he thrusts harder, makes sure to hit Niall’s prostate every time because honestly nothing is more beautiful than the tiny little sobs mixed with loud groans that come from Niall’s fine lips, fucked up expression, “alright babe.”
Niall throws his head back and feels a heat growing inside him, like a spiral of pleasure at his belly and when Zayn reaches his fist to stroke Niall’s length, tightens it, he can’t hold it, doesn’t need to; a wave of bliss run through his veins and he comes with Zayn’s name slipping out of his mouth, toes curling.
“You’ve been so good, babe,” Zayn praises, reaches Niall’s lips and Niall hums weakly, too tired, just messily kissing Zayn back as he works him through his second orgasm, fingers soothing the slit where it pulses the last spurts of Niall’s come.
There’s a part of him that almost wants to shut it all down, sleepy and blank from exhaustion, yet there’s another part of him that just want to see the lust expression on Zayn’s face, memorize the way his muscles tense and his body works. There is just something about Zayn, something he can’t describe – even understand, but completely delightful, bewildering. Zayn’s thrusts get sloppy then, broken, no rhythm at all and his breath gets heavy, an urge to get off, release himself. His toes hit the headboard of the bed, where they lay upside down and a tight moan gets caught down his throat, high-pitched; Zayn thrusts once, twice, deep – so deep; cock pulsing and Niall feels the hot spurts inside of him as Zayn comes, panting, breathless.
Zayn lies down on top of Niall for a while, head hidden on Niall’s shoulder, trying to catch his breath. Niall feels sore, numb, the feeling of Zayn inside of him becoming uncomfortable and he reaches for his hand to sooth at the back of Zayn’s neck, fiddling with the hair there, “Zayn, too much.”
Zayn supports himself on his arms, each on each side of Niall’s head and lifts his hips, sliding down of Niall easily, kisses the tip of Niall’s nose, where it’s damp, when Niall groans at the sudden emptiness, “you alright?” Niall nods and Zayn plants kisses all along Niall’s cheeks and jaw, wet and sloppy, gentle someway, “let me just do one thing.”
Zayn gets down on Niall’s body, kisses the neck and chest all over again as if it was the first time and it feels nice, Niall thinks, being taken care after sex, like somehow he mattered. Zayn licks at his waist, traces of come on his tongue and finds Niall’s cock, now soft and spent, kisses the tip, hands on Niall’s thighs.
“Zayn,” Niall wants to scream because he can’t get hard again, he can’t handle it anymore and he just wants Zayn to stop teasing.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Zayn looks at Niall’s for a second, smiles fondly, “just…”
His finger finds Niall’s hole, teases the rim, till Niall is panting and slowly thrusts in. Niall is so loose, warm and wet with come, some dripping down his crack and Zayn wants to lick it, where it’s red and puffy, so abused, he wants to kiss it better. His tongue is gentle when it touches Niall’s skin, sliding his finger off, sucks softly at the ring of muscles, caring enough to lick his own come but not to thrusting his tongue in and hurt Niall where is sensitive the most.
“Zayn, please,” Niall begs, doesn’t think his body can hold on anymore, threatening to snap, “I can’t…”
Niall feels his body giving up with overstimulation, Zayn’s tongue leaving his hole with a obscene sound and it’s all dizzy after that, everything becoming too much, every cell shutting down.
+
When Niall wakes up, feels his limbs gaining life, the night fell down the city and Zayn is staring at him, his features tired, body supported on his arm; big, wide, tender eyes and everything is quiet for a while, “how are you?”
Niall yaws, rubs his eyes softly, “thirsty, I guess,” he studies the room, the lights low, “I, ugh, did I pass out?”
Zayn smiles, tongue trapped between teeth, the smile Niall likes the most, “you were so tired, shouldn’t have pushed it so far, I’m so –“
“How long?”
“Three hours.”
Niall closes his eyes, breathes in the scent on Zayn’s sheets, the white, soft texture bracing and covering his bruised skin. Zayn breathes lazily beside him, his fingertips brushing over Niall’s arm.
“I’m gonna get you some water,” Zayn speaks and Niall feels the mattress releasing some pressure, can’t help to glance at Zayn, opens his eyes quietly to see Zayn leaving the bed, a pair of white tight briefs on, a tattoo at the back of his neck that Niall hadn’t noticed but frankly becomes his favorite.
“I should be heading back to the hotel, you know, it’s late.”
Zayn returns with a tumbler of water, kneels on the bed beside Niall and hands him the water, “stay the night.”
Niall has a sip, his lips getting damp and reddish, he exchanges a glance with Zayn, somehow shy, and he considers it, it’s late anyway and he can’t think a better place to be than Zayn’s embrace after all. He shrugs, weakly, “okay.”
“Okay,” Zayn smiles truly, fond expression, puts the tumbler on the floor and lies down next to Niall, pulls him to his body, arm around Niall’s waist. He breathes on Niall’s ear, tranquilly, leaves a kiss on the skin and Niall can’t help to snuggle even closer, “you’re the most beautiful man I have ever had in this bed, Niall.”
And Niall wonders about how many men have lied down in Zayn’s bed, how many have stayed the night and if it’s possible to get attached to someone who he doesn’t know nothing about. He wonders if Zayn will still want him tomorrow’s morning the way he wants him now, doesn’t know why his heart beats faster or his fingers shake harder, but just know he feels right, right next to Zayn and that’s enough for now – really.