|Fic: Fevered (One Direction, Niall/Zayn + OT5, Explicit, 7k)
||[Jul. 8th, 2012|05:40 am]
I like you.
lookingatstars, who rolled with me line by line through the first third of it, Kiersten and Shanicka who kindly looked it over at four o'clock in the morning lol my life, with some nice encouragement along the way from Molly and the collective of muffins over at Tumblr who still tell me they want to read my fic even though I mostly just whine all the time. Thanks you guys! I love you lots!Here is a story! Listen I know I keep saying that but it's because I keep writing stories, that's why. You're going to have to live with that. This one was helped along by the noble efforts of |
Fandom: One Direction
Pairing: Niall/Zayn (+ OT5, Harry/Louis)
Summary: It's getting hot in here. So. Take off all your clothes?
Notes: Most of my fannish activity takes place on Tumblr!
Disclaimer: This is fiction.
Word Count: 7752
It’s hot as fuck in Dallas. Hot as fuck. Niall takes a long swallow of water and blinks slowly through it afterward. Zayn is staring at him when his eyes can be bothered to get fully open again. Niall holds out the bottle and Zayn takes it, tipping it up, up, up until he’s drained the whole damn thing. He tosses the empty bottle to the floor. “Hot,” says Zayn.
“Revelatory,” says Louis from where he’s spread out on the dressing room floor, shirt off but braces still on, one shrugged off his shoulder like even his clothes can’t be fucked.
“Dick,” Zayn says. He shuffles out a leg to kick Louis, but Louis is far away so it’s really more just a stretch. Niall lolls his head to the side on the back of the couch. It feels nice, the leather is cool where his head wasn’t. He lets the sluggish excuse for momentum carry him further down the couch, until he’s on his back, head just about on Zayn’s thigh. He means to raise an eyebrow at Zayn, communicate - something, he doesn’t know what - but it turns out he’s too lazy to even do that, so he just ends up staring at the few letters of Zayn’s tattoo he can see on Zayn’s collarbone, peeking out of his shirt.
“Be nice,” Liam says, a few too many moments later, like a dying alarm clock that’s just remembered it’s supposed to beep. He’s sitting backwards on a chair, head pillowed on his hands, staring ahead at nothing. Niall’s eyes try to flick over to him, but they only make it as far as the vicinity of his right shoulder before they give up and settle back on the middle distance. The ceiling’s got some water damage on it that looks pretty old, which goes along with the fact that they’re playing in a fucking arena in Texas that somehow doesn’t have working air conditioning in the dressing rooms.
“Yeah,” Harry says distantly. He’s stripped down to his pants, of course, hogging an entire couch to himself, of course. The fan trained on him ruffles his hair every few seconds. They have about five minutes to get ready and psyched to go out onstage. All of them are mostly dressed except Harry who, to be fair, is a master at the quick change.
It was probably a mistake to get ready early and then have nothing to do but sprawl and suffer. Still, no one’s moving. Niall certainly isn’t, not even when Zayn’s hand comes down to brush against his shoulder, then his cheek, like he’s exploring the landscape. Zayn’s fingers are cool, defying all rationality, and Niall might moan a little at the feel of it, the slight chill against his flushed cheek when he nuzzles into Zayn’s touch like a friendly cat. Zayn lets the back of his fingers rest against Niall’s face for a long cool minute and Niall tries not to writhe too happily at the feel of it. Eventually, like they’ve independently remembered they had a purpose, Zayn’s fingers slip up to Niall’s hairline, catching in the sad flop of bangs over Niall’s forehead and running through them, trying to swoop them upward into a semblance of a decent hairstyle. Niall blinks up at him.
“Hair’s fucked,” Zayn says. His cheeks redden just a bit. Niall reaches up with monumental effort, knocks his knuckles against Zayn’s cheekbone. The skin there’s hot, like Niall suspected it would be. With that confirmed, Niall watches as his hand slips downward, the knuckle of his middle finger dragging at Zayn’s jaw, then the line of his neck, until it bumps his collarbone and wavers, finally giving up and falling back to Niall’s own chest.
“Is anyone else feeling horny?” Harry asks from the couch, easy as if he’s asking if anyone’s hungry.
“Yeah,” Louis says.
“Is it the heat, you think?” asks Liam. Niall rolls onto his side a bit so he can look over at him. “Not that I am,” he adds, rather weakly.
“Must be,” says Zayn. His hand falls back to Niall’s shoulder. Niall wants to bite his fingers, just take them in his mouth and get them wet and bite down. He licks his lips, just thinking about it.
“Fuck,” Niall says, to no one in particular.
It doesn’t get any better once they’re faced with the crowd and singing. It’s fucking roasting out there, the shade doing nothing to cool the air, wrapping around them like a ninety degree hug. Something about the shape of the amphitheater seems to suck in all the adolescent heat and collect it on the stage. Niall doesn’t know if it’s his imagination, or a holdover from the talk in the dressing room, or just that this crowd is particularly lusty but it feels like Niall’s clothes are actively rebelling against the body that’s in them, fabric sticking to his skin like it’s trying to see who’ll give first.
