Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/858150.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      One_Direction_(Band)
  Relationship:
      Zayn_Malik/Liam_Payne, Niall_Horan/Harry_Styles, Eleanor_Calder/Louis
      Tomlinson
  Character:
      Liam_Payne, Zayn_Malik, Louis_Tomlinson, Harry_Styles, Niall_Horan,
      Eleanor_Calder, Karen_Payne
  Additional Tags:
      ziam, ziam_smut, Alternate_Universe, Ziam_fetus_au, High_School_AU, Blow
      Jobs, Hand_Jobs, Anal_Fingering, Rimming
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-06-26 Words: 39720
****** Carve Your Kisses in My Skin ******
by jmcats
Summary
     What do they know about love? They're just teens living in anarchy,
     chasing the sun, watching the clouds, hanging onto their youth...
     kissing their best mates in the dark. Well, at least, that's what
     Liam's doing. And he's not really sure what this sinking feeling is
     when he's touching Zayn but it burns away when Zayn kisses him back.
Notes
     So this fic started out as something completely different, darker,
     but I sort of need a break from the MAJOR angst, so it turned into
     something else. A little more playful, fluffy (if you could call it
     that). I hope it's still as enjoyable because it was a little idea I
     had about writing young Zayn and Liam as best friends who learn a lot
     along the way.
     This fic is dedicated to Lea (wafflehood) who asked for a fic
     featuring tension between Zayn and Liam. I don't know how well I did
     with that prompt, but I'm hoping she likes it because she's done a
     lot of great things for me!
     WARNINGS: There's quite a bit of smut in this fic. Quite a bit of
     smut between two consenting sixteen year old boys. Hopefully that's
     not too offensive. There's some mention of underage drinking/drug use
     as well. Also, there have been some changes made for the sake of plot
     to the boys' ages, British schooling, time difference, etc. Nothing
     super big though :)
See the end of the work for more notes
He doesn’t think he really knows what it feels like – being in love.
“Oh honey, one day you’re going to fall in love just like this,” Liam’s mum
tells him while being spun around the kitchen by his father, the sweet sounds
of the Zombies playing over that old radio his parents refuse to throw out even
though it’s static-y and only picks up three stations – It’s the time of the
season for loving.
His father dips her, the squeal from Ruth nearly leaving him deaf but Nicola’s
scoffing with a grin, easing by them to finish her chat on the phone.
“But son,” his dad starts, his grin thick and unabashed, “make sure that
whoever it is, you feel it in your gut like I did with this one.”
His mum is a fit of giggles, smacking at his chest as he peppers kisses to her
cheeks – Tell it to me slowly, I really want to know. It’s the time of the
season for loving – and they waltz around the breakfast table, eyes on each
other, swallowed in some sort of reverie that Liam doesn’t quite get but he
smiles loftily at them.
“Gross!” Ruth shrieks when his dad presses another sloppy kiss to his mum’s
cheek, Liam’s eyes big and bright with some sort of numbing joy.
He’s ten years old when he realizes love is something he can’t wait to hold in
the palm of his hand, gripping it tightly like his father’s hand on his mum’s
hip.
**
“I don’t think I’m a proper good kisser.”
He’s fifteen when this starts.  He’s not sure what to call it, nor does he try
to find a definition for it.  It’s just silly thoughts, the way his brain
operates on meaningless subjects that he tries not to speak aloud but, in times
like this, he just sort of blurts it out.
Zayn hums, lifting his head a little.
Zayn, who’s been his best mate ever since Andy got shipped off to boarding
school – Honestly, he doesn’t know what made Andy think that firecrackers and
the school’s loo mixed, but Andy always lived life by thinking after taking
action – a few years back.  Zayn, who was quiet more than talkative, brilliant
and even a little funny when he tried.  He was thoughtful, patient when he
tried because, honestly, how could you be with mates like Liam or the others? 
He was nothing like Louis or Niall – two natural disasters tearing through
their school.  Or Harry, who was cheeky and flirty.  Harry, who walked through
life confused but happy.  He was unlike Louis, who blitzed through life like a
hurricane with his endless chatter and commotion.
He’s not sure how they worked, him and Zayn, but they did.  They got on the
moment Zayn’s family moved to town when they were eleven and two silly kids
running the playground in junior school.  They fit better than Liam and Louis –
which was almost unimaginable because he and Louis have been inseparable since
they were five years old – and Zayn seemed to cling to him more than he did
Harry or Niall, something Liam tries not to grin too smugly about but he can’t
help it.  He likes Zayn.
“I don’t know,” Liam says with a shrug when Zayn stares blankly at him.  “I
just think I’m probably a shit kisser.”
Zayn grins, the corners of his mouth curling like they always do when Liam
swears.  It’s a rare thing – well, it was until he started paying more
attention to Harry and Niall, who cursed like it was the first few words they
learned as toddlers – but Liam refuses to blush at it like he used to, before
they all became this pile of friends, clutching onto each other for dear life.
“You sound as if you’ve had loads of complaints,” Zayn says, his voice hushed
but Liam can hear the smirk in his tone.
They’re on the floor, leaning against Harry’s bed while Harry and Niall compete
over who can snore the loudest – Niall has a very narrow lead, so far.  The
room’s shrouded in darkness, the pale light of the moon pushing through Harry’s
window to shine over strips of the cluttered room.  Harry’s spread out like a
starfish on the bed, head tipped back with his mouth open, curls strewn across
the sheets.  Niall’s curled up near the headboard, hugging onto one of Harry’s
pillows.  Louis snuggled to Harry’s side, fringe nearly covering his eyes with
that peaceful, almost innocent look he only manages to pull off when he’s
sleep.  They’re a heap of teenage boys too knackered from their annual film
night – something Harry invented as a good excuse to shove his favorite films
in their faces every other Saturday night, not that any of them minded a night
of laughs, cans of Coke, and popcorn – and coming down from that high of orange
soda, Twizzlers, chocolate candy bars, and caramel popcorn.
Liam smirks, pulling his fingers through his thick, straight hair.  “Sod off. 
There have been no complaints.”
“Oh, Liam not getting any love from the ladies?  Doesn’t know how to give a
proper snog,” Zayn teases, his voice lifting an octave as he reaches out,
ruffling his fingers through Liam’s hair, effectively messing up whatever style
Liam had just tried to create.  He’s giggling softly, pulling back a little
when Liam swats at his hand.
“You’re rubbish,” Liam says through a grin, inching closer to Zayn.  He doesn’t
pull back when Zayn yanks Liam’s arm into his lap, plucking a Sharpie from the
floor to doodle on the inside of Liam’s arm.  The pressure of the tip is light,
the drag peeling across his skin but he doesn’t mind.
He watches the moon streak over Zayn’s face, his head bowed with his mouth set
in concentration.  His tongue is licking out, a grin pushing at the corners of
his mouth as he moves the Sharpie over Liam’s skin.  It’s a quiet moment that
only they share – when the others are too distracted with giving each other
shit, making stupid jokes, chasing each other around a room like children. 
Liam thinks it calms Zayn, takes him out of this world that sometimes feels too
big, too loud, too bright for Zayn.  The same Zayn who spends most of his time
huddled in a corner, writing or reading and watching the world go by rather
than participating in it.
Sometimes Liam wonders if that’s what drew him to Zayn in the first place. 
Those soft caramel eyes that watched from afar and never made Liam feel small
and insignificant.  No, in Zayn’s eyes, Liam’s a glowing star, burning sharply
against the neon swirls of the world.
The bluish hue of the light strokes the soft features of Zayn’s face.  It coats
his olive skin, those thick eyebrows, his full bottom lip that Zayn keeps
tugging on with his teeth.  His hair is thick and flat on his head, dark fringe
sweeping over his forehead and it makes him look anything but fifteen.  Liam
thinks if it wasn’t for that thin, shadowy scruff that Zayn has to shave off
twice a week, he’d never pass for a mature teenager.  His irises are a swirl of
honey and rust brown, long lashes framing those eyes that Liam finds himself
more and more enthralled with.
“You really think you’re that bad?” Zayn asks, his head still lowered as he
etches a Batman emblem just above Liam’s wrist.
Liam grins down at it, his teeth sinking into his own lip.  “I don’t quite
know.  I suppose so.”
Zayn snorts, his head finally lifting.  He’s a dizzying burst of smiles, bright
eyes, wondrous excitement that Liam thinks shines only for him.  It’s a numbing
thought but not one he runs from.
“C’mere,” Zayn whispers, capping the Sharpie and dropping it between his legs.
Liam quirks an eyebrow, rubbing at the back of his neck.  He tries not to shoot
Zayn a worried look but he fails, Zayn’s brow dropping a little.
Zayn sighs, his smile still brighter than a galaxy of newborn stars.  “C’mon
Liam.  Come closer.”
There’s questions resting on the edge of his tongue, his mind buzzing far too
quickly but he scoots closer until their thighs are touching and the breath
between them is shared.  He moves the hand in Zayn’s lap to his thigh, an
uncertain squeeze that has Zayn resting a hand on top of Liam’s, fitting his
fingers between Liam’s spread ones.
“Kiss me.”
“Zayn, what?”
Zayn lets out a clipped laugh, his nose crinkling.  “Kiss me, Liam.  I’m your
best mate and if anyone is going to be honest about whether or not you’re shit
at this, it’s going to be me.”
It makes no sense.  It’s rubbish.  Yet, Liam still tries to piece all the
points together until it sounds a little sensible.  He repeats the words in his
head until it doesn’t sound foreign, unheard of.  In fact, it sounds
brilliant.  It makes sense because Zayn is his best mate, the one person Liam
relies on for everything.  He’s the person who is always most honest with Liam
– well, except Louis but Louis’ way of honesty is a bit brash and hurtful – and
the one person Liam’s learned to trust with more than just his friendship a
long time ago.
“C’mon, babe,” Zayn whispers, his lips tipping into a wider grin.  He’s cupping
Liam’s chin, drawing him in with gentle fingers, those long lashes batting over
his soft cheeks.  “I won’t bite.  But you can if it’s part of your technique.”
Liam rolls his eyes, his own cheeks pushing high while listening to Zayn’s
snicker.  “You’re mental.”
“Oh, why so harsh?” Zayn says teasingly, those fingers shifting up Liam’s face
when Liam’s close enough.  They push those thick bangs from Liam’s eyes,
sweeping them to the side before trickling back down to his cheek, cupping it.
Liam takes a deep breath, holding it in his chest before surging those last few
breaths that’s separating them.  His lips crush against Zayn’s clumsily, his
face scrunching because, fuck, he’s doing this all wrong.  He’s moving a little
too quickly, without finesse, nothing like the way he sees people kissing in
the films Harry makes them watch – Honestly, there’s but so many times fifteen
year olds, fourteen in Harry’s case, can watch Pretty Woman without wanting to
hurl a shoe at the telly or figure out how to find a fit woman like Julia
Roberts to spend a week with one of them – and he wants it to be so much
better.
He exhales a shaky breath, slowing himself, fingers digging into Zayn’s thigh
until Zayn’s thumb sweeps comforting touches over the back of his hand.  He
stills himself for a moment, resting his lips against Zayn’s for a beat before
moving again.  It’s a slow glide, the way his lips move over Zayn’s.  They’re
chapped, a bit rough but Zayn doesn’t seem to mind, remaining still for a few
more seconds before he’s leaning in, kissing Liam back.
Zayn kisses like he draws – with strict concentration and an ease that Liam
can’t help but envy.  They find a rhythm, still a bit off and uncoordinated but
it works.  It swallows Liam, the way their teeth clink against each other with
Liam’s hand resting on the nape of Zayn’s neck and Zayn’s fingers brushing
gently over his cheek leaves him sinking in thoughts that become hazy right
along the edge.  It’s a slow motion movement, all of his thoughts colliding
before he can do anything to stop them.
Zayn tastes like citrus, sweets, everything a teenage boy should taste like
who’s spent half the day munching on unhealthy things with a grin and big
eyes.  He tilts his head a little, catching Zayn’s bottom lip between his and
he doesn’t miss the way Zayn flicks his tongue out to wet his lips when Liam
draws back for a second to catch his breath.  He dives back in, Zayn’s fingers
tangling into his hair for a beat while Liam tries to regain what little
control he once had but it’s painfully difficult when his mind is wrapped
tightly around one word – Zayn.
Honestly, he likes kissing Zayn.  It’s soft, without pretense, and, for once,
he doesn’t feel like he’s trying to prove how great he is to someone.  Zayn
knows how great he is.  Zayn knows him.  And Zayn makes him feel like the world
is spinning backwards and upside down all at once.
Liam pulls back a little regretfully, almost missing the smile that sweeps over
Zayn’s lips when the clouds shift across the moon.  He’s a little breathless,
his chest wheezing breaths in and out while Zayn rubs absently at his lips.  He
wonders if there’s blush feathering Zayn’s cheeks the way it is Liam’s when
Zayn looks at him but it’s too dark to tell.  He settles for rubbing his hand
slowly over Zayn’s thigh, settling his breathing when Zayn’s hand moves with
his.
“Was it terrible?” Liam wonders, his brow furrowing.
Zayn snorts, pushing his fingers through Liam’s hair.  “You’re a shit liar.”
Liam hums, his eyes growing.  “I’m what?”
Zayn playfully punches his arm, something Liam doesn’t really feel because
Zayn’s shit at throwing a punch and they both know it.
“You’re fine, Liam.  Just need a little practice,” Zayn insists, grinning while
shyly dropping his eyes away from Liam’s face.  It’s endearing in the most
pleasant way.
“You’re sure?” Liam wonders, turning his hand over in Zayn’s lap.  It’s a
comforting wave washing over him when Zayn’s hand remains, curling their
fingers together.
“Just shut it, Payne,” Zayn snickers, nudging his shoulder to Liam’s.  The
shadows subside a little, the light a shimmer of white now across Zayn’s face
and Liam’s stare lingers in that glow for a moment.
“Okay.”
“Do you want,” Zayn swallows, looking up again, “to maybe try a little more?”
Liam doesn’t hesitate with a nod.  He doesn’t know why, his stomach coiled up
in a tight ball that leaves him shaking and uncertain but he wants it.  Fuck,
he doesn’t know why but he wants to kiss some more.  He wants to kiss Zayn some
more.  He wants to kiss Zayn.
He kisses Zayn.
He does it with fear and worry and concern for a friendship that kind of
happened without them trying weighing on him.  He melds their mouths together,
smiling on the surprised gasp Zayn’s lips release, and hovers on the wave of
bliss that follows when Zayn starts to kiss him back.  He angles his head this
time, the softest hint of pressure and Zayn’s moving with him.  Their lips form
a pattern of push, pull, lick, touch, taste, repeat.  It’s a dancing flame in
the wind and, yeah, Liam thinks Zayn’s more than amazing at this.
There’s a soft burn from Zayn’s light stubble, the way it drags over his chin
and against his skin.  Zayn’s fingers are pressing down on the back of his
neck, probably leaving behind small marks that Liam won’t be able to see but
maybe he’ll feel them later.  He’s taking notes at the way Zayn’s tongue sweeps
over his bottom lip but never presses forward unlike Emily, his first real
kiss, who was nothing but tongue and orange bubblegum the first few times they
kissed.  He’s gentle but thorough, not like Shannon, who was quick pecks and
apple chapstick.
Liam tries to perfect the way his lips fit against Zayn’s, the soft glide but
it comes off sloppy and desperate, their foreheads and noses bumping.  It does
little to slow his resolve, his fingers curling under Zayn’s chin with soft
apologies brushing their lips until he can center Zayn’s head again and push
just a bit tamer this time.  He stifles a feeling burning at his chest, the way
he can’t help but lose himself for a moment.  The way Zayn’s mouth moves, –
rhythm and techno beats – he’s lightheaded and feverish with a flush to his
cheeks and a stutter to his breathing.
Zayn pulls away first this time, rubbing at Liam’s shoulder as he draws
completely back to tip his head back against Harry’s bed.  His eyes look a
little glazed over but there’s something sweet settling into his smile.
“Getting better,” he says, his voice a bit raspier but it’s warm and friendly.
Liam smiles to himself, a quick flick of his head knocking those pesky bangs
from his eyes and drawing up a wheezing laugh from Zayn.
Zayn’s hand drops away to cover his mouth as he lets out a soft yawn, heavy
eyes blinking back sleep.
Liam nods at him, doesn’t say anything.  He doesn’t have to.  A quick glance at
his watch reminds him it’s nearly two in the morning and, unlike the others,
Zayn wasn’t much of a night person.  He was the one person Liam knew that
savored sleep, snuck in a kip any chance he got even though it was summer – the
one season where they were allowed to chase the sun and stumble into as much
trouble as they could without being arrested.  But Zayn was still one of those
in bed by midnight, sleep until noon lads and Liam didn’t ever give him shit
about it.
“Sleep here with me,” Zayn requests with a sheepish grin.
Liam snorts at him; as if he’d ever do anything else.
“Of course you idiot,” Liam smiles out, reaching forward to ruffle Zayn’s hair
this time.
Zayn doesn’t swat him away like he does anyone else who touches his hair – a
cardinal sin that many of their classmates had to learn a long time ago.  He
merely leans into the touch for a moment, Liam’s fingers sliding over Zayn’s
scalp before nodding happily.
“Batman,” Zayn teases in a hushed voice, elbowing Liam’s side.
Liam chuckles through a breath, giving a soft tug to Zayn’s hair.  “Robin.”
“Why do I always have to be your sidekick?” Zayn groans, a poor attempt at a
frown pushed over his lips.
Liam groans with a smirk, playfully shoving at Zayn’s shoulder.  “Nightwing?”
Zayn nods earnestly.  “Better.”
“Prick,” Liam snickers, pushing up onto his knees.
“Oi, you’re so rude.”
“Whatever,” Liam laughs out, dulling his voice when Louis stirs on the bed.  He
waits until Harry secures an arm around Louis’ small frame, tugging him closer
before snickering beneath a breath.
Harry’s room is stuffy and heady with the scent of teenage boy – dirty socks
crumpled in the corner, a pair of Harry’s sweaty boxers balled just beneath the
bed, the sticky scent of sweat, lingering body spray, and that awful cologne
Louis wears.  Liam stands to shuck his chinos down his legs, kicking them to
the side while Zayn spreads out the duvet and sheets across the floor, creating
a makeshift bed for them; the same makeshift bed that they always laid out on. 
Liam grins warmly, plopping down while watching Zayn fluff a pillow, lying down
on the floor while propping himself up on an elbow.  That silly Guns ‘n Roses
t-shirt stretches out across his back, shoulder blades prominent against the
black material before Zayn’s glancing over his shoulder, giving Liam an
expectant look.
Liam smiles to himself, recognizes the look as soon as he spots the concern
rimming Zayn’s eyes, the slow pull on his mouth from a hovering frown.
They were twelve and had just seen the Texas Chainsaw Massacrefor the first
time – some silly idea Louis came up with because he thought it would be a
fantastic suggestion to watch any film with Jessica Biel and “her glorious
knockers bouncing around.”  He remembers the way Zayn laid on the floor of
Louis’ basement, trembling with thick tears clinging to the corners of his
eyes, his teeth worrying his bottom lip until it was raw and cracked.  A heat
spread over him, the thought of waiting until the others were asleep before he
crawled closer to Zayn, offered wide arms for Zayn to scurry into.  A smile
itches at his lips, remembering the way Zayn clung to him, his head pressed to
Liam’s bare, flat chest while Liam secured his arms around Zayn and tangled
their legs together beneath Liam’s itchy sleeping bag.  Zayn’s face was pressed
to the crook of his neck, Liam’s chin resting on top of Zayn’s head and they
fell asleep like that – two young boys holding onto each other until the
morning drew them apart.
He slides forward almost immediately, pulling the sheets around them as he
eases his arms around Zayn’s midsection and presses their bodies firmly
together.  He snuggles his chest to Zayn’s back, ignoring the way Zayn’s body
still is a bit wiry against his firmer form.  He hooks his chin over Zayn’s
shoulder with a grin, waiting until Zayn tangles their legs together beneath
the duvet and settles against the hard floor of Harry’s room.  He can see the
smile prickling at Zayn’s lips, a sense of relief washing over him when Zayn’s
fingers loosen their grip on the sheets to reach down and twine their fingers
together, squeezing firmly like it’s okay.  He squeezes like this is all he
needed – his best mate assuring him that the darkness crowding them, the
silence of the night, other than Harry’s snores and Niall’s wheezing breaths –
wouldn’t swallow him whole.
Liam shifts slowly, pulling Zayn in completely with the curve of Zayn’s bum
pressing to Liam’s groin, their cold feet brushing, and Liam’s face snuggling
to the crook of Zayn’s neck.  He smells like citrus body wash, chocolate, and
warmth.  It cools Liam’s senses, listening to the soft yawn from Zayn that
sounds something like a ‘goodnight’but Liam’s not too sure.  No, he’s sinking
into his own exhaustion with Zayn pressed close.
He doesn’t worry about what the other boys will say in the morning.  They’ve
all spent enough nights together where one has woken with a foot in his face, a
knee between his thighs, an absentminded hand resting on his hip, a pair of
lips pressed to his neck, and countless other shapes and forms for none of it
to really matter anymore.  In fact, it’s what made it comforting for each of
them – small touches here and there that reminded them that there’s no way they
were facing any part of this life alone.  There was always a bond, just the
five of them – occasionally Josh when his mum let him come by – that seemed to
fit without any questions asked.
It was one of the few things in life Liam felt some sort of guarantee about: he
and his mates.
**
He’s sixteen when the summer starts to fade off like some pinkish-orange cloud
of smoke with the sun dipping into the horizon.  He can feel school aching at
his bones and he’s not too upset about it.  It simply means less trips to the
lake where he and Harry swim for hours while Louis sunbathes, Niall burns and
pinks under the fury of the sun, and Zayn sits comfortably on the grass,
sketching and grinning anytime Liam dashes out to the water to try and give him
a damp hug.
He’s not entirely disappointed about the summer trailing off in its own hot
blaze.  It means more training for upcoming tryouts for the cross country team
– he still has hopes to make the Olympic team in Rio – and maybe he’ll be good
enough to join Niall and Louis on the footie team this year.  None of it seems
to matter because he knows he’ll have his best mates around, running the town
like ambitious sixteen year olds – Harry’s still lifting his chin defiantly
because fifteen isn’t that much of a difference, though Liam knows it really is
– while trying to hold onto every bit of youth they’ve managed to maintain
through every adventure they stumble upon.
It’s not until the day before school is to start that his world feels like it’s
leaning on the edge, everything blurring into an awkward feeling of emptiness. 
He knows they won’t lose this – the laughs, the secrets, the way they all know
what the others thinking with just a look – but something goes steely cold
inside himself.  He wonders if it’s because they won’t always have the same
classes together, though they’ll all crowd around a small table in the corner
of the cafeteria with grins and stories that’ll pull them into their own little
world again.  Maybe it’s because Louis will be busy with football and academics
while Harry will engage himself in his new job down at the bakery after
school.  Niall will probably still hover around, crashing on Liam’s bedroom
floor whenever the opportunity presents itself because, out of all of them,
Niall truly was the one who needed that constant contact more than the rest.
He thinks Zayn will be there with his quiet smiles, tugging on the sleeve of
Liam’s jumper until they’re both outside, sneaking behind the school so Zayn
can huff a quick cigarette before the first bell rings.  He wants to believe
that Zayn will still ride his skateboard over to Liam’s house after school,
plopping down on Liam’s bed to read a few comics or chat about their stupid
classes while Liam drags his fingers through Zayn’s product-stiff hair – it’s
gotten longer throughout the summer and Liam likes how Zayn’s styling it into a
quiff, something that seems richly cool and very Zayn.  There’s something in
the pit of his stomach that reminds him that he and Zayn will probably still
chase each other down to the lake until it gets too cold and bitter outside,
choosing to huddle in Liam’s backyard instead while knocking shoulders and
reminding each other that they’re complete idiots for no particular reason at
all.
He rubs at his lips and wonders if maybe it’ll be just a little more.  Maybe
Zayn will fall asleep on his shoulder while they study or Zayn won’t freak and
tense up when Liam laces his fingers with Zayn’s while they watch a film.  He
grins to himself, eyes shifting shut when he thinks about the way Zayn cuddled
to him on their last film night – Zayn’s choice and, of course, it was the
Avengers despite Louis’ whining and Harry’s constant murmuring about how stupid
the Hulk was.  No one said anything, Zayn’s fingers interlocked over Liam’s
stomach while Liam leaned back into Zayn’s chest, head resting on Zayn’s
shoulder while mouthing all of the dialogue along with Zayn.  Their whispers
were quick, grins pressed to their lips, and Liam didn’t shove Zayn away
anytime he felt the need to press a wet kiss to Liam’s cheek and remind him how
adorable he is with his hair starting to curl at the ends.  He merely sighed
into Zayn’s embrace and fell asleep with Zayn whispering into his ear, “you’re
the best mate in the world and I love you.”
It’s the one thing that keeps him up far too late that night, tossing in his
bed until he slides into a wrinkled t-shirt, finds his phone and sends a quick
text – come to mine. need you! meet you @ our spot… please??? ;)– before
sliding into his dusty high top trainers and stumbling out of his room.  He’s
quiet when he moves down the steps because it’s almost two in the morning and
he doesn’t exactly think his parents would be okay with him not being asleep,
let alone sneaking out of the backdoor of their house.
He doesn’t check his phone for a reply, merely pockets it when he gets
outside.  He waits on the patio, eyeing the three concrete steps that lead to
the backyard with heavy brown eyes.  He hugs his arms around himself, rocking
back on his heels while the slightly cool breeze of a September wind sweeps
over him in the dark.  He doesn’t have to wait long before the familiar sound
of the wheels from a skateboard are grinding up his driveway, trainers
squeaking through the grass as Zayn ditches his board in the bushes and rushes
up to Liam.
Liam takes in a deep breath, doing his best to school his smile as he looks on
Zayn.  He’s a little breathless from the ride over to Liam’s even though
they’re merely a few roads down from each other.  Liam can smell the wavering
scent of cigarette smoke, probably the one Zayn had before he hopped on his
board.  His snapback is pulled on backwards, that thick, dark hair pushing out
from beneath it with a shadowy scruff trying to mark his cheeks and chin.  His
t-shirt is clinging to his small frame, the ‘Thank You’ wrinkled and barely
noticeable against the sharp red lettering in the middle: Fuck You.  His eyes
are wide, the faint speckles of gold and amber hidden by the shadows of the
night with those thick eyebrows set and his lips pulling into a frown.
“What’s a matter?” Zayn asks, still trying to catch his breath.
Liam shrugs with a small grin, rubbing patiently at the nape of his neck.
“Well come on then.  Tell me you didn’t call me out of my bed to sneak out for
nothing,” Zayn huffs out, smacking Liam’s arm playfully before rubbing at it,
the worry in his eyes thickening.  “Is something wrong at home?”
