Not Happening // ziam

Chapter 5

Liam undoes his jeans while Zayn sits up to tug off his shirt, and then hands are at the waistband of his own jeans, popping open the button, tugging down the zipper. He lifts his hips, and Liam looks down at him with his bottom lip between his teeth. It makes Zayn squirm. "Are you going to just sit there like that the whole time, or—?"

His boxers are tugged so quickly down his hips he's pretty sure the seams rip. After that there's no more kissing. No lingering looks or touches. Liam moves like the same heat that's burning Zayn up is coursing through his veins, and he wastes no time slicking up his fingers, pushing one into Zayn with his eyebrows drawn together in concentration. No teasing, straight to the point.

By the time the second finger stretches him open, Zayn has his head tilted back. He can't look down at Liam anymore. It's too much, the drag of his fingers, the mild pain underlying the shivers that go through him every time Liam brushes that spot inside him. It's not enough, at the same time, so he pushes down against them and tries to bunch his hands against the bare mattress, but there's nothing for him to hold onto, which might be the cause of that feeling in Zayn's stomach. It's like being on a rollercoaster; it's like that moment where you tip too far back in your chair and it hits you that you're going to fall and your stomach clenches.

"Fuck," he hisses at the third finger, and he can't tell if it's in pain or pleasure; maybe it's both, because they're blurring together in his mind.

There's no warning before Liam's fingers are gone, and Zayn would yell at him for it if he had any breath left in his lungs. He props himself up on his elbows, watches as Liam rips open the condom with difficulty, fingers still slick from the lube. Zayn takes that one moment to appreciate Liam. Sure, he hates the guy, but that doesn't stop him from being gorgeous. All that working out pays off, apparently, and the sweat shining on his skin only enhances the dips and curves, the hard muscles of his stomach and chest, the width of his shoulders, the curve of his cock, which he's sliding the condom onto, the thick coarse hair at the base.

Zayn lays his head back against the pillow.

"Are you sure?" Liam asks when he's done, leaning over Zayn once again. Zayn gives him a pointed, annoyed look. "Right. Just let me know if…" He swallows back the rest of his words and shakes his head. He moves so he's lying beside Zayn, and he orders, "Get on top of me."

Zayn has to bite back the instinctive "Don't tell me what to do," only because he feels like now is not the time. Instead he does as he's told, thighs on either side of Liam's body. One of Liam's hands grabs his hip, the other lines himself up with Zayn's hole, and Zayn lowers himself. He's taking short, aborted little breaths, eyes squeezed closed. It's been way, way too long, and for a moment it hurts more than it feels good. Until Liam's hand fits between their bodies, wrapping around his prick, giving it a few short, quick tugs.

It starts out slow, Zayn doing most of the work as Liam blinks up at him with heavily lidded eyes. But eventually Liam grunts out a moan and both of his large hands grip Zayn's hips tightly, pushing him down, and he fucks up into Zayn with abandon. Zayn collapses on top of him, head tucked into Liam's neck, breathing damply against his skin because that. That is exactly how this is supposed to be. Not slow and careful and gentle.

"You — close?" Liam whispers, lips brushing Zayn's hair.

Really? Fuck. "Shut up," he hisses, because he is. So, so fucking close, if he could just — He pushes himself up, wrapping a hand around himself. Liam bats it away seconds later, replacing it with his own, and he twists his hips a bit, the angle changing.

Zayn's nails leave indents on Liam's chest when he comes white hot between the two of them, gasping, toes curling, a shudder going through his whole body. He falls back against Liam's chest, and Liam keeps going, only slowing a fraction.

Zayn whimpers, he can't help it, not with his oversensitive cock trapped between their bodies. Liam's hands slide soothingly up his back, and his lips press to Zayn's hair again, being incredible gentle. Which is such a contrast from his teeth, threatening to break Zayn's skin when he comes, biting at Zayn's shoulder with a strangled sound.

Afterwards, there's a moment of near silence where they lie pressed together, the soft sound of their breathing the only thing in the room. Liam's hands keep rubbing at his back, and Zayn tries to collect himself, tries to tell his limp, rubbery-feeling limbs to move, but he can't just yet.

When he can, he carefully climbs off Liam, wincing as he falls onto the bed beside him. Instantly Liam crawls over him, getting off the bed. Zayn stares up at the ceiling, hears Liam moving around. Zayn's still gulping for breath when Liam says, "I'm going to take a shower," and then, just before he's out the door, "and I'm not cleaning your side of the room."

The door shuts, and Zayn's grateful when he hears Liam lock it behind himself because he does not need someone walking in on him right now. Not when he's covered in drying come, sweat (his and Liam's), lying on the bare mattress of his bed.

As the minutes tick by, it dawns on him what just happened. Bit by bit, he realizes that he just had sex. With Liam Payne. He had sex with Liam fucking Payne. How exactly did that even happen? Why had he let it happen? Why did he enjoy it to so much? Because he did. Even as he presses his fingers to the bruise Liam's mouth left on his shoulder, he can't deny that it had been good. Really good.

"Shit," he mutters, covering his eyes with his arm. "Shit."