Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1792231.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      One_Direction_(Band)
  Relationship:
      Zayn_Malik/Liam_Payne
  Character:
      Zayn_Malik, Liam_Payne
  Additional Tags:
      Frottage, Blow_Jobs, Unsafe_Sex, Drinking, Non-Graphic_Violence, Age
      Difference, Underage_Sex, Underage_Liam
  Collections:
      Summer_Smut_Exchange
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-06-16 Words: 5673
****** wanting, wishing, waiting ******
by words_unravel
Summary
     This is Liam, fourteen to eighteen. This is Zayn, doing his best not
     to notice.
Notes
     A few notes:
     My recipient mentioned age difference as one of her likes/wants so
     there's a four year age difference between Zayn and Liam in this fic.
     If that throws you, I apologize, but I hope you'll give it a chance
     anyway. I also tried to include a little D/s (not much, lol) as well
     as first times.
     I want to massively thank cloudlessclimesand blackmustache for their
     emergency beta work. Any mistakes from here on are mine and mine
     alone.
See the end of the work for more notes
===============================================================================
This is Liam at fourteen:
It's a voice Zayn hears first, smooth and rich, drifting around the corner
where he usually sneaks away during break to have a fag. The tune's only
passingly familiar; Zayn's fairly certain his nan would be swooning were she
standing here though.
He's curious, taking a drag and rolling around the corner, shoulder pressed to
the brick. At eighteen, he's been smoking long enough to know exactly how he
looks as he exhales. He knows, too, how to hold his shoulders, the way to keep
his chin tucked low in order to appear aloof. Unapproachable. His hair's free
of product today, too late getting out of bed to worry about it. Falling across
his brow, it makes a good shield.
Not that any of it matters.
The boy—because he's definitely several years younger than Zayn—smiles at him
without hesitation. It sparks warm in the boy's eyes, welcoming to a total
stranger.
Guileless, Zayn thinks as the song continues, and wants to protect it for some
reason. The feeling's unnerving, unexpected. Zayn wants to scowl, but his face
refuses to cooperate. The boys slips into a Bieber tune and Zayn finds himself
fighting to keep the corners of his mouth from tipping up. Instead, he takes
another hard drag and holds it longer than usual, the burn in his lungs
distracting.
He exhales, licks away the dryness from his lips, and watches the boy's gaze
drop to his mouth. A fumbled note on the guitar is quickly recovered, but the
blush creeping over soft cheeks is slower to fade. A different feeling settles
low in Zayn's stomach, just as unsettling to be honest. Less unexpected
however; Zayn likes pretty things.
Kid, he reminds himself, and drops his gaze to the boy's fingers as they move
across the guitar strings. It doesn't help.
In the end, he leaves a five pound note in the case sat on the ground. It earns
him another wide smile that takes entirely too long for Zayn to forget.
===============================================================================
This is Liam at fifteen:
The alcohol in his system makes him feel loose, puts a warm buzz under his skin
that Zayn likes. Music is pulsing, loud enough that it's almost too hard to
have a conversation. It's fine, he's doesn't feel much like talking right now.
He catches Louis's gaze across the room, watches the quick chin nod before his
friend turns his attention back to the brunette he's been talking to for a
while now. She's got fantastic legs.
Jealousy hits, a sudden flare that dissipates almost as quickly as it arrives.
With a sigh, Zayn looks away; it's been too long since he's gotten laid.
Louis's laughter carries over during a break in the music. Another sigh and
Zayn goes to look for another drink.
 
Zayn's not sure how long he's been upstairs, but he's definitely more drunk.
There's still a shit-load of people but it's quieter, the music a muffled
thumping that he can still feel through the floor. He giggles at the thought,
musical notes traveling through his trainers, singing through his blood and
bones—
Fuck, he's pissed.
Running a hand over his face, he's not really surprised when he bumps into
someone. "Sorry, mate," he mumbles, intent on finding the nearest toilet.
"No, it's my—oh. It's you."
There's something in the tone that makes Zayn look up. He wants to say it takes
a second to place the face in front of him, but it'd be a lie.
The boy doesn't look much different, hair falling over his face, eyes still a
warm brown. Standing though, bring some new realizations. He's nearly as tall
as Zayn, limbs lanky in a way that Zayn knows will probably go the opposite way
of his own rail thin physique. Still, for now, the boy's body holds the
awkwardness of a still growing teen. Zayn's fingers itch to draw him.
