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Gravity weighs in on Niall’s shoulders as he makes his way up the hill. He’s turning his phone over in his pocket, jacket zipped up to his neck, and he’s keeping his head up high with his pack on his shoulder. It’s half past midnight; he really shouldn’t be walking the streets by himself as he edges in on First Hill.
He can see his breath as he stoves his way up Madison, the occasional taxi churning through stoplights; he’s roasting in his jacket, and he pulls out his phone to see a new message light up on the screen:
You coming??
Niall shakes his head and shoves it back in his pocket, foot slipping on a wet leaf. He stops to regain his balance, arms wavering as he catches his breath. He almost turns around to go back home, because the thought of crawling onto his air mattress in his corner of the little room he shares, maybe take a few hits from his piece before slipping out of his jeans and pulling out the plug of the fairy lights all sound way better than walking another three blocks closer to the Central District.
As cozy as the prospect of going home is, Niall marches forward. He’d be a fool to go home, not because he’s already more than halfway there, but, he never thought this would happen.
It was a little over two weeks ago on Halloween weekend when he and Zayn were nursing cans of Rainier on a patio of a condo behind the Elysian. Niall’d already eased off the margarita jello shots that were being passed around at the previous party they crashed, the bitter lime on his lips whisked away by Washington's finest brew, but it was still too early for the bassline that was buzzing through the glass slider to get to his head.
Niall took a seat on the brick planter, feeling dazed and heavy all at once in his effortless costume. He didn’t feel like going all out this year, already started on a bowl before agreeing to even finalize wanting to go out for the evening with Zayn.
"It'll be fun. The Hill's the best this time of year," he promised Niall.
He obliged Zayn by throwing on the yellow shirt from Goodwill, the one Zayn carefully painted a black zig-zag across the abdomen the night before. Apparently he had a suitcase full of backup costumes, too.
Zayn flicked open his Zippo, extending an offer from his pack of Parliaments to Niall.
“Can’t believe you smoke that shit,” he declined, taking a fresh swig of beer.
“And I can’t believe you, of all people, would be so judgemental about my smoking habits,” Zayn said, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. “You’re a fucking chimney, bro.”
They disputed about the health effects of nicotine versus pot ("Smoking is smoking is smoking," Zayn said.), lost in their own corner of the party. Zayn burned through three cigarettes while Niall finished off Zayn’s beer, words starting to roll into each other, S's heavy on his tongue. Niall's defense was cut mid-sentence, thoughts jammed from leaving his mouth as soon as he spotted Wonder Woman stomping her way through the patio door. Niall’s mouth turned to cotton, and he felt himself flush all over silently admiring her wild, dark curls sprouting from a gold crown.
He watched her hang onto the arm of a zombie bride, the bare length of her thighs crossed over one another with each careful step in her scarlet knee-high boots. She laughed at something, chest filling like it was the funniest thing she’d heard in the world, and god Niall couldn’t help but flick his eyes between the swell of her breasts and wicked smile.
“Shit,” Zayn had cackled, elbowing Niall in the rib. “You got it bad, man.”
“Shut up,” Niall hushed him. He crushed the cans to toss in the planter, smoothed his palms over the beer stain on the front of his shirt. He looked back up, and she definitely spotted him. She gave him a wink, pushing past Quailman and another Waldo who were lighting a match to a spliff.
“You know she’s not with her boyfriend anymore,” Zayn mumbled.
He hadn’t felt the October night bite at his skin, he was hot all over, more drunk than the he was at that rooftop barbecue on Labor Day weekend.
“What?”
He was so fucked.
“Hi, Niall,” she smirked down at him with her glossy red lips, planting her boots shoulder width apart, fists mounted on her star spangled hips. Of all the liquor from that nights excursions running from his breath, Niall is pretty sure she still smelled like brown sugar and cinnamon.
“‘Sup, Leigh-Anne?”
She was a familiar face, always smooth and bright, a regular knocking through the doors of the ice cream and coffee shop he worked at, armed with a chewed up cloth–bound notebook for the weekly Open Mic night. To be honest, Niall was afraid to look at her the first time she came in with her head held high and her feet set apart when she took the little corner they set aside for performers. God, and she is so fucking gorgeous, it hurt to keep looking at her.
