Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They don’t get to visit a hotel room overnight for a few weeks, and Niall opts to go with Liam the second they enter the lobby when they do. Liam gives an oblivious shrug, handing Niall the spare key.

Niall’s not been good, lately, all shaky and jumpy and even his breathing is different, coming in sharp bursts like he always needs his inhaler. It’s too much stress to be trapped in a body, especially one so small. Zayn is amazed that he hasn’t just popped with it.

“I’m g’nna go to bed, lads,” Niall mumbles as he slides out of his seat, a yawn ripping the seam of his frown.

“Aw, you sick?” Harry pouts. They were supposed to play Fifa till the wee hours.

“Yeah. Not feeling well.” Giving an apologetic rub to Harry’s hair, Niall stands, slipping his phone into his jogger-bums’ pocket.

It’s all a bit dodgy from there; wary eyes follow him as Zayn takes Liam aside and begs to switch rooms, promising that he’s just going to try and relax Niall.

“How’s what you’re going to do any better than what we’ve tried?” Louis asks loudly, indignant.

“Because I’ll suck his cock if it comes to it, Lou,” he bites back. It tilts just slightly into kidding, enough so to satisfy Louis, anyway, who turns back to his Nintendo with a crude mimic of Zayn’s voice.

“Alright, then. What about my bags?” Liam relents, trading in his card key for Zayn’s.

“I’ll have one of the trolley guys switch them,” Zayn promises, patting Liam’s thigh. “’S g’nna be okay, Liam. I’ll fix it.”

Niall takes an especially long shower, allowing an obscene amount of leeway for Zayn to take care of the tiny details. He starts with the cushions, flinging the extras to the floor, turns his phone on silent, switches into a new, easier-to-remove (a bit presumptuous, but whatever, considering the last time…) shirt, and fishes his lube and a condom out of his bag and into the bedside drawer. He deserves a pat on the back, really.

He’s fucking about with his iPod—he has a snog playlist somewhere, he’s sure—when the shower turns off, just as he scrolls through and taps it. Niall’s hair is splayed this way and that, like a drawing where someone’s smudged the charcoal by mistake. His whole body locks up, frigid, as his gaze flickers to Zayn not three feet from the bathroom door, leaning against the cupboards that house the speakers.

Sometimes, it’s like Zayn magically forgets how intense these feelings are until Niall’s in front of him, loving life and grinning and laughing. He’s doing none of those things now, and the guilt is enough to make Zayn want to look away.

“I’m rooming with Liam,” Niall mumbles, shoulders slumping in like he’s trying to swallow himself, create a black hole right there in Four Seasons.

“I switched,” Zayn says.

“Switch back,” Niall says bluntly, and his eyes widen for a second. “I’m sorry, that was mean.”

If Niall’s breath stammers when Zayn cards his fingers through his hair, Zayn doesn’t see a reason to mention it. He squeezes a fair few drops of water on the carpet before Niall pulls away, grabbing another towel from atop his pillow to rub the extra wet out.

“How’ve you been sleeping?” Zayn asks, sitting on the bed. He leaves his thighs parted and Niall—sweet, readable Niall—probably slaps himself internally for letting his eyes drag to Zayn’s crotch, just for a second and then he’s back to the duvet.

“Not well.”

At least he’s not trying to lie, Zayn thinks, frowning.

Niall strings a pair of briefs from his suitcase, pausing like he’s afraid to get changed in front of Zayn, like he’s afraid of what’s changed between them. Zayn proves that at least one thing has, by standing up and circling his arms around Niall’s waist, kissing the back of his neck.

“D’you want this? Would this help?” he asks lowly. Niall doesn’t move, then all of a sudden just fucking sags against Zayn, head tilting to give him room.

“Yeah,” he admits, almost a whine.

As Niall drops his towel and spins around for a kiss, Zayn has to restrain from actually patting himself on the back for a job well done. Niall moves quicker than he has in days, with none of the sluggish grind that’d weighed him down since their last encounter.

“You want this,” Zayn says as Niall ducks down to untie Zayn’s shoes.