The blush is back on the boy's face but he stares at Zayn like he can't look
away. And normally Zayn hates it when people stare at him, but something has
him tilting his face, displaying the line of his neck, the angle of his chin in
a way that his last ex said no one could resist. It was a lie, of course; she’d
left eventually. Still, it’s worked to his advantage before.
"It's me?" Zayn grins, lies through his teeth when he adds, "Have we, like, met
before?" He almost feels bad with the way the boy's face drops.
"Yeah, you— Last year," he starts again, tongue flicking out to wet a bottom
lip that makes Zayn think plush and want, before continuing. "Last year you
dropped some change in my guitar case. In front of a coffee shop," he adds,
like it'll jog Zayn's memory.
The boy's voice is Brummie, clearly Midlands, and Zayn wants him to keep
talking almost as much as he wants to shut him up. He shakes his head, still
pretending he's no memory of the incident, and watches as disappointment
flickers over the boy's face.
"It's not a big deal, sorry," a quick smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes,
a shoulder shrug, and then, "just. One of my favorite days playing and I wanted
to say thank you."
It's too sincere, guilt suddenly twisting a knot in Zayn's stomach. He's got
his mouth open to come clean when someone runs into the boy, sending him
stumbling into Zayn. Instinct has Zayn immediately reaching to steady him,
hands on his hips.
"Sorry," is more a breath against Zayn's mouth than a word and he knows it's
more than the alcohol in his system that's making his head spin. It's awkward
limbs, a decadent mouth. Possibly the hands on his biceps, maybe, what with the
way the boy's fingers wrap nearly all the way around his arms.
Those fingers tighten when Zayn huffs out a tiny laugh. "You apologize entirely
too much for someone whose name I don't know."
"Sorry."
Zayn raises an eyebrow. That earns him a real smile this time, wide and bright,
crinkling at the corners of his eyes. It's devastating this close, and Zayn's
suddenly not sure he's ever wanted something so much in his life. He doesn't
realize his fingers are digging into slim hips until the gasped, "It's Liam,"
interrupts the white buzzing noise of want in his head.
"Liam?" he murmurs. There's a jerky nod of affirmation, a barely there yeah
against his mouth. "How old are you, Liam?" Zayn can't help asking, then
cutting off any answer with, "Fuck it, tell me after, okay?"
"After what?"
He knows that Liam has to know what's going to happen, has to, but the startled
gasp against his lips belies this. The fingers around Zayn's arms tighten until
he's certain there'll be bruises, and then Liam just goes loose, body falling
into Zayn's. In contrast, Liam's mouth is clumsy, awkward against Zayn's. Like
he's not quite sure what he's doing.
It hits Zayn then, that this is probably Liam's first kiss. He's suddenly,
painfully sure now that he doesn't want Liam to answer his question.
In the end—after Zayn's pressed Liam back against the wall, taken his fill of
those lips. Taught Liam how to angle his head, how to tease and taunt until
it's Zayn's breath that's catching short. Until the buzz of alcohol in Zayn's
bloodstream is traded for the warmth of Liam's mouth and hands—his question is
answered. Against his better judgment, Zayn ends up with Liam Payne in his
mobile.
Hell looks like soft, brown eyes and kiss-swollen lips.
===============================================================================
This is Liam at sixteen:
It's pissing down rain and Louis's over at El's, so the knock on the door is
unexpected. What's standing on the other side however, is much more surprising.
"Liam! Fuck!" He's soaking wet, head down and arms crossed, shivering in Zayn's
doorway. "Come on, come on," Zayn urges, pulling him in with a hand on his
shoulder. Liam stumbles and Zayn tightens his hold, stepping in closer. It must
be what the other boy is waiting for because he curls into Zayn immediately,
wet hair cold against Zayn's cheek.
"Let's get you dry," he says softly. Liam only nods, letting Zayn lead him to
the bathroom. He presses a towel into Liam's hands, barely waiting before
turning and moving toward his bedroom. "I'll get you something to wear, Li."
Zayn's expecting Liam to have gotten down to his pants by the time he comes
back, jogging bottoms and his largest hoodie in hand, and Liam has for the most
part. Even towel-dried his hair a bit, the ends beginning to curl. He's still
wearing the drenched tee he came through the door in though and it makes Zayn
frown.
He hasn't looked up either, Zayn realizes. Not once since Zayn opened the door
to his flat.