Not to mention, after he kept meeting her each week she came in, and through a slough of mutual friends at kickbacks and basement gatherings, he started to see her more, out of her poetic element, brow softer, lipstick cooler, and she was easier to approach, easier to override those butterflies in his stomach when he had to be polite and look at her.
She had a boyfriend, is the thing. Well, before the Halloween party, all the other times he had acted like a bumbling idiot around her, he knew she was with boyfriend, could never remember Boyfriend’s face, or if he even dropped in to her readings.
According to Zayn, Boyfriend was a serious one at the time, and knowing that made the nerves wrapped up inside him ease up for him to talk to her after he found out. It didn’t make her sexier, but it also didn’t make her any less sexy, or much easier for him to control his words whenever they spoke. Apparently Niall never came across as subtle when he was around Leigh-Anne.
“Well—isn’t this a fun party,” she said.
“Yeah, it’s pretty sick,” he said around the lip of Zayn's can.
The small talk was easier than he anticipated after Zayn told him she was single. He’d flick between the orange peel floating in her Blue Moon and her eyes, the light hairs on her upper arm prickled when the wind would pick up.
“You got your phone on you?” she was so cool.
Niall looked over at Zayn, plucked his phone out of his back pocket and handed it over without question. She took it, held it in front of him to unlock it, bottleneck tapping the goosebumps on her thigh, and she bat her lashes a few times before pecking away at his screen.
“Now you’ve got my number,” she slipped it back onto his palm, “should use it sometime.”
Tonight at work had been Open Mic night, the second time Niall had seen Leigh-Anne since that Halloween party. She showed up bundled in a green wool sweater and scuffed yellow Docs. The shop hadn’t pulled a big crowd this evening, most rolling in for a scoop of ice cream and leaving, but Leigh-Anne still read through the scattered pages of her notebook.
She came up to the counter after, notebook wrapped in her arms, and Niall started up her usual cup of horchata ice cream.
“When’re you off?” she asked.
“I close at midnight.”
He was mesmerized watching her pull the spoon from her lips.
“You should use my number then.”
And that’s how Niall’s got his fist hovering over her apartment door, other arm wiping the sweat off the side of his face. He puts his arm down, fingers tangling in the zip of his NorthFace to air out for a second. As soon as he does, his chest aches for him to zip it back up again, night air biting at his skin under his thin cotton tee.
I’m a fucking mess he laments, boot kicking against the squishy doormat, corner curling under his toe. It’s about ten degrees from freezing in Seattle at a quarter to 1AM, and Niall hadn’t planned on walking this far from work.
Just knock on the fucking door.
His knuckles tap against the door, a hollow rap, and he hears the lock break within seconds.
“Hey,” she answers a little breathless, ushering him inside before he could take a look at her, “don’t let the cold in.”
The door clicks shut behind her, and he’s heating up again, body gone stiff in the middle of the entryway. She strides past him to the tattered couch in the corner of the living room, a quiet pile of chapbooks and a dainty, floral English teacup are gathered on an industrial-trunk-turned-coffee-table in front of it.
He’s never been over here before, never had the chance to get to know Leigh-Anne this way, like getting a finer look into her brain, soaking in the left-leaning IKEA bookshelf that’s bursting with colorful, loved-up, cracked spines. She’s got her laptop open on the arm of the couch, hot pink and indigo Peruvian blanket bunched up in the corner of it.
“Hi,” he settles.
“Hi,” she smiles, standing in front of the trunk with her arms crossed. She’s got the same purple lipstick on from tonight’s reading, albeit faded around the center of her full lips, but he can’t help but see she’s more stripped down than he’s ever seen her: her unruly curls are pushed from her face by a green ribbon, the golden skin of her shoulder almost-bare in a worn out Jimi Hendrix tee.
“Uhm…” he’s frozen onto his spot in the living room, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes blinking over to cluster of lustre photo prints tacked up on the wall.
“Stayin’ awhile? Kick your boots off.”
He drops his backpack at his feet and peels off his jacket, immediately throwing it over his shoulder to shake out his shirt that’s sticking with sweat to his back. She steps forward to take his jacket from him, tossing it over the arm of the couch.
“You want a beer?”
“Sure,” he shrugs.
