Summary: ‘Make up won’t be able to disguise that fucked out look on your face, Li,’ Zayn tells him, voice still rough. He briefly wonders how he’ll get through the last half of their set list sounding like sex; then again, will anybody mind?
By: Clare-is-a-weed.tumblr.com
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When the lights turn off, and the screaming gets louder, Zayn doesn’t let Liam catch his breath before he’s gripping the other boy’s wrist and dragging him away from the stage. He hears Louis shouting at them, Liam yelling something back in return, but the words are lost on Zayn. All he can focus on is the sweaty skin of Liam’s wrist, the aching pressure in his groin.
Liam doesn’t try to stop Zayn as he leads them down corridors, ignoring the questions and protests thrown their way. Liam just follows and it makes Zayn want to fuck him more. He licks his lips, stops, and steals a short kiss that tastes of summer love and freckles on your cheek. Someone shouts at them and they run again.
He finally finds a small room that’s cramped with old costumes and props and Zayn pushes Liam inside. His fingers find the light switch by the door and a blurry glow fills the room. Zayn tugs Liam into him by the collar of his shirt, one hand sliding down the waistcoat he’s wearing, all dapper beauty and short brown hair gleaming with sweat. Liam smiles at him, small and affectionate, before Zayn connects their lips in a wet open kiss that burns the synapses in Zayn’s head. He inhales Liam’s gasp, thinks about the similar sound he’d let out earlier in front of thousands of people when Zayn had come up behind him in a loose embrace so he could feel the effect he had on Zayn.
‘I want to fuck you,’ mumbles Zayn when he uncurls his tongue from Liam’s teeth for a few seconds.
Liam snorts and bites on Zayn’s lower lip. ‘I figured, babe.’
‘Shut up, this is all your fault.’ Zayn rolls his hips against Liam’s, drawing a moan from both their throats. Zayn breathes raggedly - sweat, cologne, and the faint trace of cigarette smoke from Zayn clinging to the other boy every change he got - and pops the button on Liam’s trousers. ‘Fuck, why did they make us wear these bloody things?’
Liam laughs into Zayn’s neck, mouthing softly because they couldn’t leave marks. It makes Zayn want to bite all over Liam’s throat. ‘Lou is going to kill us. And Paul. And everyone else.’
‘I’ll protect you,’ whispers Zayn as he slips a hand into Liam’s briefs.
Liam groans and thrusts up into his fist. ‘Zayn - I - ‘
‘No foreplay, Li,’ Zayn tells him as he reaches further back to ghost his fingertips against Liam’s hole. ‘We haven’t got time.’
Liam’s breathless laugh morphs into a moan halfway. ‘A quickie! Brilliant. Always wanted to have one.’ His eyes burn into Zayn’s, black on his flushed face. He licks his lips. ‘What about - ‘
The hand that isn’t softly pushing against Liam’s hole takes out the small tube of lube in Zayn’s front pocket.
‘I wonder if the fans got a picture of your erection,’ gasps Liam, smiling widely when Zayn waves the lube in front of him. ‘They’ll grow wild - but then, after tonight, I’m sure - ’ He muffles his disappointed grunt into Zayn’s lips when Zayn pulls his hand away so he can squeeze the lube onto his fingers. It’s Liam who undoes Zayn’s chinos, jerking him off a few times, spreading the pre-come all over the head.
Zayn’s trembling, lust and adrenaline making everything so much sharper, every touch sweeter. This isn’t new - Zayn shoving Liam against the wall, slick fingers tracing the pucker before slipping one inside - it’s not new at all but Zayn still feels a tendril of disbelief that he’s finally doing this, that after years of waiting and wanting and dreaming he can finally dismantle Liam apart like this. It reminds him never to take Liam for granted, to always be thankful that he is able to kiss this boy and wake up to his scrunched up sleeping face in the morning even if they have to disguise their affection in half-truths and outright lies. The band makes Zayn realise how lucky he is to be doing what he’s doing, to have the things he has, but it’s Liam who shows him how to love his life despite the secrets nailing his heart.
Liam is moaning Zayn’s name into his ear with that husky tone he doesn’t use often enough in their songs, and Zayn shudders as he jabs his fingers in even deeper, rutting against Liam’s firm belly at the same time. The sweet birthmark is right there in front of Zayn, begging to be nibbled and bitten and abused, but all he can do is run his tongue over it. No love bites, no kisses, no cuddling, no public displays of attention, no, no, no, nonononono - but not this time.
‘Come on, Zayn, we have to hurry,’ Liam tells him, one hand coiled in Zayn’s hair. ‘They’re going to find us - we have to get back - ‘
‘Yeah, yeah, let me - ’ Zayn takes out his fingers in a slow drag that makes Liam whine. Zayn swears and positions Liam’s leg round his waist, gripping his cock in his other hand as he slowly pushes past Liam’s hole.