"Liam?" he says, voice quiet. He sets the clothes on the sink counter, steps
closer. "Liam, look at me." All he gets is a single head shake. Zayn hates that
Liam won't look up, won't meet his eyes. Frowning harder, Zayn glances down to
where Liam's twisting the towel in his hands.
It's only a quick flash, but Zayn catches of a glimpse of scraped skin. The
kind you get from hitting someone. He's had some of his own, when he was
younger. Before he learned how to keep people away with a look, with body
language.
Liam though, Liam doesn't know those tricks.
Stepping into Liam's space, Zayn reaches out and wraps his fingers around
Liam's wrist. He stills immediately under Zayn's touch, breath hitching.
"C'mon, Li," Zayn whispers, "It's just me."
There's the beginnings of a bruise sitting high on Liam's cheek that Zayn can't
help brushing the tips of his fingers over even as he scowls. He tugs at the
hem of Liam's wet shirt. "Let me see," he says through gritted teeth. When
lifts the edge of his shirt, another line of bruises along his right side is
revealed.
"How many?" Zayn can't help but ask. "How many were there?"
"Doesn't matter," is the answer he finally gets. Liam's voice is scratchy, but
settled, almost too quiet to hear. "Doesn't matter 'cuz they won't try again."
Zayn sighs, doing his best to push away the anger thrumming through him. After
a moment, he tugs at Liam's shirt again. "Off with this, got some dry clothes
for you."
He turns, intending to grab the clothes he'd gathered earlier, but Liam's
reflection in the mirror stops him.
It still hits him sometimes, the sheer want. Even though he's worked hard to
put into a box, shove it to the very furthest reaches of his brain and focus on
just being a good friend to a lonely, lovely young boy, it still takes Zayn by
surprise on occasion.
Like now, with Liam dragging the wet cotton shirt over his head. A year spent
running and boxing has defined the line of Liam's body, muscles shifting with
each movement. He's still gangly, a little awkward in his body like every
teenager, but there's a bit of power there now. Zayn thinks about Liam fighting
back this time, the feel of bone against a clenched fist, and tries to drag his
gaze away before Liam can see the way he gets to him.
He doesn't make it.
Liam's already stepping into him by the time Zayn's turned around, hand up. It
hits the damp skin over Liam's heart and Zayn forces himself not to jerk it
away.
"Liam—" he murmurs.
Instead of answering, Liam curls into Zayn again, like he had at the front
door. This time though, he presses his mouth to Zayn's neck, breathes against
it. It's hot against Zayn's skin, unlike the coolness of Liam's chest
underneath Zayn's palm. They stay like that for a moment, breathing, and Zayn
thinks that maybe this will be it. That he won't break the rules he's set for
himself.
And then Liam shifts, shuffles in closer.
He's hard, obviously so, through the thin material of his pants when Zayn makes
the mistake of glancing down. He can feel it too, through his own worn
trackies. His body betrays him then, cock responding to every sensation. Liam
must sense it, moving into Zayn until they're lined up, and slipping a leg
between Zayn's.
Zayn drops his hand then, accidentally brushing against the bruises on Liam's
ribs. He feels the jagged hiss of pain that Liam lets out. He opens his mouth
to speak, but Liam digs his teeth into skin below Zayn's ear, like he knows.
The sound that leaves Zayn's mouth instead is almost embarrassing.
But it's like that's all Liam needs then, that noise. He presses in without
hesitation, hard, and they both whine at the first slide of their cocks against
each other. Liam's breathing is ragged, his face still hidden against Zayn's
neck, as he continues to roll his hips. His fingers are digging into Zayn's
back, low, slipping just under the waistband of Zayn's trousers. They feel like
a brand; he can feel every single finger like an imprint burned into his skin.
Zayn's desperate not to touch on his own even if he can't seem to make his hips
behave. The front of their pants are a mess and the rough drag of cloth against
his dick is almost painful, but he can feel the heat of his orgasm, curling low
in his stomach. He's almost ashamed of how quickly he's going to get off; he's
twenty years old for fuck's sake.
His body doesn't seem to care about his pride though. Liam's cock slides just
under the head of Zayn's and his vision goes white.
"PleasepleaseZaynplease—"
It takes Zayn a second to realize that it's Liam, pleading with him, once he's
come back down and can hear something other than the pounding of his heart,
loud in his ears.
"Please."
