Poison in our veins, We don't care
C: zenturies
Summary:
Zayn wakes up to Liam reading & they end up fucking
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Relaxed breathing flows easily throughout the bedroom of their shared apartment, dim lighting staining the smooth cream coloured carpeting, casting slated shadows over various objects, items, including the mountain of books piled on top of the ancient oak wooden desk, wedged into the quarter of the room. Clothes are scattered across the surface of the floor, wrinkled from previous night's escapades of hushed husky voices, rough movements, blazing stares.
There's a low murmur of a familiar soothing voice next to him, sending volcanic chills down his spine, eyes fluttering open to register the pristine sight in his vivid line of vision.
A pair of hands are what he sets his gaze on first. Large curves of sturdy knuckles, slender fingers convexing around the laminate book, the back of his hands wide and boundless, the blunt, circular nail of his thumb, right hand, picking at the edge of the page. Zayn watches as it bends, his own fingers subconsciously twitching beneath the cozy blanket, above the affordable mattress.
Hazel hues soon travel upwards, over the river of Liam's arm where he has the sleeve of the oversized navy blue sweater scrunched up, light hairs spouting in different directions. Liam's bicep comes into play, flexing slightly underneath the supple cotton material when he turns the page of whatever god damn book he's reading, letting adventure drive his thoughts into a catastrophic imagination; the type of creativity Zayn adores.
Zayn loves every part of Liam, but his favourite part to look at, is his face. Liam's been blessed with rounded cheeks, perfectly sculpted jawline chasing in tact, sharp and endearing. So, incredibly unique from his eyes, caramel brown, dark and captivating. His lips are a shiny strawberry red, tinted cerise, bottom lip gleaming with saliva.
He can tell Liam's warped in concentration with the way his knuckles transform from winter pale to pure white, jaw firm and the sides of his temples crinkled. He looks fucking sinister, shoulders broad, but at ease, back leaning against the tough headboard.
Liam doesn't falter when Zayn moves his bare feet, cold toes running along the perimeter of Liam's leg, hairs irritatingly tickling him until he's shifting his waist, a yawn coaxed from his dry throat. Instead of acknowledging Zayn, Liam buries his head further into the pages of the book, neck extending to the side.
"Babe," Zayn whispers. His voice shocks him, gruff and guttural, sleep laced between every syllable.
Liam simply hums, gnawing at the inside of his cheek.
"Come back to bed," Zayn orders softly, curling his hand into a slack fist beside his head.
There's a pause in the air before Liam speaks, but he soon positions a hefty leg over Zayn's thigh, letting him know he's knowledgeable of Zayn's presence. "I am in bed," He mumbles, mischief radiating in his tone.
Zayn huffs, amusement glowing as his lips swirl into a tired smile. "Don't be a smartarse."
Liam's lips yank into a devilish smirk, rotating to the next chapter of the book, comfortable silence suffocating the room, weighing them down in the best way.
"Please?" Zayn questions, reaching out to poke Liam's hip with the end of his index finger.
Puzzlement swivels across Liam's features, eyes skimming the page. "Please what?" He asks and Zayn can tell he's lost his focus, attention slowly loitering towards him. Yes.
"Sleep." Zayn answers bluntly. "It's too early to be awake. Not even bloody light out yet."
"Not my fault you weren't born a mornin' person, darling," Liam says, calmly. The midnight rimmed glasses, square frames sit superbly on the bridge of his nose, slide down a smidge.
He doesn't budge, can't because Zayn's hand is suddenly pawing his thigh. He does, however, inhale a breath like he needs it, like Zayn's flinging him into the deep end without a little foreplay. The mere thought of making Liam come undone, tremble apart with one effortless motion has his hand raising, raising, raising.
"Stop it, Jaan," Liam coughs, tossing the book onto the ground as Zayn freezes, bedside table irrelevant.
Zayn peers up at him, his head barely hoisting from the pillow as he questions him, stomach hurling with adoration. "What did you just call me?"
Coyness plucks at Liam's lips, a smile that could be seen from cities away, but only meant for Zayn's eyes. "Heard you saying it the other day when you were ramblin' to Louis 'bout me. Called your dad, asked what it meant."
A coral blush escalated onto Zayn's cheeks, belly swooping, heart jumping, thumping, skipping to the method of Liam's body movement as he turns onto his side, his hand tucked under his chin, elbow shoveled into the pillow, zoning in on Zayn. "Liam—
"You wanna marry me, eh?" The sheepish smile that'd been once there on Liam's lips, is soon replaced with a confident smirk. His right arm outstretches, palm flat against Zayn's rugged chest, right over the wine red lips that are forever embedded into his skin.
