Zayn's not even thinking, he's just reacting. He pushes his hands under Liam's shirt, sliding up his back, and Liam fists a hand in his hair, tugging at it until Zayn's lips part obligingly. Liam's tongue pushes into his mouth, and all Zayn can do is focus on remembering how to breathe as he tries to kiss back.
It's like Liam's trying to kiss him and hurt him, at the same time. Zayn does the same, pulling back, tugging sharply at Liam's bottom lip with his teeth until Liam hisses in a sharp breath.
"I can't believe you pushed me," Liam says, as he does just that to Zayn, pushing him back towards Zayn's own bed, never fully breaking contact.
Zayn stumbles backwards, tightly gripping the front of Liam's shirt. "You're such an —" He cuts off when Liam's lips move to his neck, sucking harshly. "An ass," he gets out, shaky, weak. "You're such an asshole."
Liam shoves him down onto the bed, and Zayn goes without fighting it. "I don't think anyone," Liam starts, pausing only to climb on top of Zayn, legs on either side of Zayn's waist, "pisses me off as much as you do."
Zayn tries to take a breath, struggling with Liam's weight on top of him, but he likes it. He pulls Liam down so their chests are pressed together, and this time it's him pushing his tongue into Liam's mouth, curling around Liam's, tasting Coke and something else, something infinitely sweeter. So sweet it's dizzying.
Liam leans up, and Zayn makes an annoyed, upset sound until Liam tugs his shirt off and, oh, yeah, okay. That's — yeah. When he kisses Zayn again, Zayn's too busy running his nails over Liam's back, liking the way he arches when they dig in too much, praying that he leaves red mark in their wake.
Liam's length presses against his hip, and he groans when Liam grinds down against him, raggedly breathing into the crook of Zayn's neck. He's still on fire, anger pulsing through him, but it's almost evenly matched with arousal, at this point.
"Tug my hair one more fucking time," Zayn warns, while trying to feebly rut up against Liam, "and I swear—"
Liam does just that, and the sound Zayn makes was supposed to be annoyed, it was, only it isn't. It isn't at all. "What? Seems like you like it," Liam grunts against his skin.
He keeps tugging at Zayn's hair, but it doesn't really hurt, exactly. It sends sharp pinpricks of arousal through him, and when Liam grinds down just right against him, just enough friction between their bodies to steal the air from his lungs, he moans, "Fuck you, Liam. Fuck you."
"What do you think I'm trying to do?"
Zayn's eyes fall closed at that. Is that where this is going? Seems to be. Does he want that? Maybe he'd say no, if Liam wasn't still rolling his hips down into Zayn's, mouthing along his neck as he does. But he is, and all Zayn can think about is finding relief from the red hot coil of tension in his stomach. "Then do it," he says. "Stop dry humping me."
Liam pulls back abruptly, hovering over Zayn, propped up on his hands. He searches Zayn's eyes for a moment, and Zayn glares up at him, lips parted, panting embarrassingly. "Okay," Liam says slowly, looking almost dazed. "I— yeah, okay."
Liam leans over to the desk before Zayn can say anything. He pulls open the bottom drawer, grabbing out a pencil case, from which he produces a box of condoms and a bottle of lube. Just seeing that makes this more real, and Zayn's stomach flips but he forces it down, says, "I can't believe you've been keeping lube and condoms in a pencil case."
Lips crushing his own shut him up, and he's pretty sure that was Liam's intention. Zayn goes with it, kissing him back eagerly because he's accepted that this is happening, and he's going to fucking enjoy it until it ends and the consequences of what's happening catch up to him.
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."