It's desperate, pained. For a moment Zayn wonders how far he could push Liam,
how much the boy could take before he'd have to come. The thought dissipates
when Zayn looks down, sees that Liam's pulled his hips away. Knowing that Zayn
would be oversensitive, he realizes suddenly. Sixteen year-olds are supposed to
be selfish; Zayn knows he was at that age.
"Zayn."
Liam sounds as though he's on the edge of crying.
Fuck, Zayn thinks, even as he lets go of the counter. His fingers are stiff
from holding on so tight, but they curl around Liam's dick easy enough. It
doesn't take long, barely three strokes. Three slick strokes before Liam's
spilling warm over his fingers, crying out against the skin of Zayn's neck.
He manages not to kiss Liam that night at least, knows himself well enough that
it's only slowing the fall. He's still got some rules at least. For what
they're worth.
===============================================================================
This is Liam at seventeen:
Liam's taller than him now, even more broad, but he sinks to his knees so
perfectly that it makes the breath catch in Zayn's throat. He manages to choke
out, "I told you we weren't doing this again."
And they haven't.
It's been six months since Zayn sat Liam down and had that excruciating
conversation, telling Liam all the reason why it shouldn't have happened and
why it wouldn't be happening again — You're too young. I'm too old for you. -
Liam protesting that four years is nothing, Zayn holding strong even as Liam
slammed out of the flat. He'd returned a week later, flinging himself at Zayn
and promising him anything as long Zayn wouldn't stop being his friend. Zayn
does his best not to think about the rush of relief at seeing Liam back in his
doorway.
Staring down at Liam's upturned face now though, he thinks he's should have
known better.
Zayn's well aware of how stubborn Liam is, how hard he works for what he wants.
There's a rush of pleasure that shoots through him at the thought of being
something Liam wants. He shoves it away ruthlessly.
"Liam—"
"It's my birthday," Liam cuts in. "It's my birthday and now, right now, it's
only three years between us and this is all I want." The desperation in Liam's
voice, the hope on his face, makes Zayn glance away.
"I won't ask again," Liam says in a quiet voice, and Zayn can't help looking
down at him. Liam's watching him and he's reminded of a night almost three
years ago when Liam had looked at Zayn almost exactly the same way he is now.
"I won't ask again," Liam repeats, "regardless of what you decide tonight."
Zayn's weak when it comes to Liam, selfish even. He knows what his answer's
going to be even before Liam whispers, "Please," in that needy tone Zayn can
never seem to refuse. Liam begging is too much to resist.
He brushes his fingers over the top of Liam's cheek, swallowing hard when Liam
curls into the touch. There's the faintest hint of stubble against his palm and
Zayn feels a bit wild suddenly, fingers moving to dig into the back of Liam's
neck. Lashes flutter open and Zayn's hadn't even noticed Liam's eyes had
closed.
"Zayn?"
He can't force the words out of his mouth, barely nods before Liam's reaching
for his zipper. Zayn wants to help but he can't seem to get his limbs to
function, only able to watch as Liam tugs Zayn's jeans and pants down to his
knees in one go. Hysterical laughter claws at the back of his throat, but it
dies the second Liam presses his forehead into the line of Zayn's hip.
It's Liam's breathing, harsh and slightly out of control against his skin, that
pulls Zayn back. He threads his fingers through the short hairs at the base of
Liam's skull, brushes back and forth, slow and soft.
"Liam."
No response.
"Hey, Li," he says quietly. The nickname works. Liam rolls his cheek against
Zayn's hip, looking up at him. "You don't have to do this, you know?" It should
feel ridiculous, Zayn's prick hanging out, a panicked seventeen year old near
hyperventilating, but it doesn't. Zayn runs a finger along the shell of Liam's
ear and gets a blush in return.
It shouldn't be so endearing, that it's that little gesture that brings the
pink to Liam's cheeks. Zayn takes a mental picture, knows that he'll want to
put it on paper later. A moment to keep just for himself.
And then a hand wraps around his cock and Zayn's brain shuts out everything but
the feel of that, the tentative slide of skin against skin. The grip isn't firm
enough to do more than tease, but Zayn knows that it's just Liam getting a feel
for him. When he glances down, it's to find Liam's cheek still pressed to his
hip. The fascination and want on Liam's face is hotter than Zayn's expecting.
He can't help the tiny jerk of his hips when Liam's tongue flashes out, leaving
his bottom lip shiny and wet.
The movement makes Liam glance up.