Liam shakes his head briskly, trying to even out his own breathing but there’s
something heavy pressing on his chest.  There’s a feeling tightening in his
stomach, something warm and unnatural with Zayn’s fingers stroking his bare
arm, slipping under the sleeve of his shirt to brush against Liam’s shoulder. 
The sole of his shoe drags over the concrete of the steeps.  He thinks to look
away, corral his thoughts but that familiar look in Zayn’s eyes – his best
mate, he reminds himself – drags that feeling in his chest lower until it’s
pressing on his lungs.
“Liam, what is it?  You’re scaring me,” Zayn whispers, leaning in closer.
Liam sighs, giving into thoughts that feel foreign but not unwanted to his
mind.
“C’mon,” Liam sighs out, blindly reaching out until he finds Zayn’s hand,
interlocking their fingers.  “To our spot.”
Liam doesn’t wait for a response from Zayn.  He takes shaky steps down the
concrete stairs before shuffling into the grass, pulling Zayn with him as he
makes his way through the yard.  It’s dark, almost too black, but Liam can find
his way with his eyes closed.  He and Zayn have done this enough times – snuck
through Liam’s backyard late at night when they should be tucked away in their
beds, sleeping away the summer heat or resting for another day of school – for
him to know exactly where he’s headed.
The crickets strum a loud symphony of noises, the rustle of their feet in the
grass as Liam quickens their pace lost in the sounds.  Liam takes a quick
glance over his shoulder, Zayn’s expression still weary but it grows smooth and
soft when Liam offers him a petite smile.  Zayn blinks at him, confused and
frustrated, but he returns the smile with a glimmer of trust folding over his
expression.  He knows Liam wouldn’t do anything to ruin things between them.
Liam reminds himself that what he’s doing will not ruin things between them. 
At least, he hopes.
He backs into an old, thick, tall tree just nearing the fencing of his yard. 
He shuffles until his back is pressed firmly against the smooth bark, fingers
still twined with Zayn’s while his other hand reaches out and grasps the fabric
of Zayn’s shirt, tugging him closer.  Zayn tumbles forward, barely finding his
balance until he’s pressed close to Liam with his hands on either side of
Liam’s head, palms flat against the tree.
Liam tips up a smile for Zayn, letting Zayn catch his breath for a moment
before tilting his head back to look on Zayn.  The moon shimmers a pretty
cascade of pale white light over Zayn’s features, accenting them while leaving
Liam shrouded in the cool darkness of the night.
“Remember this tree?” Liam asks, his voice hushed.  They’re far enough from his
house that his parents wouldn’t hear them but he knows the risk is still far
too great.
Zayn bites gently on his lower lip, nodding with a bitten laugh.  “Of course,
Liam.  We used to get into so much shit for climbing it because your mummy said
it was too high up.  Your dad would giving us hell too – “
“Because we were supposed to be studying Math and not pissing around, climbing
trees,” Liam finishes with a smirk, glancing upward to the branches.  The
leaves are still a sharp green, shaking against the hollowed wind that strips
through the air.  The tree is impossibly tall, the first couple of branches
much higher up than Liam remembers.  They look weaker too, probably wouldn’t be
able to support Zayn’s weight, let alone Liam’s now.
“And then he’d leave us alone, telling your mum ‘boys will be boys,’” Zayn says
with a hearty laugh, leaning in until his forehead is pressed to Liam’s.
Liam’s hand loosens its grip on Zayn’s shirt, laughing gently with him until
the silence swallows them.  He feels something swell deep in him when he looks
into Zayn’s eyes, that familiar feeling becoming a live, throbbing sensation
over his body, shifting through his system.  It’s like a high, nothing he’s
ever known, but he floats on it because Zayn is right here, calming him with
brown eyes and soft breaths.
“Used to spend hours back here,” Liam whispers, tilting his head some.  He
watches the long sweep of Zayn’s eyelashes against his cheeks, that shy, quiet
Zayn so evident now.
He remembers this Zayn – too fearful to speak up in their classes, always a
ball of uncontrollable energy during Art class or when he was scribbling on
Liam’s notebook in the back of the bus, Liam’s head on his shoulder.  The Zayn
that was, no, is afraid of the dark but manages to survive it when Liam’s
there.  The Zayn who whispered all of his dreams to Liam, clutching onto the
sleeve of Liam’s jumper while they sat in the back of class watching films,
pretending to pay attention when all they wanted to do was avoid the scornful
gazes of their teacher long enough to whisper secrets to each other again and
chat about silly things like music and comic books.
“We still could if you didn’t want to spend all of our time in your room
listening to Kanye records and the latest song from Katy Perry,” Zayn teases,
the edges of his eyes crinkling with a laugh.
“You got me stuck on Kanye, now didn’t you?” Liam says with a chuckle, rubbing
gently at Zayn’s chest.  He can feel the thudding of Zayn’s heart beneath his
fingertips – Two beats, three beats, a stuttered beat, four and five clattering
together.
“I might’ve,” Zayn giggles back, lifting a hand from the tree’s trunk to sweep
it down Liam’s round cheek.  “I made you cooler.”
“You tried.”
“Don’t deny it,” Zayn hisses, his grin thick and pushing at his cheeks.
“Can I show you something?” Liam asks abruptly, the laughter on his lips fading
with the wind.
Zayn rolls his eyes, his nose wrinkling with another laugh.  “Not another Teen
Titans comic, I hope.  I told you I’m strictly a Batman fan.”
Liam shakes his head, the bark digging into his scalp.  The hand he has on
Zayn’s chest shifts upward, pushing at the soft cotton of Zayn’s shirt until it
rides a little high, exposing his abdomen.  He skates his fingertips over
Zayn’s collarbone, feathery brief touches before his hand cups the back of
Zayn’s neck, rests there while Zayn blinks at him curiously.  He feels his
nerves digging in for a second before he’s inhaling a deep breath, shaking them
to the floor and letting them slip away into a gust of wind.
There’s a sharp pinch at his heart when he leans forward, wonder and confusion
hugging at Zayn’s face.  It stalls him for just a moment, his tongue flicking
out to wet his lips.  He bites down on it, the moon leaving a gentle shine over
Zayn’s face that reminds him this is his best mate.  Zayn trusts Liam.  Liam
trusts Zayn.  They love each other as friends and, despite his poor judgment,
Liam thinks that’ll never change.  There’s a question in Zayn’s eyes, one that
Liam is terrified to answer, before Zayn’s lips curve into a quiet smile and
those long lashes feather across his cheeks as Zayn closes his eyes.
It’s just enough.  It’s not all he was hoping for, but it’s just enough.
The initial press of their lips feels hesitant like they’re searching, trying
to find that groove that makes it feel right.  It’s a soft pressure, Liam
pressing his fingertips into the skin of Zayn’s neck while Zayn’s fingers rub
enthusiastically at his cheek.  It’s a shaky change of angle, a little guidance
from Zayn, and then it falls like shooting stars.  It ricochets through Liam’s
chest – a hot spark that glows blue and white – and Liam inhales deep as he
glides into the kiss.
It feels natural in a way Liam knows it shouldn’t.
He was never taught that a boy couldn’t have feelings for another boy, kiss
another boy, love another boy, but he knows, beneath the lines, that it wasn’t
supposed to be right.  He knows his sisters kissed boys but never encouraged
him to do the same.  He knows, hidden beneath all the teenage angst and
mediocrity, that none of his classmates would openly kiss another boy the way
he kisses Zayn.  There were a few buried beneath the bullshit and the social
lines they never meant to draw that fought the system.  There were the ones who
didn’t give a shit, refused to raise a white flag, wore their hearts on their
sleeves and their battle scars proudly.
Liam pushes all of those thoughts aside.  None of that seems to matter.  What
feels right is the way Zayn’s fingers etch every line in his jaw, over the
smoothness of his cheek.  What matters is the way Zayn leans into the kiss,
searching for more, and Liam gives it to him.  Liam presses a little firmer,
lips opening to taste that minty toothpaste Zayn loves, the hint of chocolate
cake his mum probably made, the tang of nicotine that Liam’s always hated but
loves when it’s on Zayn’s lips.  His tongue slides over Zayn’s lips, wetting
them, making the slide easier before Zayn’s moaning softly and parting those
lips for Liam’s tongue.
The tip of his tongue stokes over Zayn’s, feels the texture and definition. 
Zayn’s mouth is hot, wet, inviting.  Their tongues run over each other, curling
before Zayn’s licking at Liam’s teeth and Liam is stroking the gentle ridges at
the roof of Zayn’s mouth.  He sucks slowly on Zayn’s tongue, trying to swallow
the grin pushing at his lips when Zayn moans again, shifts closer to Liam.
Liam’s not sure if it’s his heart or Zayn’s drumming loudly with Zayn’s chest
pressed to his.  He shifts his hands, tries not to knock the snapback off of
Zayn’s head as he toys with the short hairs at the nape of Zayn’s neck.  He
lets Zayn bite softly at his bottom lip, nuzzling his nose to Zayn’s cheek
before pushing in for a firmer kiss.  He stutters on a breath, Zayn’s hips
pushing at his and, fuck, this was just supposed to be a kiss.
It feels like so much more.
His cock is hard, straining against his far too loose boxers and he doesn’t
want Zayn to feel that.  No, he doesn’t want all of this, the way their breaths
are labored and their hands can’t seem to sit still, scare Zayn away.  Kiss or
not, he needed Zayn as his best mate.
He’s certain he couldn’t survive this world without Zayn next to him.
Liam pulls back swiftly, his head smacking against the tree while cautiously
pushing Zayn back.  He’s heaving for air, eyes wide while Zayn’s are dark and
lidded.  Zayn’s taking a few stumbling steps backwards and Liam’s quick to drop
his hand down to the small of Zayn’s back, making sure he doesn’t move too far
away.  It rests there, fingers tracing small circles while Zayn blinks at him,
chewing at his bottom lip.
The silence is a wicked dullness that curls against Liam’s senses.  He tries to
read the thoughts in Zayn’s eyes but his own are far too loud, too relevant. 
His resolve has cooled down a wild spark of what it was, his fingers tracing
the soft skin of Zayn’s forearm while Zayn’s fingers dig into Liam’s shoulder
and hip.
Liam’s senses are startled and he wonders how long before Zayn’s shaking his
head and walking away.  How long before they both realize that, possibly, the
kiss was a mistake and it’ll all be Liam’s fault.
“You called me over here,” Zayn starts, his voice deep and still a little
breathless.  Liam waits for anger to slide over Zayn’s face but he’s shaken
when a smile grips Zayn’s lips, pulls the corners of his mouth upward.  “You
called me here, in the middle of the night, to show me a kiss?”
Liam slumps back against the tree, some warming sense of relief coiling over
his spine.
“With tongue,” Liam breathes out, a chuckle chasing his words.
“What?”
Liam breathes out a sigh, a grin tumbling across his lips.  “For a kiss with
tongue.  I wanted to kiss you with tongue.”
Zayn nods slowly, eyeing Liam with an arched eyebrow.  “Why?”
Liam swallows, the taste of Zayn’s mouth still at the back of his throat.  He
likes it.  He wants more of it but he knows now is not the time.  He wonders,
after tonight, will there be more times for that.  For kisses, for Zayn.
“You know that summer reading we had?” Liam wonders, eyes flickering to the way
the moon shifts a beautiful sheen of blue over the grass, highlights the
pickets of the tall fence separating his yard and the neighbors’.
Zayn nods, his eyes narrowing.
“Jesy Nelson asked me over to help her with that Tolkien book,” Liam says,
chewing on his bottom lip.
“The Hobbit,” Zayn inserts with a small nod.
“Whatever.  Should’ve seen the film,” Liam huffs out, relaxing beneath the
sweeps of Zayn’s fingers over his hip.  “Besides, it was either that or To Kill
a Mockingbird and I never made it past the first chapter of that one.  I said
I’d help her with Tolkien – “
“Liam, you’re horrible at English,” Zayn adds, his brow furrowing.
“Not the point of the story,” Liam hums, squinting at Zayn until he silences,
merely nodding at Liam now.  “She bullshitted her way through the whole study
session, said she’d rent the film, and tried to snog me.”
Zayn nods again, sharp and jerky.  Liam watches the way his jaw tenses, his own
chest taking in a hollowing breath.
“I told her I couldn’t.  She freaked and asked why not,” Liam admits, his voice
dipping lower now.  There’s another cool jet of air washing over them, shaking
the leaves until they rattle in the air, a few spiraling down around them.
“You thought you were going to be awful?” Zayn asks, his eyebrow arched high. 
“I already told you Liam, you’re not a shit kisser and – “
“I wasn’t worried about that,” Liam quickly interjects, teeth sinking further
into his lip.  He thinks he can taste blood but his mind is whirling and he
feels upside down.  His heart is hammering and, if there were any point where
he needed a getaway plan, it would be now.
“What were you were worried about babe?” Zayn asks, inching closer with that
hovering glint of concern again.  It sorts of sticks to Zayn whenever Liam’s
involved.  He’s taller, thicker, more adept at dealing with bullies compared to
Zayn yet Zayn always feels a need to protect Liam.  He’s not sure why, never
has bothered to ask, but he knows it’s a bit daunting if not the most amazing
feeling Liam’s felt.
All of those years of reading comic books and there was Zayn, his very own
superhero.  Minus the cape and the brilliant powers, but still.
“I wasn’t worried about anything because I didn’t want to snog her,” Liam
confesses, his words airy and curled around his staggering breaths.  He shakes
his head when Zayn’s lips part to speak.  His determination stills before he
adds, “I didn’t want to kiss her because, I think, I only really want to kiss
you.”
He knows he should feel some sense of relief flaking over his skin.  He should
feel warm, tingly from the admission.  His heart shouldn’t beat this fast, his
forehead prickling with small drops of sweat.  His palms shouldn’t be damp and
his vision shouldn’t be so fuzzy but it is.  Everything feels darker even
though the moon is still bright and he’s waiting on it all to end.
He’s waiting on Zayn to finally ditch him, call him a fag, and forget they were
ever best mates.
His anticipation doesn’t make room for the grin that folds over Zayn’s lips,
the way Zayn takes a few steps forward until he’s crowded into Liam’s space
again with his forehead resting softly against Liam’s.  His breathing feels too
labored, raking against his chest when Zayn’s fingers trace his cheek, over the
bridge of his nose, down and over his lips.  It’s a numb sensation before it
prickles and explodes, Zayn pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.
When Zayn pulls back, his nose absently nuzzling against Liam’s, he’s still
wide-eyed and waiting for Zayn to shove him away.  He doesn’t.  He holds onto
his smile, his fingers dancing over Liam’s chin now, and Liam thinks confusion
is probably the right name for everything that he’s feeling.
“You called me over here, in the middle of the night, to tell me that?” Zayn
asks, his voice tight but amicable.
“And to kiss you with tongue?” Liam offers, his brow scrunching.
Zayn chuckles, low and breathy.  His tongue traces over his lips before he’s
saying, “You’re an idiot.”
“And your best mate?” It comes out like a question, Liam wincing when Zayn
tilts his head to look on him curiously.  He shrugs, a halfhearted movement to
try and distract Zayn from the way he probably looks.  It’s one thing to admit
he wants to kiss Zayn, it’s another to admit his doubts, his fears.
“Of course, mate,” Zayn says back, his mouth curving with a grin.  “Couldn’t do
without you.”
The same, Zayn, the same, he thinks but he settles for a rough attempt at a
nod, Zayn’s forehead still pressed to his.
Zayn leans in once more, gentling a chaste kiss to Liam’s lips that feels weak
and far too brief but he accepts it, pressing back until Zayn draws back.  His
lips remain puckered, a foolish move that has Zayn giggling, shoving at his
shoulder.  He can feel the heat from his blush radiating off his cheeks,
slouching against the tree as Zayn rights his shirt.  His chinos hang low on
his lips, the briefest glimpse of red briefs peeking from beneath the shirt and
Liam tries not to stare.
“I should go.”
“Yeah,” Liam breathes out, still feeling lightheaded and overwhelmed.
“See you in the morning?” Zayn wonders, scooping his snapback off of his head. 
He ruffles his fingers through his hair, pulling the fringe over his brow.
Liam offers him a small nod, grinning with his teeth nibbling at his lip. 
“Bright and early.”
Zayn snorts, leaning forward to settle his hat over Liam’s curls, pulling it
down until it’s secure and sitting backwards on Liam’s head.  He grins at Liam,
stifling a laugh while Liam rolls his eyes.
Liam watches him move away, his Nike trainers shuffling through the grass.  He
tries to remove himself from the tree but he’s still too weak, his legs numb
while his arms throb.  He swallows, the sweet taste of chocolate and mint, and
eyes Zayn when he glances at Liam over his shoulder.
“Next time Liam,” Zayn says with a smirk.  He waits until Liam lifts his brow,
his face solemn.  “Buy me dinner before you snog me, eh?”
Liam barks out a laugh, tries to soften it when it echoes through the air. 
Zayn’s grin lifts higher, the corners of his eyes crinkling again while his
nose scrunches.  It tickles Liam, the way Zayn’s face wrinkles while holding in
a laugh.
Best mates.  Kisses that Liam will never forget or not, Zayn will always have
that piece of him.
**
The weeks seem to trickle by when school starts.  It’s nothing but classes,
exams, homework, studying, morning and night runs to prepare for cross country
while using his weekends to brush up on his footie skills with Niall and
Louis.  He sits with Niall after school, munching on chips and crisps until
Harry finishes out his daily detention – Liam swears the kid spends more time
in detention that he does in actual classes – or watching Louis from the
bleachers while he goes through a few pickup games on the pitch with Greg,
Stan, and a few of the other football players.  He sits with Zayn at lunch,
bites on his lip while Zayn doodles on his notebook, on the back of his hand,
sometimes on his trainers while Louis tells crude jokes and Niall laughs at
them all, mouthful and hand slapping against the table.
They don’t talk about the kisses and, honestly, there isn’t time for anymore. 
Liam’s forgot how busy he keeps himself through the school year, trying his
hardest to be something of an academic scholar and a sport all at once.  He
never really exceeds his expectations – in fact, he thinks he doesn’t even meet
them on most occasions – but he has something to prove to his parents, to
himself.  And Zayn never complains.  He sidles up to Liam after school, resting
his head on Liam’s shoulder while he studies or helps Liam with his English
assignments while tickling his fingers over Liam’s hip.  He sketches Liam while
Liam runs drills in his backyard, doing a few laps around the large expanse of
grass and fence.  They huddle together in the back of Math class, barely paying
attention while smiling at each other and giving the other shit about his hair
– Liam has kind of fallen in love with Zayn’s quiff and Zayn can’t seem to stop
fingering Liam’s curls, giving them a teasing tug with a glimmer in his smile.
It’s moments like this one – an early October afternoon, the sun rippling over
them with the clouds chasing each other in the sky – that Liam clings to. 
Lying on his back in Louis’ backyard, the green grass surrounding them, he
feels at peace.  He doesn’t know what it means to be lazy – his father
instilled that in him – but something about lounging in the grass on their
backs in off balance circle feels incredibly lazy and heartwarming.
They’re watching the clouds, silence sweeping a comfortable groove against them
while they point out the shapes and dimensions of the fluffy white pieces of
cotton floating aimlessly in a pitch perfect blue sky.  He listens to Harry’s
humming, Niall’s incessant chattering about the way the clouds look like nosh
while Louis groans loudly.  Zayn’s to his left, shifting uncomfortably for far
too many beats with a pout on his lips and sad eyes focused on nothing in
particular.
“Why do we always do this?” Zayn asks, flicking a few stray pieces of grass
from his skin.  “It’s itchy.”
“Because we’re nothing but a group of petulant children with big dreams,” Louis
says, his voice a mild attempt at scolding but it fails on take-off.
“Perpetual, you mean,” Zayn says, blinking up at the cascading blue sky.
“What?” Louis hisses, jerking his head in Zayn’s direction.
Zayn sighs quietly, a grin rolling over his mouth.  “The word you meant to use
was perpetual, not petulant.”
“Whatever.  Fucking English geek,” Louis mutters.  Liam smirks, ignores the
words Louis murmurs beneath his breath – something that sounds like “Fucking
walking dictionary with his stupid quiff and skateboards.”– while folding his
hands over his chest.
“It’s an elephant!” Niall barks out with a rumbling laugh, pointing to a set of
rolling clouds.
“No, it’s not.  It’s a lion,” Harry argues kindly, a pout drifting over his
lips when the clouds twirl and form a different shape.  “Or a gorilla.”
“You idiots,” Louis huffs out, crossing his feet at the ankles.  “It’s a
giraffe.”
“You’re mental,” Harry giggles, smacking Louis’ arm with the back of his hand.
“Fucking crazy,” Niall snickers, tipping his head further back into the grass. 
He exhales a happy sigh, tilting his head.  “It’s a Transformer.”
Liam bites down on his tongue to suppress his laugh, drumming his fingers on
his chest.  He knows they’re all idiots and they’re all he ever wants to be
around.
“Where do you think we’ll all be in a few years?” Harry asks suddenly, his tone
wistful but there’s something pulling at his lips, Niall’s hand blindly
reaching out to tangle his fingers in Harry’s stiff curls.
“Together,” Louis says nonchalantly, a careless lift to his shoulders. 
“Probably in a band, rocking out in stadiums across the country.”
Zayn snorts, kicking at Louis’ foot.  “Not likely.”
“I’d be off in Uni somewhere.  Probably visiting you lads every weekend,” Niall
says with a beaming smile.
“I’d be a male performer,” Harry sighs out with a smirk, his dimple flaring
when Niall gives a gentle tug to his curls.
“Like a stripper?” Louis wonders, cocking his head to the side to look on
Harry.
“Or porn star,” Harry shrugs, cherry lips spreading into a sinful smile.
Louis nods, impressed.  “Obviously.”
“What about you?” Liam wonders, tilting his head to look at Zayn.  The sun
drips warm spots of haloed light over Zayn’s face, making his features even
more striking.  It steals a breath from Liam, the way Zayn’s grin curls around
the edges of his mouth, his eyes a sleek shade of honey and gold.
“English teacher,” Zayn says, his brow lifting.  “It’s what I always wanted to
do.”
Liam nods, something possessively warm seeping into his chest when he feels
Zayn’s pinky tickling against his.  He hooks them together, hands inching
closer in the grass.
“Drama teacher,” Louis belts out, arms spread wide over the grass.
“Obviously,” Zayn chuckles out.  Louis flips him off without malice in his
expression.
“And you Liam?” Harry inquires, tipping his head back fully to look at Liam
from an upside down view.
Liam shrugs, flicking away scraps of grass sticking to his shoulder.  He feels
Zayn’s fingers curling around his, his heart thumping a little louder against
his chest.
“I’d probably be making airplanes in a factory with my dad,” Liam finally says,
clearing his throat.  He can feel Zayn’s eyes on him, the way they study his
every move.  “Or a fireman.”
“You’d look fit in the uniform,” Harry notes, his eyebrows lifting when Zayn
shoots him a steely glare.
“And that right there is a robot,” Niall points out, drawing Harry’s attention
while Louis sighs impatiently.
Liam merely locks his fingers with Zayn’s, scooting a few inches closer until
he can feel Zayn’s warmth swarming him.  He watches the sky, the clouds dancing
and crashing into each other with Zayn’s hand in his and his mind drifting on
other things.
“Would you stay here?” Liam asks softly, turning his head to look at Zayn.
Zayn shifts his head, blinking at Liam for a beat before a smile pushes at his
lips.  “I’d go anywhere you were.”
Liam nods, his lips begging to say something.  He holds in the words in his
throat: the same, Zayn, the same.  His lips itch to press against Zayn’s, feel
their fullness, mouth some sort of promise against Zayn’s until they both knew
that, yeah, time couldn’t separate them.  Important things like growing up,
going to University, starting their lives wouldn’t mean that it wouldn’t be
with each other.
He swallows roughly.  It felt so permanent.  This idea, the thought of Liam
forever being bonded with Zayn.  He doesn’t think he wants it to go away.
**
They were supposed to be studying.  Math?  History?  Biology?  Something that
Liam can’t really remember because their textbooks were kicked to the floor
hours ago, along with their trainers and backpacks.  Studying turned into
flipping through comic books – Zayn forced Liam to sit through a couple of
issues of Fantastic Four while Liam grinned as Zayn thumbed through Justice
League: Tower of Babel, his expression awe-stricken with a smile pushing at his
pink lips.  He’s not quite sure what made him push the comics aside, tugging
his fingers through Zayn’s hair before Zayn was smirking at him, sliding his
own comic to the floor.
It was a breath, maybe two, before Zayn was crawling forward and pressing his
lips to Liam’s.  It was a beat, the birds chirping outside of Zayn’s window,
the sheets rumpled, and the mattress groaning loudly before Zayn was pushing
him back and inching up Liam’s body, settling his lips to Liam’s again.  He
doesn’t remember the moments after that but he remembers the kisses – the ones
with Zayn’s tongue licking at his teeth, the ones where his hands ran over
Zayn’s back, the ones where they rolled around with giggles before their lips
were crashing together again, sticky-sweet and lasting.
The world felt like a blur of drunken wonder.  His fingers pulled at Zayn’s
shirt, pressing into that soft skin at the small of his back.  Zayn’s lips were
closed around his tongue, sucking gently while his fingers thrust through
Liam’s hair – it was straight today, something that Zayn couldn’t stop
mentioning with keen interest.  His legs shifted apart, something that felt
incredibly natural even though he was still certain he had no idea what he was
doing.  Something warm settled in his stomach when Zayn fit himself between
those spread thighs, Liam’s feet pressed firmly on the mattress with his knees
bent.
He couldn’t contain the gasp when Zayn’s mouth made its way to his neck,
sucking roughly and leaving behind saliva as his teeth drug over new strips of
skin.  He toyed with the thick, dark hair on Zayn’s head, eyes clenched shut. 
His breaths felt shorter, harsh against his chest as Zayn bit the side of his
neck.  A hiss rolled over his lips, tugging roughly on Zayn’s hair but he
didn’t stop Zayn when he felt a smile against his neck.  He let Zayn’s mouth
ease further down until Zayn was licking and kissing near his collarbone, the
touches tickling and hot all at once.
“Zayn,” Liam moans lowly, a shiver racking through his body when Zayn rolls his
hips against Liam’s.  He tenses up, wanting to push Zayn away.  He can’t let
Zayn feel his erection, can’t let Zayn know how aroused he is or how his cock
is leaking incessantly against the front of his chinos.
“Oh babe,” Zayn murmurs against his skin, lips painting pretty designs against
Liam’s birthmark, over his Adam’s apple.  They work upward, kissing at Liam’s
chin, his jawline before their lips fit together again and Liam’s tipping
sideways.