Zayn shivers. Not because he's freezing, but because he can feel embarrassment skating under his flesh, poking and prodding at the warmth he feels whenever he's around Liam. He lowers his chin, fingers twining around the blanket before he's pulling it above his head, shielding Liam from the intensifying blush that's growing across the river of his cheeks; the pressing of Liam's fingers against his chest is enough to bring him contentment.
"You wanna spend the rest of your life with me?" Liam quizzes, voice syrupy, saccharine. He traces the tattoo in lengthy circles, bitten nails scratching over the skin. "Get a dog, maybe two, call 'em Watson and Rhino," he muses, sounding more fond of the idea than Zayn is.
The giggle that detonates from Zayn's throat is uncontrollable and he wonders if Liam can feel the process of his heart bouncing, leaping, springing to life, making his blood pump a little faster.
"You can tell me this stuff, y'kow?" Liam croons, ripping his hand away from Zayn's chest to leisurely tweak the blanket downwards. Zayn peaks up at him, all bambi-eyes and love written over every centimeter of his skin. "Love hearing it come from your lips."
Embarrassment be gone, banished back to hell when Zayn confesses, "I love having your come on my lips," like it's the most casual thing in the world.
Liam's lips twist into a teasing grin, his hand returning to the boy's skin, except this time, he cups Zayn's cheek, ring finger scooting over the expanse of his jaw. "Cheeky boy," he chuckles, licking his lips.
Zayn's greedy with his stare, watching the cotton candy tongue venturing over Liam's bottom lip. He wants a taste, wants to see if it resembles his favourite fairground food in the slightest. "Yeah," he agrees, a little breathless.
Liam must read his mind because he's dipping down, capturing Zayn's lips in a tender kiss. Teeth clanking, tongues sliding, no vicious war for dominance. It's far from the perfect kiss, but it's flawless for them. The universe twirls and they can both hear the faint honking of a vehicle outside, but Liam sucks on Zayn's tongue and Zayn groans, naked hips elevating off the bed to bump against Liam. He's hard, has been for a while, needs a release. He knows Liam will give it to him; his guy always gives him what he wants with a bit of persuasion. He can feel Liam fattening up against his thigh, skin burning hot and if that excites him more than it should, consider him a fool for Liam Payne.
When Liam unwillingly pulls away, Zayn glares up at him, a string of sticky saliva connecting their mouths. Liam's his entire galaxy, a roller coaster of unpredictable emotions, his universe.
"Sing for me," Liam mutters, kissing along the column of Zayn's neck, inducing an almost inaudible, jaggy gasp from the male's lips. It's safe to say Zayn feels like he's going to combust because Liam is possessive as fire, never failing to let Zayn know who he belongs to.
But Zayn can't. He can't sing. Not with Liam's lips dragging across his skin, leaving a trail of wetness in his wake. "Can't, Li—"
"You can," Liam's voice is like gravel, and it's no surprise that he has lips like the devil, frighteningly menacing with the procedure of lingering kisses, tearing Zayn at the seams.
Zayn's hands are planted on Liam's back, nails threatening to dig into the flesh, crack the skin. "Not with your lips on me," he whines, eyes fluttering shut. He's so, so weak for Liam. Has been since day one when Liam clumsily stumbled into him after being involved in a merciless fight, shoulders colliding, heartbeats halting, hand bruised and blood on his shirt.
It's stupid, Zayn thinks, because he knows the love people share in real life, doesn't echo the love played in movies. It's not slow, time doesn't stop, but it sure as hell did in that moment. Zayn saw what he wanted, made sure to hurl signs at Liam whenever the opportunity arose, and Liam chased him. Ran after him for months, kissed him in the rain, held his hand rigidly, high on desire and the thrill of it all until he was empowering him against the dingy, damp brick wall of a back alley, sinking to his knees.
Liam smelled of nicotine, mint, and a life full of unforeseeable danger, and when Zayn kissed him, smelling of cheap booze and ready to let go of the life he once led, he felt nothing but liberation flooding his veins. Best decision he's ever made.
"Sing that one you've been on working on," Liam encourages against his skin, teeth raking across the skin.
"The one about us?" Zayn asks curiously, trying his very best to compose himself as Liam begins kissing the sensitive spot below his ear.
Liam offers a curt nod of his head. "The one about us," he confirms, sliding his hand lower, lower, lower.