Zayn's not sure what the expression on his own face must look like, but Liam's
eyes darken at what he sees. The fingers around Zayn's cock tighten, forcing a
whine from his throat. That seems to spur Liam into action.
Keeping still is difficult, Zayn does his best as Liam takes his first
tentative lick. When Liam wraps his lips around the head of his cock, Zayn
knows the grip he has on Liam's neck can't be comfortable. It just makes Liam
hum in response.
Liam pulls off, licks his lips like he's tasting Zayn and then moves to take
Zayn back in his mouth. Deeper this time, not too much. Not until Zayn can't
take it, can't help pressing forward, just a little bit. It's too hot, too wet
to resist. Liam makes a tiny noise, a needy sound that makes Zayn even harder
somehow.
Liam's barely even started and it feels so good already. Zayn grits out a
tight, "Fuck."
He's so screwed.
 
It's messy and wet, definitely not the best blowjob that Zayn's ever received.
But Liam's making these desperate little sounds that Zayn can feel along every
inch of his cock and it makes him crazy, out of control. His hips jerk and he
knows it's too hard but Liam just takes it. He does it again, without thinking,
feels the head of his cock hit the back of Liam's throat.
"Fuck— fuck, sorry," Zayn pants as Liam pulls back, coughing.
"Like it," is the response he gets. The sound of Liam's voice, scratchy and
low, makes Zayn's cock twitch. He's got no time to be embarrassed about it
because Liam's mouth is back around him immediately, hot and slick, taking him
deep. Zayn curses again.
He's going to come. He's going to come and then do something terribly
embarrassing, like collapse because his legs won't hold him. All over some
seventeen year old with lips like sin and a determination like no one else
Zayn's ever known. He's not sure when he lost all control over this whole
situation.
Liam's arm moves and Zayn can see him pressing a hand to his own crotch. "No,"
he gasps, his fingers tightening where they're tangled in Liam's hair. Liam
whines, but it doesn’t sound like a protest, not until Zayn demands, "No
touching."
Liam responds immediately though, pulling his hand away. It makes Zayn feel
better, more in control. Until Liam fumbles at Zayn's left hand, tangling their
fingers together against Zayn's thigh. Until Liam takes him deep as he can, the
fingers of his other hand digging into Zayn's hip.
He comes then, hard and unexpectedly.
It takes Liam by surprise as well; he jerks back and a line of come streaks
over his mouth, hits his chin, even as Zayn's knees buckle. He manages to catch
himself against the wall, eyes closed and trying to catch his breath. A barely
there sound makes him look down.
Zayn know that if he hadn't just come his brains out, the sight in front of him
would do it. As it is, his cock gives a half-hearted, pathetic twitch at Liam
still on his knees, waiting. He's so hard that Zayn knows it must be
uncomfortable, but he's still not touching himself. He's a wreck, come on his
face, hair mussed from Zayn's fingers. But he's waiting. Waiting for Zayn to
tell him it's okay, that he can touch himself. It's too much, even for Zayn.
"C'mon, c'mon." He reaches down, fingers digging into Liam's skin. "Up, c'mon."
It doesn't take much, Liam stumbling to his feet and reaching for Zayn. They
fall back against the wall, Liam blindly seeking Zayn's mouth. He's whining,
grinding against Zayn, seeking relief. He's begging again, Zayn's name on his
lips.
He tastes like Zayn.
"This doesn't mean anything," Zayn manages to get out, biting at Liam's bottom
lip. He repeats it, trying to convince himself. Liam hums, an agreement or not
Zayn can't tell, but he's too busy trying to undo Liam's flies while Liam
kisses him to really think about it.
===============================================================================
This is Liam at eighteen:
Liam's on him the moment he ends the phone call, arms wrapped around his back
and lifting him up with a shout of joy.
"It's only four pieces," Zayn mumbles into Liam's shoulder. He not let it sink
in yet, let himself believe it's happening. Liam snorts.
"Shut up," he says. "It’s a bloody massive deal, so just shut up and don't
pretend it's not." Zayn laughs, finally letting it wash over him. He can hear
the ring of Niall's voice in his ear, shouting that Zayn owes him a million
pints for finally convincing Cowell to display his work in the gallery.
Holy shit, Zayn thinks. His work is going to be up for everyone to see. A vague
sense of nausea rolls through his stomach.
Almost like he knows—and Zayn supposes he does; no one really knows him as well
as Liam does now despite Zayn's every attempt to keep him at bay—Liam murmurs,
"You're amazing and everyone's gonna know it now."