His hands push at Zayn’s shoulders when Zayn grinds down against him, the
mattress sinking with their movements.  He’s hollowed breaths, wide eyes, and
fear clinging to his hot, damp skin.
“Should I stop?” Zayn asks, his tone a bit frantic.
No, he thinks but he can’t swallow.  His throat is dry and he’s digging his
fingers into Zayn’s shoulders, unsure whether to push him away or yank him
closer.
“It’s just that,” Liam breathes out, shifting a little and, fuck, he doesn’t
mean to rub his crotch so purposefully into Zayn’s hipbone but it happens.  It
fucking happens and he wants to crawl under the bed and cry tears of shame. 
“Fuck, Zayn, I’m sorry.”
Zayn grins down at him, his tongue tracing over his lips.  He leans in again,
stroking the end of his nose against Liam’s.
“Babe,” Zayn whispers, his breath hot against Liam’s lips.  “Liam, look at me,
my babe.”
Liam chokes on a breath, blinking his eyes open to look up at Zayn.  His lips
are still drawn into that frown, fingers trembling against Zayn’s shoulders but
Zayn looks impossibly warm, cautious, inviting with that smile.  There’s soft
strokes of care in his eyes, gentle hands that are rubbing at Liam’s belly and
his cheek.
“Fuck, Zayn, I’m hard and I’m not supposed to be and I’m so sorry that this is
happening – “
“You don’t want this to happen?” Zayn asks, his voice more than wounded.
Liam sighs, dropping a hand away from Zayn to cling to the sheets.  Stupid
stars and moon sheets that Liam’s sort of in love with, always has been.
“I want it.  I want to kiss you,” Liam admits, his voice choked.  “I want to
kiss you until you tell me I have to stop.  And I want to be here, in your bed,
with you.  I want it all but I don’t want to muck this up.”
Zayn chuckles, inching in again, pressing a quick kiss to Liam’s quivering
lips.  “You can’t, Liam.  You couldn’t ruin this at all.”
“Yeah?”
Zayn nods, easing another kiss to Liam’s lips.  Liam sinks into this one,
gripping the sheets tighter when Zayn strokes Liam’s lips with his tongue.
“I’m hard, Zayn,” Liam mutters against Zayn’s lips.
“Me too.”
Zayn kisses him again, softer this time.  He rolls his hips against Liam’s and
Liam feels him.  He feels Zayn’s cock, the one trapped behind a pair of joggers
but it’s throbbing and firm and, yeah, it makes Liam harder.  It makes the tip
of his cock push out a few more drops of precome and he moans into their kiss,
his hand slipping from Zayn’s shoulder to fist into his thick hair.
“Is that a problem?” Liam asks, his voice deep and low.
“Not at all,” Zayn chuckles, dropping firmer kisses against Liam’s lips.  “I
like the way it feels.  I like the way you make my prick feel.”  Zayn thrusts
particularly rough to emphasis his words.
Liam nods, head tipping back when Zayn inches up and, oh, their cocks slide
against each other.  Fuck, they grind together and Liam thinks he could come
like this.  He could come right here, in his fucking boxers, wetting his chinos
and clawing at Zayn’s skin until he comes down from that fucking high.  He
could kiss Zayn until he realizes that, yeah, snogging with your best mate in a
pair of soiled boxers probably isn’t the most romantic or ideal thing to do.
He can hear the birds, the whirl of Zayn’s ceiling fan, the white noise of the
telly on low – a repeat of the Big Bang Theory he thinks – but none of it sets
in.  None of it is louder than the sound of his heart or his heavy pants,
Zayn’s soft keening noises.
Zayn’s kisses taste like smoke and mint bubblegum today, his tongue flicking
over Liam’s.  Everything’s caving in on him, the way his hands keep grabbing at
Zayn’s hips, his own rutting up to grind against Zayn’s.  His shirt keeps
riding upward when they shift, Zayn’s shirt nearly halfway off and his mouth
finds Zayn’s neck, lips tinting a small patch of skin a delicate red hue.  It
takes a lot of effort, something he tunes himself into because his world feels
blurred and rushed and he’s caught in the undertow.  Zayn presses messy kisses
to his temple, across his cheek, capturing his mouth again to swallow each of
Liam’s labored groans.
“I’m so hard, Zayn,” Liam says, his tone a bit panicked because he’s never been
here before.  He’s sixteen and he’s never kissed someone – a boy, his best mate
– for this long or been in someone else’s bed with an erection.  Or considered
that, yeah, he’s going to come and it’s going to be with someone other than his
hand, behind closed doors with a box of tissues nearby to clean up the mess.
Zayn hums against his lips, nodding.  “I feel it.”
Liam chokes out a whimper when Zayn’s hand grips him through his chinos, a
couple of short strokes before he’s dragging his hand away.  Liam thinks his
eyes roll to the back of his skull, pulling at Zayn’s sheets with a scrunched
face.  He wants, no, he needs more.  Definitely needs more.
“Can you?” Liam asks through sharp breaths, pushing his head up to press sloppy
kisses over Zayn’s mouth.
“Can I what?” There’s a grin in Zayn’s tone but Liam can’t see it.  His eyes
are clenched shut and his lips are fumbling to taste Zayn’s again.
There’s a fevered blush against Liam’s cheeks, a shyness overcoming him and he
falls back against the mattress.  He chews at his lips, eyes scanning the room
rather than Zayn’s face.  His brow furrows when Zayn’s fingers pull at his
chin, trying to draw Liam’s attention.
“I can take care of myself,” Liam stutters out, his breath caught in his
throat.  “Just let me go to the bathroom and have a wank.  I’ll come right back
and we can snog some more.”
Zayn frowns a little, shaking his head.  “I don’t want you to go.”
“But Zayn,” Liam sighs, frustration building.  He tips his hips up, crushes his
cock between them before and settles back against the mattress.  “Fuck, I’ve
never done this.  I’m sorry.  I’m shit at it.  I’m sixteen and, Christ, I can’t
even control myself in bed with a boy kissing me.  I’m pathetic.”
The heat burns him when Zayn leans in, pressing a long kiss to Liam’s cheek. 
His lips drag over Liam’s ear, fingers sweeping over the side of his neck. 
“You’re not.  You’re amazing.  You’re sixteen and in bed with me, your mate. 
Just let me.”
“Let you?” Liam chokes out.
Zayn nods, another kiss to Liam’s cheek before he’s drawing back.  “Let me jerk
you off, yeah?  Let me take care of you.  Let me be the first to,” Zayn bites
down on his lip, waving a hand over Liam’s crotch before adding, “Just let me
be the first.”
And last, Liam thinks, wincing because it’s a bloody stupid thought.  It’s daft
and idiotic.  He must be crazy because what would make him think that this,
whatever it was, he’s doing with Zayn is anything but two mates learning things
together?  Why would it mean something more?  Why would Zayn want to continue
this with someone as inexperienced and completely foolish as Liam?
He thinks too much.
He thinks too much and his cock is hard against his stomach, sticking to that
thick trail of hair leading to his pubes.  He misses it when Zayn undoes the
button to his chinos, pulls open the flaps, hooks his fingers into Liam’s
boxers and drags them both down.  He unconsciously lifts his hips, helps Zayn
pull down the material until they’re both crumpled just below his knees.  He’s
off balance, swept away when Zayn noses against his jaw, whispers words so
quiet that Liam can’t make them out over his own labored breaths.
“You can relax for me, yeah?” Zayn says softly, his teeth catching on Liam’s
bottom lip, sucking gently until Liam nods.  “This has to be good, okay?”
“I can’t imagine it being bad,” Liam laughs out, the cool air from the fan
dancing over his skin when Zayn pushes up his shirt.
Zayn laughs into his collarbone – a quick bite, a swift lick, a long suck. 
“Relax, Liam, yeah?”
Liam nods again, pressing his head into the mattress.  He can do that – relax. 
He can slow his breathing, stare at the ceiling, find something to focus on
other than the fact that he’s half-naked, on his best mate’s bed, with slow
kisses being dripped over his neck and sweaty palms running over his skin.  He
can calm the fuck down with his cock throbbing against his stomach, the precome
sticking to the head.
“Zayn,” Liam breathes out, trying to rile his patience but Zayn’s stroking his
skin, kissing along his neck, licking at his birthmark.
He’s doing everything but touching Liam’s cock and it’s annoying.  Or
beautiful.  He can’t really decide and, like any other sixteen year old with
his cock out, he doesn’t think he has the common sense to do so.
“It’s nice,” Zayn says, his voice throaty as his fingers run along the thick
vein on the underside.  He thumbs the head, Liam tensing immediately from the
rush of ecstasy pooling in his stomach.  “You’re so wet.”
Liam breathes out a hard exhale, a sharp intake of breath when Zayn’s fingers
trace the crown of his prick.
“It’s a little different,” Zayn adds, pulling the foreskin back, thumbing the
red head.  His fingers form a loose sheath, sliding downward but the grip isn’t
firm enough for Liam to gain pleasure from it.  It’s experimental, the way Zayn
strokes him slowly while his thumb traces over each inch of the taut skin.
“Firm.”
“Fuck Zayn,” Liam shudders out, the breath knocked from his lungs when Zayn’s
fingers tighten, pulling and pushing the foreskin over the head.
“Bet you could really satisfy someone, babe,” Zayn whispers, drawing sharp
patterns over Liam’s neck.  “Could really go deep.”
Liam mewls.  He tries to count the beats of that old ceiling fan, tries to
count the stupid glow in the dark stars on the ceiling that Zayn’s had up there
since they were eleven.  His toes curl, dig into the fabric of his socks and
Zayn, fuck – his palm is so soft and smooth.  It catches the tip of his cock,
uses the precome as lubrication and the drag is so familiar but so different.
Zayn’s fingers are thinner, a bit more practiced and focused.  Liam’s all speed
and grip while Zayn is a nice blend of slow and steady with a cool rough and
timely pull.  His thumb does wonders at the slit, his wrist flicking perfectly
on the upstroke.  It’s a beat, beat, quake that has Liam’s stomach constricting
and his balls drawing in tight.
“Oh Christ, Zayn,” Liam hisses, hips stuttering up to fuck into Zayn’s hand.
“Mmm, that’s nice,” Zayn mutters, teeth sinking into Liam’s shoulder through
his t-shirt.
He tries not to peek down, wants to focus on those fucking stars until he sees
them behind his eyelids but curiosity calls on him.  He spots the way Zayn’s
joggers are tented, his cock pressing restlessly against the soft material.  He
watches the nice contrast between his cream complexion compared to Zayn’s
nearly gold skin, the way those fingers look curled around his aching cock.  It
pools in his stomach, an all too familiar sensation riding his spine, sinking
down through his chest, pulling at his balls.
“Oh, I think I’m gonna – “
“I’ve got you, babe,” Zayn whispers, nestling gentle kisses to Liam’s cheek
before nuzzling Liam’s ear with his nose.  “Come in my hand.”
It’s too soon.  The words barely leave Zayn’s lips before he’s spilling over
Zayn’s knuckles, spurts landing on his own stomach.  He feels like an amateur,
a silly sixteen year old virgin who’s barely had Zayn’s hand on his cock for
ten minutes before he’s striping Zayn’s fingers and his belly.
He’s gasping for air, his head tipped back.  He hadn’t realized his fingers
were pinching into Zayn’s forearm until Zayn’s hissing while still stroking him
through his high.  He swallows, watching the small marks his fingers leave
behind as he drops his hand to his side, curling his fingers into the sheets as
Zayn squeezes out the last few drops.
Liam’s shaking, breathless, and all he wants is to kiss Zayn.  He wants Zayn’s
mouth against his, Zayn’s tongue soothing him and, fuck, he needs it.  And
Zayn’s right there, licking into his mouth, kissing him slowly like there’s
still time.  Like the world is crumbling around Liam when he knows it is.  He’s
going to be swallowed alive by these fucking feelings because Zayn just gave
him a proper wank, made him come, and that’s not weird at all.
No, it’s an exceptionally normal feeling to want to kiss your best mate with
his hand around your sticky, soft cock and your own hand inching up to palm him
through his sweats.
“You,” Liam says against Zayn’s lips, still swallowing for air.
“Me?”
“On me,” Liam whispers, his back arching when Zayn’s hand finally leaves his
cock.  He’s cold, wet, sticky, but all he wants is Zayn to feel that same
feeling.  “Show me, Zayn.  Show me you want this too.”
Zayn snickers, his nose wrinkling before he softens another kiss to Liam’s
lips.
“You want me to wank off for you?”
“I want you to come.”
“On you?”
“Wherever,” Liam sighs, falling back on the bed.  “Just, please.”
Zayn nods slowly, nipping at his bottom lip.  He leans in, his nose stroking
over Liam’s cheek, lips kissing the corner of Liam’s mouth.
“You did this to me, Liam,” Zayn tells him, his voice hushed.  “You made me
hard.  You made me so fucking hard.  And I’m not gonna last.”
Zayn drags down the front of his sweats.  Liam reaches out – there’s no pants
beneath.  Cheeky Zayn, honestly.  It’s nothing but wiry black hair and a
pulsing cock that Liam pets lightly, fearful.  He fingers the head, the precome
thick and Zayn’s cooing, shivering on top of him.
“I’m not gonna last because of you,” Zayn says darkly, wrapping his come-
covered hand around his cock.  “Because I was the first person to do that for
you.  And you’re going to be the first person that makes me come like this.  On
you.”
Liam shivers, nodding.  He thumbs the head, feels the surface of Zayn’s cock.
“And fuck,” Zayn gasps, a few quick strokes as he inches up, straddles Liam’s
hips.  “Do you know how good you felt?  Do you know what you looked like?”
“Zayn,” Liam hisses, blush coloring his cheeks again.  He looks up, those
pupils blown wide, those lips swollen and curled into a smirk.  It fucks with
his head in the best way.
“I’m gonna come,” Zayn mutters, biting down on his lip.
Liam reaches up again, folding his hand over Zayn’s, moving in unison.
“Because of me?” Liam asks, his voice far from teasing or taunting.  It’s
honest, something he doesn’t know how he manages.
Zayn nods, teeth biting firmer against his lip.  Their hands move quicker,
gripping tighter.
The room is heady with their scent – musk, sweat, everything that’s young and
boyish.  The sounds of Zayn’s pants, the way their skin is slick against his
prick, the buzz from the telly corners his thoughts.  He watches, awe-stricken
and unprepared as Zayn lurches forward, his free hand pressed to the mattress
on the side of Liam’s head.  Liam steadies his other hand on Zayn’s hip and
holds him in place, his strength tested as Zayn thrusts his hips forward and
groans deep in his throat.
Zayn’s a dim angel when he comes.  He’s quiet, but loud.  He’s broken and
glowing.  His head is bowed and his hips keep thrusting, their hands stroking
the come from him.  It streaks over Liam’s stomach, wets the lower portion of
his chest and he’s breathing just as heavy as Zayn, trying to ride out the
wave.  Zayn keeps trembling, coming, gasping out soft sounds that Liam wants to
hear in the dark of the night, tangled in these sheets.
There’s a shuffle on the bed after Zayn fixes his sweats, the mattress shifting
and jostling Liam.  He’s cold, alone, blinking at the ceiling to try and come
down from this high, and, yeah, he’s sticky and sweaty.  The sticky and sweaty
part feels like an afterthought when he replays Zayn’s face, his eyes, the way
his lips parted, the way he shook when he came.  It’s on a constant loop, one
that Liam’s certain he’s going to have to figure out how to turn off before
he’s hard again and dragging Zayn down onto the mattress to do more than have a
casual wank with a best mate.
Casual.  There was nothing casual about it and he thinks that’s the part he’s
doing best at avoiding.
The mattress dips again when Zayn kneels on the edge, a dry washcloth wiping
away the come before it adheres itself to Liam’s skin.  Zayn’s grinning down at
him, his teeth worrying his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue hanging out. 
He’s careful, gentle, dabbing at Liam’s skin for a second too long before
tossing the cloth into the hamper – “Suppose I’ll have to get a clean one to
shower with later, yeah?” – and crawling over Liam to settle next to him on the
bed.  Liam slips back into his boxers and chinos, buttoning them up while Zayn
draws lazy circles over his stomach.
Liam wonders if it’s instinct or exhaustion that makes him stretch, arms
reaching high above his head before one slinks around Zayn’s shoulders,
dragging him closer.  He lets something resembling a smile fold over his lips
when Zayn drags his fingers through Liam’s hair, a quiet sigh lifting his
chest.
“Don’t suppose you could actually help me with my Math assignment now, yeah?”
Zayn asks, his words breathy against Liam’s ear.  “I’d hate for me mummy to
come home with my room smelling like bullocks and you without me doing my
homework.”
Right – they were studying Math.  Numerical equations, x equals, slopes,
triangles, and the likes.
Liam snorts, nodding.  “I’m shit at Math, Zayn.”
Zayn giggles, his thumb sweeping over Liam’s forehead.  His eyes flutter shut,
Liam dragging his mouth over Zayn’s cheek.  He doesn’t know why he does it but
it feels right.  It feels like something he should do.  At least, he’s sorted
out it’s what he should do.
“As am I, Liam,” Zayn mutters, inching closer.  He rests a hand on Liam’s
chest, the rise and fall moving like a sharp wave on the ocean.  “We can work
it out together, yeah?”
Liam nods again, grinning.  “Together.”
He reaches down, blindly grabbing the textbook that’s hiding beneath comic
books and notebooks, pulling it up to his chest.  The numbers seem fuzzy,
blurred together when he takes a breath in.  He’s still dizzy on that sensation
that he can’t quite name but he figures now is not the time.  Not when Zayn’s
cuddled close, the world is still slipping sideways and neither of them are
willing to talk about what has happened.
He simply draws his arm from Zayn’s shoulders, pretending not to hear a soft
whine from Zayn.  They settle into something a little less comfortable so that
Liam can focus and not feel that constant buzz against the back of his mind
that tells him to kiss Zayn every time he gets an answer right.
It’s just that, well, he thinks he’s looking for any excuse to kiss Zayn now
and that’s playing a very unfair game with his mind.
**
“I was thinking about going to check out this art show over in Cheshire this
weekend.  Catching the bus and making a day of it,” Zayn says, leaning back in
his chair.
He’s not talking to anyone specific, the five of them crowded into their table
in the corner of the lunchroom.  Niall says something around a bite of mash,
Louis darting his eyes everywhere except Zayn’s because they all know how Louis
feels about art.
“My sister Gemma is in town.  Probably wants to spend time with the family,
catch a film,” Harry says with a mocking sigh, a grin threatening to slide over
those cherry lips.
Zayn lowers his brow, a few stray scrapes of his pencil along his sketchbook
leaving behind dulled lines before he’s saying, “You don’t have to make up an
excuse not to go, you know.”
“Really?” Louis beams, Niall reaching out to toy with his soft fringe. 
“Brilliant because I’m fresh out of good ones.”
Zayn flips him off, chewing out spiteful words that Louis can’t hear amongst
the loud chattering from the few tables nearby.
Liam pushes his curls back, unable to replicate that trademark sweep-sweep-
swipe that Harry’s seems to have mastered over the summer – though Liam swears
Harry stole the hair-flick move from him – but it’s enough because his curls
aren’t quite as soft and pliant as Harry’s are.  He tugs at the collar of his
jumper, feeling too hot beneath the dull lights of the cafeteria before running
his palms along the denim of his jeans.
“I’d love to go – “
“Of course you would Liam,” Louis says in a deadpan voice, leveling Liam with
an expectant look.  “Always have to have Zayn to yourself, I swear.”
“He invited you lot,” Liam reminds him, but it feels like a wasted argument.
They all do it – remind Zayn and Liam that they’re each other’s best mate.  Not
like Louis who declares Liam his best mate, sometimes Niall on his horribly off
days.  Harry declares Louis is his, though none of them really believe it
because Harry spends far too much time joking with and trying to imitate
Niall.  Zayn still swears Ant and Danny from back home are his mates, but no
one’s convinced, not even Liam though he puts on a frown and nods along until
Zayn slings an arm around his shoulders, ruffling his hair.  They never give
Niall shit when he says they’re all his brothers, a tried and true grin on his
lips until they all leap on him, drawing him into a circle of hugs that’s
really just a pile of teenage boy unity.
Still, taking a piss at Zayn and Liam feels like a sport for the other three. 
Zayn shrugs it off and Liam wonders if he’ll ever be as laidback as Zayn about
things.
“Zayn is Liam’s guardian angel,” Harry teases, opening his mouth for Niall to
toss a chip inside.  He misses, of course, because Harry is terribly clumsy and
uncoordinated.
Liam tries not to laugh at the way Niall frowns when the chip smacks against
the floor.
“Shut it Styles,” Zayn hisses, another stray stroke of his pencil dragging
along his sheet of paper.
Harry shrugs, resting a comforting hand on Niall’s shoulder, frowning with him.
“Dear Lord and Mother Theresa,” Louis yelps, falling back harshly against his
chair and catching himself before he nearly tips over.
“Mother who?” Niall asks, looking around.
“Theresa,” Zayn murmurs, not bothering to glance up from his sketch.
“Christ, Horan, if the topic isn’t food, you don’t know shit from crap do you?”
Louis hisses, narrowing his eyes at Niall.
Niall blinks at him for a beat, lips pursed before he shrugs.  Harry cackles,
drawing Niall into a protective embrace.  Niall doesn’t pull away when Harry
presses a kind kiss to his temple, rubbing their cheeks together.
“What are you going on about Lou?” Liam asks, his voice dipping low and
underneath a breath because he’s not too fond of the eyes starting to fall on
their table, nor the way Cher has stopped mid-sentence to shoot Louis a glare. 
He knows that won’t end well and, honestly, he can’t explain to his coach why
he missed practice or to his mum when she no doubt has to come pick him up from
detention.
Louis waits a moment until the eyes start to flitter away before he, without
the littlest of discretion, reaches across the table to pull at the collar of
Liam’s jumper until it’s slipping below Liam’s collarbone.
“Care to explain yourself Li?” Louis hisses, blue eyes still very much narrowed
with a quirk to his lips.
“Explain what?” Liam asks, glancing downward.  He catches his breath before it
hitches but there’s still a sharpness singing through the air from the way the
oxygen rattles down his throat.
“It would seem you’re dating that vampire Jacob – “
“Edward,” Harry speaks up, tousling his curls for a second.  He clears his
throat when Louis’ head snaps in his direction, grinning before adding, “Edward
Cullen.”
“Do I look like someone who has a fuck to give?” Louis sneers, his jaw tense. 
Harry shrugs once, rolling his eyes when Louis looks away.
“Someone seems to enjoy decorating your neck,” Louis breathes out when he
finally looks back at Liam, a gleam to his smile when his eyes travel from
Liam’s to the round, ruddy bruise just above Liam’s collarbone.
Liam’s certain his face is flushed, ghostly.  He carefully pulls back from
Louis’ fingers, smacking away his hand when Louis reaches out to touch the
mark.  He slouches into his chair, lungs fighting for air while his heart beats
a little too painfully in his chest.  His fingers grip at the edge of the
table, his other hand trying to rearrange his jumper until the bruise is
covered and, fuck, he hates the way Harry’s eyes grow large while Niall’s
perfectly blue eyes glaze over with shock.  It stutters his breaths, his own
eyes going wide while his teeth sink so far into his lip that he’s sure he can
taste that coppery hint of blood on the edge of his tongue.
Zayn looks up, leaning back in his own chair while tapping the edge of his
pencil on his chin.  Liam’s eyes flit from him because, no, he can’t drag Zayn
into this even though he knows it’s Zayn’s fault.  Zayn and those stupid, soft,
wonderful lips that sucked just a little too gingerly at Liam’s neck when they
were behind the school the day before.  That mouth that tasted like cigarette
smoke and the juices of that orange Zayn had bitten to earlier that day.  With
those hands that tugged at the zipper of Liam’s chinos, pulled down the front
of his boxers while Liam’s own nervous fingers worked at Zayn’s jeans, eyes
glancing around constantly because they were behind the school.  Loads of kids
came there to smoke, talk shit, make fun of whatever sporting group was
practicing down on the field.
Zayn’s mouth that traced over the skin of Liam’s neck while those hands tugged
on Liam’s dick, stroked his own cock, and left them both clinging to each other
seconds before they came.  Those hands that weren’t calloused like Liam’s. 
They were soft, his thumb pulling at Liam’s foreskin while Zayn’s other hand
jerked furiously along his prick, the precome dripping and sticky.  Lips that
let teeth bite into Liam’s collarbone until Liam was hissing, clawing at Zayn’s
back, praying no one came around the corner.  A tongue that licked slowly over
Liam’s neck, lips that kissed apologies into Liam’s skin before applying just
enough pressure that Liam was shaking against Zayn.  His back was pressed to
that painfully hard brick wall while he came in Zayn’s hand.  His own hands
held Zayn’s hips as Zayn fucked out a nut against Liam’s stomach, grinning into
Liam’s neck as he let out shuddery breaths.
Liam rubs his index and middle finger absently over the bruise, eyes shifting
closed for just a moment while his cock pushes unremittingly at the zipper of
his jeans.
“Liam,” Niall sings out, his voice a bit dreamy but nothing like Zayn’s voice
when he’s so close to the edge.  Fuck, he needs to kiss Zayn.
No, he needs to figure out how to breathe at a normal rhythm again because he’s
taking in huge gulps, sweat sticking to his forehead.  And his cock, yeah, he
hopes no one spots the way his hand slips under the table to adjust himself
because it’s more than a bit painful to have your cock stroking against metal
teeth.
Liam bunches gasps of air into his body, nearly choking as he bats his eyes
open.  They’re wide again, staring blankly for a moment before he settles them
on Niall.  That was definitely a mistake.
Niall’s grinning at him, a smug look he rarely adopts because it’s something
Louis has owned since the day they all fell into this makeshift arrangement of
lads and conquering the world – they were a bit behind on the whole ‘conquering
the world’part, but Louis has a plan.  Louis always has a plan.
“Care to explain?” Niall wonders, that grin suddenly looking clearer than any
high-def program Liam’s ever watched on Louis’ flat screen telly.
“No,” Liam says weakly, tugging at his curls.  It stings against his scalp but
it’s the right kind of distraction for his heart to find its syncopation again.
“And he doesn’t have to,” Zayn snaps, his voice cold but nonthreatening.
“He doesn’t?” Louis asks, swayed confusion in his tone.
“No.”
“But,” Louis drags out, waving his hands around for dramatic effect.  Louis was
brilliant at things like that.  Drama teacher indeed.
“No, Lou,” Zayn says sternly, eyeing Louis as Louis rubs at his chin,
thoughtful in the worst kind of way.
“Whatever,” Louis shrugs, kicking at an empty chair.
“Liam’s not such a good boy,” Harry teases, leaning over the table.  There’s a
shuffle under the table and Liam’s pretty sure Harry’s scowl is from the kick
Zayn’s just given him.