When Liam ghosts his magical fingers across Zayn's balls, Zayn twists his hips into him — always coils into Liam because he's his security blanket, his forever and a day, his eternity. It takes him a moment to process the entirety of the situation as the tip of Liam's index finger nudges at the pink rim, shading wine red from the night before the calm of today, when Liam had calmly pestered him to ride his fingers with a joint stuck between his ruby red lips; Zayn did and it was fucking magnificent.
"Don't look around." Zayn begins, voice tremulous, a patch of sweat already trickling down his forehead. "'Cause love is blind and darlin' right now I can't see you."
Liam's listening carefully, allowing Zayn's sensual voice comb at his ears. He can tell because of the way Liam's rubbing at his rim, dipping the pad of his finger in and then out, process repeating, slinging Zayn into a hot, sultry, breathy mess beneath his larger frame.
"I'm feelin' proud, without a doubt — oh, fuck," Zayn's singing snaps, breaks into a thunderous moan as Liam's finger inches in, dry, automatically going straight for his prostate because Liam would. Fucking ravishing bastard.
Above him, Liam's all dirty smirks and a devilish demeanor, a single strand of chestnut coloured hair hung over the expanse of his forehead, the rest of his hair slothfully waxed back with leftover products he'd spent a fortune on, wild from last nights doze. He's got an animistic aura that entwines around him, headier in intimate moments like these. Zayn thinks Liam's Beethoven's sweetest symphony, an angel sent down from the skies, and he feels beyond fourteen to have him, to be able to touch him every night, kiss him, talk to him, please him.
"Here's what's gonna happen, Wolfie." Liam says, nickname travelling straight to Zayn's cock and he's clearly aware of the twitch it offers on his stomach. Or maybe that's because Liam's moving his finger at a steady pace, sprinting across his prostate every fucking time, sending winter waves of pleasure down Zayn's spine. "M'gonna open you up a little more, and you're gonna get proper loud for me. Then I'm gonna fuck you 'cause I know you're gaggin' for it, just look at you — but when I do, when I'm making you remember my name for years to come, I want you to put your hand on my throat and squeeze as much as you'd like."
Zayn whines, zealous and keen. Two of Liam's favourite combinations. "Please, Liam." he begs, moving a hand to grip at Liam's broad shoulder. "M'so fuckin' hard, like."
"And wet." Liam adds, voice sickly sweet as he dips his head to gaze down between their bodies, spotting Zayn's cock. Rosewood red is suffocating the dripping tip, the familiar vein that Liam loves to lick is all too prominent, and his cock is curved against his belly, eagerly waiting to be touched. "You're leaking, babe."
Zayn moans, reaches down before Liam stops him, his fingers wrapping tightly around Zayn's tinier wrist.
"You hard 'cause of me?" He asks, licking a smile across his lips.
"Always hard 'cause of you, Payno," Zayn remarks. He thinks they're kind of idiots sauntering around cloud nine, morning breath consisting of one too many cigs and cheap, tangy beer from the grocery store down the street, shameful evidence of being young and in love.
Liam has his finger back in Zayn within milliseconds, watches as Zayn spreads his legs a bit further, and Zayn forgets how to breathe all at once. It's like he's drowning in an arctic sea, the overwhelming sensations zinging down his spine, soaring around his body. There was possessiveness edged between every movement of Liam's finger, especially when he chose to add another, more or less rubbing at Zayn's prostate with no successful intention of opening him up like he'd said. Liam owned Zayn though, anyone with a pair of eyes cities away could see that. He owned every smile Zayn's lips dared to bend into, owned every scandalous gasp, groan, and moan that fell past his lips, owned his body.
Zayn's heart yelled Liam's name in a melody of Morse code, drumming an obnoxious beat that suited Liam's own, the soundtrack of their love only getting louder, louder, louder.
"Gonna tie you up one day, darling, put a vibrator up your arse." Liam's lost in thought ( well, pretending to be — Zayn can tell from the way his brows are knitting together ), his fingers rubbing circles on those little bundles of nerves that have Zayn crying out, breath heavy, chest heaving. "Make you come over and over. Hell, I might even let you wear it all day."
"Yes," Zayn whimpers, his hips rocking down onto Liam's fingers, mimicking the previous night's rendezvous.
Liam grins, removing his fingers ( always fucking does that when Zayn starts to get desperate ), putting his index finger against Zayn's lips until Zayn happily takes his finger into his mouth, his tongue whirling, soaking Liam's finger in slippery spit. "Dirty boy," Liam mumbles, chuckling when Zayn pulls off with a pop.
"Wanna ride your fingers later," Zayn's careless now, lost all sense of his shyness. Not that he's shy in the first place. Maybe a little reserved, but. Never with Liam. Not anymore.