Niall feels like he’s going to faint, fights it and pushes through, singing loud and trying to bounce all that heat back into the crowd. The stage lights just ratchet the heat up, and every costume change is a blessed relief, the few minutes to just be out of his clothes backstage, even if it’s just for a moment. They’ve got AC back there at least, blasting icy cold air on them for the seconds that their heated skin is bared. Niall lets himself enjoy it for as long as he can, which is just about long enough for goosebumps to pop up on his chest, his nipples hardening so quick that he gasps a little from the sensation.
Louis gives him a filthy grin, because god forbid that go unnoticed. “Pleased to see us, are you?” Louis says, slipping his shirt over his head.
“Very pleased,” Zayn says from Niall’s other side. Niall’s heat-leadened limbs don’t even bother to help him avoid the oncoming attack, he just stands there as Zayn reaches over and pinches a nipple, hard enough that Niall curls up a bit from it, letting out a little whimper. This naturally kicks up Louis’s predatory instincts, sending him in to harass the other innocent nipple as Niall jerks away from their grabby hands, clutching his shirt to his chest and battling against them to get it over his head.
Harry makes a grab for Louis then, distracting him and leaving Niall grateful for Harry’s ridiculous jealousy at anyone else that gets a moment of Louis’s time. He didn’t really account for the fact that the absence of Louis’s assault would leave him vulnerable solely to Zayn, who grins wide and pulls Niall in, taking advantage of his ticklish sides with hands slipped under his shirt, digging in where he knows Niall’s the most susceptible. Niall squirms against him, trying not to shriek even as Zayn laughs darkly in his ear. That tickles too, goddamn him, and Niall struggles in his grip, mentally vowing payback as Zayn audibly clicks his teeth together, just to remind Niall that he could bite, if he wanted.
“We have to go back onstage,” Niall hisses at him, finally fighting back by shoving his hands up beneath Zayn’s shirt, digging his short nails into Zayn’s hips. Zayn gasps against him, and Niall clutches him harder, forcing the point.
“You’re back on,” one of the staff says, and only then do they both let go, pushing away from each other. Niall’s really not sure when he started breathing just that heavily. Zayn’s got revenge in his eyes and something else too, something that isn’t entirely familiar. Niall bites his lip and tries to communicate the promise of revenge right back, but Zayn’s eyes just drop to his mouth, staring as Niall licks his lower lip.
Jesus fuck. Fucking Texas. Zayn’s on him after that, stalking him around the goddamn stage, lurking close when Niall tries to love up on Liam, slapping Niall’s arse when he gets within range. They’ve been fucking with each other this whole tour - it’s honestly been a highlight of most of the shows for Niall, the ways in which he and Zayn can get on each other, casual gropes and grins and all that, but there’s no grinning now, and what there is is different, Niall knows he’s not imagining it. Usually Zayn smiles like he wants to bump Niall’s shoulder and break into laughter; now it’s more like he wants to bump Niall’s shoulder, knock him to the ground, and bite his fucking throat.
It doesn’t help with the heat issue at all, Niall already feels like he’s going to sweat out of his skin without Zayn’s gaze trying to burn the clothes off of him. When they stack up for Harry’s solo on What Makes You Beautiful, Zayn doesn’t even front like he has the time to fuck with Harry, just leaves Liam to hang some sort of ladies’ undergarment around Harry’s neck while he casually reaches back and sets his palm to Niall’s stomach, then heads straight south to grope at Niall’s dick. And it is a proper fucking grope, Zayn’s clearly been noting Harry’s technique because there’s a cup and squeeze in there, Zayn’s fingers finding the shape of his cock, and for the love of christ, there are young people in the audience and Niall is not ready to be the source of their information on what happens when two boys love each other very, very much. Niall practically leaps away the first second he has the chance. He swears he can hear the laughter in Zayn’s voice as he sings too, the fucker.
Zayn’s on the prowl then, like a cat that’s gotten a taste and now’s just enjoying the anticipation of the kill. Niall tries to troll back but Zayn just won’t give, not even when Niall invades his space, throws himself into Zayn’s arms in a totally unnecessary hug and lets his teeth graze Zayn’s neck. That’ll stop it - surely that’ll stop it, Zayn will give in and duck away and stop confusing the hell out of Niall’s dick - Niall’s certain of it right up until Zayn turns his head and says, “Yeah, Nialler,” his breath warm and his body warm and everything frankly too fucking warm right now, so that it’s Niall that has to spring back before his body gets a chance to really consider the situation and react accordingly.