“Yeah, well, he won’t be getting high with us after school anytime soon so,”
Niall hums, pulling Harry close until the frown tugging at Harry’s lips
subsides.  He nods at Liam, adding, “Good on you Payne.”
“Job well done,” Harry concurs, his words a tiny bit muffled against Niall’s
chest.
Louis balks, shooting them an indignant look that both Harry and Niall wave
off, grinning at each other.
“You lot are fucking mad,” Louis groans, his foot kicking into that completely
defenseless chair once more.  Liam doesn’t know if he feels more for the chair
or the scuff marks it’s no doubt leaving on the toe of Louis’ Vans.
“Jealous because El isn’t leaving neat little mementos for you to remember your
boring snogs?” Harry teases, dropping his head back onto Niall’s shoulder. 
Liam grins, the way Niall and Harry fit together – the sand and the ocean.
“Oh, fuck off,” Louis grumbles, kicking Harry this time.
“Piss poor attitude, mate,” Niall huffs, rubbing his nose into Harry’s curls
while Harry pouts.
Louis makes a face, reaching out to pull roughly on Niall’s bright, bright
blonde locks.  Niall seems unfazed and they all seem to fall into their own
place again.
Liam tries to avoid the looks Louis gives him – concerned but a bit jarring as
well.  It’s some sort of Louis-way of telling him he’s out of character, but
honestly, he doesn’t think he can muster a care in his bones.  Not when there’s
a flicker of a smile pulling at the corners of Zayn’s lips, those cheeks a
little darkened by the unshaven stubble on Zayn’s face but the blush bites
through nicely.  Those lips, a proud pink, shift and slide behind Zayn’s teeth
until Liam remembers the feel of them over his skin, stripping away that ‘good
boy Liam’ title he’s worn like a tattered badge for too long.
He wants it all to go away.  That pure and innocent teenage dream that inks
itself into his skin in the most painful way every time his lips twitch into a
smile with that wholesomeness his mum brags about but, honestly, he wants to
feel anything but sometimes.  He wants those lips to remind him over and over
that he can just be Liam.  Filthy thoughts, rough hands, swollen lips with a
heart beating so loud he can’t hear the pound of a drum in the marching band.
Zayn does that for him, without the verbiage and constant reminders that Liam
is being anything other than Liam.  He pulls Liam apart and leaves him never
wanting to be pieced together again if it means being anything other than what
he can be with Zayn.  And it has his fingers dragging over the rough material
of his jeans, his arousal prominent and aching now, with his eyes flickering
over Zayn wondering how long before he can feel those lips on his again.
Lips that Zayn uses artfully.  Liam can’t seem to wrestle his thoughts away
from that Sunday night, when Liam should’ve been home setting out his clothes
for school, looking over that last bit of Literature homework, maybe taking in
a Sunday match on the telly with his dad.  He should’ve been lying on his bed,
alternating between texting Harry or Louis about their plans for the following
weekend while flipping through a few pages of Harper Lee – he’s still certain
he won’t finish his stupid paper on time.  Instead, his brown eyes were half-
lidded, glaring at the faded cream paint of his locked bedroom door while
standing in the middle of his bedroom floor with labored breaths breaking
through his once sealed lips.  Eyes that watched that brass doorknob intently,
hoping his mum didn’t decide to drop off his clean laundry or stop in to check
on the progress of he and Zayn’s studying.
Zayn.
Zayn, with his knees digging into that worn carpet on Liam’s floor and soft
pink lips wrapped firmly around Liam’s cock.  Liam’s fingers, shaky and
trembling, pulling through Zayn’s soft quiff – well, what was left of it
because Liam’s hands had been unable to stay out of it the moment their lips
pressed together hours before – while Zayn bobs up and down on his aching
prick.  And those lips that were stretched and swollen around Liam were peeling
him apart delicately.  They were dragging over Liam’s cock for the first time –
he’s certain he’s going to need to make a list of things Zayn’s done for him
the first time, starting with this – until Liam’s knees were weak and his hand
was pressing to Zayn’s shoulder for support.
Zayn pulls back with a small pop, smiling, licking spit and precome from his
lips without looking the least bit debauched.  Looking up through long lashes
with his grin thickening, a firm grip on Liam’s dick until Liam stopped shaking
and corralled his breathing.  Quiet kisses pressed to Liam’s inner thigh while
Zayn’s hand strokes the back of Liam’s thigh, his cheek caressing the underside
of Liam’s twitching cock.
“Jesus,” Liam breathes out, his thumb sweeping over Zayn’s hairline and Zayn,
fuck, he mewls with the touch.
He breaks Liam that easily with his eyes blinking closed and his mouth opening
to take Liam back in.
Breaths just a little too accelerated, Zayn sinking lower, teeth biting at the
tip of his tongue as Zayn swallows him midway, his hand doing the rest with
saliva making the strokes easier, wetter.  Spit sliding out the corner of
Zayn’s mouth, his tongue curling around the head of Liam’s cock.  Liam’s
fingers tugging gently at Zayn’s head, testing, pulling him back until Zayn’s
sucking lovingly on the tip of his cock while looking up through those
flutteringly long lashes.
Liam’s fingers dig into Zayn’s shoulder, close, too close.  Zayn’s only been
there ten minutes, maybe a little longer, and Liam feels stupid.  That wave
overwhelms him – daft sixteen year old rookie who can’t hold out long enough
for Zayn to give him a proper blowjob.  Zayn looks up at him, curious, kissing
at the head and he doesn’t know why it eases him.
“It’s okay,” Zayn whispers around his cock, the words muffled but
understandable.
He hates how Zayn gets it.  Zayn always does.  He’s cautious and understanding
and, fuck, Liam wants him to be anything but.  He wants Zayn to complain when
Liam pushes his lips further down, Zayn’s cheeks hollowing and Liam can see the
indentation of his cock against the flesh of Zayn’s cheek.  He’s weak, willing,
and his hips stutter forward to push his cock further into that wet, hot mouth
of Zayn’s.
Zayn’s hand goes tight on his cock, his thumb working the underside, fingers
carefully slipping the foreskin back.  His tongue licking the precome from the
slit, bottom lip quivering as Liam rolls his hips, drags the head of his prick
over Zayn’s lips.  Fucking sinful piece of art, Liam thinks, knees buckling
again when Zayn sinks back down.
“Gonna come, Zee,” Liam hisses, trying to drown his voice beneath that silly
mix CD Harry had left in his room, something that goes from – you wanna be high
for this – to something a little more piano-ridden – and I told you to be
patient, and I told you to be fine.
Zayn pulls back, nodding, stroking him faster.  There’s a gleam on his lips,
palming himself through his jeans while licking his lips.  He’s gasping for
air, lashes wet with determination set into those sharp features.  The soft
slurp, the slick sound of Zayn’s hand gripping him tighter, spit sliding
between those fingers, it all echoes like violins hitting acoustics.
Zayn’s mouth going round the tip, sliding further, Liam trying to catch his
breath but it feels too raw.  His throat is dry, his fingers burn as they tug
on Zayn’s hair but Zayn’s not relenting.  He’s sucking and Liam, fuck, Liam’s
reeling.
“Zayn, please,” Liam begs, toes digging into the carpet, pushing up on them
until he’s almost choking Zayn.
Zayn hums sweetly, eyelashes wrinkled against those soft cheeks that were
shaven and so soft when Liam touched them earlier.  And Zayn does this like
it’s not his first time, – Liam knows it is by the way Zayn nearly gagged
himself the first couple of times he pushed a little too far – like this is all
he’s wanted to do for Liam.  Like the taste, the texture, the fucking shape of
Liam’s cock gives him the strength to push on.  It’s incredible, the tightening
in Liam’s stomach, and he can’t catch himself quick enough.
“Oh fuck,” Liam sputters, pushing Zayn’s hair back because he can’t do anything
else as he spills over Zayn’s tongue, down his throat.  He shivers – fucking
rookie– and does his best to hold on but there’s nothing to hold onto.  Nothing
to steady himself because Zayn’s got a hand around his cock, jerking him
through it, and his other hand is gripping that lengthy cock through the front
of his jeans, the wet spot darkening around the crotch.
He’s gasping for air, ruined and exhausted, with his muscles aching and the
entire room spinning.  It’s a delicious coolness seeping over his skin, Zayn
licking the last few drops away before letting Liam’s cock slide from his
lips.  He’s sitting back on his haunches, doing his best to fix his hair while
Liam stares at that damn door, still praying his mum doesn’t try to force it
open – locked or not.
He’s on his knees when Zayn’s wiping his mouth with the back of his hand,
reaching for his own strips of air.  He’s watching that smile settle on Zayn’s
lips, the corners of his mouth curling while Liam tries not to stare at him in
awe.
He does a terrifically horrible job at that.
Liam leans in, pressing a light kiss to Zayn’s lips, a hollowed groan sitting
in the back of his throat when Zayn kisses back.  He tastes himself on Zayn’s
tongue – salty, bitter, thick, a bit unpleasant but nothing he thinks he
wouldn’t gladly do for Zayn.  He kisses Zayn until that high Zayn’s on, the one
that has him shaking and touching any piece of Liam available, calms.  He nips
at Zayn’s lips, whispering gratitude that he feels silly about but Zayn shrugs,
kissing him harder and willing.
“Hey.”
Liam shakes, looking around quickly but Louis’ too caught up in some row with
Cher – it was inevitable, really – while Harry and Niall play FIFA on Harry’s
phone.  There’s fingers on the back of his hand, the one that’s under the table
trying to grip the fabric of his jeans.  They’re quiet touches, tiptoeing over
his skin and he has to admit that he loves the way Zayn’s skin looks against
his – a complex contrast of rich tones and softness.
Liam looks up at Zayn, feeling hot and breathless at how close Zayn’s scooted
his chair.  He’s not suffocating but the air feels thinner, Zayn’s smile
lighting up when Liam settles his eyes on him.  It takes Liam a moment before
his own smile surfaces, thoughts still spinning in an uncomfortably quick
motion.
“You’ll really come with me?  This weekend?” Zayn asks, his voice sinking low
and raspy like after he smokes a cigarette.
Liam clears his throat, turning his hand over until Zayn’s fingers tickle his
palm.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Liam says, his own voice caught on a breath.
Zayn’s cheeks lift.  “You’re the best.  ‘s gonna be fun, promise.”
Liam nods, believes Zayn.  He has no reason not to.  Even the quietest, simple
things with Zayn were fun, memorable.  He thinks it’s probably because he just
loves to be around Zayn, you know, his best mate.  Because that’s all Zayn was
supposed to be.
“Buy me lunch?” Liam wonders, leaning in Zayn’s direction.  It’s natural, pure
instinct that has Zayn folding an arm around Liam’s shoulders, grins too wide
to capture in one frame.
“Dinner too,” Zayn says, his tone chuffed and pleasant.
“I fancy a nice meal, Zayn,” Liam teases, ducking his face into Zayn’s neck for
a laugh.  Warm scent, something like citrus and hot herbal tea.
“No dessert,” Zayn jokes, a half-grin on his lips, his cheeks pushing his eyes
nearly closed.
“Bugger.”
“Thank you,” Zayn whispers against Liam’s forehead, the world doing its usual
slide away whenever Zayn’s voice goes this soft, this painfully happy.
Liam wants to thank Zayn for giving him a reason to escape his thoughts, his
worries, his own desolate existence.  He settles for a nod, tucking his chin
against Zayn’s collarbone, rubbing his nose along Zayn’s neck.  He doesn’t stay
long, lips already twitching to kiss at the skin, drawing back with Harry’s
green eyes following them.  It’s not a curious look, not like the one Louis
would have.  It’s a gleeful one like he understands, like he shares that same
kind of connection with Niall or Louis when Louis’ not being petulant – Liam
grins at that.
He straightens himself in his chair, Zayn shifting away to finish his sketch. 
He fiddles with his now cold chips, waiting for that inevitable bell that’ll
signal the end of this moment.  His thumb sweeps under his collar, glancing to
Zayn for a moment.  The pad pushes against that love bite, the one that’s
probably darkened, feeling all the more permanent in a way that Liam thinks he
doesn’t mind.
No, he doesn’t mind it at all.
He leaves his own mark later, after school, in the boys’ loo on a lower floor
of the building with the deadbolt locked and Zayn pressed against a wall of one
of the stalls.  He doesn’t mind the way Zayn’s fingers drag slowly through his
curls, tangling themselves while Liam’s fingers pull at the collar of Zayn’s
Superman t-shirt – no, Liam’s shirt but he doesn’t say anything.  Zayn nicks
all of their clothes, but seems to hang on to Liam’s longer than the others –
to expose more skin.  He listens to Zayn’s sharp pants, low hisses, soft moans
that rattle off the walls a little too loudly while his lips suck impatiently
at the space between Zayn’s shoulder and neck.
Liam decorates Zayn’s skin with more than one mark, finding a small stretch of
skin above his collarbone, behind his ear, in the center of his chest when he
pushes Zayn’s shirt up.  He traces each one with his tongue, letting Zayn grind
his hips against Liam’s until their cocks are stiff, aching.  He lets Zayn’s
hands scramble over his back as they kiss, lips raw and swollen when they pull
back.  He lets Zayn chew on his bottom lip, shy and quiet for moments while
Liam admires him, rubs gentle patterns over Zayn’s hip.
Words wait on his tongue, never moving, ready for the war he’s waging with his
heart.  He does his best to swallow them, fitting his mouth against Zayn’s
until Zayn’s an impatient child, begging for release.  Liam doesn’t give it to
him, grinning at Zayn.  Zayn’s the bolder of the two, willing to get off any
place available but Liam knows his limits.  He knows unless Zayn pushes him
over the edge, he’ll tiptoe the ledge until he feels comfortable enough to
jump.
It’s how they work.  He doesn’t see a need to change it.
**
It’s the crest of November when the knock on his door is almost too quiet for
him to hear.
He half-expects it to be his mum, bringing him some of those lemon bars he
refused for dessert – she always tries to coerce him into breaking his diet
during training and he never bothers to hate her for it – or possibly Louis,
annoying Liam for another late night run – he’s more than impressed with the
way Louis tends to stick to his resolve about putting in extra effort during
the off season; he more than wishes he could say the same for Niall.  He
scurries to straighten himself on his bed, slipping the comic he’s reading
between his Math book because he doesn’t feel like seeing his mum shaking her
head, giving him that disappointed look she always gives him when he skips
studying for comics.  He figures Louis will just toss the comic aside, slide
onto Liam’s bed with him and go on about how much he’s ready to “abandon this
mock relationship with El for a life of drugs and booze” until he’s dizzy and
Liam’s restless.
He’s honestly not expecting Zayn to be leaning in his doorway, blackening that
bright shimmer from the hall light with his head hanging a little low, fingers
rubbing at his chin.  He’s not expecting Zayn to offer him a weak smile, a
beanie pulled over his probably soft, fluffy hair with his hoodie hanging
loosely off his frame – Liam’s certain Zayn’s wearing his Ralph Lauren t-shirt,
but he’s doesn’t bother mentioning it.  His sweats are hanging low on his hips,
that peek of black briefs viewable only when Zayn lifts a hand to rub at the
back of his neck, clearing his throat.
“Can I come in?” Zayn asks, dragging the toe of his high top trainers over the
hardwood floor outside of Liam’s room.
Liam quirks a brow, scooting up to the edge of his bed to let his legs hang
off, feet kicking adamantly.
Zayn seems antsy, tugging at the string of his hoodie, spinning the wheels of
his skateboard against his fingertips, eyes flickering from Liam’s face to his
bare feet.  There’s a tug at his lips, one that Liam mirrors, and this feels
so… different.
“You’ve never had to ask before,” Liam finally says with a small lift of his
shoulders, pushing out a grin when Zayn nods.
Liam pushes off of his bed as Zayn toes off his shoes by the door, resting his
skateboard up against Liam’s dresser.  Liam closes the small distance between
them without trying, folding Zayn into his arms.  He smells like fresh air, a
stiff hint of nicotine, a waif of cologne, and something sweet.  It cools
Liam’s senses, his nose rubbing against the side of Zayn’s neck while Zayn’s
arms hesitantly lift and secure themselves around Liam’s back.
“Is it inappropriate for me to tell you I’m sporting a semi and would really
like to snog you in my bed?” Liam whispers, grinning into the crook of Zayn’s
neck.
There’s a sigh, quiet and almost unrecognizable but it’s enough for Liam to
pull back.  He presses a smooth kiss to the corner of Zayn’s mouth before
drawing all the way back, keeping his arms around Zayn’s waist while Zayn’s
arms fall away.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
“Liam,” Zayn whines, knitting his brows while offering Liam an incredulous
look.  “Language, Liam.”
Liam shifts his mouth sideways, furrowing his own brow.  “Something’s up, I
know.”
“Don’t have to talk about it.”
“Zayn,” Liam says calmly, schooling his frustration though it’s scratching at
his skin, stinging against his chest.  “I’m your best mate.”
“I know.”
“And you can talk to me.”
Zayn nods slowly, following along.  Liam wants to throttle him because he knows
Zayn’s merely placating him.  He’s simply doing the things Liam wants,
responding the way Liam will feel satisfied with.  It’s easier that way, for
everyone.  It’s simpler for Zayn to retreat inside of himself rather than lay
vulnerable, open for everyone to pick apart.  He’s done it for longer than
Liam’s known him and Liam thinks, for a second, he’s never been good at doing
it with Liam.
It’s one of the few things Zayn’s given Liam – that endless trust that Liam
will ease him through every moment of insecurity.
He can’t afford to lose it now.
“Zayn,” Liam hums, his lips pursing.  He can see the flicker in Zayn’s amber
eyes – he’s breaking along the soft edges – before Zayn pouts.  “Please.”
Zayn scrubs a hand down his face, sighing into his palm.  He leans in, burying
his face in Liam’s neck for a moment, breathing him in while Liam runs his
fingers over the small of Zayn’s back.  It’s a soft pressure, one that has Zayn
moaning softly into Liam’s neck before he’s pulling back, sidestepping toward
Liam’s bed.
The floor creaks and moans beneath Liam’s bare feet, his toes digging into the
carpet before he’s plopping down on the edge of the bed next to Zayn.  He’s
sliding a hand into Zayn’s lap, a tight grip on the smile that threatens to
push over his lips when Zayn’s hand covers his, fingers piecing together like
an abandoned puzzle.  He lets the silence bathe them, tiptoe cold sensations
over his skin as Zayn drags sock-covered feet over the carpet – sliding over
that deep red stain from where Louis’ spilled that glass of cranberry juice,
the small singed portion from Niall learning the importance of not playing with
Zayn’s lighter.  He waits with a hum in his throat, eyes flitting from Zayn’s
face to his slow rising chest, his jiggling leg, that hand that feels almost
like ice against Liam’s.
“My parents were having a row.  A big one this time,” Zayn finally utters, his
chin still tucked, eyes on the floor.
“About?”
Zayn clicks his tongue against his teeth, his sigh sounding annoyed.  “Doniya.”
Liam nods, holding his words.  He knows Zayn – he’ll speak when he’s ready. 
He’s the definition of patience and Liam’s had to learn how to use it without
trying when it came to Zayn.
“They’re quite upset because she doesn’t want to go to Uni once she’s done with
Upper Sixth.  She wants to travel, chill out with her mates, have a go at doing
something other than school,” Zayn explains, his voice raspy with cigarette
smoke.  He drags off his beanie, keeping his head lowered.  “I expected as
much, from her.  She’s never liked school or being confined.  I honestly don’t
see the problem but they do.  They’re quite upset.”
Liam watches the way Zayn’s hand starts to shake, tightening his fingers around
Zayn’s until it subsides a little, a twitch of Zayn’s lips drawing up a small
smile.  It’s a start, he knows, but it’s not enough.
“They didn’t know I was listening, actually,” Zayn says, a ghost of a sigh
passing his lips before a short laugh follows.  “It was quite easy for them to
go from talking about her to having a chat about me.”
Zayn’s eyes slide shut, Liam slipping closer.  He drops his chin to Zayn’s
shoulder for a moment, watching Zayn curl into himself.
“They don’t know what I’m gonna do.  Me mum thinks it’s too soon to think about
but now me baba wants to sort it out,” Zayn rushes out, inhaling quickly.  Liam
lifts his chin, tempted to press a kiss to Zayn’s cheek, stop him but he
can’t.  He merely watches.
“He doesn’t want me to go to art school.  He wants me to go to college,
University, start a career as a doctor or something important like him,” Zayn
says, his voice edgy but there’s a grin on his lips when he turns toward Liam. 
It’s a put on, they both recognize it, but Liam merely smiles back.  It
unsettles Zayn enough that he leans in to Liam, pressing his forehead to
Liam’s.
“You’d do great at art school,” Liam tells him, gnawing at his bottom lip.
Zayn chews at a corner of his own lip, looking up through his lashes.  “He
doesn’t want me to throw my life away.  He loves me drawings and sketches.  He
begs me to sing for him.  But he thinks it’s a waste.  Everything I want would
be a complete waste.”
Liam pulls back, shaking his head.  “Nothing you do is a waste.”
Zayn snorts, nodding.  “Figured you’d say that.”
Liam tries not to scowl.  “Zayn Malik – “
“Don’t Liam,” Zayn whispers, his frown finally creasing his lips.  It’s been
waiting, sitting on a sharp piece of his heart and Liam feels himself sink when
it appears.  “Don’t do that.  ‘m not here looking for someone to tell me how
great I am.  ‘s not what I want from you.”
“Okay,” Liam concedes without regret.  He runs his tongue over his lip, the
chapped skin biting.
“I just want,” Zayn pauses, looking thoughtful and uncertain.
Liam wants to run his hand over Zayn’s cheek, drag away that hesitance.  He
squeezes Zayn’s thigh instead, offers him a look that tells him to continue.
“Can I stay here tonight?” His voice is small, shy, rounded by big eyes that
are pleading with Liam.
Zayn doesn’t have to beg.  He doesn’t even have to ask.
Liam leans back, presenting a wide grin for Zayn that draws a light tint of
blush to Zayn’s cheeks, a fumbled grin over his lips.
“Can I get out my Toy Story sheets?” Liam asks, his eyes mere slits of brown
with his cheeks pushed up and his smile expanding.
Zayn laughs, a bark of a sound that’s full and very much Zayn.
“I swear I’ll never tell the lads at school that you still sleep with a stuffed
Woody doll and Dark Knight posters on your wall,” Zayn teases, reaching out to
ruffle Liam’s already mused curls.
“And I won’t tell the chaps about you being afraid of the dark and having Iron
Man on your pillows,” Liam jokes back, smacking Zayn’s hand away.
“Hey!  Tony Stark is infinitely cooler than Bruce Wayne.”
“You’re mad,” Liam sputters out, punching Zayn’s thigh.
“Is that a challenge?” Zayn snickers, swatting at Liam’s shoulder.
They’re a symphony of laughs and chuckles, playfully smacking each other and
dragging fingers through each other’s hair.  Zayn knocks his shoulder against
Liam’s chest, Liam’s knee connecting with Zayn’s ribs.  They’re wrinkled noses,
aching cheeks, and everything they were before puberty, kisses, and not knowing
the difference between what was and what is existed.
A rough clearing of a throat pulls Liam from his haze, pulling back from Zayn
with red cheeks and a lifted brow.  Zayn’s cheeks are wet with tears, his
laughing tittering off as they both look on Liam’s mum leaning in the doorway
of Liam’s room, smiling grandly with her arms folded over her chest.
“Mummy,” Liam gasps out, knocking Zayn away until they’re no longer a tangle of
limbs and swift fingers.
She smiles on Liam, nodding at Zayn for a moment.  “Boys will be boys.”
Liam does his best to fight his smirk, ruffling Zayn’s hair once more.
“Mum, Zayn here is spending the night,” Liam says cheerily, hooking an arm
around Zayn’s neck to pull him closer.  He winces a little when she gives him
an indignant look, arching an eyebrow at them.  He swallows quickly before
adding, “If that’s okay with you?”
His mum is far from stern – that’s his father’s job – but she’s proper, expects
nothing less from his sisters and him and knows when one of them is walking a
little too far over that fine line.
There’s a moment, one that is far from brief, when he wonders if maybe he
doesn’t know the difference.
Something like a flickering firefly dances over her lips – a petite smile.  She
nods at Zayn who’s looking a bit sheepish, tucking his bottom lip behind his
teeth while looking up through those long lashes.  He’s harmless, she knows,
and Liam can’t forget the numerous occasions she’s told Liam how much she loves
him – “I swear sunshine, if Tricia ever wanted to give him up, I’d adopt him
immediately.  You two are so wonderful together, unlike that Andy,” she’s
said.  He wonders how often he’s heard “unlike that Andy” in one sitting.
“I’ll call your mum so that she knows you’re here and will be spending the
night with us,” she says, leaning off the doorframe with a warming smile.
Zayn tucks his chin a little, looking up through his lashes like an
adolescent.  “Thanks Mrs. Payne.”
“Oh gosh, Zayn, please,” she says with a chuckle, waving him off.  “Call me
Karen.  You make me feel so old when you call me Mrs. Payne.”
Zayn snorts, nodding before whispering, “Karen.”
“Now Liam,” she draws out his name like she always done with he’s in trouble or
when she really wants him to pay attention.  She waves a pointed finger at him,
a smirk curling over the corners of her mouth.  “Don’t go keeping him up all
night.”
Liam sighs helplessly, shoulders slumping forward.  “Mummy.”
She shakes her head with a laugh, arms folding over her chest.  “You boys know
where the extra linen is if you need it.  And, honestly Liam, clean your room
up the next time you have company, yeah?”
She’s giggling as she pulls Liam’s door shut, a quiet sigh following that
almost sounds like relief.
It’s not long after that Liam’s room is bathed in only the soft blue light from
the television.  The shadows chase over all of the corners, stitching their way
over furniture, clean and dirty clothes, neatly arranged shoes, an array of
comics, and Liam’s desk.  His lips are fanning gently over Zayn’s neck, Zayn’s
nimble fingers casually tracing over the freckles on his bare back while he
breathes in everything that is Zayn.
“I can stop,” Liam whispers, teeth biting down on his lip when Zayn’s head
remains tipped back, eyes on the ceiling.
“No.”
“Do you want me to give you a wank?” Liam offers, lips finding that space just
beneath Zayn’s jaw to press at.
“It’s okay.”
“Zayn,” Liam sighs, his own fingers running quietly over Zayn’s stomach, his
thumb sweeping over that thin trail of hair leading into Zayn’s – no, Liam’s –
joggers.
“Am I annoying you?” Zayn asks dryly, blinking a few times before dipping his
chin to look at Liam.
Liam shakes his head, resting his chin on Zayn’s chest for a moment.  “No.”
“I just,” Zayn swallows, his fingers rising and falling over Liam’s shoulder
blade.  “Can you cuddle me?”