"After dinner?" Liam suggests, reaching over to the bedside table for their half empty bottle of strawberry lube.
Zayn nods, nestling his bum into the sheets. "Love your fingers," He says. He wants to touch himself, put on a nice, alluring show that'll have drool dribbling from Liam's mouth. He'll save that for another day though.
Liam doesn't grin, doesn't crack a smile. Instead, he drizzles some lube onto his hand, wrapping his fingers around his own cock and Zayn watches, zones in on the foreskin as Liam pulls it back, his head rolling backwards after the third stroke, letting the bottle of lube fall to the floor. "You love me more though," Liam moans, jerking himself off between the sheets. For Zayn's eyes only.
"Always," Zayn responds, gaze fixated on Liam's lower region.
"What about my cock?" Liam asks abruptly, twisting his wrist, mirroring Zayn's actions whenever he gives him a sleazy, fast handjob under the table at their favourite restaurant.
Zayn whimpers loudly, hips rotating downwards, hand reaching to grab onto the brawny headboard. He needs it. He needs Liam. He needs Liam's cock.
Liam huffs, tilting his head forward, eyes a shade darker than mocha coloured brown below a glowing light. "Use your words," he demands, deadpan.
Zayn tilts his chin forward, licking his lips. "Love your cock, it's so big, always makes me feel full, Liam. It's mad."
Liam moaned twice. Once, at Zayn's words and secondly at the blissful sensation shooting through his cock. He presses himself forward, slapping a wet hand down on Zayn's thigh as he lines himself up. Zayn jumps, but he knows Liam gets off on the sounds of sex, so he doesn't mind. Not when Liam's suddenly pushing into into Zayn's hole, precome smearing.
Zayn wasn't sure what day it was, what year it was. Shit, he wasn't even sure what his own last name was because the stretch was smothering, the burn skirting at his rim, trying to win the fight that Liam's cock was overtaking. Liam stays like that for a moment, head leaning on Zayn's shoulder, breathing along the smooth skin as they both adjust — Liam to Zayn's tight heat, Zayn to Liam's incredible size. Zayn's trying to recollect himself, his hips already moving on their own accord and that's when Liam decides to move, thrusting shallowly into him, the squelching of the lube he hasn't quite massaged in right making Zayn giggle.
"Fuck, Liam," Zayn grunts seconds later, wrapping a wavering arm around Liam, the back of his hand cupping his neck. Liam's thrusting into him sharply, flexing his fingers against Zayn's hip to ensure bruising, his visible mark of love created between the two.
Liam's concentrating on the power, always is when they're having sex. He's in brutal control of every muscle, every single cell and chemical in Zayn's body, his number one being Oxytocin.
He's sensual, but efficient. Gentle, but hard. Intoxicating, but lethal in all the ways Zayn loves. He's got this promise, told Zayn on a Saturday night after they'd gotten high and shotgunned for the first time, that if he fucked him and he could still walk the next day, then he'd failed at his daily goal. He hasn't failed, never will fail, because Zayn knows Liam, knows the amount of stifling persistence he has.
Liam lifts his head to lock their eyes into a stare that entails silent I love you's, a look only they could comprehend. Whether it be across the room or close together. The same burning intensity Liam had when they'd first met still lingers within Liam's eyes, and Zayn thrives off of it because he did that — he's doing that.
"Shit, Zayn," Liam grunts, smashing their gaze as he hoists Zayn's hips, causing the older male to squeak from the surprise, angling them so that he could fuck into him properly, the tip of his cock sliding over Zayn's prostate with each, sharp thrust whilst keeping his palm flat just above Zayn's ass to hold him in place.
It's insane, the way they're fucking — Liam hovering over Zayn, Zayn's back on the mattress, his lower half being held up by Liam's strong grip and his leg helping, corkscrewed over Liam's thighs, screwing them in place.
Zayn's fingers are biting into the back of Liam's neck, undoubtedly creating nail-shaped indents but Liam didn't care, just fucked into him with more of an ambition, a secret goal Zayn already knows. "Liam, Liam, shit, your cock, it's—"
Liam interjects with a groans, bolting towards Zayn's cock, causing an extra spurt of precome to bubble at the tip. "So fuckin' gorgeous, my good lad, aren't ya?" Liam growls, hiding his head to bury his moans in the junction where Zayn's neck greets his shoulder.
"Yes," Zayn sighs, voice wrecked.