“I need it,” Niall replies immediately. The rush stops. Niall goes a shocking shade of pink.

Zayn looks at him meaningfully, wondering if he knows what he’s saying.

“I need you,” Niall says.

“That’s okay,” Zayn nods. His grip on Niall’s back gets firmer, aware of the imbalance in nakedness. Niall doesn’t care too much if his moans are anything to go by – he’s as loud of a kisser as he is anything else. Zayn hadn’t expected it to be any other way.

“Wanna suck you off again,” Niall presses into Zayn’s lips. His muscles are hot from the shower, but they give under Zayn’s grabby hands, still mostly soft despite their fitness regime.

“I’ve got other plans,” Zayn answers, hand going tight in Niall’s hair and separating them a bit but not—not much, not more than he needs to speak, not enough for Niall to inch up and kiss him again. “I remember what you told me. I remember all of it,” Zayn murmurs. “Get on the bed, and I’ll let you suck my cock for a bit, then I’ll lick you out.”

Niall barely hesitates but the pause is still there, and then he’s stark naked on the sheets, skin flushed pink against white. He looks like a fucking angel. In his leather and black, tattoos exposed where his sleeves are folded at the elbows, Zayn feels anything but.

“You could at least act like you’re not gagging for it,” Zayn says. He eyes Niall’s dick where it’s getting fat on his hip. Zayn sheds his jacket and jeans while Niall smiles hesitantly. “You’re g’nna let me fuck your mouth? God, you must really want my tongue in your arse.”

Niall purses his lips as his cock fills up, foreskin stretching back.

“You should see your body like this, how desperate you look, dirty boy,” Zayn whispers, edging over and sliding his hand under for a rough handful of Niall’s bum. Niall bites his lip. “Wouldn’t you love a cock in here?”

“I want to try it,” Niall admits, looking mortified as he speaks.

“I bet you would. You’d look so, so pretty on mine,” Zayn smirks. Eyes narrowing slyly, he pinches Niall’s flushed-hot cheek, and lets go to pat it as though he can calm the colour. It’s like Zayn’s flicked a lightswitch that makes Niall glow from the inside-out with a new charge, one that has him darting up for a kiss before he retreats, eyes big and cautious.

One edge at the line of Zayn’s mouth crooks up, and Niall smiles back, bright like the moon itself has tipped onto its side and found a new home right there on his face.

“You’ll get your dick out for me but you’re shy about kissing?” Zayn says.

But he knows the difference, the gap between fucking a stranger and fucking a mate, how it’s more appealing in the craziest way to fall into something unknown rather than to play Russian roulette with friendships.

“I’ve seen you kiss birds dirtier than that,” he goes on, petting Niall’s cock with the lightest of touches. “C’mon, then.”

Niall surges up, working his tongue in between Zayn’s lips as his shaft rubs up against Zayn’s leg. Zayn stills him with a stern hand pinched tightly against his hip.

“You’re not a dog. You’re not going to hump my leg.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Niall mumbles into his neck. He starts to get Zayn’s button undone and Zayn lets him, allows Niall to have his way for the moment. It’s absolutely insane how easily Niall takes to a cock, mouthing down and running his tongue up again, hunched forward with Zayn upright. He’s warm and messy, spit clinging to his fingers and making the dirtiest sounds when Niall backs off for a breather. There are so many slurps and moans that Zayn loses count, his hand clutching Niall’s where he’s latched onto his thigh to get a feel for the shallow thrusts. Everything about this is absolutely fucking mental, right down to how Niall’s head falls back with his mouth slack and open, chin wet, red washed from his temples to his chest.

“Beautiful,” Zayn smirks, slipping his fingers over Niall’s jaw. He takes off his tee shirt, stands to shuck off his briefs, too.

Niall seems to have lost it well before Zayn’s dick ended up in his mouth, but that doesn’t lessen his panting and squirming as he’s necked, and definitely not when Zayn— It’s not even kissing, not with how he’s using his teeth and his tongue to draw a spitty trail down to Niall’s cock, sucking it into his mouth without a second thought.