Niall decides that Harry is his new best friend based on the fact that Harry’s the closest and he’ll let Niall plaster himself to his side. Not that this makes Zayn go away, because it doesn’t. Niall just keeps seeing him out of the corner of his eye like a ghost in a horror movie, always just out of sight as the audience screams in anticipation. It takes a whole song before Niall feels like he can stop clinging to Harry like a needy pet. He even gives Harry a kiss on the cheek as a thank you, so maybe this won’t be the show that launched a single ship. But then, naturally, he bumps into Zayn. He doesn’t even need to see him, because Zayn laughs, low and dark and very, very close to Niall, and that’s enough to get Niall’s blood up again. He lets out a little choked noise and moves away, focuses on singing, even though he can feel the space where Zayn just was, fucking feel his absence like an echo.
“You and Malik want to try and tone it down?” Louis asks as he passes by, casual as anything, which means that on a scale of one to homosexual pornography they’re seriously rating triple X, because this is the first time in Niall’s entire life that Louis actual Tomlinson has had to intervene and tell him to ease off the gay. Niall feels appropriately chastised for a whole second until Zayn’s back in his space once more, all dark eyes and somehow dangerous eyelashes, and then he’s more concerned with just backing away from it, afraid that Zayn is actually going to take this opportunity to assert his dominance or some fucking ridiculous thing, probably with teeth and maybe with claws. Suddenly the sideburns seem less like some silly affectation that Zayn does to look manlier and more like he’s goddamn Wolverine. Zayn quirks his lips in a grin, and it doesn’t make him seem less threatening at all.
Niall can’t win this game, he knows he can’t, he’s the worst at playing anything that involves flirting or fucking around when he doesn’t know what the stakes are. He’s hot, jesus, he’s so fucking hot, and he can’t look at Zayn anymore, has to turn away from him, turn back to face the audience. He tugs at the collar of his polo shirt, knowing his cheeks must be flushed, that he’s probably red all the way down his throat and to his pale chest if that was visible too.
It’s hardly a surprise when he feels Zayn up against him. It shouldn’t be a surprise, anyway, Zayn pressed up to his back, Zayn’s chin on his shoulder as they both sing, but it is surprising, it’s real fucking surprising when he feels Zayn’s other hand come up around his waist, then further up, until Zayn’s palm grasps briefly at his flushed throat and then down again, fingers playing at his collar, fiddling with the fabric, fingertips idly dipping past it to rub over Niall’s collarbone. Niall’s voice breaks on a note like it hasn’t in ages, and he lets it fade out, lets the others take up the slack because Zayn’s thumb is pressing into the hollow of his clavicle, and he’s unbuttoning the top few buttons of Niall’s polo, a slow fucking filthy drag like he likes the way the fabric feels on his fingertips, like he’s relishing the feel of the pearled surface of each button, the way the edges scrape at his fingerprints, the push of each button out of the buttonhole. He doesn’t reach all the way in, Zayn’s not that ballsy or he’s finally remembered that they’re in front of thousands of people with cameras, but he does press his fingers hard enough against Niall’s chest that Niall thinks there must be white outlines of the pads of his fingers in the blushing skin of his chest, probably already fading. He wonders how hard Zayn would have to press to make the skin bruise, and then he immediately stops wondering, because what in the fuck.
They murder Use Somebody, Niall feeling the words with sincerity approaching epic levels. He’s sweating, clothes sticking to his skin even with the opened collar, and he can feel that his hair’s gone flat against his forehead. He’s probably pinker than a sunburned albino at this point, the heat radiating off of him like it’s coming from inside now, like there’s something in him burning and it can’t quite escape, just pushes at the seams of him and bleeds out in slow spilling whispers. He tries to sing it out but that just makes him hotter, dials up the temperature inside him to match the drowning heat outside and the warm scream of the crowd.
He gets dizzy again, props himself up with an arm around Liam’s shoulders. Liam grins at him, wide and welcoming, and touches two knuckles to Niall’s flushed cheek, dragging them across the hot skin and bumping the tip of his thumb against Niall’s chin. They’re singing to each other, easy as anything, and Niall’s starting to get his breath back when another arm slips around his waist, pulling him in.
Fuck it. Fuck it, he goes with it, lets Zayn pull him in close, feels Zayn press his cheek to Niall’s own, fever hot enough that all Niall wants to do is shift an inch closer and taste the heated skin of Zayn’s jawline, suck a mark into the edge of his jaw, salt on his tongue and Zayn’s body pressed up against his. Wants Zayn’s fingers on his waist, nails dragging up his stomach as he pulls Niall’s shirt off and then teeth scraping along the marks he’s already left. Niall closes his eyes, leans his head back so he can feel Zayn’s breath on his cheek, Zayn warm against his side. Zayn stretches out a note, his voice soaring out, and Niall can feel his throat working, only gets brought back by Liam’s hand curling in his shirt and pulling him forward.
Niall’s eyes snap open like he’s come suddenly out of a deep sleep, and he steps up until there’s nothing to keep him standing but his own feet on the ground. He hunches forward a little, trying to maintain a hold on his balance, and Zayn still doesn’t fucking quit, just grabs his ass and squeezes one cheek. It’s good that Liam distracts him then, because Niall’s about to throw Zayn against the nearest wall and teach him why it’s not very fucking sporting to distract one’s bandmate in the middle of a goddamned show.