“Help yourself,” she thumbs over to the kitchen.
He rummages through the half empty fridge, nosing around some Greek yogurt and pomegranate seeds to pluck out a bottle. It takes him a beat to find the opener, cracking the cap onto the spotless tiled counter, and he takes a couple gulps before braving back out to the living room.
She hasn’t moved, arms still wrapped around each other, and she’s looking over her shoulder at him, ankles crossed in woolen socks. Her hands slink down to the hem of her shirt, fingers bunching the fabric to slowly pull it over her head. Niall’s eyes drop to the shirt on the floor, heart racing over the simple reality that Leigh-Anne is five feet away from him with her top off. He blinks, taking another hearty swig and looks at her: she’s got her hands behind her back, gracefully unclasping the hooks of her bra to toss it on top of the shirt.
“Shit,” he mutters under his breath.
She smirks, turning on her toes with her hands covering the front of her breasts.
“Remember why you’re here?” she asks.
He nods slowly, throat caught on a word. This is actually happening is all that’s running through his head, and he thought maybe a beer could ease him if the time would ever come, which is the dumbest thing he’s ever thought, considering the state he was in around her on Halloween. Maybe he’s just good at hiding it, or maybe—
“Good,” she slides her palms down her stomach. Niall bites his lip, trying his best to keep his eyes on her face when he feels her reach for his beer. She takes a sip, turning her back for a moment to put the empty bottle next to her tea cup.
Niall rocks back on his heels, hands shoving into the pockets of his jeans because he doesn’t know what to do other than helplessly stare at her boobs as she hops back over.
She frowns, pulling his hands out of his pockets.
“You gonna make me do all the work?”
He laughs nervously, fingers skating over the soft skin of her waist. He eyes down her stomach, thumbs pressing into her hips as he pulls her closer.
“Just been waiting for the green light,” he says.
He watches her blush, face falling onto his shoulder as he pulls her in around her back. It’s the first time he’s seen her show any sign of defeat. He feels her lips up by his ear, breaths shallow.
“Go,” she whispers.
And this should be the moment Niall feels hotter than he’s felt all night, hotter than when he was taking long strides up Madison, but he feels his shoulders drop and her knee slip between his thighs as he leans back to curl a hand around the back of her neck.
Her breath hitches just before he kisses her: mouth open and hot, sucking on the swell of her purple-stained bottom lip. She tastes like cardamom and vanilla, lips sticky with milky sugar. She was drinking chai just before he came over, tongue spiked with anise and cinnamon burning against his lips.
Leigh-Anne sighs when he rakes his fingers up the back of her neck, pulling gently at her hair at the nape of her neck. Niall’s setting the pace, feeling the skin of her back shiver with his other hand as he kisses down her throat. He stops a hand just beneath the swell of her breast, cupping it gently. Her hands grab at his waist, pulling their hips closer as she leans into his touch.
“This good?” he mumbles, edge of his nail drawing light, teasing circles over her nipple.
Leigh-Anne lets out a quiet gasp. He leans away to look at her, never stopping the draw of his thumb, but she’s got her forehead plastered against his shoulder and her nails ripping into his shirt.
Niall brings the pad of his thumb to swipe at his tongue and back down to her, relishing the little yelp she makes just before she looks up, something dark flashing in her eyes, and kisses him again. It’s slower this time, tongue swiping across the seam of Niall’s lips, licking her way back into his mouth. Niall can’t help but let out a moan when he starts to feel her thigh rut against his half-hard cock. Niall’s head’s spinning, hand squeezing a little tighter around her tit, fingers pinching and twisting out the sweetest sounds from her.
Time is arbitrary, but he can’t tell how long they keep at it in the middle of the living room before Leigh-Anne insists they take it to her room. He follows her lead, feet marching over the scratchy rugs rolled out to the tiny bedroom.
The gauzy curtains are drawn, softening the yellow haze of a streetlamp outside the window across her single bed in the corner of her room. It’s made, comforter neatly tucked under the mattress, all creases smoothed out as a pleasant contrast to the splotches of colorfully patterned clothes scattered around the room. She’s got three pullover sweaters draped over the back of her desk chair, a pink lace bra dangling off the knob of her dresser, several pairs of shoes kicked over by the front of her closet. He’s not sure his eyes can count the other accessories painted across the room. Niall wonders if she’s always so careless with her clothes, or maybe she was sorting something out before he came over. He smiles into the palm of his hand at the thought of her being just as nervous as he was. It’s silly he never thought of it, the confident, outspoken woman he’s come to know over the past year. Nerves aren’t anything she’s ever showcased for him, maybe even anyone.