Nights spent on the bus with drinks and five horny lads all eager to share has told Zayn that Niall loves blow jobs. His praise near-endless of ones he’s received, his attention unwavering from the others’ stories. His thighs are shaking right now and Zayn has barely started.

“Shit, oh shit,” Niall pushes through his teeth. “Please go fucking lower, Zayn.”

Zayn lets Niall’s dick fall heavy against his stomach. “Are you always like this? So demanding? Like, do you do this with everyone?”

“Just you, I promise,” Niall says softly, breathing unsteadily.

“You sure?” Zayn goes on, teasing, stroking Niall’s taint thoughtfully. “How bloody long’s it been since you’ve had someone? Or has it just been me? Just me when you were begging to blow me in the bus,” he wonders aloud. “I’ve seen how dirty you can get. Have you cleaned up?”

Niall nods jerkily, stuck between rubbing his arse into the mattress to narrow attention onto his cock, and showing off his hole. Poor thing.

“Good. Let’s get you all nice and wet.”

Zayn’s done this before, like, between the blow job and the fucking, he just likes to have a lick. Nobody’s ever rimmed him—it’s not really his thing—but he knows what feels good, knows how to make Niall choke on his own voice. He turns Niall over, watching in delight as Niall angles his bum up, the exaggerated curve of it so enticing that he can’t resist running his hands over it again and again between squeezes. One gentle kiss against the edge of Niall’s rim makes gasp; the long lick that follows has him tensing up.

“Easy,” Zayn murmurs, rubbing Niall’s lower back. His tongue swipes over Niall’s hole again, going between slow, fast, short, and long laps till Niall melts into the mattress, collecting his whimpers in his pillow. Zayn has one finger all the way in when Niall starts humping his duvet. “Wonderful, Niall. You’re stunning.” Niall moves faster, Zayn tracking two fingers through his spit and rubbing Niall’s taint with them. “Lovely when you make those sounds. Can you take your face off the pillow, Niall?”

Like that, they’re untamable moans and whines, back muscles flexing as he ruts towards a messy orgasm on the hotel sheets. Zayn wipes his chin on his wrist and abuses Niall’s prostate, his own cock sitting hard under his stomach.

“Could you fuck me, Zayn? Could we—” Niall gasps and rides out the firm press of Zayn’s fingertip before he can regather his thoughts. “Could you do that? I’ve got condoms somewhere, and lube—”

“Not now,” Zayn murmurs, lifting his face to get a good look at the lad he’s well and truly wrecked with little more than a multitalented tongue.

Niall just nods. That would be too much, too big and daunting. It’s one thing to make him sweat and come while he’s asleep, another to get head, and maybe even this is one step over the cliff’s edge. Zayn dares not lift his other foot. He can’t be Niall’s first, not when Niall doesn’t know the depth of all this fucking shit going on in Zayn’s chest. Right then and there, watching Niall shift and pant and squirm, working Niall’s prostate over and over, Zayn decides that he has to tell him everything. After this. After Niall comes, Zayn won’t let either of them run away like last time, because he’s going to do what he can to make this as right as possible.

“I would. Jesus, Niall, you don’t even know how much I wanna see your cheeks bouncing off my hips, watch you come on my dick. Just like this, you spread out, gagging for it, looking good enough for me to eat.” He blankets his body over Niall’s, making sure Niall can feel his cock full and heavy on his arse. “You did this. You. You’re absolutely fucking beautiful.”

Niall twists his head and arches his back and snogs Zayn, low groan turning into something far more dirty and obscene as he comes, looking up helplessly at Zayn like he doesn’t know if he was supposed to.

“Good,” Zayn coos. “That was really nice.”

Relieved, Niall drops to his pillow, heaving in shaky breaths and face strawberry red. Zayn moves upright and wanks himself off, head lolling back in relief, going from mostly hard to sticky and ready so quickly he’s caught off-guard. He squeezes and massages the soft flesh of Niall’s bum, getting greedy as he starts jerking forward, coming just as Niall peers over his shoulder to watch.