His fist clenches hard enough around his microphone that his fingers hurt when he uncurls them, but he gets through the last song, finds a grin leftover from happier times and even manages to use it when they take their bows. He focuses hard as fuck through the encore, trying to forget the heat and ignore the way his hair is sticking to the sides of his face, the sweat gathered at the base of his spine, the way he wants to get on his knees and suck Zayn’s cock.
Definitely trying to ignore that last one, and actually succeeding until Zayn just can’t resist and has to get back in Niall’s space for just a second, slinging an arm around Niall’s neck in a way that probably looks friendly because the audience can’t feel what Niall can, which is that Zayn is hard. Niall chokes on the line he’s singing, and Zayn laughs in his ear. He thrusts against Niall’s arse, just enough to remove any reasonable doubt about what he’s packing, and then he’s gone, off to harass Liam in a way that is definitely different than the shit he was just trying to pull on Niall.
Niall expects it to dissipate, this feeling, these feelings, expects that the post-show euphoria will kick in and kill the arousal. Apparently he wasn’t the only one expecting that, because Zayn’s got the stones to sling an arm around him as they head offstage, grinning wide as they trip back to the dressing room, and no, right, haha no, Niall’s not about to let Zayn play this off as a fucking joke.
“You fuck,” Niall says. It’s about as close to a snarl as Niall’s ever been capable of, and he pairs it with a hand fisted in the back of Zayn’s shirt, pushing him forward until they’re back in the empty dressing room. Zayn stumbles a little when Niall pushes him in, then trips backwards as he turns to face Niall, who doesn’t stop coming, not until Zayn bumps against the wall and looks at Niall with startled eyes.
“Oi you two, save the aggro for later,” Louis says carelessly, following Liam and Harry in behind them.
Niall closes the last of the space between himself and Zayn, fists his hand in the open collar of Zayn’s shirt, and pulls Zayn into a kiss.
It only lasts for a second before Zayn startles back, his eyes huge as he stares at Niall, eyes darting from his mouth upward, his throat working to swallow like he’s forgotten the taste of air. “Yeah?” Zayn asks, like he’s waiting for Niall to disagree, tell him it’s been a joke all along. Now Niall thinks on it, he’s not sure he was ever joking.
“Christ, yes,” Niall says, and goes in again, meeting Zayn in a kiss so eager their teeth clack together a bit, a sting of pain that just makes Niall want more. It all makes him want more: the rough catch of Zayn’s slight chapped lower lip on his, the wet tease of Zayn’s tongue, the way Zayn tilts his head so their mouths fit together, leaving no air to breathe but each other’s. Niall closes his eyes and inhales and with the heat and adrenaline still rushing through his body he’s sent dizzy, swaying further in Zayn, letting Zayn’s arms slipped around his waist hold him up.
From somewhere in the background Niall registers Louis’s little, “Oh,” the closing door, the snapping of the lock in place.
“Jesus,” says Harry, because of course Louis didn’t close the door with them on the opposite side of it.
Whatever. They’ve all seen Louis and Harry crawl all over each other approximately a thousand times, and shyness seems a stupid option when the other is to keep on touching Zayn. Niall presses himself closer, rucking up Zayn’s shirt to get his hands underneath, and it feels so fucking good, just touching him like that, Zayn’s skin all hot and a little sweaty, Zayn pulled as close as he can get so Niall can feel that Zayn is as hard as he is. He thrusts a little, reaching down to palm one of Zayn’s arse cheeks and haul him closer so they can get some proper friction, and Zayn moans a little at that, his hands tightening on Niall’s hips, grinding against him.
“Just so everyone knows,” Harry says, “if they get naked, I am going to jerk off.”
“I’ll help,” says Louis.
To this discussion Liam contributes a sort of broken whimpering noise.
Now Harry’s mentioned it, Niall’s uncertain as to why they haven’t bothered to discard these hot fucking clothes anyway. Seems like a good place to start would be Zayn’s belt, so he goes for that, struggling with it as Zayn drops his head to Niall’s shoulder and scrapes his teeth over Niall’s neck, clumsy fingers working at Niall’s shirt buttons in a show of teamwork that Niall genuinely appreciates. Niall gets Zayn’s trousers open, and then there’s the hard line of Zayn’s cock, Niall can see it there through his pants, and oh, now he can feel it, and now he’s reaching in, so apparently Niall’s not here for hesitation tonight. On that note, he drops to his knees.