She closes the door, immediately grabbing at the back of his shirt to lift it off him. He turns around to face her again, hand tucking a strand of curls behind her ear. She tilts her face into the touch, a simple, warm gesture when her cheek grazes the heel of his hand.
“Thanks for comin’ over,” Leigh-Anne says. Niall swipes his thumb over her bottom lip, treading his limits and pushing it into her mouth.
“Pleasure,” he cheeses, watching her cheeks cut through the shadows.
She’s sneaky, slipping her hands down the front of his jeans, teasing the head of his hard cock over his underwear.
“Jesus,” he moans, yanking his thumb from her mouth. She gets on her knees, pushing aside a pile of silk scarves to yank his jeans off his hips, and he waits for her to do the same with his underwear, just stepping out of his jeans with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Should I suck your cock?” she offered, palm hovering over his hips, fingers curled and ready to pull.
“That—that’d be really nice, yeah.”
She draws a circle on his hip instead, leans back in to kiss at it, tongue flat over the bone. Her fingers rake up his torso, hairs tingling up the back of his neck as she looks up at him with hooded eyes. Leigh-Anne pulls off with one last sweet kiss to sit back on her heels:
“Maybe another night.”
“Shit,” he gasps, fist pulling at his own hair. Niall’s stunned: maybe another night??? This night had only just started as far as he’s concerned.
“I only really feel like you fucking me. You okay with that?”
He nods, “I like your honesty.”
She wiggles an eyebrow and dusts off her knees and gets on her toes to lean close to his ear again like she’s got a secret to share,
“Did you bring a condom?”
“I’ve got some in my bag, yeah.”
“Hmm… why’re you still here then?”
“Oh,” he steps back, “yeah—yeah, sorry, just—one second.”
He makes a dash for it out of the room, door flying open behind him as he drops to his knees in front of his deserted backpack. His hands are fumbling with the zippers, shuffling through the extra scarf and folded papers sandwiched in the mouth of the bag. He digs around some loose change to pull out a couple condoms, snatching them to stumble back to the room.
Niall’s stomach drops as he leans against the doorframe, head spinning at the sight of her in the shadows, watching as she bends over to step out of her blue cotton shorts. He suddenly feels overdressed, the swell of his cock straining against his briefs and shit, he can’t believe Leigh-Anne’s naked.
He puts the condoms on the corner of her desk before taking in a breath to burn through his lungs. He tip toes around a pile of shirts, quietly coming up behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist and the other hand slipping between her fingers
“You scared me,” she yelps, body seizing on her toes.
Niall rubs his hand back up her arm and across her shoulder, lips pressing into the soft skin behind her ear. He noses into the side of her hair, taking hold of her neck to feel her pulse gone erratic.
“Boo,” he whispers. “God, you’re gorgeous.”
“Thanks,” she arches into his touch, hand getting brave and slipping between her thighs.
She lets out a quiet gasp, heart rate skipping under his hand. He pushes himself closer to her, cock dragging against the cotton of his briefs against her ass. If feels so good, he does it again, pulling her closer to him by the hand digging into her thigh. He moans into her neck, teeth digging into the flesh of her shoulder as she guides his fingers to the wet between her legs.
“You gonna fuck me?”
“I’d love that,” he mumbles, circling her clit, smiling at the noises she’s hiding in her throat. “I wanna make you come first.”
It’s like a lullaby buzzing against his palm, her coos and sighs thrumming under his hold on her throat, and the best note of all is when he gets her to throw her head back on his shoulder, her hands pulling at his hair as he circles faster, feeling the pressure rising with her shallow breaths and heaving stomach.
“Fuck,” she croaks, “I never—had I known you weren’t so shy—”
Niall ruts against her back again, distracting himself from the what-ifs, he just needs to make her shake.
“Come on, babe,” he begs.