Liam growls, ‘No fucking time,’ and tightens his leg and shoves Zayn into him. They both groan when Zayn bottoms out instantly, Liam blinking back tears, Zayn nearly making his own lip bleed in the effort to stay still for a few agonising moments.
‘Fuck, Li,’ Zayn mumbles, head spinning at the heat and wetness around him. ‘I need, please, I - ’ His hips pull back, cockhead caught in the rim, then snap back in sharply. He does it again and again until the air whistles out of Liam’s chests; his fingernails dig into Zayn’s scalp, the other hand crumpling the bowtie round Zayn’s neck.
It’s hot and slick between them, and Zayn knows he’s being a little too rough but Liam isn’t complaining, just peppers kisses on Zayn’s lips with every hit to his sweet spot. Zayn’s hand is flat on the wall beside Liam’s head, the other tightly gripping his thigh, pushing it higher up his waist so he can sink even deeper into Liam - right there -
They’re panting into each other’s mouths, words turned into whimpers, names half-choked out in desperation. Zayn drops his forehead onto Liam’s, biting his lower lip. ‘Liam, Liam, Liam,’ he’s chanting, offering it directly into Liam’s wet mouth. He doesn’t close his eyes, watches the shift of Liam’s face as he fucks him even harder, faster. They’re not making a lot of noise but it’s so loud in Zayn’s head, Liam bouncing all around in the space like it’s done for the past three years of his life. He hitches out a laugh as his hips lose their rhythm, orgasm winding at the base of his spine. Liam has been his whole world since they first met at McDonald’s and he hasn’t been able to show it, but maybe he will now. Maybe all that matters is that Liam knows how much Zayn worships him because he does: every single second with his lips and hands and body and words and snippets of song lyrics and an arm over his shoulder and a possessive hold on his waist and -
A small smile is curling the corners of Liam’s lips as he stares directly into Zayn’s eyes. ‘Hey,’ he whispers hoarsely, like Zayn isn’t still fucking him into the wall, ‘I love you.’
And that releases Zayn from his thoughts, fucking ecstasy rushing through his veins as his come fills Liam up, making it even hotter and wetter where Liam has a tight grip on his hard dick. He gulps in a huge breath; once, twice, the third a kiss to the fringe that sticks to Liam’s sweaty forehead.
Zayn pulls out quickly and falls to his knees. He twists three fingers inside of Liam, spreading his come around, and swallows Liam’s cock down halfway. The head bumps at the roof of his mouth and he sucks, fingertips rotating on that tiny wonderful nub, and Liam is coming, stifling his sobs into his palm, head thrown back so all Zayn can see is the heart-shaped birthmark in the middle of his throat. He’s beautiful and he is Zayn’s, completely and utterly.
Zayn pulls away, licking below the head a few times. He drags Liam’s briefs and trousers up from where they’re pooled round his ankles, tucking his soft cock back in with a last gentle kiss to it. Liam rests heavily against the wall, blinking at Zayn in the dim light. There’s a lazy smile curving his red lips.
‘Make up won’t be able to disguise that fucked out look on your face, Li,’ Zayn tells him, voice still rough. He briefly wonders how he’ll get through the last half of their set list sounding like sex; then again, will anybody mind? He glances at his watch. Seventeen minutes. Not bad. Paul is still going to skin them alive, though.
Liam tries to straighten Zayn’s clothes, fix his messy hair. He thumbs across Zayn’s stubled cheek, still faintly pink, and Zayn nuzzles into the touch.
‘Last show of the tour,’ Liam murmurs. He threads their hands together, the other one spread wide over where the feathers are on Zayn’s chest, hidden away by layers of clothing. Beside it there’s a new, tiny L that’s still a bit sore. It matches the Z low on Liam’s collarbone, the reason why he can’t wear loose shirts anymore or leave the collar undone or be shirtless in public. Later, Zayn silently vows, he will leave hickeys all over that simple proof of ownership inked onto Liam’s skin (Zayn still tingles at the tips of his nerves because mine and Liam are two words irrevocably joined in his vocabulary these days). Or maybe he’ll just bruise up the fading bites already there. Either way, everyone will know.
Zayn smiles and knocks their forehead together. ‘Are you ready to tell the whole world?’
‘I’m scared,’ Liam confesses after a second of silence. His short eyelashes sweep down over his eyes and he looks vulnerable and young, like the world can snatch him away and hurt him in ways that shape Zayn’s nightmares. This time, though, Zayn is willing to fight those shadows because being with Liam is the only thing that ever made sense to him.
Zayn kisses Liam’s forehead, then his cheek, then, lastly, his lips: I love you. ‘Don’t be. I’ll hold your hand all the while.’