“Oh my god,” Zayn says faintly. When Niall looks up just to make sure everything’s kosher, Zayn’s looking back at him like Niall just told him he’ll never ever have to wake up before ten a.m. again, so Niall figures it’s all fine. He licks his lips and tugs Zayn’s trousers and pants down, and there’s Zayn’s cock, achingly hard and pretty nice, as dicks go. Niall opens his mouth and sucks the head of Zayn’s cock into his mouth, then takes a little more when it’s not as difficult as he expects, then more, then more until he’s starting to feel the stretch in his jaw. His mouth waters, and Niall takes in a deep breath through his nose and starts to suck Zayn’s cock.
“Well,” says Harry, followed by the sound of a zipper going down, and clothes being thrown to the ground. Niall closes his eyes, concentrating on what he’s doing. Zayn sets those cool fingertips to Niall’s cheek in an encouraging little caress that Niall leans into, trying to angle himself so it’s easier to take when Zayn starts to thrust just the tiniest bit. Christ, he’s shaking, when did Niall start shaking? He braces one hand on Zayn’s hip and devotes the other to palming his own dick, straining against the front of his trousers. He wants to be touched there, but not as much as he wants Zayn naked against him, fuck, that’s what he needs, all that heat at once, even though he’s starting to love the feel of Zayn’s dick in his mouth and hopes to hell that this won’t be his only shot at having it there.
There’s a bang on the door, and Niall startles back, blinking up at Zayn. From outside Paul calls out, “Twenty minutes, guys!”
“Okay it’s fine! We’re fine!” Liam calls back, his voice louder than it needs to be, edged with panic. “No need to worry. Just having a band thing! Meeting! We’ll be out by then!”
“Whatever. Twenty,” Paul says, voice already fading as he walks away.
“Zayn,” says Louis, “are you going to fuck him, then?”
Still staring down at Niall, Zayn says, “I don’t know, am I?”
Niall lets out a harsh breath, thinks back to Zayn onstage, in his space all night, Zayn pressed up against his back too hot against him but not hot enough, not as hot as he could be. His voice wrecked, Niall says, “Yeah, you are.”
“Good,” Zayn says, and hauls Niall up from the ground, guiding Niall back to the couch with his hands on Niall’s waist. “Because I really, really want to fuck you,” Zayn continues, looking Niall up and down before he pushes Niall down to a sitting position. Zayn goes for the buttons of his shirt, finishing Niall’s half-done job of unbuttoning it, and raises an eyebrow at him. Getting it, Niall shrugs out of his own shirt, then his trousers. “I want you on your back,” Zayn says.
“This has taken a sexy turn,” Louis muses from the other couch, where he’s got one hand on his own dick in his trousers, and the other on Harry’s, who is naturally stark naked.
“As opposed to what it all was before?” Liam asks. He’s straddling the same chair he was earlier, when they were just lying about waiting for the show to start, complaining about the heat. It’s still fucking hot, but no one’s complaining anymore. “Is anyone ever going to bring up that this isn’t how we ordinarily finish up shows?”
Niall lies down on his back, watching as Zayn finishes stripping down. Looking past Zayn for a moment, he catches Liam’s eye.
“Nope,” says Harry.
Niall spreads his legs. Liam goes redder, but doesn’t stop looking at him, biting his lower lip as he stares.
“I’m just saying,” Louis says. “I like the dirty talk. Keep it up.”
“Shut it, Tomlinson,” Zayn tells him. “You’re killing my boner.” He licks his lips, looking down at Niall like he’s trying to figure out a plan of attack. Niall reaches up for him, and Zayn moves closer, blocking Niall’s view of Liam.
“I can state empirically that that is not true,” says Louis, giving said boner a good once-over. “Anyway, you ought to be nicer to me, because it just so happens that I have some spare lube I carry just in case Harry here needs it too desperately to wait until we’re not in public anymore.”
“Helpful stuff,” Harry says in the fond tone of a man remembering the very brightest days.
“Thanks,” Niall says, and then Zayn climbs on top of him and bites down on his throat.
Right, okay. Niall closes his eyes, because yes, this was what he needed, Zayn hot against him, naked body fitting to his. Zayn’s lighter than he expected, skinnier, but it feels perfect to Niall, all of Zayn’s warm skin pressed to his. The dressing room had cooled down a bit by the time they’d come offstage, but too much body heat in the room has driven the temperature back up. Crushed to the couch as he is, Niall should be suffocating, and he is, a bit, but that’s somehow nice too, overwhelming in the best way.
“Well let me just bring that over to you, then,” Louis says, rather aggrievedly in Niall’s opinion for someone who’s getting a damned good free show. There’s some shuffling about, but Niall can’t really be bothered to open his eyes, not with the way Zayn’s kissing him. “Do you two need any help with anything, or have you walked in on me and Harry enough times to have nailed down the basics?”
“We can manage,” Zayn says, pulling back from the kiss and taking the little bottle Louis hands over. Zayn’s mouth is red, swollen a little from all the kissing. The sight of it makes Niall clutch at Zayn that much tighter, digging his nails into the soft skin of Zayn’s hip. He moves a little further down the couch, spreading his legs as Zayn sits up between them. “You keep looking at me like that, I’m going to come before I even get inside you,” Zayn says to him, licking his bruised lips.