Smirking, Zayn smears the come on Niall’s hole, warm and wet against the sensitive tip of his cock. Niall lies there with a lazy smile on his lips, a hand through his scruffy hair, and a breathy laugh.

“There’s no way we’re sleeping on this bed,” he mumbles.

“No? I think it’d be hilarious to see you stuck here,” Zayn grins.

“Nooo,” Niall moans, pulling away from the bed as though just to prove that he can, holding still as Zayn wipes him clean.

They fall into the other bed without breaking touch – Zayn’s arms around Niall’s waist, hands slipping into each other’s, and then they’re under the covers with Niall on top of Zayn, his big eyes and bigger heart right out there in the open.

“I still dream about you,” Niall says.

“Yeah?” Zayn asks, voice equally soft. “Good.”

“Sometimes, it’s not just… mucking around.” Niall lies down beside him, every word out of his lips a post-sex hum that barely reaches above a whisper. “Sometimes it’s you kissing me onstage, or we have a house together. It was never just sex for me.”

Niall’s mouth cracks open when an unwelcome quiet follows his confession, suddenly scared, and Zayn— kisses it off of him, slides his hand over Niall’s jaw and holds him steady, careful but firm.

“So that’s mad, then?” Niall manages to wedge in between their mouths.

“It’s fucking mental,” Zayn agrees. “Let’s fucking do it. I’ll dirty-talk you through the whole thing.”

“Promise? I wanna hear more about, what was it, my arse on your hips,” Niall asks, giving no protest as Zayn hauls him on top.

“I think it was, like, cheeks on my hips,” he amends. “Either way you’ll hear all about it, you filthy minx.”

“Sick,” Niall grins, settling easily into Zayn’s cuddles.

In the morning, Zayn waits for Niall to wake up, stroking his hair the whole time even though he has to switch hands when one gets sore. Zayn doesn’t talk about how much he wants to suck his cock. He talks about being boyfriends, being in love, long walks across the beach, burgers at the place five minutes from Niall’s. A house together. A dog. A swimming pool where Niall can teach Zayn how not to drown. A kitchen with a pizza oven. He says, “I’ll love you,” and, “Let’s do it,” until his heart’s going too fast and he’s run out of breath.

He has to come clean.

“You’re awake before me? Jesus,” Niall slurs as he comes to. “What’s up?”

“I have something to tell you, like,” Zayn murmurs into Niall’s neck.

“Mm, make it quick, then. There’s a party in my pants and you’re invited,” Niall says.

“You’re not wearing any pants,” Zayn points out.

“Then you’re halfway there, Zaynie,” Niall smirks.

“This is, like, serious. It’s not good.” When Niall looks at him, it’s like Zayn’s wedging his finger into a stab wound, twisting it.

Niall sits up and licks his lips, covers slumping to his stomach, jaw going stiff and then loosening. “Is it… too mental? Have you changed your mind? It’s okay if you have. It was pretty—”

“No, Niall, shh,” Zayn says softly, pushing his mouth up against Niall’s. “No, of course not. It’s about the dreams you were having. The dirty ones.” He’s preparing himself for the death of something that could have been so amazing, for the anger so rare on Niall to flare up at his confession, yet the need that pushes for honesty doesn’t give for any of that.

“I know that you were talking to me,” Niall says after a weight of silence.

Zayn blinks. He moves back. “What? Like, how?”

“Come on, Zayn,” Niall smiles softly. “The shit you were saying last night, and that time on the bus? Exactly what you said in my dreams. That’s not a coincidence, and I’m not dumb.”

“I’m sorry,” Zayn starts, but Niall’s shaking his head.

“It turned out alright, didn’t it? Besides, maybe we can fix a little deal, you know, to settle scores,” Niall says slyly. “One round of oral for every time you made me come. Front or back, I’m not picky.”

“Oh my god,” Zayn snorts, forehead falling to the soft muscle of Niall’s shoulder.

“Sound fair?” Niall hedges, angling in for Zayn’s lips.

“Sounds fair,” Zayn agrees, and decides to get started immediately.