It's the confidence, the quiet assurance in Liam's voice that has Zayn melting
into him. Without thinking, Zayn presses a kiss to the corner of Liam's mouth,
a thank you. Liam runs with it, because that's what Liam does with any inch
Zayn gives him.
It's like he's biding his time, waiting for Zayn to finally give in.
Liam licks into his mouth and Zayn's certain it's not going to be long before
he cracks. He's like a stone, wearing away against Liam's sea of patience. He's
broken a handful of times since that night of Liam's birthday, never more than
hands and mouths, but quietly devastating all the same.
Liam breaks the kiss but stays close, resting his forehead against Zayn's. His
breath is hot, washing over Zayn's mouth. He's not that much taller than Zayn,
but the last year's made him broader. Makes it so Zayn feels small now,
surrounded. It's not as unnerving as it should be.
"Zayn," Liam murmurs. Zayn knows what he's asking.
"Shut up," he answers, and kisses Liam to keep him from saying anything else.
 
There's a trail of clothes behind them and they may never make it to the
bedroom, Liam stopping to press him against the wall every two steps, kissing
him like he's dying. Like Zayn is the breath in his lungs. It's making Zayn's
head spin, every inch of his skin burning where they touch.
They finally make it to a bed, Zayn on his back as Liam slides down, nipping at
the skin over a rib, another at the heart tattoo on his hip. He's got Zayn's
pants down his thighs, mouth sliding hotly over Zayn's cock. He goes deep
immediately, so much more sure of himself now. Sure of how Zayn's going to
react, holding him down, hands spread over Zayn's hips.
Liam pulls back, curling his tongue just under the head and Zayn gasps out,
"Want you to fuck me," before he can stop himself. Over him, Liam goes still.
And then he's scrambling for Zayn's bedside cabinet so fast that Zayn can't
help but bark out a laugh. "Shut it," Liam blushes. It doesn't stop him from
digging through the drawer. A tube of lube gets tossed on the bed next to
Zayn's shoulder. There's a noise of frustration that makes Zayn glance back
over to see Liam frowning.
"There's not—" And Zayn knows what he's going to say. Knows that he can't
remember the last time he fucked someone else, got off with someone other than
Liam. He resolutely doesn't think about why he felt the need to get tested or
why he’s kept his negative results from Sexual Health tucked away, shoved
between the pages of the book that sits on the floor next to the bed. "—any
condoms."
"Zayn." The disappointment on Liam's face nearly make him laugh again, he can
feel it bubbling up in his throat, a bit hysterical feeling. "Zayn."
"Have you ever—?" Zayn asks instead. Liam blushes, shakes his head once. Zayn
doesn't think about what that means, manages to get the words, "I'm clean," out
past the tightness in his throat. "I'm clean," he repeats, clearer, "if you
want—"
He doesn't get the rest out, Liam's eyes going dark at the implication and then
he's pressing Zayn into the bed, mouth cutting off any other words. Liam's
still got his pants on and the slide of cloth against Zayn's cock is almost
painful.
"Liam—"
Liam growls—fucking growls—pulling away to drag his mouth across Zayn's cheek,
seeking out the skin under his ear. His teeth dig in even as he shoves his hips
down harder and Zayn thinks he might actually explode, the way his body feels
like it's on fire. He manages Liam's name again, shoves the lube in his hand in
hopes that Liam will get a move on.
It works.
Although by the time Liam's got three fingers in him, Zayn sure that this is a
million times worse. He's taken his time prepping Zayn, excruciatingly slow in
his movements. Careful. Loving. And so, so fascinated, as usual. He's watching
his fingers sliding in and out, bottom lip caught between his teeth. It's
entirely possible Zayn's going to come just from this.
Fingers press against his prostate and Zayn can see Liam's own cock jump at the
sound Zayn makes. "I'm good, Li," he pants and Liam glances up to meet his
eyes. Nods once before he pulls his fingers out, wiping them on the sheet
before reaching for the lube again.
He's got a hand under Zayn's knee, the head of his cock brushing against Zayn's
hole when he pauses. It's then that Zayn notices the fine tremble in the line
of Liam's forearm. Fuck. He'd forgotten momentarily that this is Liam's first
time, how much this probably means.
"Hey," he says softly, brushing fingers over Liam's shoulder until they're
resting around the curve of his neck. Brushing a thumb along the line of his
jaw, Zayn murmurs, "Come here," tugging the tiniest bit.