“Yeah, there you are,” Louis says approvingly.
Ignoring him for once, Zayn slicks up his fingers slowly and carefully, sliding his thumb over them to spread the lube around. Niall swallows and bends one knee up, arching up so it’s easier for Zayn to do what he needs to do. So he can finger Niall open, if Niall’s ready to have it done to him then he’s goddamn well ready to think it. “I want you to, come on,” Niall says, still not quite able to force the actual words out, even though it’s a ringing chorus in his head now, finger me, finger me, do it, fuck me. I want you to fuck me. Niall doesn’t beg for things, that’s not his style. At least he never thought it was his style.
“You look gorgeous, Niall,” Harry says, and Niall breathes in sharply, looking over to where Harry’s sitting. He’s moved between Louis’s legs now, leaning back against his chest, Louis slowly jerking him off.
“You do,” Liam echoes, the words trailing off. He’s gripping the back of the chair, white-knuckled. Niall can see that he’s hard, fuck, he can see the bulge of Liam’s cock in his trousers so clearly that they may as well not be there at all.
Niall’s got a thank you on the tip of his tongue until Zayn presses a finger between his cheeks and words leave him along with his breath. Zayn just touches him for a moment, stroking two fingertips over his hole, getting him wet there, and even that’s too much already, Niall has to close his eyes, can’t focus with everyone’s eyes on him, watching this happen. Niall doesn’t mind being the center of attention, though it’s not something he’s used to when it’s just the five of them, but this is a bit much. Zayn pushes one finger in, a slow fullness opening him up, and Niall bites down on his lip at the feel of it. He hadn’t thought about it this way, how it would really feel, Zayn inside him. Christ, he’s about to get his arse fucked, for the first time, in front of his best friends, by one of his best friends, and he wants to get to it.
Niall lifts his hips, pushes his arse back against the press of Zayn’s finger until it sinks all the way into him, drawing a hiss from Zayn’s throat as his knuckles bump up against the slick edge of Niall’s hole. “You want more?” Zayn asks, and Niall has to look up at him then, opening his eyes and nodding a bit frantically. His cock twitches at the sight of Zayn, bumping against his stomach so Niall has to reach down and grab himself, groaning a little as he fists his cock. Zayn’s hot, which Niall knew as a person who could identify attractiveness in people but also as a person attracted to dudes, occasionally, but holy god, Zayn is hot, his lips licked wet and pupils dilated, a flush brightening his cheeks as he stares down at Niall like he wants to eat Niall alive. And Niall wants to let him, god, does he ever, he wants Zayn to do whatever he wants to him, so long as he keeps on touching Niall’s body.
Zayn’s eyes sweep over the stretch of Niall’s naked body, and Niall arches his back, spreads his legs wider, putting himself shamelessly on display for Zayn to look at all he wants. Zayn rewards him with the push of another finger, edging in alongside the one already buried inside him. It’s more of a stretch, but Zayn’s going so slowly it doesn’t hurt, just feels like a tease. A fucking tease, when Niall could have Zayn’s cock in him, when Zayn’s made him want that, and desperately, too.
From far away Niall registers Liam’s choked out, “God, I can’t,” followed by the sound of Liam finally giving in and undoing his trousers, but he doesn’t even look over, can’t break his eye contact with Zayn. Especially not when Zayn starts to fuck him with his fingers, those two pushing slowly in and out of him, spreading when they’re buried deep, Zayn’s thumb rubbing against the strip of skin behind his balls.
Niall tightens his grip on his dick, trying not to fucking lose it already - Christ, all these years he’s jerked off without finger-fucking himself at the same time have been lost years as far as Niall’s concerned - and Zayn fairly shoves a third finger in, opening him the fuck up and making his hips buck helplessly and forcing a cry from his throat. He sounds gone already when he hears himself, and his hips jerk again when he lolls his head to the side for just a second, just to take his focus off of the fucking sweat on Zayn’s temples, and sees the way Harry, Louis, and Liam are all looking at him, like they’re all goddamned starving and Niall’s the first full meal they’ve seen in weeks. Their hands are all moving on their own cocks, like Louis and Harry don’t even have the presence of mind to be able to pay attention to getting each other off when Niall’s there to look at, and Liam, jesus, Liam’s biting down on his lip so hard it looks like he’s going to come already. This is probably the kinkiest thing Liam’s ever been involved in, Niall realizes, and then groans once he realizes that this is the kinkiest thing he’s ever been involved in himself, god, it’s not like Niall gets fucked in front of other people on the regular, right? He’s acclimatized way too easily to this band’s definition of normal.