Liam bites on his tongue to suppress his giggle.  He hooks his arms around
Zayn, pulling him in until they’re lying on their sides with their legs tangled
beneath the duvet, the quiet whir of Liam’s ceiling fan louder than the dull
murmur of his television.
“This good?” Liam wonders, running his nose over Zayn’s hairline.  He smells
like citrus, cold air, the dying scent of that cigarette Liam let Zayn smoke
with his window open, half of Zayn hanging out to keep the smoke fanning into
the backyard.
“Perfect.”
Liam squeezes tighter, pressing a kiss to Zayn’s forehead.
“You could maybe never let me go?”
He tries not to wince at the dip in Zayn’s voice, incredibly vulnerable, nearly
broken.
“Zayn,” Liam drags out, his fingers tracing down the knobs of Zayn’s spine.
“Don’t wan’ talk ‘bout it,” Zayn mumbles into Liam’s neck.
“Fine.” Liam tries not to sound offended but it’s nearly impossible with his
best mate curled around him, his lips tracing Zayn’s forehead, and everything
feeling warm and bitterly cold at the same time.
“Please,” Zayn requests, his voice still hollowed out.
“Promise to be my best mate through everything,” Liam pleads, eyes sliding
shut.  It doesn’t hurt, really, it doesn’t.  But it does.  It aches and he
wonders if he needs to hear it from himself more than Zayn.
He wonders if he needs to remind himself that whatever is or isn’t happening
won’t change this.  This feeling.  This boy.
“That’s easy, babe,” Zayn chuckles, biting softly at Liam’s neck.  He licks at
the mark Liam knows he’s left behind.
“Do you like when I snog you?” Liam asks because his mind isn’t exactly working
at top speed and he’s sure he loves punishing himself.  Louis tells him so all
of the time.
“I don’t like it when you don’t when I know you want to,” Zayn says, not really
giving Liam what he wants but he’s okay with that.  He’s not sure he knows what
he wants anyway.
“I think you’re a brilliant kisser,” Liam sighs, shrugging.  He’s not certain
what else to do.
“You’re better,” Zayn says, a grin pressed to Liam’s birthmark.
“’m not.”
“Don’t argue with me,” Zayn hisses, pinching Liam’s side.  Liam doesn’t flinch,
grinning into Zayn’s hair.
“Do you want to give me a wank?”
“Liam.”
Liam hums, swallowing a laugh when Zayn reaches down to palm his cock.  He’s
not hard, not yet, and he’s giggling when Zayn tickles his balls, squeezes his
thigh.
“This is what I want,” Zayn whispers, his voice faint and pursued by an even
quieter yawn.
“What?”
“Being right here,” Zayn says, his voice falling short in the air.  His
breathing is evening out, cuddling closer to Liam until Liam’s certain he’s
nearly sleep.  He’s convinced until another whisper seeps in, “with you.”
Liam wonders how long before the pounding of his heart wakes Zayn.  It doesn’t
and he’s thankful but it doesn’t slow down the rhythm, the way it echoes in his
ears.  It leaves his blood hot, his skin too warm and far too tingly.  He tries
to close his eyes, will himself to sleep but none of it works.
He’s awake, Zayn curled into him, and he’s never wanted anything other than to
remember what it was like to fall asleep without fearing this warmth leaving
his arms.
**
"Do you think you're in love with El?"
Liam pretends for a moment the words never came out of his mouth.  He takes in
the scene of the cafeteria – there’s Christmas decorations splattered over the
walls, the doors entering into the cafeteria, even around some of the tables
that a few of the freshers haven’t torn down yet.  There’s garland hanging from
the ceilings, paper snowflakes clinging to thin pieces of string.  Snowmen are
spray painted on the windows with a plastic Rudolph sitting somewhere in a
corner.  A few of the Tenth Year girls wear Santa hats – a few of the guys too
but theirs are cocked to the side like something off of MTV – while the
Eleventh Year girls stick to sluttier versions of elves with their striped
shirts, red and green skirts, and knee-high socks.
He leans back in his chair, the squeak of the plastic ringing in his ears.  He
can feel those azure eyes glaring at him, teeth chewing on his bottom lip while
avoiding Louis’ gaze for as long as humanly possible.
"Oi, don't be daft," Louis scoffs, tossing his head to the side to flick the
fringe from his eyes.  "I'm far too self-centered for such a thing."
"But how would you know if you were?"
Louis shrugs halfheartedly, forking his sliced apples around on his tray. 
"Guess I'd have to think about that.  Doesn't matter.  I'd muck it up anyway."
Liam nods slowly.  He doesn’t know what he expected from Louis – a life
changing revelation maybe? – but it only leaves him sliding back in his seat,
picking at the stupid jumper his mum bought him last Christmas.  He feels his
jaw tense when Louis leans forward, that wide, faraway look in his eyes
revealing the thoughts behind those lids.
"Why?  Are you in love?" Louis asks, a blinding gleam on his lips.  "Who is
she?"
Liam flinches a little, eyes dropping away.
"Or he?" Louis' voice borders on ecstatic, hand reaching out to pinch his
fingers around Liam's wrist.  "Oi, you little shit.  It is a he, isn't it? 
Aww, bless.  If I had to sit through one more night of Harry and Niall – “
"Harry and Niall?" Liam asks, his voice choked.
Louis nods with a self-righteous grin on his lips.  "Fucking hell, Li, you
couldn't tell?"
Liam shakes his head quickly, his brain whirring while trying to wrap his head
around the concept because Niall is, well, Nialland Harry is a cheeky bastard
who flirts with almost anyone, including a few of their teachers – not that
it's gotten him many passing grades, but it’s a righteous effort.
"They mostly snog or blow each other after school but I don't take it
seriously.  They don’t either.  Harry has that thing for Cher and, honestly, I
just think Niall's waiting on Josh to figure out he's into cock, which should
be any day now," Louis says candidly, slurping on his apple juice while
grinning at Liam.
Liam tries not to let his face completely wrinkle, blinking at Louis for what
feels like minutes.  The world feels so foreign and dim.  His fingers rub at
his nose, Louis eyeing him like he’s completely manic until he’s laughing at
Liam, toying with his fringe while Liam swallows slowly.
If he didn’t know Louis, he’d be more than a little dazed.  Fortunately, it’s
just a half-drunk feeling that fizzles when Louis lifts a sharp eyebrow at him.
“So who is it?” Louis wonders, his best attempt at sounding uninterested
crashing and burning.  It’s in his eyes, the way they’re almost grayish and a
bit frightening.
“Nobody.”  Liam wants to believe his own voice, but it’s strangled.
“You little shit, don’t lie.  You’re horrible at lying,” Louis laughs out,
kicking at Liam’s shin.
Liam holds onto his resolve, lifting his eyes from Louis.  He watches Cher
dance into the cafeteria, Jesy and Leigh-Anne bookending either side of her. 
She’s a sparkler – far too bright but dimming just at the ends.  She’s nothing
like the little girl he remembers with the pigtails, the ripped jeans, her head
in a good romance novel with a thick pair of glasses.  He thinks he misses that
Cher, not that he’s taking the time to really breathe in the woman she’s slowly
becoming.
“Do we know him?  Oh for fuck’s sake, it isn’t that loser Aiden is it?  Or that
fucker Tom, right?” Louis rattles out, nearly climbing over the table to draw
Liam’s attention back.  It’s an effective tactic, Liam crossing his arms over
his chest.
His eyes drift from Louis for a moment, chewing at his bottom lip as Harry
eases into the empty chair next to Louis, dropping his tray unceremoniously. 
There’s a fedora cocked on his head – one that’s probably been confiscated
eight times today but he still manages to get it back – with wide green eyes
that are overflowing with the sort of happiness that Liam runs from, terrified.
“What are we talking about?” Harry wonders, taking a large bite into his
apple.  He nudges Louis with a grin, the smaller boy wrinkling his nose at the
amount of rings Harry’s managed to fit on his fingers.
He’s a complete hipster and proud of it.
“Liam here is in love,” Louis says with a smirk, jerking his head toward Liam.
“I’m not.  Shut it Lou,” Liam hisses, returning Louis’ kick from earlier.  It
does little to deter Louis’ resolute expression.  Liam doesn’t know why he
thought it would.
“Oh, so he is?” Harry wonders, his cherry lips spreading into a smirk.  It’s
sickening, really.
“Yes, the bloody little twat is in love and he won’t spill on who it is,” Louis
huffs out, slouching in his chair.
“It’s nobody,” Liam insists before Harry’s mouth can slide open.  He can
already see the questions in his eyes and, fuck, why did he even bother asking
Louis about something so stupid?
He’s not in love.  10cc be damned, he’s not.
“Oh, let’s play twenty questions.  Is he a horse?” Harry cheers with an
enthusiastic clap.  His dimple is pronounced, cheeks a faded pink, and Liam
tries not to smile at the childlike wonder in those emerald eyes.
“Is he a what?” Liam spits out.
“So it really is a he?  Quite fascinating,” Harry chews out with a triumphant
grin.  Cheeky bastard.
“It’s not.  You two donuts don’t know what you’re talking about,” Liam says
with a scoff, turning his eyes away to watch Niall stumble in with a few of the
sports, laughing loudly while tossing a football to Josh.  He wonders how long
before that grin on Josh’s lips softens just for Niall.
“Is he a student here?  Oh, fucking hell, are you in love with a bloody
teacher?” Louis asks, his tone half-mocking and half-incredulous.
“No.”
“So he’s a student?” Harry hums, leaning in with his elbows on the table.  He
arches an eyebrow, Louis inclining until his chin is resting on Harry’s
shoulder and he’s tapping impatient fingers on the table.
Liam inhales sharply, trying to remember when all of this was so much simpler. 
When all of this was just a kiss between mates.
“He is a nothing and forget we ever had this conversation,” Liam finally snaps
out, narrowing his eyes at Harry and Louis until they’re shrugging, falling
into their own quiet conversation.  He’s more than certain they’re finding a
way to talk about him, piece together stupid clues and wild notions until they
have it all figured out.  He wonders which one of them is playing Sherlock
Holmes, which one is Watson.  They’re complete idiots and he loves them both
more than he thinks he could love anyone.
Yet, he keeps watching the door, hoping Zayn will walk in and settle down next
to him, taking his mind from all of this.
It’s a patient wait that weighs on his shoulder, something playing on repeat in
the back of his mind – I’m not in love, so don’t forget it. It’s just a simple
phase I’m going through.
**
January is a bitter cold that scrapes along the skin, hollows in every dark
corner, dances through the air like a raging fire.  There’s fewer trips down to
the lake – even Niall can’t bring himself to sit on the dock and look at the
way the water’s frozen over like a sheet of black glass – and Liam’s runs are
reduced to those few hours he gives himself after school.  Their film nights
come more frequently because there’s not much to do in the city when it’s this
cold outside of trips to London or maybe Yorkshire but none of them have a car,
not even Louis who is still reeling from his parents not buying him one for his
seventeenth birthday the month before.
Louis’ a little more focused on school rather than football – he still wishes
he could say the same for Niall – and thankfully Harry’s managed to spend fewer
of his afternoons in  detention, choosing to lean over the railing of Niall’s
terrace while the others attempt to study.  That never ends well – mainly
because Niall can’t focus and Harry always finds a way to distract Zayn – but
Louis hangs onto his resolve, only giving up when Harry’s tugging on his foot,
Niall gnawing at the nape of his neck while Zayn tugs on his hair.  Liam
huddles in a corner and prays he can finish his History homework before Zayn
finds him.
The moments with Zayn feel fewer and fewer, not that he notices – okay, yeah,
he actually does – but it’s not on purpose.  He makes sure that Zayn stops by
for Christmas – “Please, Zayn, you have to.” – and Zayn spends the night buried
in Liam’s arms, grinning against Liam’s chest with torn wrapping paper
surrounding Liam’s bed, sparkly remnants of garland strung into their hair, and
Zayn constantly whispering about the new set of paints – “You shouldn’t have,
babe, really.”– into Liam’s jaw.  They crowd into Louis’ basement for New
Years, Harry managing to sneak a bottle of dark rum from his stepdad’s
collection while Niall brings beer from his dad – “He said it’s a gift since he
knows we’ll be staying in.  A safe bet for teen lads he says.”– and Liam
pretends not to pull Zayn into a corner at midnight to kiss him with his arms
around Zayn’s neck and Zayn’s fingers digging nervously into Liam’s hip.
The moments after school feel far and infrequent with Zayn joining some after
school art group – something his mum encourages while his father offers him
disapproving looks whenever he comes home with paint drying on his knuckles,
dust in his hair, and smudges of charcoal over his cheek – while Liam tries to
put his focus into training for cross country and his school work.  He’s at
Louis’ more than his own, knees pulled to his chest on Louis’ floor while they
go over things Liam still can’t wrap his mind around – because, really, how
many teenage boys want to know about bloody fucking wars and the degrees of a
triangle.  Zayn comes by on occasion, working Liam through an English paper or
two, but those moments feel caged with Louis right there, sipping on a Coke
while chatting loudly with Eleanor on the phone.  Harry’s not even enough
distraction for Liam to press quiet kisses to Zayn’s cheek, not that he thinks
Zayn notices the missed touches.
He doesn’t bother asking Zayn about it – whether he thinks about the kisses,
the way Liam’s hand slides his briefs down, the marks Liam’s teeth leave behind
after Zayn’s sucked Liam until it’s harder and harder for Liam to breathe.  He
keeps it all to himself, never once complaining when Zayn comes by late at
night, tossing his skateboard into the bushes before tiptoeing through their
kitchen – Zayn knows the spare key is hidden beneath a rock near the back steps
– to climb up to Liam’s room.  It’s an hour of messy kisses, stifled laughter,
and Liam stroking Zayn’s dick until the only thing uttered past Zayn’s lips is,
“LiamLiamLiam.”
Liam mostly palms himself to those images, lying on his back in bed while Zayn
pretends to chat about random things on the other side of the phone.  It never
lasts – the way they walk on eggshells until one of them finally admits how
horny he is, breathless by the end of the conversation that has Zayn’s moans
ringing in Liam’s ear and his boxers decidedly damp from where the thick come
is sticking to the material.  It’s the mornings after, when Zayn skateboards
over to his house extra early – which is still a bit mind-numbing to Liam
because Zayn is not a morning person.  Not at all. – just to press a chaste
kiss to his lips before Liam’s mum carts them off to school.
He pretends not to love the way Zayn links their fingers in the backseat while
Ruth sings along loudly to Bon Jovi and his mum hums happily along, nodding at
Liam through the rearview mirror.
It’s al he thinks about on his run that day.  It’s bright like stars behind his
eyes and he wants to believe his stomach is tight from the run but it’s not. 
His muscles ache, sting with the cold but his stomach is jittery and he only
makes it halfway through his light jog, the flakes of snow clinging to his
pullover, before he’s making that all too familiar run towards Zayn’s.  The sky
is already starting to purple, sweat chilling against his forehead, and he’s
running faster than he was before.  He’s climbing those steps that are outlined
by nice bushes, breezing past Doniya when she opens the door and he’s in Zayn’s
room, hands on his knees with heavy pants breaking through his lips.
“Hey,” he exhales out, lifting his head with bright colors sparking in his eyes
from the exhaustion – it’s not because of Zayn, it’s really not – and his hands
shaking.
Zayn looks up from his bed, leaning back with all of his weight on his elbows
with his glasses perched on the end of his nose.  His wrinkly t-shirt is rucked
up, the muscles in his stomach tight and defined under that pale overhead light
on Zayn’s ceiling.  His hair is wrecked – probably from Zayn dragging those
long fingers through it while studying – with that pink bottom lip shifting
beneath Zayn’s teeth.  His bare feet are seated on the bedframe, legs spread
with those worn ash gray sweats sitting low on his narrow hips.
Liam drags his tongue over his lips, rubbing at the nape of his neck when
Zayn’s eyebrows lift, a small grin settling over his lips.
“Hi,” Zayn croaks out, fingers sliding into that thick, dark hair before he’s
pulling off his glasses, dropping them onto the open textbook lying next to him
on the bed.  That smile shifts, softens before Zayn’s scratching at his
eyebrow, resting in the silence.
Liam nods at him, feeling very daft, before he kicks Zayn’s door shut, locking
it.  It’s instinctual now, the way they always lock the door, trap the rest of
the world outside while they hover in their own reverie.  He shuffles over to
Zayn’s old computer desk, the one with the worn wood and coffee stains, colored
pencils spilled across it, sharp colors etched into the wood from where Zayn’s
gotten rather jovial with his colored Sharpie’s.
He plops down on the chair, the one with the cracked leather and the back that
reclines too far backwards without much effort now.  The cushion has thinned,
leaving not much protection between the leather and a hard surface below his
bum.  It squeaks when Liam rocks in it, the wheels dragging roughly over the
floor.
Liam rubs at the end of his nose, his cheeks still a bit chilled before
scrubbing the end of his pullover across his forehead, wiping away the sweat. 
He flicks off his trainers, grinning when they tumble under Zayn’s bed – those
practices with Louis really were paying off.  He tugs off his sweater, laying
it across the back of the chair before glancing to the corner, smiling at that
silly red beanbag that has the large stretch of silver duct tape stitching up
the section that ripped when Harry flopped down on it particularly hard.  His
curls are limp on his head, damp from the sweat and his socks drag over the
floor for a moment, chewing on the inside of his lip when he looks up to a
curious Zayn.
“Out for a run?” Zayn asks, his brow lifting again.
Liam nods briskly, his curls shaking a little.  He pushes his hair back,
sticky-sweet grin on his lips.
“And you came by because,” Zayn drags out the last word, rubbing at his chin.
“Um, I was,” Liam inhales sharply, the drag of clean oxygen still burning
against his lungs.  It’s a rich feeling, that sting from a good run.  “I was
thinking about you.”
“You could’ve called,” Zayn says with a snort, pushing up a little more on his
elbows.  His legs spread a bit further, toes twiddling.
Liam nods, the tops of his ears a hot red.  He pushes his fingers through the
damp curls again, unconsciously resting a hand over his crotch, a soft squeeze.
“I wanted to see you,” Liam insists, leaning forward a little.  He bats his
lashes, his grin spreading when Zayn nods back.  “I just, um, I really wanted
to see you and that’s probably stupid.  I probably look like a complete idiot.”
“Not complete,” Zayn smiles back.
Liam chuckles, his shoulders lifting with his laugh.  “Thanks.”
“You wanted to see,” Zayn reaches out to run a hand over his thigh, fingers
trickling inward, “me?”
Liam swallows, cheeks heating.  His teeth bite down on his lip, soft and
delicate with just enough pressure that it’s distracting.
“Because I was thinking about you,” Liam adds.
Zayn nods again, his smile darker, eyes narrowing.  “Thinking about what?”
Liam leans back, not too far, eyes widening.  Those fingers, nimble and
confident, are rubbing gently over Zayn’s crotch, slow motions that Liam tries
to pry his eyes from.  Up, down, stroke, grab, Liam’s breathing accelerating.
“You,” Liam breathes out, his voice undeniably shaky.
“What else?”
“Seeing you?” Liam offers with a shrug, watching fingers wrapping around a
painfully evident erection.  His breathing stutters, his own hand
absentmindedly grabbing at his cock, stroking the semi with a quick thumb.
Zayn smirks, his mouth tipping sideways.  “Liam, did you come over here because
you wanted to fuck?”
When Liam chokes on a breath, Zayn releases an echoing laugh.  His hand drops
away, feet kicking with his giggles before he’s shaking his head at Liam.
“You’re so easy.”
Liam thinks to flip him off but his hand is still gripping his cock through his
joggers, his other fingers gripping tightly onto the arm of that beaten up
chair.
“You should see your face,” Zayn huffs out with another laugh, wiping at his
eyes.
“Pull it out.”
There’s a crack of silence, the muted sounds of the television trying to cut
through the sound of Liam’s calm breaths, Zayn’s heavier ones.  Zayn’s wide-
eyed, his brow nearly touching his hairline while Liam remains stern, steady. 
Zayn’s mouth falls open, no words escaping but Liam can read the question in
those gold-freckled eyes.  He merely strokes his palm over his cock through his
sweats, nodding at Zayn.
“You want – “
“C’mon Zayn,” Liam hisses, his thumb finding the crown of his prick through the
thick material.  Gentle rub, fuck, it feels amazing.  He jerks his head at
Zayn.  Dark eyes flit over Zayn’s hand, the one that’s slowly moving back to
his thigh.  It slides inward, a gleam passing over Liam’s lips before he’s
whispering, “Take it out, babe.  Touch yourself for me.”
There’s a hesitation, soft moan falling across Zayn’s lips before it’s a flash
of movements, Zayn shucking down his joggers and pants.  He’s palming himself,
slow, cautious until Liam sinks his teeth into his lip, nodding at Zayn.
Liam takes in Zayn’s thighs, soft, downy hair scattered over them.  The wiry
hair surrounding his cock is thinner than Liam’s, looking nearly shaven.  It’s
shadowy, a skinny trail running up to just below Zayn’s navel.  His cock is
dark, throbbing in Zayn’s hand, lazy and slow strokes pulling out thick drops
of precome.  Those fingers, with the small scratches and bruises from a few
falls while skateboarding, look gorgeous against the taut skin of Zayn’s
prick.  His balls pull up a little, his thumb circling the head, dabbing at the
slit until a shiny string of precome sticks to the pad.
Zayn’s chest rises and falls quickly, his teeth worrying his bottom lip while
he looks up through those lengthy lashes.  His brows narrow, a shivering moan
passing his raw lips, and Liam wants to kiss him.  He wants to press his mouth
firmly to Zayn’s and swallow each one of his breaths.  He steadies himself,
watching the way Zayn’s fingers flex around his cock.  The grip is a little
firmer, his jaw going slack, head tipping back.
“A little faster, babe,” Liam says, shocked by how deep his voice drops.  He
nods his head a little, adding, “C’mon, you can do it.”
Zayn groans lowly, trying to suffocate the noise because his sisters are
downstairs playing, Doniya probably getting dinner started before Zayn’s mum
comes home.  His toes wiggle, the muscles of his stomach tightening and Liam
wants to push that shirt further up Zayn’s body, run his eyes over that slight
definition, Zayn’s nipples.  He bites at the edge of his tongue, squeezing his
cock a little tighter until he can feel the precome soaking through his briefs.
He eyes Zayn’s hand again, the quick twist at the head, the way the strokes are
a little faster, sloppier.  His teeth sink down hard on his bottom lip, Zayn’s
eyes growing darker, wider as his thumb rubs just beneath the crown.  Liam’s
eyes shift shut for a beat, maybe longer, stroking himself through his joggers
until he feels dizzy, his throat dry.  He bats them open when the slick sound
of flesh on flesh echoes in his ears, grinning when he sees the slick shine to
Zayn’s prick and the open bottle of lube resting next to his hip.
“Wasn’t wet enough,” Zayn gasps, fingers tightening around the head, “that
okay?”
Liam nods slowly, spreading his legs a little further when a shuddering breath
passes through Zayn’s lips.  He’s drowning on his own nirvana, nipping at the
tip of his tongue when Zayn’s licks out, wets his lips.  Those lips that Liam’s
aching to kiss, bite at while Zayn’s back arches.
Zayn fucks into his hand for a moment, drunk off the pleasure.  His eyes are
lidded, lips parted, and Liam’s palming lightly at his own cock, dragging out
the release.
“Liam,” Zayn says softly, each of the letters spreading over his tongue like
sweet candy.  “So close.”
Liam rubs at his neck, his chest, his body a roaring fire.  He catches himself
hiccupping out a moan, leaning forward, his spine coiling.  The way Zayn’s
fingers shift, spread out over his flushed cock, toes curling.  The way Zayn’s
legs spread, inviting, teeth gnawing at his lip.  His skin is coloring, a deep
red from his neck down to his chest.  His stomach muscles are tightening and
releasing as his hand moves in a blur.  Liam licks at his dry lips, the tension
in Zayn’s thighs, the way the muscles in his forearm stand out as he grips
himself tighter, tighter.
“Wait,” Liam gasps out, the slick sound of Zayn’s palm against his cock an echo
he wants to remember days from now when he’s in the shower, jerking his own
dick until he’s coming against the wall with Zayn’s name on his tongue.
Liam scrambles over to the bed, catching Zayn a little off guard but then
there’s a welcome smile, a tilt of Zayn’s chin as he wanks himself slower,
painfully slow.  He strokes the head, the precome clear and thick.  Liam
swallows, tries to find a piece of air that doesn’t taste like Zayn’s heady
scent, that sharp musk and sweat that’s sliding down Zayn’s thighs, between his
cheeks.  It’s clawing at his skin, a soft purr from Zayn’s lips when Liam runs
his hands between Zayn’s thighs, that damp hair curling.  There’s a mild
protest from Zayn when Liam swats his hand away, wiping that sticky lube on the
sheets while Liam eyes Zayn’s cock, flushed and throbbing against Zayn’s
stomach.
He’s never done this.  Zayn’s done it enough times to him now that he finds it
hard to imagine not having Zayn’s mouth wrapped around his cock, slurping like
Liam’s prick is his favorite dessert.  He’s between Zayn’s spread thighs,
gripping the base of Zayn’s cock, licking his tongue out over the wet head. 
It’s salty, tangy from the lube, that heavy smell of heat, sweat, indescribable
scent of a boy that rolls against Liam’s senses.
There’s a quiet hand on his head, not pushing, gently nudging from time to time
as Liam licks around the head, tongue sliding between the slit.  Deep breaths,
anticipation overriding concern, and Liam’s sliding Zayn’s cock past his lips,
over his tongue.  Those fingers pinch at his scalp, a slow hiss dragging past
Zayn’s lips and Liam does his best to smile around Zayn’s cock.  It breaks his
concentration, the way Zayn’s hips roll a little, but he swallows and eases
further down.
He doesn’t force himself, taking Zayn halfway before dragging back up.  He cups
his lips over his teeth – a trick he might’ve learned from the few times Zayn’s
teeth scraped unkindly over his own cock – before hollowing his cheeks.  He
bobs slowly, building speed, kissing his thumb and knuckles every time he slips
a little lower.  He pulls at Zayn’s prick when he laps at the head, his tongue
flat, that bitter precome turning unimaginably sweet on the tip of his tongue. 
The tip running beneath the head, tickling Zayn, his grin spreading when Zayn
kicks with a laugh, pulling at Liam’s curls.
“Mmm,” Liam hums, loving the sting of his hair being pulled.  His cheeks flush
because, fuck, where did that come from? When did he imagine that being a turn
on?  He lets the thought pass, slurping around the head of Zayn’s cock, trying
not to frown when saliva slides from the corners of his lips, coating his
fingers.
“Babe,” Zayn heaves out, thighs tightening around Liam’s head, boxing his
ears.  It muffles the sound of Zayn’s next mewl, Liam sliding further down.  “A
little faster, yeah?”