“God—”
Leigh-Anne’s gone rigid, and he can see her eyes squeezed shut out of the corner of his, her hips push away from his body, jaw dropping to unleash a chorus of cries. The evolution is quick, starting out choppy and desperate, and melting into something beautiful, appreciative with relief, rounding off with a deep sigh.
Niall doesn’t miss a beat, taking his hands off her and on her hips to guide her over to the desk. He plants her hands on the desk, leans over her back for a condom he left down earlier.
“Is here okay?” he kicks her knees apart.
“I think I need a moment.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
She whips her head over her shoulders to narrow her eyes at him, and Niall does his best to hide the spike of panic. She is definitely going to kick you out.
But she doesn’t, she just shakes her head with a smirk curling up on the corner of her mouth. She widens her legs, back curved and palms flat against the desktop. He strips out of his underwear, letting out a sigh of relief when his cock slaps against his stomach.
“Care to open this for us?” He waves the foils in from of her face. She takes the corner of it from between her teeth to tear it open, spitting it into the desk and rocking forward.
“I think I'm ready.”
“Just—” Niall carefully rolls on the condom, wrist shaking with anticipation.
“Been thinking about this for a while,” she speaks up. “Thought you'd be more into my boobs.”
She lets out a laugh, feet rocking heel toe, waiting for Niall.
“What?” He asks, teasing the head of his cock between her folds. She's got a fist pounded on the top of the desk:
“I'm telling you to hurry the fuck up, Niall.”
If there was ever the clearest, brightest green light lit this evening, that was it. Niall grabs the base of his cock the press the head against her, teasing out a couple more desperate whines from her until he pushes in.
Niall falls on her back, arm wrapping so comfortably now around her waist, whispering things in her ear to watch her nails scrape against the wood. She pushes back, voice shaking for moremore.
He tries not to think about the last time sex was this good, where it was just an equal matter of nerves to keep him focused to do it right, finding ways that make his partner tick— and the matter of keeping it casual, not too serious. He slips out a couple times, laughing into the crook of her neck with apologies.
“‘S alright,” she runs her hand through his hair, kissing his cheek, “‘S fine.”
He’s close, so close, and he knows she can sense it too, crying out the most obscene words to spur him on. Niall pulls out to grab at her waist, making haste to throw her onto the bed, watching her curls splay out on the lime green spread beneath her. She wraps her legs around his waist, hand between them to guide him inside her again, back arching from the bed.
“Like this,” he pants, arms bracketing her shoulders, fucking back into her slow.
“Like what?”
He smirks, hand slipping down to touch her again. She pinches her eyes closed, biting her lip, “wanna see you.”
And he loses it before she has the chance, mouth falling on her chest with her nails dug into his back, hips gone erratic, hand stopping between them.
"Fuck," his head's light, sweat-slicked hair plastering his forehead.
She tuts, hand still running over his hair. He feels shy again as he pulls out, looking at her bitten lips rather than her half-lidded eyes. It's quiet for a moment as he catches his breath, elbows giving to the weight of his spine as he rolls onto the bed next to her. She props her elbow to lean over him, sweeping down for a quick peck on his lips.
“Wow,” she says, “not bad, really.”
“Really? That’s all you have to say?” Niall jokes, tying up the condom to toss in a nearby bin. She can sort it.
“Maybe I'll suck your dick next time,” she smiles, winking.
“Next time, huh?” He gets up from the bed to hunt for his briefs.
“You have my number.” She sits on the edge of her bed, creasing the immaculate folds with her shoulders hunched forward. Niall picks through several shirts on the floor before finding his own and throwing it over his head. “Jesy should be home soon, so…”
Niall smooths over the front of his shirt, sticky with the afterglow.
“Yeah,” is all he can say clutching at the rabble of butterflies in his belly. She looks timid, small, watching her foot shuffle against the rug. He lunges forward to kiss her temple. "G'night," he whispers before darting out of the room before she had the chance to say goodbye.
He heads out the door to the main road, turning back down Madison, walking through red lights and minding ice patches. It's definitely freezing outside now, fog rolling in from the Sound clinging to the brick buildings. He really shouldn't be walking home alone by himself at quarter to 2AM.
Niall pulls out his phone:
Tonight was fun. See you next week ;)
He better get used to it.