“Hey, Niall,” Zayn says softly, and Niall swallows, turns back to look at him. There’s an odd tenderness in Zayn’s eyes, but it isn’t unfamiliar; Niall’s seen it a hundred times, when he was tired after a long day and leaned against Zayn’s shoulder, when he got jostled too much in crowds and Zayn pulled him close in the car after, hell, even when Zayn brought him extra snacks when Niall was too lazy to get up and walk to catering. Niall just didn’t expect it here, maybe, not with the way Zayn’s been teasing him lately, not after all the flirting tonight and the nights before. He thought it’d be different, somehow, but it’s still Zayn looking at him, Zayn’s hand stroking over his bare thigh, Zayn leaning down to kiss him, softly and briefly enough that Niall strains upward for more when Zayn pulls back. “You want this?” Zayn asks.
Before Zayn even finishes Niall’s nodding, managing a, “Yes, yes,” in a voice that surprises him with how hoarse it’s gone, like this is the first time he’s spoken in years. Zayn smiles, not a huge grin but like he’s quietly pleased, and it stays on his face as he takes his fingers out of Niall and fists his cock in his hand, as he rubs the head over Niall’s stretched hole and then shifts his hips forward, starting to push in. His expression changes, then, mouth dropping open a little as Niall’s body takes him in, one slow inch at a time.
It isn’t until Zayn leans in and cups his cheek that Niall realizes he’s trembling, trying to hold in the fragile little sounds that want to leave his throat. Zayn works his hips so carefully, letting Niall adjust until there’s barely anywhere left to go and he gives one final thrust, burying himself inside. Something breaks in Niall then, and he can’t quell a broken, “Oh god.” Zayn’s in him, all the way, and it’s - it hurts a little, yeah, but it’s more than that, he just feels so fucking full, and Zayn’s so close to him, poised over him and touching his face.
“All right?” Zayn asks, sounding a little worried, and Niall nods, leans his face into Zayn’s palm and leaves a kiss there, gripping Zayn’s wrist, then his forearm, just touching what he can. Zayn pulls out a little, thrusts back in again, and fuck, Niall can feel himself opening up for it, feel the way his body lets Zayn in.
“Yeah, s’good,” Niall says, and shifts his hips back, trying to get into a little better of an angle. He squirms a little, feeling the stretch in his thighs as they rub against Zayn’s hips, and oh god, he’s clearly stumbled upon something right because suddenly the feeling of fullness is accented by something that’s just - more, like Zayn’s found something inside him. “Fuck me,” Niall demands, suddenly insistent.
He can hear Louis whispering something to Harry, hear the sounds of them wanking, but it’s just background noise as he lies back against the couch and gets fucked, Zayn’s hands firm on his thighs to hold him in place as he thrusts. Niall can’t help but smile up at Zayn, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he takes each thrust of Zayn’s cock into him, filling him up and hitting that spot inside him that makes him stroke himself that much faster. Niall hopes that Zayn’s excited to do this a lot more, because that’s Niall’s plan, personally. And Zayn’s kind of an important part of it.
Zayn tries a rougher thrust, raising an eyebrow at Niall, and Niall shoves his hips back into it, meeting Zayn there and giving him a little shrug: that all you got? Zayn sees him that one, offering a dark chuckle and taking the challenge. He pushes in hard again, hard enough that their skin slaps together and Niall’s jostled up against the arm of the couch a bit, and Niall moans because it feels good, dammit, and he wants some more, so why not let Zayn know that he can give it to him?
“That’s it,” Zayn says. And yes, he’s right, but Niall still doesn’t like that little pleased edge to his voice, like he knew all along that Niall would like a rough arse-fucking. Niall blinks up at him, his best harmless look, and then clenches around him, bearing down on Zayn’s cock and just tightening himself up in a way he wasn’t even aware he could do. The smirk drops off Zayn’s face right quick at that one, but Niall can’t even muster up a triumphant grin because that feels pretty fucking good for him as well, good enough that he has to really fist his own cock hard to stop from coming right there. But then Zayn looks at him, his mouth dropped open like no one’s ever made him feel this good before, and Niall figures fuck it, this isn’t a contest and coming’s the point anyway. He lets himself relax around Zayn’s cock, and Zayn groans in relief and digs his fingers into Niall’s thighs, holding him in place and then fucking in hard.
Niall takes one more thrust, then another, another, and strokes himself just the way he likes it and then comes, right then with Zayn fucking into him. Niall tries for a heartfelt, “Sweet fuck,” but it’s barely understandable, almost slurred as he comes across his own stomach, striping his abs with it. Zayn fucks him through it even harder than before, like Niall’s somehow won the race instead of lost it (wasn’t stamina the point? There was a time limit issue, Niall remembers, and he hopes suddenly that no one has a key to the dressing room), even after Niall’s gone lax against the couch cushions.
Zayn licks his lips, staring down at the come on Niall’s stomach as he fucks into Niall’s arse, and Niall gives him quite the filthiest grin he can manage, even though a suggestive look’s sort of pointless at this juncture. There’s a soreness rising but Niall doesn’t mind, kind of likes the idea that he’s going to ache from this later. Oh god, later. They’re going to have to get on the bus and drive through the night to Houston before they get to their hotel. Niall so deserves a nap.
