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Ziall - Can't Hide The Way It Makes Us Glow

But this, when Zayn loses himself, it’s just -- it’s almost too much, because Zayn is so cool and together and composed so much of the time, even when he’s playing off Louis and bouncing around all kinetic energy, or giggling with Harry and sticking stuff in Liam’s hair. He’s still held together then, only really loses himself like this when he’s desperate for Niall, for his cock in his mouth and his arse clenching around him. It still makes Niall feel a little awestruck.

Zayn presses himself up from Niall, using Niall’s shoulder as leverage, and Niall’s breathing heavy and he’s so hard he might cry a little at the loss of contact, but then Zayn’s moving down, biting at the pale skin on Niall’s stomach and the inside of his thighs before he takes his cock in his mouth.

Niall’s head falls back and his hips thrust up to meet Zayn’s mouth despite his best efforts to be still, chasing the perfect wet heat shamelessly. Zayn sucks, his hollow cheeks making his cheekbones stand out even more, and he whines around Niall’s cock like he can’t get enough of it.

Zayn’s finger is suddenly in his mouth alongside Niall’s cock, and then it’s trailing up his leg and behind his cock, pressing into him slowly at first, then more insistent, spit-wet and slick. Niall groans, thinks he might pass out when a second finger slides in too. Zayn’s hands are perfect and his mouth is unbelievable and the two of them working together is truly dangerous.

Zayn groans around Niall’s cock again, and then there’s a third finger, Niall’s breath going ragged and uneven and he whines in a way that’s not entirely dignified but he doesn’t give a fuck. If this is how Niall dies then so be it because he can’t think of any other way he’d rather go out than spread open for Zayn Malik, with his mouth around his cock.

He comes almost too hard, like falling off a cliff, like molten, and when he manages to pry his eyes open after his breath starts to return to normal, Zayn’s kneeling over him, jerking himself off with a singular concentration. Niall wants to sit up, press Zayn backwards and lick at him, bite him, open him up and make him beg for it, but then Zayn’s coming, gasping, his come mixing with Niall’s on his chest.

Zayn collapses next to Niall, sticky and sweaty. The smell of him shouldn’t be delicious, but it is. Zayn nuzzles into Niall’s neck, his quiff going all sideways in the process, but he doesn’t move to fix it, just trails a hand up Niall’s abdomen, swiping at the mess on him.

“Fuck me,” Niall murmurs quietly, willing himself not to find the sight of it incredibly hot and failing.

“Could do, if you give me a moment,” Zayn says from his neck, and Niall whimpers again. “‘Course, we’ll have to bunk off maths.”

-

So they don’t make it to maths, and by the time Harry is back to change before dinner, Louis in tow, Niall and Zayn are sprawled on the floor of the room, flicking a paper football back and forth. Niall’s managed to pull on his uniform shirt, although it’s buttoned wrong, and there’s a massive lovebite showing where the collar’s open, and Zayn has at least put on his pants, which is progress.

“Productive day, then, lads, learn lots?” Louis asks, leaning against the wardrobe and smirking.

“Very stimulating,” Zayn deadpans, pressing himself up to lean against the sofa. “Intellectually, I mean. Really quite tiring, actually, using our brains so hard.” Niall blushes and Zayn laughs, curls Niall into him tightly, fit up against his side perfectly.

“I think they’re having more sex than us,” Harry pouts. “Why’re they having more sex than us?”

“Quantity is no indicator of quality, Harry,” Louis chides. Liam walks in the door then, and rolls his eyes at all four of them.

Niall is overwhelmed for a moment with happiness. He might miss home, but this is just about perfect, too, Zayn wrapped around him and their mates laughing. He wonders what’s for dinner, asks as much aloud, and smiles.

-

When it comes down to it, it’s like this: Zayn’s his best mate, and also a phenomenal shag, and also Niall loves him, just a bit. Maybe more than a bit. Possibly loves every little bit of Zayn, actually.

It’s just, Zayn sleeps with his mouth slightly open and laughs until he snorts at crap telly and keeps a sketchbook full of unfinished drawings, things like the hills of the grounds and Niall’s disembodied hands. Zayn calls his family every Sunday to talk to each of them, his parents and his sisters in turn, and gets an extra serving of chips in the dining hall so Niall can steal them. He stays next to Niall after they sneak off to the pub and he makes himself sick on drink, rubs his back while Niall throws up. Zayn kissed him for the first time at three in the morning when they’d been alone in Zayn’s room, and then said “Shit, sorry, shit,” over and over until Niall had leaned in to kiss him back. Zayn was the first person Niall met when he started here, on his first day when he’d thought he’d made a mistake by coming somewhere so far from Mullingar. Zayn had been sitting cross-legged on a bench outside the dorm, smoking and idly pulling the petals off a little purple flower he’d picked from the gardens, and he’d looked up when he heard Niall approach.

“You’re Liam’s new roommate,” Zayn had said, like he’d been expecting Niall.

“I reckon so,” Niall had replied, recognizing that name from the packet of papers the school had sent him for enrollment. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly.

“Use a hand?” Zayn had asked, nodding towards the trunk Niall was pulling.

Niall had considered it, glanced around at the high stone buildings and the gravel paths that cut across the lawn, and then back at this boy.

“Why not, mate, thanks,” he said, and had let Zayn take the duffel that was slung over his shoulder.

“M’Zayn,” he had introduced himself as they trudged across the lawn.

“Niall.”

“Thank Christ you’re here,” Zayn had said. “Liam’s a mate of mine and his last roommate was an absolutely miserable twat. Could hardly stand to be in their room, honestly.” He’d shuddered delicately, as if the memory haunted him.

“How d’you know I’m not a miserable twat too?” Niall had asked, smiling. Obviously he’d no way of knowing, having only met Zayn within the last minute, but he struck Niall as an alright sort.

Zayn had barked out a laugh. “Suppose I don’t, mate, but you don’t look the type. C’mon, let’s get your stuff sorted and find the lads.”

“Lads?”

“Liam, Harry, Louis,” Zayn had said casually, like the names ought to mean something to Niall. “Good chaps, the lot of them, save for Louis, who’s completely nutty, I’ll warn you. But you’ll love ‘em.” He had said it in a way that brooked no argument, like it was already determined, so Niall had shrugged, smiled, and followed Zayn into the dorm without hesitating.