Liam nods as best he can with a cock nearly touching the back of his throat. 
He pulls up with a deep inhale, the head popping wetly from between his lips
before he shuts his eyes, plunges back down.  He feels himself trying to gag,
pulling back quickly but keeping that hot, stiff prick in his mouth.  His
tongue laps at the underside, Zayn shivering, drawing back to suckle the head.
“Liam,” Zayn gasps, shaking.
Liam moans around Zayn, finding an even pace while his hand reaches out for
something.
Zayn whimpers, legs spreading again while Liam smiles, the sound of the top of
the lube popping dead beneath the sound of Zayn’s heaving breaths.  He knows
he’s spilling it all over Zayn’s sheets, trying to manage some form of
coordination while bobbing on Zayn’s prick, stroking his shaft, and coating his
fingers but it all falls apart with Liam nearly choking on Zayn’s cock and the
lube tumbling to the floor.
“Easy, babe,” Zayn gasps, lurching up to rub against Liam’s cheek, pulling him
back until Zayn’s cock slaps against his stomach, coated in saliva and shining
beneath the light.
Liam nods, swallowing quick breaths.  His chest is heaving, the rise and fall a
little too quick for his lungs to catch up, before he’s licking his lips –
salty, sweet, thick precome resting on the edge – and palming Zayn’s cock.  He
grips it tightly, lining it back up before his lips part, swollen and achy, his
jaw flexing at the sight of the wet head.
Lust swallows him, spits him back out before he’s ready.  He’s slowly grinding
his hips against Zayn’s mattress, looking up through blonde lashes to watch
Zayn run his tongue over his lips, eyes darker than the shadows outside.  He
sinks a little further down, his hands splaying over Zayn’s stomach to calm the
way Zayn wants to buck into his mouth, shove his cock further.  He uses it all
to his advantages, the way Zayn’s legs shift further apart, his mouth dropping
open.  He circles Zayn’s hole – another first that he’s making note of, not
that he hasn’t thought about it – before pushing at it with his index finger.
“Fuck,” Zayn gasps, shifting his hips to give Liam more room to work with.
Liam tries to smile around Zayn’s cock, fails, but his determination crackles
through his bones.  He pushes past the ring, Zayn immediately clenching around
his finger, but he lets Liam push further in.
Zayn sniffs, head dropping back, fingers curling into the sheets as Liam
fingers him, rotating inside of Zayn, pulling back before driving back in.  He
feels the way Zayn’s thighs tremble, biting down on a groan while Liam clears
his throat, nearly takes Zayn to the back of his throat.  He’s impressed with
himself, swallowing around Zayn’s cock, inching in a second finger that has
Zayn whimpering, pleading for air.  He smiles around the head when Zayn’s spine
finally arches, slipping further in and rubbing the head over the ridges of
Liam’s mouth.
“I’m gonna – “
Liam drags his teeth along the thick vein, scissoring his fingers inside of
Zayn.  Zayn’s tighter around his digits, his skin feathering with blush and
Liam knows this feeling.  His cock is rubbing roughly against his briefs,
Zayn’s cooing through sharp breaths, and, yeah, he knows Zayn’s going to come.
He pulls off, the wet sound pinging in his mind before he’s stroking Zayn,
quick and hurried.  He’s fucking into Zayn with his fingers, watching the way
Zayn’s arching off the bed, jerking at the sheets, clambering for air.  He’s a
piece of artwork, gorgeous lines, smudges of color, breathtaking from every
angle.  Liam wonders if it’ll be the same, the first time he lets Zayn slide
his fingers inside of him, push his thick cock inside of Liam until there’s no
beginning to Zayn and no end to Liam.
Fuck, he wants it more than ever.
“’m gonna – “
“C’mon, Zayn,” Liam heaves out, quickening the thrust of his hips against
Zayn’s bed, rocking the frame.
“Liam, need to,” Zayn gasps, his body twisting.
“Gonna feel so good,” Liam whispers, his voice so deep, drenched in desire.
“You’re so good,” Zayn hisses, his chest lifting and falling rapidly.  “Need
you.”
“’m here.”
“Just a little faster.  Harder.  C’mon Li.”
It’s a shattering of glass when Zayn comes.  Liam leans in close, grinning when
the first few spurts color Zayn’s stomach.  He pulls on Zayn’s cock, angling
it, his tongue poking out to catch a few drops.  It catches him on the chin,
the corner of his bottom lip while Zayn looks on.  He’s wrecked, shivering,
biting down hard on his bottom lip while fucking into Liam’s fingers, sinking
back down onto the fingers Liam still has buried inside of his hole.  It’s
incredible and hot and, fuck, Liam’s coming in his own sweats while grinding
down against the edge of Zayn’s mattress.
“Oh, Liam,” Zayn gasps out, trembling while coming down, dragging his hands
over the mattress while Liam palms his cock, gently removing his fingers.
Liam presses his face into the soft space of Zayn’s inner thigh, breathing him
in, dropping his hand away while he tries not to shake through the last of his
orgasm.  He lays gentle kisses there, grinning at the way Zayn drags his
fingers through Liam’s damp curls, pushing them backward.
“Amazing,” Zayn breathes out, a smile in his voice.
“You are,” Liam mumbles against Zayn’s skin, a soft bite leaving behind a red
mark.  “You’re amazing, Zayn.”
He hears the soft chuckle passing through Zayn’s lips, dragging Zayn’s come
over his upper thigh, using the back of his hand to wipe away the rest.  He’s
wrecked, shoulders slumped, feeling overwhelmed but Zayn’s right there,
dragging him up, hugging him tightly like it’s all he wants to do.
Zayn sneaks Liam into the bathroom to clean up, rushing downstairs when his mum
comes home.  Liam can hear Zayn’s pleas from the banister when he asks if Liam
can stay the night, something Liam didn’t have intentions to do but how could
he deny Zayn with those eyes, those lips that were sliding into a frown? 
Zayn’s mum gives Liam a glowing smile when he tiptoes downstairs, pulling him
into a hug – she always smells of cinnamon and summer flowers – before dishing
them out plates of Shepard’s Pie.  She shoos away Zayn’s sisters to finish
their homework, patting Zayn’s head before agreeing to let Liam stay, rushing
them off to Zayn’s room so she can clean the kitchen, put together a plate for
Zayn’s father who works late most nights, stumbling in a little after ten.
It’s after midnight when they’re lying on their backs in Zayn’s bed, the duvet
spread out over their legs with the sheets wrinkled beneath them.  Zayn’s head
is resting on a fluffed up pillow, Liam’s head pressed into Zayn’s shoulder. 
They’re only in their briefs even though it’s decidedly cold outside, the chill
creaking in through Zayn’s window.  He thinks maybe it’s an excuse for Zayn to
curl in closer to him, wrap his leg over Liam’s hip, nuzzle his nose to Liam’s
cheek.  He doesn’t mind.  He merely shifts closer, breathing against Zayn’s
temple, lips running over the surface of Zayn’s face.
His skin feels incredible, alive brushing next to Zayn’s, a smile curled on his
lips.  His thoughts are scattered, tiny pricks of wonder that keep surging
through his bones.  He does his best to ignore them, dragging his lips under
Zayn’s eyes, kissing the tip of Zayn’s nose.  He shifts under the weight of
Zayn’s palm, letting it run down his bare chest, across his ribs.  It’s
sobering, the way he doesn’t want the morning to come.
He wants the night to crawl over them, the darkness to slide over their skin,
the quiet to hold them while they linger here with touches and small kisses.
It’s nearly one when he shifts, lashes sweeping over Zayn’s cheek, a rough kiss
pressed to the corner of Zayn’s mouth.  Zayn’s drawing over his skin with a
Sharpie – neon green this time – turning his head a little to offer Liam a
quick kiss before giving his attention back to the way the marker scrapes over
Liam’s tan skin.
“What is this?” Liam wonders, quiet and unsure.
“This?” Zayn asks, eyes still astutely watching the way the green slides over
the sun-kissed skin.
Liam clears his throat, his nose brushing over the shell of Zayn’s ear, lips
kissing at the black diamond in Zayn’s lobe.
“You and me,” Liam says, his words still uncertain.  He lets courage build,
exhaling deeply.  “This thing that you and me keep doing.  What is it?”
Zayn nods, digging the point in a little too roughly.  Liam watches his
eyelashes fan over his cheek, his nose scrunching.  Zayn’s lips fit together,
pursing a little.  He thinks maybe he should’ve just swallowed the words, laid
in this quiet reverie for a little longer until Zayn fell asleep in his arms,
letting the thoughts die in his throat.
“I don’t know.”
Liam’s shaken by the sound of Zayn’s voice, raw and hushed.  He flits his eyes
from Zayn’s face, looking on the bright green on the inside of his forearm – ‘Z
+ L’
His heart is restless for a moment, tipping his head back.  He chews on a smile
when Zayn’s mouth settles against his neck, nosing the skin there.  He pulls
Zayn in, turning slightly to tangle their legs while Zayn drapes an arm over
Liam’s chest.
“You’re my best mate,” Zayn mumbles against Liam’s skin.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know if I want to ever lose that,” Zayn adds, his voice a little
broken.
“You won’t,” Liam says, trying to believe himself.  He does.  He’d never let
Zayn go.
“Is that good?” Zayn wonders, his head easing back, lips kissing at Liam’s jaw.
Liam nods, breathing out a smile.  “’s good.”
“Liam.”
Liam tucks his chin, blinking down at Zayn.  There’s a glow about him, a
shifting uneasiness in his eyes, his skin a tinted gold with his mouth
struggling against a frown.
“Zayn,” Liam says, clearing his throat.  “It’s good.  I’m always here.”
Zayn nods, dropping his chin.  He cuddles closer, their skin touching at points
that weren’t met before.  Zayn’s toes wiggle over Liam’s ankle, Liam’s hand
shifting down Zayn’s spine, their lips meeting briefly.
He waits until Zayn’s breathing evens out, his head resting on Liam’s chest
with his hair tickling Liam’s chin, before he reaches for that damn Sharpie. 
His fingers curl around it, popping the top before he’s inching it down to the
back of Zayn’s hand.  The touch is light, his handwriting shit as he scrawls
across Zayn’s skin, praying not to wake him.  He bites down on a grin,
squinting his eyes against the darkness of the room, that washed out light from
the street lamps outside not giving off enough glow.  He smirks, pleased,
capping the Sharpie before admiring his work – ‘happy birthday zaynie! Z + L’
It’s good.  It’s all it has to be, for now.
**
He can’t help it, the way he keeps stroking his fingers over his head.  It’s
weird, the sharp draft he feels all the time, the way his hair is shorn and
prickles against the tips of his fingers.  The way it tickles his palm when he
goes to grab for curls – they’re probably lying somewhere on Harry’s bathroom
floor still, collecting dust – and he keeps coming up with nothing.  Nothing
but sharp pricks against his skin, everything completely buzzed, pieces of
himself left behind without a second thought.
He made a very high Harry,, who’s words drug out painfully slow the whole night
– “Like, you’re sure about this, right?  Because, fuck, we can not do this.  We
can get you high, drink some beers, like, I don’t know.” – and a slightly tipsy
Niall help him do this.  He shoved the clippers into Harry’s palm, gripped
Niall’s hand and watched the curls, that thick length fall over his shoulders,
feathering like large clumps of snow to the tiled bathroom floor.  He watched
Niall panic, Harry move with a shaky hand, and he nodded along to comfort them
more than himself.
He didn’t need comfort; he needed an escape.
His mum nearly had a heart attack – he knows because she was short of breath
for nearly an hour while Nicola and Ruth stared at him, wide-eyed with their
mouths open – while his father eyed him for a long time, studying his face,
before nodding and patting him on the shoulder.  He didn’t know if it was
approval or just his father’s way of understanding teenage anarchy but it was
just enough for him to shower and tuck himself into his bed, trying to calm his
own breathing.  He wasn’t panicking.  He was trying to remind himself that life
was different; he was different.
His mum eventually stopped going ghostly white whenever she saw him,
complimenting the way it brought out the features in his face, his nose, made
his eyes look brighter.  He thinks it just made him look younger – good job
Payne,notwhat you were going for – and his cheeks seemed rounder, eyebrows
thicker, his mouth too big.  Louis laughed at him for ten minutes, doubled over
with his hands on his knees and his face a cherry red.  When he stopped, wiping
away the tears, he patted Liam’s shoulder with a nod, like Liam’s father,
before laughing all over again.  Liam tried not to dump Louis’ body in a bin
that day.
Zayn.  Zayn stared at him for what felt like too long.  He watched Liam, the
way Liam shifted from foot to foot, rubbing at the nape of his neck, blush
settling against his cheeks.  Zayn stared at him with a blank expression, his
tongue repetitively licking over his lips until they were shiny and too slick. 
It made Liam feel small, confused, alone.
“You look sharp,” Zayn whispered later on, in the dark of Liam’s room with his
hands rubbing over Liam’s head, his lips stroking Liam’s ear.  “You look
amazing.  Like Liam.”
It was the most comforting thing anyone had said and he let Zayn – only Zayn –
run his fingers over his prickly hair until Zayn was content, smiling against
Liam’s cheek, decorating his lips with sharp kisses that hurt and rippled
through his body.
“You look fine,” Zayn whispers to him, squeezing his thigh beneath the table.
Liam nods, fingers still moving absently over his scalp until that feeling in
his stomach calms, his breathing finding a normal pace.
They’re at some dive of a restaurant on the far side of town for Harry’s
birthday.  Harry’s already done the family thing with his parents, a couple of
family members from Chapel Holmes, but now it’s just the five of them, Eleanor,
and his sister, Gemma.  They’re crowded into this dim lit place where
everything is a bit loud, rough, where no one really cares that Louis’ sipping
on a beer or that Niall may or may not be just a little high.  It’s clattering
plates, waitresses who chew bubble gum while taking orders, a live band that
plays music Liam’s never heard of, and Harry’s grin brighter than the most
brilliant side of the moon.
“This place is brilliant,” Harry gleams, nicking Louis’ beer from his to take a
sip.  He ignores the way Gemma slaps his arm, smirking at her with foam bubbled
over his upper lip.
“This place is shit Haz,” Niall laughs out, munching into his burger with a
grin.
“A bit low class,” Louis hums, sliding an arm around Eleanor’s tense
shoulders.  “Suits you Hazza.”
Harry nods, completely blind to Louis’ remark.  Gemma merely giggles into her
hand, rolling her eyes when Louis’ cheeks lift with a smile.  He waggles his
eyebrows at her and she flips him off timely.
“Interesting way to celebrate your sixteenth birthday, yeah?” Zayn teases,
stealing a chip from Liam’s plate.  Liam doesn’t bother to swat away his hand,
to content at the way Zayn smiles around his fingers, licking away the salt
with the tip of his tongue.
Harry grumbles, tipping his head back with a laugh when Niall nearly knocks
over his own beer and the waitress eyes them, shrugging before sliding a plate
of chips to Niall.
“You lot really are mental,” Gemma teases, tangling her fingers in Harry’s
curls.
“Just a tad,” Louis says with a shrug, his nose crinkling when Eleanor sighs
contently.
“It’ll get better later,” Niall whispers – well, he tries to but it’s a bit
ineffective with the sweet combination of alcohol and weed – into Harry’s ear,
Liam shivering with that leer on Niall’s lips, “when I got my lips wrapped
around your – “
“Oi, Nialler,” Louis huffs, tossing a balled napkin at Niall’s head.
Harry’s cheeks are flushed a deep red.  Gemma’s eyeing Niall like she has
intentions of drowning him in his own beer, Eleanor’s squirming, and Zayn’s
leaning into Liam’s shoulder, giggling with his nose pressing to Liam’s cheek.
“That sounds sick,” Harry mutters, still a little starry-eyed.
“That is sick,” Louis says with a scowl, Gemma’s face a pale shade of white.
“He’s my little brother, Ni, okay?” Gemma reminds him, reaching past Harry to
shove roughly at Niall’s shoulder.
“Which means you’re off limits?” Niall wonders, scratching the back of his head
with a bruising red hue to his cheeks.
Gemma scoffs while Harry’s eyebrows shift unpleasantly, Zayn again tipping into
Liam with a laugh that crinkles the corners of his eyes, wrinkles his nose.
Eleanor tenses again when the band strikes up into a rather loud number,
squeezing at Louis’ hand while Gemma leans forward to snatch the waitress’
attention, ordering a beer.  Louis eases into Eleanor, kissing softly at her
cheek until she’s giggling and dropping her shoulders.  Liam watches
attentively, running his fingers over the tip of his nose.  Louis’ softer, a
bit quieter, if not more relaxed with her.  Each touch seems to have a purpose,
a small collide with her uneasiness and everything settles.
He wonders, briefly, if that’s what love was.  Undefined, undetectable by
Louis, but personified when it mattered the most.
“Drink up little bro,” Gemma grins out while shoving a beer at Harry who’s too
caught up in the way Niall’s stringing fingers through his curls and whispering
– things Liam doesn’t ever want to hear – into his ear, those dimpled cheeks
flaring up with a bright pink again.  Gemma shoves Niall away, groaning, before
Harry’s gulping half the beer with a middle finger salute directed at a
scoffing Louis.
Liam smiles, leaning into the gentle touch of Zayn’s fingers, the ones that are
rubbing kind shapes across the back of his head.  The movement of his buzzed
hair tickles, Zayn’s dull fingernails digging into his skin until there’s a
shiver running sideways across Liam’s spine.  He doesn’t flinch when Zayn leans
in to press a sloppy, friendly kiss to his cheek, trying to remember when
kisses like that were just that – friendly.
“Oh Liam,” Gemma sighs out, a lifting grin on her lips as she toys with one of
the many necklaces hanging from Harry’s neck – a cross hanging from a thick
rope.  She smirks, a bit off center and cheeky before adding, “This is quite a
brilliant gift.”
Liam chews on his lower lip, nodding.
“Not quite as brilliant as the gift he got Zayn for his birthday though,” Harry
teases, reaching across the table to toy with Zayn’s thick quiff.  Zayn quickly
smacks his hand away, lips curling into a sneer.
“Permanent, yeah?” Louis laughs out, reaching to rub at Zayn’s hip.
Zayn rolls his eyes, flicking Louis’ fingers away after they’ve pulled up the
hem of his shirt.  Liam glances down to the thick heart, the dark ink spread
over Zayn’s skin.  It’s not his first – Zayn already got his grandfather’s name
inked on his chest days before Christmas – but it felt like something kind of
important.  It felt like a moment, Zayn’s fingers tightening around Liam’s
while the artist sketched black ink across olive skin.  It felt like a bond,
Liam standing behind Zayn as he looked in the mirror, grinning and awe-stricken
before grabbing Liam’s hand, dragging it to feel across the raised skin.  Liam
still holds his breath, the way it felt across the tips of his fingers, the way
Zayn’s hand covered his while they touched it together.  And maybe it was
something stupid between mates, just a silly gift that Liam saved all of his
pounds from shoveling snow for, that he surprised Zayn with because Zayn didn’t
know where they were headed the afternoon of his birthday when they caught the
bus into the city.
Just something forgettable, except it was permanently inked into Zayn’s skin
like Zayn has managed to ink himself into Liam’s life.
He ducks his head, trying to preserve some of his dignity but it feels
impossible with the heat against his cheeks feeling something like a wildfire. 
He feels Zayn’s fingers on the nape of his neck, light and delicate, and he
wants those sets of eyes from his mates to find something else to focus on.  He
wants his own heart to stop that pounding against his chest that leaves his
palms sweaty, his temples aching, and everything in the room spinning.
“Oi, look at ‘em,” Louis teases, leaning toward Eleanor while eyeing Liam.
“Quite brilliant, you two,” Niall adds, an uneven grin on his lips.
“Yeah, I’m actually quite jealous.  Zayn is Liam’s favorite,” Harry says, a
laugh sliding behind his words.  “His best mate.”
“Be quiet you lot, yeah?” Zayn demands before the laughter swallows Liam
whole.  The palm of his hand is warm on Liam’s neck, almost possessive.  “Liam
is my favorite, you pricks.”
“Oi, that hurts lads, yeah?” Louis says, his voice slightly wounded.
Zayn snorts, shaking his head.  “Nothing hurts you, Lou.  You’ve got a heart
made of stone.”
Harry and Niall fall into each other laughing while Louis flips Zayn off,
biting down on his own smirk.
“Need a smoke,” Zayn says lowly, clearing his throat before scooting his chair
back.  “Nialler?”
Niall looks up with a grin, cerulean eyes glazed over with ruddy cheeks.  He’s
nodding quickly, pulling from the small tangle he has with Harry to stand with
Zayn.
Liam watches with careful eyes as Zayn pulls a pack of cigarettes from his
varsity jacket, tapping the bottom before pulling one out and rolling it
between his fingers.  Harry’s hovering over his beer while Gemma engages in
some wild conversation with Louis that may or may not be about circus animals. 
The band slides into something vaguely familiar as Zayn runs a quick hand over
Liam’s head, smiling down at him before ducking out to the terrace with Niall
in a slow, dragging pursuit.
“You seem happy.”
Liam blinks away from where that smoke is clouding the shapes and shadows of
Zayn and Niall.  He shifts in his seat, teeth gripping his bottom lip – Wait,
keep me in your skin. Keep me in your chest. I’ll wait for it to start. I’ll
wait for it to end– before he settles his brown eyes on Eleanor.  She eases
strands of her wavy brown hair behind her ear, cheeks tinting a faint rose.
“Happier,” Eleanor corrects, fluttering long lashes.  “Like you’re more in
place than you were.”
Liam smiles evenly, swallowing a small chuckle.  He wonders how bright he glows
under her gaze.  His fingers are shifting over his thigh, crawling for
something else.
“There is a little something different about ‘im, yeah?” Louis notes, leaning
his head against Eleanor’s.
“Happy chappie,” Harry giggles out, slurping on his beer.  Gemma sighs happily,
nodding at Liam.
“Maybe it’s the hair,” Liam offers, shoulders lifting carelessly.  He slumps
over some, tries to keep his eyes from seeking out that grayish smoke, the wiry
form hidden behind it.
“Nope.  Not it,” Harry snorts, pushing at his curls.  He flicks his head,
shaking them from his glassy green eyes.  “Something else.”
“Something like love,” Louis murmurs, lifting his brow.  Liam winces, folding
up a little – We were young. We were in our teens. It wasn’t real love, spent
behind bars.
“It’s nothing,” Liam sighs out, trying to pull the corners of his lips into a
grin.  It comes out indifferent, something tightening in his chest.
“Maybe he’s just shagging someone?” Harry guesses.
“Liam Payne,” Louis hums, a glint in those impossibly dark blue eyes, “you
naughty boy.”
Liam huffs out a breath, narrowing his eyes at Louis until that grin dims a
little.
“Not,” Liam grumbles, lowering his head again while chewing off the other
colorful choice in words he has for Louis and Harry.
“Hmm, still a virgin,” Louis notes with a small nod, tempered smile on his
lips.  “Good on you, mate.”
“It’s nice,” Eleanor insists, reaching over the table to rub his fingers over
Liam’s knuckles.  “I like this Liam.”
“This Liam,” he repeats softly, trying to wrap his tongue around the concept. 
It flutters, pulls at the strings, gripping him.  He splays his fingers over
the table – Oh, it’s sad to think, we just let it be. Prisoners of love–
something missing between the spaces.
“I think ‘s the hair,” Gemma insists, pulling Harry closer, tangling her own
fingers in Harry’s curls.  They meld together – the same smile, same dimple,
same glimmer to their eyes.
“Whatever it is,” Louis hums, tilting his beer to his lips, “I like it.”
Liam nods, rolling over the words in his heads while they all fall back into a
fickle chat about meaningless things.  It all seemed meaningless for minutes,
the noise, the echo against the walls, the blurred lines in his mind – It’s so
easy for it to be something second guessed – until the chair next to him his
drug back, the wood screeching over the tiled floor.  He runs his tongue over
his lips, that hovering scent of smoke breathed in, a hand settling back into
his lap just that easily.
Zayn falls into the conversation without missing a beat, his thumb stroking
Liam’s inner thigh, his laugh loud and wheezing.  There’s solid glances at
Liam, soft around the edges, just glimmering over Liam.  They don’t stay, those
glowing hazel eyes, but they fall on Liam frequently until he’s holding his
breath while waiting to find those lashes again.
It’s a rolling ache just below his stomach, his fingers stretching over the
cuts on Zayn’s knuckles, the empty space where his fingers fit between Zayn’s. 
No one pays attention, they never do – Don’t let it become a meaningless
routine. It’s meaningless to me – and Zayn keeps his eyes on Louis, Eleanor,
dancing over Gemma before he’s looking at Liam again with a small grin.  He’s
nodding along to whatever Niall’s saying but having his own conversation with
Liam in silence.
“Seriously, my little bro is shacking up with some kid who wears snapbacks,”
Gemma snorts, tousling Harry’s curls before sticking her tongue out at Niall.
Niall shrugs, completely unaffected.  It’s not up for debate or argument,
ever.  Niall doesn’t give a shit if he looks like a douche with them on or not
and, Liam thinks, it’s probably the best part about Niall.
“Better than the guy who doesn’t wear socks,” Eleanor teases, giggling when
Louis makes a face.
“Or the guy who skateboards,” Harry says with large eyes and a bellyaching
laugh.
Zayn twists his lips sideways, ignoring Harry’s laughing.  He leans back in his
chair, reaching up to run his fingers over the sparse bits of scruff on Liam’s
chin.  His thumb and forefinger rub there, tiny glances at Liam while Liam
falls into some dying conversation with Eleanor about their Chemistry course. 
Liam pretends not to love the way he can feel Zayn’s eyes on him – attentive
and captivated – while those fingers brush gently over his skin.
“Oh gosh, are you lot excited about the Valentine’s dance we’re having this
year?  I’m so chuffed that the school realized that leaver’s day isn’t the only
reason we deserve to have a dance,” Eleanor says with a pitchy squeal, gripping
at Louis’ hand tightly.
“And prom,” Harry notes, nearly tipping out of his chair.
“Obviously,” Louis sighs, finding other pieces of the restaurant to settle his
eyes on.
“It’s in a few weeks, yeah?” Niall wonders, easing forward in his seat,
ignoring the way Harry’s clinging to his arm to stay balanced.
Eleanor nods quickly, her eyes bright with excitement.
“I’m going stag,” Niall says nonchalantly, downing the rest of Harry’s flat
beer.
“How appropriate,” Gemma sneers.  Niall nods at her with a pinched expression.
“You’re going, right Zayn?  I heard you already asked one of the girls,”
Eleanor remarks, biting down on her bottom lip with a muted smile.
“Uh, yeah,” Zayn drags out, leaning away from Liam a little.  Liam tries not to
stiffen, his head dropping, fingers balling until they bite into his palm.  He
wants the band to play louder so he can’t hear Zayn when he says, “I asked one
of the new girls, actually.  Perrie.  Um, she’s from a bit up north like Lou
and me and, y’know, I thought it’d be fun.”