There are twin cries from across the room. Niall’s not particularly surprised when he looks over and sees that Harry and Louis have managed to coordinate their orgasms in another grand show of the creepy sexiness/sexy creepiness that is their relationship. Niall’s just looking over to check on Liam when Zayn gets a hand on his chin, forcing his eyes back. Niall quirks a grin at him, tries the clenching down trick again, and that does it, Zayn groans and thrusts in hard, coming in him so deep that Niall’s dick almost wants to rise again, fuck.
Zayn gathers him as close as he can, bending Niall in half and kissing him on the mouth, and then Niall’s not thinking about anything but Zayn, Zayn holding him close when they were both just starting out in the band and missed home, Zayn grabbing at him and making him laugh onstage, Zayn kissing him and coming deep inside him. He kisses Zayn back, curves his hand around Zayn’s cheek and into his hair, touches Zayn back and takes what Zayn gives him.
It feels like it takes forever for them to come down, but it can’t be that long. They’re still kissing, slow and easy, when Niall hears a little bitten-off cry that he’d bet is Liam coming himself. Liam’s probably going to have some words for them later. Niall hopes that they’re words like ‘good show!’ and ‘well done, lads!’ but probably they’ll be different than that.
It hurts a bit when Zayn pulls out of him, even though he does it carefully. Zayn gives him one last kiss on the cheek, and smiles.
“That was genuinely beautiful, and I am being serious when I say that, but we have two minutes before bus call,” Louis says. He and Harry are already dressed.
“I can’t believe - “ Liam starts.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Louis cuts him off. “Get your clothes on Liam, we have to get back.”
“Not like the bus is going to leave without the five of us,” Zayn points out, nonetheless leaning back up off of Niall and offering him a helping hand up. Niall winces a bit when he rises. He can feel Zayn’s come in him. It’s not unpleasant, but it does need tending to. “We’re going to take a quick shower.”
“Wise,” says Harry. “Louis, let’s snog ’til they get out.”
“Right then,” says Louis. Niall gets up after Zayn, shaking the aches out of his bones. He definitely deserves a lie-down. Even though he kind of just had one. Well, usually his lie-downs aren’t quite that strenuous.
“I am going to read a book,” Liam says.
Zayn pushes Niall into the shower stall ahead of him and then follows him into the hot spray, reaching past him for the soap. Niall could handle himself, really, but truth be told he likes being handled, so he lets Zayn soap him up, leans into Zayn when Zayn goes to wash his back. He’s left a little lovebite on Zayn’s collarbone, but he doesn’t feel too badly about it. With his face tucked into Zayn’s shoulder the sound is a little muffled, so it takes a moment to register what Zayn’s saying.
“Niall? I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?” Zayn asks again. Niall shakes his head, mumbles that he didn’t. Zayn slides a hand slowly down Niall’s back, gives him time to say no before he turns his head to press a kiss to Niall’s cheek and slips two fingers down the crack of Niall’s arse. Niall inhales sharply at the feel of it, Zayn touching him where he’s so sore and open, but parts his legs so it’s easier for Zayn to push his fingers inside, then stroke them in and out. He’s so slick inside, wet with Zayn’s come, and he can feel it starting to leak out of him, helped by the slow finger-fucking Zayn’s giving him.
“God,” Niall says, squeezing his eyes shut tight, giving into the urge to scrape his teeth against Zayn’s shoulder and bite down, just the tiniest bit. He just got fucked in front of his friends and yet somehow this makes him feel more vulnerable than anything that happened before, the way Zayn’s taking care of him, cleaning him up with fingers sliding into his sore, used hole, getting Zayn’s come out of him and letting the hot water wash it away. Niall licks droplets of water off of Zayn’s skin and trusts that he’s clean enough when Zayn eases away from him, kisses his cheek, his mouth.
“This wasn’t a one-time thing, was it?” Zayn asks, touching his thumb to Niall’s jaw. “We can do this again. You and me.”
“Yeah,” Niall says. “You and me.” He laughs a little. “You, me, and Liam’s therapy bills.”
“And Louis and Harry probably insisting on trying to watch again,” Zayn adds, laughing too. He shuts the shower off, guiding Niall out.
“Probably?” Niall raises an eyebrow. “That’s generous.” He catches the towel Zayn tosses at him, rubbing it over his hair. The hot water eased his sore muscles a bit, but he’s still going to take the hell out of that nap. He wonders how comfortable it’d be trying to fit two to a bunk.
“You and me,” Zayn says again, and reaches out his hand.
Niall takes it. “You and me,” he says.
Zayn touches Niall’s waist, fleetingly tender, when they walk out of the hotel the next morning. There’s not quite a hitch in Niall’s step when he walks, but he can feel the soreness still, the memory of an ache when he steps too hard.
Niall tugs at his collar.
Jesus fuck it’s hot in Houston.