Liam meets him in a barely-there kiss, more breathing against each other's
mouths than anything else. It must work because a moment later, Liam's sitting
back, fingers firm as he lifts Zayn's knee. He presses until the head of his
cock slips into Zayn, barely breathes before he slides all the way inside.
Liam doesn't move and Zayn can feel the way they're both breathing harshly,
chest to chest. He can only take it so long.
"Fuck." It's him begging this time, Liam feeling impossibly large inside him,
and so very, very hot. "Move, Liam. Please—"
He does move then, tentative at first. It's drives Zayn crazy, the slow slide
as Liam finds his rhythm. He's not proud of how harsh his breath sounds in his
own ears. It's not long though, before Liam speeds up. He's leaking so much
that each brush of his cock against Liam's stomach gets even slicker. He's
going to come so quickly he'll never be able to live with himself.
"Harder," he grits out, glutton for punishment it seems. He wants Liam's hand
on him, but he refuses to ask for that. One shred of dignity, at least.
Not that it matters because Liam shifts then, arms sliding under Zayn's knees
and slams into him. Zayn starts a litany of curses, barely heard over the sound
of their harsh breathing and the slap of skin against skin.
He's not sure how much time has passed, only that it's simultaneously too long
and not long enough before Liam's whining his name, thrusts losing rhythm.
"Can't—" he gasps, face buried in the curve of Zayn's neck. "Gonna come—I
can't—"
He's doing his best, Zayn knows, to hold on until Zayn gets off. It's so very
Liam, that, "I love you," leaves his mouth before Zayn can stop it, before he
realizes how much truth there is to the words. All those barriers over the
years for naught, it seems. It's not as terrifying as Zayn thought it would be.
Liam comes with a groan that sounds like it's being ripped from his chest,
fingers digging into Zayn's skin hard enough that he knows there'll be bruises
later. He's got no time to think about it though, the feel of Liam, hot and
pulsing inside him, pushes Zayn over the edge. He comes hard between the two of
them.
Liam collapses, a not unpleasant weight on top of him. He tries to roll to the
side, but Zayn tightens his arm, keeping him there. He's not quite ready to
face Liam, not yet.
When the words do come, it's not what he was expecting.
"You can't do that," Liam says after their breathing has slowed. He's not
moved, soft inside Zayn, like he's scared of what's going to happen when he
does move. He sounds sad and Zayn doesn't know why.
Not until, "You can't say things you don't mean; it's not fair. Not after
this."
Fuck.
He does move then, hissing as Liam slips out of him, and searching for Liam's
gaze. He's hiding his face in Zayn's neck though and Zayn has to shift onto his
side, hand sliding up to cup Liam's cheek, thumbing his chin until he'll look
at Zayn. His eyes are wet.
It hits Zayn like a punch to his chest.
He forgets sometimes, even with as much he's always used it as a crutch, that
Liam is only eighteen. That this was his first time, that he's probably been in
love with Zayn for years. Always known his own heart and gone for it, unlike
Zayn, whose always run scared at the idea of love.
It's too late to run anymore, he realizes, looking at the face in front of him.
The warm eyes that are always watching him, that mouth that goes from adorable
to hot in the span of a moment, sings so smoothly that Zayn's gotten lost
listening to him more times than he count.
Zayn loves him.
"I do mean it," he tells Liam, watching confusion and hope flash over Liam's
face. He brushes his thumb over Liam's bottom lip, then ducks down and presses
a kiss there, whispering those words again. Liam still doesn't respond, just
tucks his face into the curve of Zayn's neck.
They need to clean up, Zayn knows. They're a mess and it's going to get
uncomfortable soon, but he likes the way Liam's breath is warm against his
skin. Likes that he feels lighter somehow, with that single confession. Liam
shifts against him, catching his attention. He can't hear them, but Zayn feels
the words love you too against his neck.
It's not the first time he's known the truth of Liam's feelings, but it's the
first time it doesn't scare him.
End Notes
     So. I signed up for this exchange because I wanted to make myself
     write more porn. I have come to the conclusion that I am unable to
     write porn without feelings, so.
     Not even going to lie, when I got my assignment, I kind of freaked
     out because I adore my recipient's writing and was/am terrified that
     this does not live up to what she deserves. I've done my best,
     however, and I hope she likes it a little bit at least. <3
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