The burn has evaporated now, replaced with the throbbing of his prostate and jolts of arousal hissing down Zayn's cock, the residue of the unimaginable sensation engulfing his limbs, his mind, his soul. He's meeting Liam's thrusts, his waist twinging, bruises already blooming, straying over his dark skin. He's flushed, knows Liam is too from the merlot red cruising down his skin, chest sweaty, palm clammy against his hip, the grunts slipping out of his mouth rising, rising, rising.
Zayn's blundering breath gets caught in his throat when Liam reaches down, gathers some of Zayn's sticky precome on the tip of his finger before bringing it to his lips, licking the liquid off of it, bubblegum pink lips swaddling the tip of his finger and that's when Zayn takes it upon himself to reach up, wind his own fingers around Liam's throat, and in return, Liam's thrusts harder, more violently, even knocks Zayn up the bed a little, his head banging against the board of the bed.
Neither of them care, not when Zayn's squeezing Liam's throat and Liam's eyes are wide, moans falling from his lips and his hips jolting, the drag of Liam's cock ferociously addictive. They've both found a rhythm to mesh into, one that screams fanatic and manic. This is them.
This is where they're at.
"That's it, good boy," Zayn hiccups out a moan after that, his right arm, the one that isn't occupied with choking Liam, locates the male's back, fingers splayed wide.
"You're my good boy," Liam retorts, his voice sounding equally as demolished as Zayn's does.
Zayn's head buries back into the pillow, his nerves deciding that it'd be a good time to do an airplane dip, his dick twitching.
"You gonna come f'r me, Wolfie?" Liam asks roughly when Zayn starts clenching around him, his voice sounding as though he's smoked seven joints in the space of an hour, but Zayn knows it's only because of his fingers, hooked around the structure of Liam's neck.
Zayn nods, squeezing that little extra tighter, just how Liam likes and when Liam's hips skip a thrust, he knows he's close to coming too. Together. Always together.
( Or seconds apart, depends whether Liam cope with the sight of Zayn and Zayn can deal with Liam's mesmerizing voice. )
"C'mon, lad." Liam encourages, forcing himself to speak through the vice-like grip of Zayn's fingers. "Come for me, wanna hear you, wanna feel you clench around me cock, like—"
Zayn's usually much more composed when he comes, but not this time. He cuts Liam off with a moan, a mantra of Liam's name on his tongue, his back arching and just like that, he spills onto his stomach, his rim contracting around Liam's cock, his eyesight going fuzzy, hand going loose around Liam's throat.
"Keep doin' that." Liam groans, his lips smacking against Zayn's cheek. "Squeezin' around me, yeah, just— oh, fuck, Zayn."
There's a sonorous sound of ringing in his ears, but Liam's stentorian voice is the only thing he focuses on and then Liam's coming inside of him, tensing, Zayn's hips are still moving, even though sensitivity's on the horizon.
They stay like that for a few minutes, Liam buried inside of Zayn, his come sneaking past the tightness of his cock tucked in Zayn's ass, both of them lowering themselves for their highs, coming back down to earth with sleepy, satisfied grins.
"You have class in an hour," Liam announces, tracing patterns with the tip of his finger in Zayn's come. It would be disgusting, but Zayn's not in the mood to give him one of his phenomenal lectures about how come should not be played with after sex, though, it is kind of hot.
"Ah, well." Zayn sighs, wincing as Liam pulls out of him, his hole squeezing around absolutely nothing. "Think I might call in sick, fancy spending all day with you, man."
Liam moves himself back onto his side of the bed, throws an arm around Zayn and mumbles, "We'll clean you up later," tapping some of the come on Zayn's tummy.
Zayn smirks, takes hold of Liam's hand, and laces their fingers together.
There's no place in the world he'd rather be and if his teacher has a temper tantrum for missing an important assignment, he'll just blame Liam because Liam knows how to fix it, knows how to get out of it, knows how to transform a fucked up situation into an alright situation, even if it's only temporary.
Either run to a whole different city or State — Texas was their last one, now it's London.
Or use his unholy words of wisdom to get Zayn's teacher to come around, his boxing gloves hung around his neck, a silent threat.
Liam isn't afraid to get a little down and dirty, and Zayn certainly isn't scared of going down with him.
( Or in most cases, on him. )
"I love you," Liam whispers, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Zayn's neck, the accent of pillow talk crawling across their horizon.
Zayn simply grins, snuggles closer to Liam with a, "I love you too," escaping his lips because he does.
He loves Liam more than anything in the world, even if they resemble fire and ice — possessive flames and pinching coldness, total opposites, but yet, one in the same. Ready to take on whatever people toss their way.
Together. Always together.