Eleanor nods adamantly, a gleeful spin to her smile while Louis stares off
blankly at a few pieces of artwork adorning the walls.
Liam swallows slowly, keeping his eyes lowered.  His head feels congested,
everything spinning into a washed out glow of blues and whites.  His hand
shakes beneath the table, the one that Zayn’s hand used to cover.  There’s not
a sinking feeling in his chest, no, that’s just the oxygen.  That’s just his
body reminding him to breathe because, fuck, he’s not jealous.
Liam Payne has no reason to be jealous.
He can’t be jealous of his best mate taking out a harmless, actually rather
sweet girl to some stupid dance.  No, that would be selfish, foolish, the most
daft thing he’s done since kissing Zayn against that stupid tree in his
backyard.  That would be senseless and Liam, by far, is the most sensible out
of all of them.  And it’s not making it harder for him to breathe, to think, to
fucking sit next to the one person who he trusts everything with because he’s
not jealous.
Not one bit.  But, honestly, he thinks he is.
Maybe he needs some water.
“And Liam?” Eleanor wonders with a hum in her tone, a giddiness to her smile.
Liam lifts his head, a slow movement that feels like it takes all of his
strength to do but he manages not to frown at her.  He manages to not make it
painfully obvious that he doesn’t want to have this conversation, at all.  Not
with her.  Not with any of them.
“Liam here doesn’t do social events,” Louis answers for him, a coolness to his
voice that Liam’s almost grateful for.  Almost.
“Oh, but Liam,” Eleanor says, her tone decidedly sad and not the least bit put
on.
“It’s not really my thing,” Liam says politely, shrugging.  He feels himself
caving a little, too many eyes falling on him.
“You don’t have to mate,” Harry insists, a short nod in Liam’s direction that
he’s certain is meant to be comforting but it’s not.
“You’re not really missing anything,” Louis declares, shaking a bit when
Eleanor slaps his arm.  It’s a sharp sting, the way it cracks through the air,
but Louis makes a conscious effort not to seem fazed.  It’s slightly
impressive.
“Liam, are you sure?  It’s going to be brilliant and so much fun,” Eleanor says
with a sparkle to her doe brown eyes.  She’s a princess waiting on her prince
to sweep her away to the ball, a dream Liam knows he’s never had.  Not
entirely.
“No, it’s okay – “
“Oi, the poor lad doesn’t want to go because he knows none of the ladies will
go with him,” Niall hiccups out with a giggle, nudging Liam’s shoulder.  “Just
like they didn’t show up for your fifteenth birthday, yeah?”
Liam flinches at the hard smack that rattles over the table and he’s not sure
if it’s Harry’s or Louis’ hand but he knows Niall’s rubbing his head, a frown
pulling at his cheeks while mumbling.  Liam feels Zayn’s arm tighten around his
neck, the rough scrape of his incoming stubble against his cheek and he wants
to sink lower into his misery for a moment.  He just wants to dip his toe in,
remember that it’s never going to be all happy endings and dreams come true.
“I’d go with you if I could,” Gemma says, reaching past Harry and Niall to
stroke Liam’s shoulder.  There’s something comforting in her grin before she
adds, “I’d shag you properly in front of your whole year.  Show all of those
shits what they’re missing.”
Zayn gasps, Harry sputtering on his beer while Niall groans hollowly.
“Gem,” Harry hisses, pouting.  “That’s me mate.”
“Oi, shut it Haz,” Gemma laughs out, dragging her hand back to pinch at Harry’s
cheek.  “Not like I want to hear about my baby brother snogging this little
leprechaun.”
“There’s nothing little about my – “
“Oi, Ni, no,” Louis warns with a pointed finger.  Eleanor’s already sinking
down in her chair, covering her face with her hands.
“You’re intolerable,” Zayn laughs out, scrubbing his knuckles over Niall’s
head.
“Bunch of tossers,” Niall grumbles, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder. 
Harry’s barely making an effort to placate him, still eyeing Gemma.
Liam drops his eyes away, watching the way his fingers look over that silly
checkered plastic tablecloth, the material wrinkling and straightening beneath
the pressure he applies.
“It’ll be a shit night,” Zayn whispers to him, his nose rubbing gently over
Liam’s cheek, “especially without you there.”
Liam forces out a grin for him, holds onto it until it hurts.
It all hurts, but he endures.  It’s the one thing that draws the attention away
from him, everyone but Zayn’s.  He doesn’t mind, the way Zayn’s narrowing his
eyes, his expression almost incredulous.  He knows Zayn won’t question him now,
their fingers interlocking beneath the table, but it’ll come.  It always does.
There’s nothing slow about what he does later.  It’s not amateurish or delicate
or even remotely unsure.  His lips are wrapped firmly around the head of Zayn’s
cock, Zayn leaning back in the cushy cushion of that old recliner in Harry’s
basement with his hands gripping the arms and his legs spread wide for Liam to
fit between.
They’d all stumbled back to Harry’s after Louis dropped off Eleanor.  Louis
collapsed somewhere on the couch, mumbling sweet things into the cushions. 
Gemma passed out at the kitchen table while making tea and Liam’s done his best
to put out of his mind what Harry and Niall might’ve been up to in his bedroom
– the muffled groaning and the unmistakable sound of a hand striking skin
might’ve been some indication but he cringed to imagine the details.  He’s
certain all of them were a bit drunk, if not fabulously tipsy and were too
shitfaced on beer to even pay attention when Liam gripped Zayn’s hand and led
him down those groaning wooden steps into the basement.
Zayn makes a noise in the back of his throat, his fist in his mouth to stifle
his moans.  Liam’s tongue flicks over the head, slides between the slit before
he’s moving downward.  He’s taking Zayn nearly into his throat without
stopping, spreading his hands over Zayn’s thighs, fingers pinching.  He can
feel Zayn’s shaking, the way he’s rocking his hips ever so slightly as Liam
pulls back.  There’s sweat on his brow, his bottom lip raw from his teeth
pressing just a little too hard, and Liam’s licking the precome from his lips.
“Fuck Li,” Zayn breathes out, everything sounding husky, a slide of smoke in
his voice.
Liam grins up at him, accomplished.  He wraps his large hand around the base,
gripping it tightly before sliding against the slickness of his salvia.  It
pulls another shudder from Zayn, Liam leaning down to tongue just beneath the
crown, his tongue a flicker of fireworks like he knows Zayn likes.
Fuck, he knows Zayn loves it, the way his fingers curl into the arm of the
chair, his breathing a bit heavier.  He’s done this enough times to know where
to roll his tongue, how wet Zayn likes it, the way to hollow his cheeks when
Zayn’s prick is deep enough in his mouth.
It’s filthy, the way he rolls the head over his lips, sinking back down on
Zayn’s cock.  The scent is dark, heady, musky – everything Liam wants it to
be.  He pushes himself, bobbing quickly, trying to pull the come from Zayn. 
Trying to leave himself lightheaded, dizzy with the sensation until he’s not
thinking about Perrie.  He’s not thinking about the way Zayn looks at him. 
He’s not worried about his best mate being just that – his best mate.  Nothing
else.
Never anything else.
He pulls off with a pop, swallowing as much as he can while stroking Zayn’s
cock.  His knees ache, his cock is straining against his jeans, and his wrist
is a little tender from all of the movement.  His mouth is gaping, watching the
way Zayn’s eyes are incredibly dark, his teeth biting at his lip again, his
hips shifting while trying to thrust into Liam’s tight fist.
Liam watches for too long, something sparking in Zayn’s eyes.  He looks at Liam
with adoration, attention, affection like he can’t feel this way without Liam. 
Like his world is spinning out of control like Liam’s.  Like he’s falling in…
No.  Not that.  Zayn’s not even close to that.
He slips back onto Zayn’s cock, loosening his jaw, pushing it against the
softness of his cheek.  He feels Zayn’s hand on the back of his neck,
encouraging but never pushing.  There’s stinging tears at the corners of his
eyes, his throat opening, and yeah, he’s going to remember this.  He’s going to
remember the sound of Zayn’s voice – broken and aching – and he’s going to feel
the burn on his knees in the morning but he doesn’t give a shit.  He licks
around the head and suffocates all of his thoughts long enough to feel the
sting of Zayn’s fingers on the back of his head and the way his heart pounds
rhythmically in his ears.
“C’mere,” Zayn says, breathless, pulling at Liam’s stupid Iron Man t-shirt
until he’s pulling off of Zayn’s cock, looking up curiously through wet lashes.
“I’m busy.”
“Babe, c’mere,” Zayn huffs out, pulling a little rougher until Liam’s standing,
stumbling forward between Zayn’s legs.  “Let me taste you.  Fuck, Liam, let me
lick your arse.  Let me lick you and use my tongue and, shit, Liam I need to.”
Liam’s wide-eyed, his words caught on his tonsils and he’s shaking while
looking down at Zayn.  He’s shaking and not stopping Zayn from unfastening his
jeans, tugging them until they’re around Liam’s thighs while Zayn rubs
incessantly at his cock through his pants.
It’s a dizzying whirlwind how it all changes.  He’s gripping the arms of the
recliner, bent over, Zayn’s tongue licking into him.  There’s sweat sliding
down his spine, his fucking jeans and pants around his ankles and Zayn’s doing
incredible things with his tongue around Liam’s hole.  In Liam’s hole.  Zayn’s
tongue is pressing into his hole and he’s trembling, biting on his bottom lip,
his bicep, anything to muffle that moan that’s been threatening to slip out
since Zayn’s mouth first touched his backside.
He feels wet, Zayn’s salvia sliding down the inside of his thigh, his shoulders
slumped forward.  Zayn’s finger was been circling the rim, his lips kissing
around his hole, teeth biting at his cheeks.  His breathing is rapid, uneven. 
His lungs are on fire, his muscles tense and his hole keeps clenching when Zayn
breathes on it.  And it crosses his mind, amid all of the jealousy – yeah, he
will admit it fully now – and the confusion.  The idea that he’d let Zayn slide
into him, here and now.  He’d gladly give up that last stretch of virginity to
Zayn because, fuck, he wants to.  He wants Zayn.
He thinks he loves Zayn.
“So tight babe,” Zayn whispers, his breath drawing up goose bumps over the back
of Liam’s thighs.  “You look so good like this.”
Liam hums, letting the sharp burn of Zayn’s finger sliding into him settle
against his nerves.  He struggles not to choke on a breath, his fingers aching
from that grip they have on this beat up, old, dusty recliner that he kind of
hates.
He gasps, his back arching when Zayn slides a second finger in and he’s hissing
with the slide.  He’s wrinkling his brow, pushing back on those fingers.  He’s
groaning when Zayn dots small kisses up his spine, across his shoulder blades,
waiting until Zayn’s lips touch his shoulder.
“So tight.”
“Yeah,” Liam breathes out, doing his best not to clench down on those fingers
when they move deeper.
“Tasted so good,” Zayn adds, his voice slick with arousal, wavering with a
grin.
Liam groans, the sound deep in his chest, calming when he feels Zayn’s other
hand on his hip, fingers pressing into his skin.  His lips are on the back of
Liam’s neck, gentle, gentle, almost there.  He’s lightheaded, floating on this
ecstasy, letting all of those haunting thoughts die on the floor beneath his
feet.
He’s leaning back against Zayn, eyes shut.  Zayn’s cock is sliding, bucking
between his cheeks.  It’s a slick motion, Zayn’s cock still wet from Liam’s
mouth, from his own spit before he palmed himself.  His fingers are digging
into Liam’s hip, his other hand wrapped over the one Liam has on his own cock. 
Zayn’s mouth is on his neck, leaving behind little marks that Liam won’t be
able to cover up in the morning.  He won’t have a jumper big enough, a scarf
made of enough material.
“Liam,” Zayn hisses into his ear, nudging at Liam’s cheek.  “Babe, kiss me.”
Liam fights against his need, shaking his head.  He’s focused on that bubbling
in his belly, the way Zayn’s dull nails pinch against his skin.  He wants it to
be just this – passion.  Lust.  A carnal need.
“Li,” Zayn whispers, digging his fingers in a little firmer.
Liam wheezes in a breath, shaking.  His bottom lip trembles and he can’t fight
it.  He doesn’t want to.
He cranes his neck, lets Zayn kiss him slow, languidly.  He lets Zayn’s tongue
brush over his bottom lip, teeth gripping it for a playful tug before they’re
pressed together again.  He moans into Zayn’s mouth, loves the way it tastes of
smoke and cider.  He loves the way it burns against his heart, eyelashes
fluttering against his cheeks while Zayn deepens the kiss.
Come spills over his hand, over Zayn’s fingers.  It drips to the floor below,
down Liam’s thigh.  He feels the hot, stickiness between his cheeks, on his
lower back.  It’s nothing but collide, crash, something starting a blaze in his
stomach.  He keeps his lips fastened to Zayn’s, both of them trembling,
shivering through it all until they’re spent.  The kisses are slower, lazy but
neither one pulls away.  Not yet.
Liam lets himself waste away in that kiss because he’s not certain if Zayn
understands all of the things he’s trying to say without words.
He’s not sure if Zayn can hear him crying out for more.
**
It’s not a bitter cold, not like January was.  February is a little warmer, the
air thicker with a humidity that shifts along that striking breeze, that
downdraft that has most people shivering but Liam thrives in it.  He sticks to
thick jumpers, warm pullovers rather than heavy coats with scarves and gloves. 
If he can, he’ll get away with a hoodie that’s half-zipped and a comfortable t-
shirt beneath.  He tries not to live the month in sweats – unlike Louis who
seems to have abandoned all forms of stylistic points in order to wear scruffy
beanies and joggers whenever the occasion doesn’t call for tight, rolled up
jeans and button-downs – but they’re comfortable, give him more freedom to move
around in when he’s going for a run, working out, or kicking the football
around like he is now.
The thing is Liam doesn’t do dances or parties or anything that involves a
rather large crowd of people pretending to like each other long enough to
secretly get drunk or snog in the corner somewhere.  He’s a social person, by
all means.  He takes to conversation like Zayn takes to art – with as much
gusto as he can muster.  He’ll talk to anyone who’ll listen, bad jokes and
stupid anecdotes included.  He can be a flirt – albeit a bad one according to
Harry – and he’s not a complete wreck when it comes to girls.  He’s not much of
a drinker – silly things like having one kidney can do that to you – and while
he doesn’t mind standing around Zayn while he huffs a quick cigarette before
school, he doesn’t really fancy the scent of cigarettes and weed like the other
boys do.
He’d like to think he’s a pretty good dancer, unlike Harry who moves like he’s
the shitfaced frontman of a rock band or Niall who’s taken to copying whatever
crappy moves he’s seen done by famously uncoordinated guys in cheesy teen
films.  He’s smoother than Louis – if you could call what Louis does dancing;
Liam doesn’t – and he’s not nearly as stiff as Zayn, who hates to dance.  Hates
it with a passion.  It’s something Liam smiles at, the way Zayn avoids anything
that has to do with finding rhythm, moving like the wind over water, pretending
to not care while being cool.  Which, ironically, makes Liam wonder even more
why he’d agree to go to this silly Valentine’s Day dance.  Why Zayn Malik would
ask Perrie to go with him, to a dance, to do things that he hates to do like
socialize with people from their year, spend a night without smoking, having to
actually, you know, dance.
Yet, Zayn did.  He asked Perrie.  He spent the week fretting over whether or
not he was supposed to buy her some silly flower because it’s what Louis was
doing for Eleanor.  He asked Harry to come over to help him with his hair.  He
looked nervous, jittery, uncharacteristically anxious with sweat slicking his
brow and his teeth biting his lip raw every time Perrie walked by with Jade,
waving her cute little fingers and smiling at Zayn.
Liam’s Zayn.  Well, Liam’s best mate Zayn.
Fuck, he’s still trying to adjust to this jealousy thing.  It leaves a sick
feeling in his stomach and, honestly, he thinks he should just get over it.
He should just go out with that girl – what was her name?  Danielle? – Gemma
offered to set him up with for the weekend because chasing silly feelings he
has for his best mate is going to ruin him.  Or ruin them.
The sky is a nice faded blue, darkening, paling, sliding into that royal purple
hue that Liam loves.  He knows it won’t be long before it rolls over
everything, overtakes the landscape.  It’ll be a thick, dense darkness that’ll
set the stage for twinkling lights like white fireflies – the stars.  The
temperature will cool off some, not much, and he’ll be sitting on his bed, a
bowl of popcorn in his lap, watching whatever silly show is on his telly or
maybe having another go at Wanted – he likes the comic book better yet Niall
swears by the film, Harry too, but that’s no doubt the Angelina Jolie effect.
He won’t be thinking about silly things like whether Harry’s wearing a silly
bowtie with his blazer tonight or whether Niall will spend more time trying to
spike the punch bowl rather than dancing like a manic idiot.  He won’t wonder
if Louis will whine through most of the songs because they’re insanely cheesy –
Louis wanted to hire his own DJ for the affair but their head of year said
otherwise – songs from the 90’s or, dare it happen, something from the John
Hughes collection.  Liam doesn’t laugh to himself at the thought of Niall and
Harry bopping together through OMD, Oingo Boingo, or Simple Minds.
Liam’s certain he won’t be clutching onto his duvet, chewing on his thumbnail,
scrolling through his phone to avoid thoughts of pretty, beautiful, perky
Perrie with her arms around Zayn’s neck, her wildly pink-blonde hair resting
against his chest with batting lashes and crystalline blue eyes.  No, he
doesn’t want to imagine Zayn’s fingers holding her hips gently, swaying on the
floor to something cloyingly slow and purposeful with a smirk on his lips.  He
doesn’t want to imagine Perrie’s pretty lip gloss smeared, her dress hiked up,
and Zayn easing into her behind the school because that’s what boys do. 
Teenage boys.
Boys that weren’t Zayn.
He swallows back a sigh, dribbling the ball up the driveway, keeping his head
bowed while the street lamps flicker on and the night seeps in.  His teeth bite
into his lip, catching the ball on the toe of his trainers.  He bounces it a
few times, kips it up onto his knee, balancing it.  He kicks it up to the
garage door, pulling at his jumper as the football rolls back.  It’s easy for
him to envelope himself in this kind of focus.  It washes everything away for a
moment, his toe catching the side of the ball, watching it lop sideways before
he’s catching it with the inside of his foot.  The air thins out, cooler, and
he keeps his head down with the dying haze of winter kissing his cheeks.
“So you’re really not going, huh?”
Liam loses his focus for a second, the ball sliding away from his foot before
he’s stopping it with his heel.  He blinks up at Nicola leaning in the doorway
of the house with her arms folded over her chest.  She’s got a careful look on
her face like she’s trying not to disturb him but, honestly, he wouldn’t mind.
“To the dance?” Liam wonders, pushing up the sleeves of his jumper.
Nicola rolls her eyes with a smirk, nodding.  “Obviously.”
Liam snorts, his hand lifting to push back the bangs that are no longer there. 
Just sharp prickles scratching across the heel of his hand, a ghost of a sigh
breezing over his lips.  He hears the soft howl of the wind, somewhere far off
like his thoughts.
“No.”
“I don’t have to ask why,” Nicola remarks, arching an eyebrow.  It almost comes
out as a question, the way she lets the words linger on her tongue.
“You don’t,” Liam says flatly, dragging the ball over the concrete of the cark
park.  He turns a little, hoping she’ll walk away from what he knows she wants
to say.
“Louis called,” she says, a bit loudly, stopping him.
He sighs, fingertips running over the nape of his neck.  “Nicola.”
“Harry too.”
“Nic,” Liam hisses, narrowing his eyes at her.
She shakes her head, blonde hair flying.  “You might be a bit older, but you’re
still a brat.”
Liam laughs, low and dry.  He rubs at the end of his nose, averts her gaze
because he knows it’ll be heavy, judging.  It’s what older sisters do.  Ruth is
kinder, gentler with him but Nicola is outright, upfront.  She sees everything
though she rarely remarks about anything.  She bites her tongue because it
always seems to fit the situation.  But she’s not without her own thoughts, her
own view of every situation.
“I’m fine, Nicola,” Liam insists, letting brown eyes fall on her again.  She
shoots him an incredulous look and he does his best not to shrink under her
gaze.
“Don’t think I haven’t seen – the way you look at him,” Nicola mutters, leaning
off of the door, a small smile surfacing over her lips.  “It’s okay.  Sometimes
you can’t really control it.”
Liam swallows.  He swallows hard, does his best not to choke.  He rests his
hands at his side, curling his fingers into fists to try and stop the shaking. 
It does little to quiet the drum of his heart but it’s one less thing he has to
worry about while Nicola smirks at him, not the least bit condescending with
her expression.  It’s loving in only a way Nicola can portray.
“It happens Liam,” Nicola hums, rocking back on her heels.  She nods at him,
knowing.  “It’s kind of sweet, you know, if you weren’t my little brother.  But
it doesn’t mean you have to close out everyone else.”
He tries to fasten onto something other than confusion, that sinking heart
that’s slipping from his chest.  He clears his throat, grasping at resolve
before mumbling, “I’m not going to the dance.”
Nicola nods, once, blinking at him.  “It’s a good thing mum and dad love you
then.”
Liam stares at her, his brow raised but she doesn’t stay long enough to
explain.  She merely offers him a wrinkled smirk, winking at him before quietly
shutting the front door, leaving him with the whistle of the wind and the thrum
of his heart.
He’s nervously passing the ball back and forth between his hands when the first
few stars flicker into the sky.  It’s not nearly dark enough but the shadows
have blanketed the trees, scattered over the road.  He’s watching the front
door, avoiding the looks he fears his mum will give him when he walks in.  He’s
dragging his Converse over the cark park, hugging onto his determination not to
let this stupid night sink into him.  His teeth keep slipping over his bottom
lip, nipping gently, dragging his mind somewhere else.  If he tries hard
enough, he can see a glimpse of the moon hiding behind a few of the dark
clouds.  He can slide into something comfortable, memories of being younger,
feeling weightless.
The familiar sound of wheels dragging along the sidewalk pull him back.  One of
the back wheels is off-center, scraping along the asphalt.  He recognizes the
shoes putting a little more weight on the end of the skateboard, dragging it to
a stop.  He can almost taste the smoke in the air, feel the way it rips at his
mind for a few seconds.  He wants to believe he’s imaging it because it’s late
and the DJ is probably slipping on something alternative or maybe with a nice
bass to dance to.  There’s probably chatter all around, the lights dimmed,
stupid glittery decorations hanging from the ceiling with paper hearts taped to
the wall.
Liam takes in a deep breath, glancing over his shoulder, blinking as Zayn drops
his foot down on the end of his skateboard, kicking it up into his hand.  He
watches Zayn ditch it into the pale green grass of the yard, scuffing his shoes
as he moves up the car park.  He’s got a soft smile on his face, cheeks
shaven.  The top button of his shirt is popped, a skinny black tie loose around
his neck, just hanging there and swaying with Zayn’s motions.  His crisp button
down is white, the sleeves rolled midway up his forearms.  He has on nice
trousers that Liam’s certain his mum pressed for him with a nice crease running
up the center of each leg.  His black and white high top trainers – Zayn’s mum
could fuss all she wanted but, if anything, Zayn isn’t going to give himself up
entirely for a silly dance – drag along the ground as he moves.  His hair is
soft, sort of hanging in a fluffy quiff with just enough product to keep it in
place.
“What are you doing?” Liam asks, stuttering through his words.
Zayn stops, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers.  “Walking
toward you?”
Liam shakes his head, swallow thickly.  “No, you donut.  What are you doing
here?”
Zayn shrugs, that smile prickling a little higher.  “Hanging with you.”
“You’re supposed to be at the dance,” Liam insists, tossing the ball into the
grass, watching the way it rolls next to Zayn’s skateboard, resting against it.
Zayn bites down on his lip, drags the front of his trainer across the ground. 
“Didn’t go.”
“Why?”
A sigh passes Zayn’s lips, his brow furrowing.  “Are you really going to give
me shit about this, Liam?”
“Yes,” Liam hisses, his own brown wrinkling.  He’s not mad, though it comes off
that way.  He’s just… confused.
“I’m here.  With you.  Is that bad?” Zayn wonders, tilting his head.
Yes, he thinks but his lips exhale a quiet, “No.”
Zayn’s smile eases back in, long lashes sweeping over his cheeks before he’s
walking closer, stopping breaths from Liam.  Liam holds onto an inhale, trying
not to cling to that warmth but he can’t help it.  Zayn smells great –
cigarettes, citrus, and some neat cologne Doniya probably sprayed on him while
he was getting ready.  He can feel the glow Zayn gives off, lets it tickle
along his skin, his mind numbing for a beat.
“What about Perrie?” Liam asks after another swallow, finally breathing evenly.
“She was a bit upset, but not horribly,” Zayn mutters, another small lift of
his shoulders.  “I think she’s in love with her best friend, anyways.”
“Jade?” Liam squawks out, his eyebrows coming together.
Zayn chuckles, waggling his eyebrows at Liam before nodding.  “Have you seen
how they look at each other?”
Like you and me, Liam thinks, bites on the tip of his tongue to silence those
thoughts.
“I guess.”
“They’d make a better couple than Ni and Haz, yeah?” Zayn teases, reaching out
to brush a playful hand over Liam’s shoulder.  It lingers, those nimble fingers
curling into the material of Liam’s jumper, pulling.
“Definitely,” Liam laughs out, unconsciously scooting forward until they’re
closer.  Too close.  Close enough to hug, look into each other’s eyes, kiss.
“’m sure Jade’s a much better dancer than me anyway,” Zayn snickers, his nose
scrunching.
Liam nods, ignores the way Zayn puts on a face of mock hurt.  He merely nudges
Zayn’s hip with his hand, letting it rest there for a moment, trace over the
starched material of his trousers.
He can see the glazed honey in Zayn’s eyes, the way they’re a pure, soft
brown.  He can spot the strips of skin Zayn missed when he shaved, right at the
bottom of his chin where the scruff sits.  He imagines the way they’d feel
against his collarbone while Zayn kissed his neck, those fingers sinking into
Liam’s skin.  He shivers, praying it’s the way the wind sweeps over them but
the grass barely shifts and Zayn remains steady.
“You should still go, really.  Why spend an awful time here with boring Liam?”
Liam teases, trying to sound playful but Zayn’s brow drops and he knows he’s
failed.
“You’re not boring,” Zayn whispers, blinking at Liam.  His expression edges
into something serious, endearing but hard at the edges.  “I’d spend every
moment with you if I could.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Zayn breathes out, another step forward putting his feet between
Liam’s, their knees brushing.  It pushes him close enough that Liam can taste
the mint from his toothpaste, Zayn shifting just enough that their thighs
touch, their chest almost colliding.  Zayn’s fingers tug a little more on his
jumper, closer, their noses brushing.
“What are we – “
Zayn shakes his head, stopping the words dead on Liam’s tongue.  “I want to be
here.  With you.”
“But,” Liam swallows hard this time, losing himself in the way the moon tips
out, highlighting the shattered gold in Zayn’s eyes.  “But Zayn, what are we
doing?”
Zayn laughs, soft and dark.  Their noses brush again, lips so close.
“You’re my best mate.”
“Is that all?” Liam squeaks out, tries to school his expression into something
serious, determined.
Zayn shakes his head, biting down on his lip.  “Never was.”
Liam nods, but it’s not enough.  Fuck, it’s no longer enough and he feels
himself falling apart right down the center.  His fingers are shaking on Zayn’s
hip, his other hand trembling as it reaches up to rest on Zayn’s shoulder.  The
pressure is light, just the right amount in case he needs to push Zayn back. 
In case he needs to run away from all of this before he fucks it all up.
In case he needs to drag Zayn forward and kiss him until it is enough again.
“Zayn, I think,” Liam pauses, a deep breath inward, “I think… I mean, I like
you.”
“I like you too.”  Zayn’s tongue licks out, wetting his lips, a sheen to his
smile.
“More than a best mate.”
“Me too.  Have for a while.”
Liam blinks at him, eyes wide.  “Don’t dick around with me, Zayn.”
“Think we’ve sort of already done that,” Zayn whispers, a haunting chuckle
following.  Liam sort of wants to punch him.  And kiss him.  Punch him first
though.
“I want,” Liam shivers when Zayn’s hand finds the small of his back, pressing
inward.  “Zayn, I want – “
“Tell me,” Zayn demands, bowing his head a little closer.
Liam’s eyes slide shut, Zayn’s forehead pressed to his.  “I want to be more
than just your mate, you know?  Like it’s all I think about.  I think about
kissing you.  And then I think about someone else kissing you and I hate it.  I
hate that I want to be the only one you pay attention to or the one you tell
everything to.  And I sort of feel like a prick because I want you to fucking
kiss me all the time and tell me I’m more than just the mate you kiss for
fuck’s sake.  I want to be the guy you kiss because I’m all you bloody think
about too.”
His breathing is ragged when he stops.  He keeps his eyes closed, feels
everything rush out of him and suffocate him just that quickly.  He wants
Zayn’s hands off of him, wants to look away because if he opens his eyes, he
knows Zayn’s not going to look at him the way he’ll look at Zayn.  It’s too
much, too fucking much and then Zayn’s lips are pressed to his.
Zayn’s kissing him.
His best mate, Zayn, has his lips pressed softly against Liam’s and he’s
opening his eyes because it’s the only reminder he has to breathe again.
Zayn pulls back, licking at his lips, an eased grin on his lips.  His thumb
rubs gently over Liam’s bottom lip, the pad smooth.
“I wanted to ask you to that shit dance,” Zayn says, his voice airy, smoky.  “I
wanted to go with you but I didn’t know if that was okay.  Not that I give a
shit what any of ‘em think, but I know you do.  I know you care and you do all
that you can not to be different from any of ‘em.
“I wanted to get all dressed up, ride my stupid skateboard to your house and
have your mum take us to that stupid dance.  I wanted to wear a fucking tie,
Li.  I wanted to hold your hand and buy you a stupid rose and, fuck, Liam I
just wanted to be there with you.”
Liam’s not sure if he’s breathing.  He can feel the air ease into his lungs,
can hear the loud exhales but he’s not really sure if he’s absorbing the oxygen
into his blood.  He’s not certain if he’s doing anything but staring at Zayn
blankly, trying to find some sort of focus.
“Zayn,” Liam mutters, something like a smile gripping his mouth.
“Sometimes I wonder what you’re thinking.  I wonder if, I don’t know, I’ve gone
too far,” Zayn says slowly, his fingers tapping out a beat against Liam’s
spine.  “If maybe I should stop things before I muck it up.”
Liam snorts, shaking his head.  “You couldn’t.”
“I thought I did.”
“You’re too perfect,” Liam teases, watching the way dim blush kisses Zayn’s
cheeks.  It’s faded against the dark of the sky but he knows it’s there, can
almost feel the heat from it when his fingers run over Zayn’s jaw.
“’m not.”
“We’re idiots,” Liam says with a short laugh.
“’m not.  It’s your fault.”
“It’s not,” Liam says with another chuckle, easing back some.  “You’re a bad
influence.”
Zayn sighs through a small snicker, his lips quirking sideways into a grin. 
“That’s what best mates are for, yeah?”
Liam’s lips lift into a grin.  “And so much more.”
“Enough of that.”
Liam shakes under Zayn’s touch, his head snapping to look over his shoulder. 
He blinks at Ruth, whose standing in the doorway with Nicola hugging her from
behind, both grinning at them.  It’s a little unnerving, the way they’re
cooing, giggling, seemingly unaffected by it all.  Like they’re okay with it. 
Like they approve of it.
It’s almost as if they want this for him.
A few of the houses around them blink on their front lights, the ones on the
inside winking out.  The sky is a rich purple, the cool sliding over them.  The
street lamps are bright, the sidewalks highlighted by the glow and Liam can
smell the fresh baked pies the housewives had made, the crisp scent of a dying
winter, the waft of Zayn’s cologne beneath the smell of smoke.  Nothing about
it feels out of place.
It feels like the world is settling around them and, for once, he’s certain of
this feeling.
It’s Zayn.  In his mind, his heart.  In his breaths.  He thinks it’s not the
worst thing that’s ever happened to him.
“Mummy and dad want you two to come to the backyard,” Ruth tells them, clinging
to that smile with the stars shining off her eyes.
“Now,” Nicola adds sternly, her grin still thick.  There’s something teasing in
the way she looks at Liam.  She knows.  She doesn’t always say it, but she
knows.
The thing is he’s not really sure what he’s expecting when he his feet inch
into the grass in the backyard.  Actually, he’s not expecting anything.  His
mind is racing – sharp lines, blurred thoughts, his parents disapproving of the
fact that he’s wasted nearly a year or so of his life being in love with his
best mate.  It’s a bit fuzzy, the way everything rushes through his head like
Zayn, his friends, liking a boy, falling in… No, there it goes again.  Black,
empty thought that he’s sort of become great at burying in the sea.
But the thought kind of glows like leaves in the autumn with their shimmer,
neat pinwheel effect when they fall from the branches, and the stars are a
little too bright in the sky tonight.  Everything is a little too bright.
The back light on their house has always been sort of dim, running off a bulb
that hasn’t been changed since Liam was a toddler.  It sort of just flickers
there, choosing its moments to be particularly bright but mostly just a soft
glow that does nothing but illuminate the steps into the yard.  Tonight, it’s
chosen to shine insanely bright.  Or maybe it’s just Liam’s vision, or the
fucking stars, because the yard is lit up and colorful.  It’s bright with paper
lanterns strewn across the grass, dangling in the breeze from where they hang
from weak tree branches that stretch out from the tree trunks with bony
fingers.  Liam thinks they’re from that year his parents decided to celebrate
their anniversary with a party at their house with a bunch of the neighbors, a
few nearby family members.  Still, they’re an array of lively colors that offer
haloing light across the yard, shining over the brittle grass.
There’s a few silly decorations on the fence, hanging from a few tree limbs –
He thinks they’re from Christmas, maybe even St. Patrick’s Day – and that old,
static-y radio is sitting on that plastic playset they bought Liam when he was
five.  The music is loud and crackly in the air – My love must be a kind of
blind love. I can’t see anyone but you.  It’s all cheesy, out of place, and
something his mum is smiling brightly about.
Liam watches his father spin her around the yard, shuffling over the grass,
dipping her with a hearty laugh.  They’re a glowing shadow of what they were
years ago, Nicola and Ruth giggling while holding onto each other.  Zayn’s at
his side, wide-eyed with his mouth gaping.  Their fingers tickle over each
other, Liam chewing on his bottom lip, wanting to hold Zayn’s hand just to have
something to grip onto when none of this makes sense.
He thinks he’s already there but he holds out, trying not to be swept up in the
way his mum’s smile is never-ending and wide.
“Come on now,” Karen insists, waving them over, “don’t just stand around.  We
did this for you.”
“For me?” Liam asks, a hand on his chest, his expression incredulous.
“Not for us, you donut,” Nicola teases, Ruth snickering into her shoulder.
“Shut it,” Liam hisses at her before turning back to his mum, blinking at her.
Karen nods solemnly, still spinning around the yard in his father’s arms.  They
move lazily, lounging in the music, the cool of the air, the way it all seems
meant for them and only them.
It’s the only definition of love he’s ever known.
“Why?”
“Don’t ask question, Liam,” his father chides, a stern expression turning a
corner when Karen pinches his shoulder, admonishing him with a look.  “You
might not want to go to some silly school dance but we wanted to bring it to
you.”
“Cheesy,” Liam mutters, biting down on a grin.
“Corny,” Ruth cackles, still clinging to Nicola.
“But romantic,” Nicola says with a brilliant smile.  She sways to the music –
Are the stars out tonight? I don’t know if it’s cloudy or bright– hugging onto
her sister.  “I think that’s what mum and daddy wanted.”
Karen nods quickly, letting her husband spin her once, twice, giggling when he
pulls her back into his strong arms.  They bob a little, circling around Ruth
and Nicola with a flickering ease.  They burn like a flame, eyes on each other,
dazed and youthful.
“You wanted this for me?” Liam stutters out, a cold feeling washing over him. 
It warms, trickles away when Zayn’s pinky hooks with his, their ring fingers
brushing.
He feels safe.  With Zayn, he feels incredibly safe.
“More questions,” his father hums, grinning when Karen slaps his chest.  Liam’s
not sure if the teasing is meant for him or her.
“Yes, Liam, dear,” Karen sighs, letting her husband take the lead, a clumsy
move that has them nearly tripping over a lawn chair before they find some sort
of rhythm that works for them.  It’s sweet, the way he leans in to press a kiss
to her cheek, whispering something that has her giggling.
“Still gross,” Nicola mumbles.
“Incredibly,” Ruth giggles.
“I might throw up,” Liam adds, fumbling with a grin.
“I think it’s lovely,” Zayn says, his voice a bit choked.
“You’re weird,” Nicola says, sliding her eyes up and down Zayn for a second. 
She offers him a tight grin, one that softens when he shrugs.  “But I like
you.”
“I love him,” Karen calls out, chuckling when her husband accidentally steps on
her foot.  She takes the lead, guiding him back through the yard and away from
the trees – I only have eyes for you.
“He’s quite the chap,” Liam’s father adds with a grin, nodding his approval
toward Zayn, then Liam.  “’m proud of you, son.”
“I’m not,” Nicola says mockingly.
Liam shoots her a glare, his lips pursing while she sticks her tongue out. 
They’re still children, fighting over the last piece of his mum’s blueberry
cobbler.
“Yeah, he had it kind of easy,” Ruth says with a teetering smirk, “he got lucky
with his best mate.  He didn’t even have to go on all of those awful dates
where the guy smells like too much cologne and the horrible restaurants.”
“Don’t forget the shit goodnight kisses.”
“Nicola,” Karen hisses, wrinkling her brow with her worst attempt at a motherly
tone.  Liam knows she’s too giddy with the way her husband is laying quick
kisses against her cheek.  “Watch your language.”
“Well, they were,” Nicola grumbles, making a face.  “Lads never know where to
put their hands.”
“Or their tongue,” Ruth giggles, shrinking a little when Karen gives her the
same look she’s passed onto Nicola.  She pretends to look off at the lanterns,
the grass, the way the decorations dance against the slow breeze.
“Besides,” Nicola sighs, chewing on her lip while looking at Zayn, “He found a
good one.”
“He’s so pretty,” Ruth teases, pinching at Nicola’s arm.
“And fit,” Nicola adds with a nod.
Liam ripples with blush, doesn’t bother to look at Zayn because he’s certain
he’s a shade darker, eyes on the floor.  He slides his fingers between Zayn’s,
lets his confidence grow while his mum looks at them.  There’s nothing
malicious or disapproving in her eyes.  She smiles and that look is… it’s
heartwarming.
“Well, go on you lot,” Ruth insists, shooing at them with her hands.  “Get out
there and dance.”
Liam fights against the knots in his stomach, shifting his weight from foot to
foot.  His breathing is doing that thing again where it’s uneven, in,in, then
out.  He feels Zayn squeezing his hand tightly, a little too tight, and he’s
too busy gnawing at his bottom lip to look at anything other than Zayn.  And
Zayn, who’s got that nervous look in his eyes like all of the lights are going
out and he just needs Liam to cuddle up to him.  Zayn, who’s doing more damage
to his bottom lip than Liam is, has large eyes and that tinge of uncertainty
flashing like bright lights.
He doesn’t know why he sees the pastel blues, the bright greens, the orangey
pinks but he does.  He sees the lights, the stupid decorations, the cheesy
atmosphere that means the world to his parents.  He sees Zayn, teeth nibbling
at the corner of his lip, long lashes outlining those eyes that he’s gotten
lost in enough times to know he could do it all the time.  He could do this.
He gives Zayn’s hand a small squeeze, watching the way the lights glow around
him, and he breathes in a deep breath.  He licks his lips, Zayn’s eyebrows
coming together, and he gives him a little tug.
“Dance with me,” Liam asks, sounding more like a demand.  He’s not leaving Zayn
remove to fight it.
Zayn twitches, looks at Ruth and Nicola, the yard, the stars that seem to be
circling above them.  He gives a small shrug that’s not really an answer but he
thinks it’s Zayn’s answer.  His eyes flicker over Liam’s lips, his eyes, his
lips again, pulling back a little to squeeze out a smile.
Liam smiles back, nodding.  He pulls again and Zayn doesn’t resist but there’s
hesitation.
“Yes, come on,” Karen begs, arms lacing around her husband’s neck.  “This isn’t
for us.  It’s for you two.”
Liam nods at her, leaning in the direction of the yard but Zayn frets, shaking.
“I don’t,” Zayn starts, swallowing quickly before dragging his foot along the
grass.  He looks around quickly, teeth pulling in his bottom lip.  “I don’t
know how to dance.  I’m not very good at it.”
Karen laughs gleefully, patting at her husband’s shoulder until he’s smirking. 
“Oh, neither did this lug.  He was all two left feet and, have mercy, he was
horrible.  He couldn’t keep in tune with anything, not even Sinatra.”
“I’m told that’s some sort of cardinal sin,” Liam’s father muses, hands on
Karen’s hips as they sway slowly around the yard.
“Sometimes you just need a good lead,” Karen insists, a subtle nod toward Liam
drawing up a smile over Liam’s lips.  “Trust me, it’s not about how you dance. 
It’s about what you feel when you’re doing it.”
Liam waits, feels the sweat of their palms making the surface slick.  He
watches Zayn, ready for him to turn away, decline the invitation Liam’s
offering with his eyes.  He’s ready for everything he’s built up inside of
himself to finally crumble.  He bites down on his lip, big brown eyes
flickering over Zayn while the music swirls – The moon may be high but I can’t
see a thing in the sky – and his parents ease around everything like it’s the
last dance of the night.
It’s that moment when you’re a kid, waiting on that person you’ve been crushing
on all night to finally say yes and sway back and forth on that dance floor
like that spotlight is just for the two of you.
Tonight, with harden hesitation, Zayn gives Liam that.
Their feet drag over the grass, the dirt, until they find somewhere in the
middle of the yard where the lanterns are brightest and the moon spirals above
them.  It feels so silly – the way Liam’s smiling at Zayn, the way Zayn’s
slowly lifting his arms until they’re around Liam’s neck.  It’s childish and
cheesy and Liam can’t stop himself from laughing when his hands settle on
Zayn’s hips, sliding around to the center of his back where his fingers
interlock.
He moves first, a slow rock that bobs side to side like the changing of the
tides.  Zayn stutters into the movement with him, looking down at their feet,
still sucking softly on his bottom lip.  The dip of greens and blues swirl
around them, the string of cricket noises, the fading wind swishing before
tapering off.
Liam scoots closer, their bodies pressed together, his breath coming light and
calm.  Zayn’s head lifts, his expression guarded before he’s smiling, nodding
at Liam.  Liam’s nodding back, tucking his smile, easing them into a circular
movement until they’re creating their own small ring in the center of the yard.
Zayn’s fingers run lightly against the hair on the back of his head, his feet
doing their best not to trip over Liam’s.  It’s a shaky sway, the break of a
wave, but Liam folds himself around it.  He squares his shoulders, does his
best to imitate his father’s easiness even though he knows his father is
struggling to keep up with Liam’s mum.  He nibbles on the edge of his lip,
dancing his eyes over Zayn, who hasn’t let his eyes flee Liam’s face since they
shared that smile.
“’s nice,” Liam says, swallowing his nerves.  He’s shaky when he leads Zayn
further down the yard, a quick sidestep that doesn’t come off smooth but he
doesn’t completely fuck it up.
“Yeah,” Zayn says with a short laugh, nodding.
“A bit cheesy,” Liam notes, lifting his eyebrows.
“Kind of.”
“But I like it,” Liam adds, the wavering flicker of a flame in Zayn’s eyes.
“I do too,” Zayn sighs, lips spreading into a huge smile.  “I like it loads.”
Liam laughs, one of those laughs that shakes his shoulders and tightens his
stomach.  He dips his knees a little, finding a subtle hum to the way he
moves.  He lets his hands separate, rubbing at Zayn’s back until that tenseness
that’s made all of Zayn’s moves rigid, almost unwilling fades away.
“Look at them,” Karen whispers, a poor attempt because they can hear her
clearly.  Zayn’s cheeks dust up with blush and Liam lowers his head, shaking it
with embarrassment.
“Couple of kids who look rather happy,” his father adds, dancing around Liam
and Zayn.
“Happy in – “
“Not yet, Karen,” his father hisses, clicking his tongue against his teeth. 
“Let ‘em figure it out in time.”
“Oh Geoff,” Karen sighs with a smile, letting him spin her once more.
Liam looks up, swallowing.  His breathing is a little ragged now, wide eyes
looking on Zayn.  He watches a smile pulse against Zayn’s lips, Zayn leaning in
before resting his chin on Liam’s shoulder.  Liam sighs out his own smirk,
pressing the side of his head to Zayn’s.  He lets his eyes slide shut – You are
here and so am I. Maybe millions of people go by, but they all disappear from
view– while Zayn settles a hand on his hip.  Liam blindly finds Zayn’s other
hand, interlocking their fingers while guiding them closer to the trees.
“Liam,” Zayn says softly, leaning up on his toes to press a light kiss to the
corner of Liam’s mouth.  He waits a beat, his lips resting there, Liam’s
fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt.  “I love you.”
It’s like neon behind his eyelids.  It’s a hot spark right in the middle of his
heart.  It’s a rollercoaster, the height before the drop, right along his
belly.  His fingers tingle, his mind whirs, and he should be doing anything
other than smiling.
He can’t stop fucking smiling.
He pulls back, cheeks aching, and he smiles at Zayn.  It’s not a response, it’s
nothing.  It’s just a smile but it’s something that makes the corners of Zayn’s
eyes crinkle, his nose scrunch, and his tongue licks out to wet his lips before
they ease into a smile half the size of his own.
“I always thought I’d say it first,” Liam says, his words low, almost too quiet
against the sound of his heart in his ears.
Zayn shrugs, melding into confidence as he takes the lead.  He steers Liam
around a few of the lanterns, the stars aligning with them.
“Just thought I would say it because – “
“I love you too,” Liam says quickly.  He doesn’t need to hear the rest.  The
rest isn’t important.  These four words are.
He thinks it’s the only thing that matters for the longest time.
Liam leans in, waits for a beat or two.  He gives Zayn a chance to decline, an
opportunity to tell him no because, honestly, his parents were still around. 
His sisters too.  But Zayn’s smile brightens, his eyes ease shut as he inclines
toward Liam and there’s a burst in his head when their lips touch.  It’s soft,
instinctual, and Liam loves the way the glide feels.
He loves the way his lips feel at home against Zayn’s.  He feels dizzy,
everything around them a blurred backdrop of pinks, blues, greens, a purple
sky.  It’s just a hazy pinwheel of colors and Liam falls into it like he’s
fallen in love.
He kisses Zayn, their dance slowing, and all Liam can think is he’s in love.
This is what being in love feels like.
“Oi, it’s about time,” Louis calls out.
Liam draws back, shocked, Zayn’s lips hanging on for a moment to kiss at Liam’s
cheek.  He looks at those steps leading into the yard, the ones now crowded by
Louis, Niall, Harry, and Eleanor.
“It’s so pretty out here,” Eleanor gushes, fussing with the pale sea foam
taffeta of her dress.
“Where’s the punch?” Niall barks out, doing his best to sling an arm around
Harry’s shoulders but Harry’s taller and leaning back to take in the scene. 
Liam thinks he can spot a flask peeking out from the pocket of Niall’s suit
jacket, grinning and nodding at Niall.
“Oh, so that’s who he’s in love with,” Harry whistles, running his fingers over
his cherry lips.  “I get it now.”
“Dickhead,” Louis mumbles behind a cough, elbowing Harry hard.
Zayn giggles into Liam’s cheek, his head shaking but he’s not pulling away. 
He’s drawing Liam further in like he wants Liam to himself.  Like he wants
everyone and everything to go away – I only have eyes for you.
“The music’s crap,” Louis remarks, hugging Eleanor from behind, kissing the
back of her shoulder while she secures her hands over his.  They look like
they’re posing for a picture at prom, cheesy as the silly decorations.
“Louis,” Karen hisses, a warning in the way her eyebrows set.
“I mean it’s fantastic,” Louis cheers, a wide smile on his lips with bright
blue eyes.  She gives him an incredulous look and he does his best to look
innocent.  It’s an awful attempt.
“Sweet moves Mr. Payne,” Harry calls out, shucking Niall into a half-embrace
with a grin that’s all cheeks and dimple.  They lean into each other for
support, rocking on their heels and Liam knows either they’ve shared one of
Harry’s blunts or that flask can’t be completely full anymore.
“So glad we ditched that other crap-fest for this,” Niall adds with a nod,
raising a defiant fist in the air like he has something to prove.  It’s
ridiculous and completely Niall.
“Oh hush.  The decorations were neat,” Eleanor fusses, swaying to the music
with her brown hair pulled up and Louis’ chin on her shoulder.  She’s got a
tinge of pink to her cheeks when Liam looks on her, her own nod of approval
toward he and Zayn making him duck his head.
“They looked like they were done by five year olds,” Niall says dryly.
“Or Louis’ sisters,” Harry giggles.  He knocks his shoulder with Niall’s, two
idiots on a quest for nothing.
“Or someone who was high off of paint chemicals,” Louis snaps, jerking his head
in Harry’s direction.  His gelled back hair barely moves, a feat Liam’s certain
Zayn taught him.  “Which reminds me, Haz, how many joints have you smoked in
the last hour?”
Harry’s mouth opens to say something, Niall shaking his head.  Whatever it is
dies in Harry’s throat when Karen lifts an eyebrow at him, something pliant and
innocent replacing that scowl he once had.
“Boys,” Nicola hums with a grin and a shaking finger.  Her look isn’t
disapproving but she’s putting on the best show possible for her parents.  “Not
here.”
Liam laughs quietly, tightening his arm around Zayn.  He nuzzles his cheek to
Zayn’s, doing his best to tune them all out.  He listens to Zayn’s quiet
breathing, moves in the direction Zayn leads them.  He can feel the tint of his
cheek when Zayn kisses softly at his mouth, opening up for Zayn.  Zayn’s hand
tightens on his hip, a warmth Liam vibrates against, and he’s smiling into the
kiss.  He feels lightheaded and his stomach coils when their noses bump and
their teeth click together.  They’re drowning out the sounds of Harry and Niall
laughing, Louis making obscene noises, and they’re leaning back in.
A quick breath of the fresh night air, something light and patient in Zayn’s
eyes, and they’re kissing again while the world dances around them.
It’s a little later, when his parents are inside, his sisters still on the
steps teasing Harry and laughing at Louis, that this feels somewhat complete. 
It feels ridiculous and like a breath of relief because he’s shifting his
fingers through Zayn’s hair without a care.  He’s pressing kisses to Zayn’s
pink cheeks while Eleanor fiddles with her dress and Ruth coos at them, but
they all know.  He knows.
He knows that he and Zayn are best mates.  And more.  So much more.
“Suppose this is going to make lie in’s at yours and mine a little less
frequent,” Zayn remarks, pulling Liam’s hand from his hair to kiss at his
knuckles.
Liam chuckles, buried beneath that beautiful purple sky with the stars
flickering in and out.
“Maybe a little less locking of doors, yeah?” Liam says playfully, rubbing his
nose along Zayn’s ear.  The stubble from Zayn’s chin catches along his
collarbone when Zayn presses a kiss to his birthmark and he doesn’t mind the
burn.
“But a lot more sex,” Zayn teases, winking at Louis when he secures his arms
around Eleanor to spin her into a dance.
“Loads more,” Liam laughs out.
It feels so natural, the way they seem to fit together, right here, with the
world splashing away like the ocean lapping at the crest of the beach.  Like
all of those kisses, touches, moments where it was white hot passion and
bleeding through their systems until all they saw was each other.  They’re just
teens, falling over and over.  But it feels real.  It feels like something that
was just waiting to be noticed, picked up and held on to.
He realizes, with Zayn in his arms, leaning against that old tree, the one
filled with memories from being desperate adolescents, – their spot – that this
is a feeling he can hold onto.  While watching Louis dance wildly around with a
giggling Eleanor, Harry and Niall making eyes at each other like they’re
seconds from snogging – or shagging, depending on how drunk or high they are –
that he’s not going to let this go.  With Zayn’s lips pressing gently against
his neck, whispering, “I love you,” until it feels like the only song in Liam’s
head, he knows his parents were right.  He fits their fingers together and
finds home in this warmth, eyes falling on their hands for a moment before
looking away like this has been here for longer than they’ve known.
He knows what being in love feels like – and he can’t imagine not ever feeling
this emotion again.
End Notes
     Sorry for the mass amounts of cheesiness and fluff at the end. I
     don't know where all of that came from but, yeah, it's there. I also
     debated severely with working in a final scene where Zayn and Liam
     finally consummate their relationship but felt like the fic didn't
     really need it. I hope no one feels cheated (though I think I might
     still write a one off fic to continue that storyline so that scene
     can be included).
     HUGE thanks again to Lea, Noel, and Safaa for letting me whine and
     complain to them. Been feeling really off about writing lately and
     just needed a good shoulder to lean on so thanks ladies :P
     I hope this fic was enjoyable on some levels and not at all offensive
     to anyone. Thanks for taking the time to read it, hope it wasn't a
     waste... xx - Jesse.
     Kudos are awesome, comments are mind-blowing so, you know, feel
     free...
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