The Way It Is ! ** Ziam

Part 1

His body arches off the bed as warm lips whisper against that spot on his throat, just below his ear, followed closely by teeth. Just a gentle little nip, maybe enough to leave a mark that'll fade by the end of this, but not hard enough to actually hurt. He can't help it, the way his body responds to that. The soft moan that escapes him, or the way his hips jerk up, desperately searching for some kind of friction.

"You like that?" The words are whispered in his ear, rough and low, and they leave him shivering almost as much as the love bite.

"You know I do," Zayn says, and it's supposed to sound snapped, a little irritated, but instead it comes out breathless and needy.

"I do." And then those lips find their way to his neck again.

It isn't until he's panting, almost begging for this to go somewhere more than just sloppy kisses and bodies grinding together through too many layers of clothing, that he finally manages to flip them over so he's on top. He likes it better this way, being the one in control. It lets him speed things up, dictate where they go next. And he starts by unbuttoning the soft blue shirt under his hands. It's a nice colour, nice material, but he wants to rip it off and burn it; anything, really, just to get it off. When he does, neither of them pay attention to where it goes, discarded to the ground, not given another thought.

Finally he's got smooth, hard muscle under his fingertips, and he takes a moment to really appreciate it. Appreciate the planes of his chest, the coarse hair there, the nipples that harden after just a brush of his hands. The dips between each of the abs and the way the skin there strains over them, all taut and tan and wonderful. The line of hair that leads from his bellybutton, down down down. He follows that with his tongue until he's tracing the waistband of his boxers. 

"Please."

Zayn really isn't one to deny him anything, and despite the slight shake in his fingers, it doesn't take long for the jeans to disappear, and then those boxers, and this is what he needs. Nothing between them and a chance to really admire the body beneath him, the one that he's only gotten to see glimpses of, that he never allowed himself to stare at for too long in fear of getting caught. And he wants to stare now, memorize every little inch of skin that he can, but he rationalizes that that can wait. That he can do all that later. Right now, there's a more pressing issue at hand.

As payback for earlier, he starts by kissing along his hips, and slowly moving his lips down to the muscular thighs that part so easily for him.

"Zayn." It's a whimper, a plea, and it sounds so fucking lovely it nearly destroys him.

"I love it when you say my name," Zayn admits, whispers, like a confession against the insides of his thighs. "Fuck, Liam, I—"

"Zayn, come on. Wake up. Wake up."

Slowly, Zayn blinks open his eyes. It's dark in the room, the only light coming from the lamp on the bedside table, but it would be impossible not to recognize the brown eyes that stare down at him, even if his own are foggy from sleep. And as soon as they register, he bolts upright and tries his best to discreetly cover his crotch.

It's not the first time he's woken up with a boner after having a not-so-innocent dream about Liam, but this is the first time that Liam's actually been there afterwards. And — shit. "Liam, what the fu—?"

"Sorry," Liam giggles, and Zayn realizes that it doesn't matter if he's hard right now. It wouldn't matter if he wrote in big, bold letters right on his forehead 'I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU' because Liam is too drunk to notice anything right now, if the smell of alcohol that clings to him is any indication. "I just— I just needed to talk to you. Really badly. It's important. Really, really, really important."

"Okay." Zayn runs a hand through his hair, wondering how shitty he looks right now. But then, he reminds himself, Liam has seen every part of him; at his worst or at his best, Liam's been there. If he looks rumpled and tired after sleeping for about four hours, Liam isn't going to care. "It can't wait until morning?"

Liam shakes his head fiercely and then he literally climbs over Zayn to get to the empty side of the large, comfortable hotel bed, which really doesn't help the erection, honestly. "It can't wait," Liam says seriously, with the kind of conviction only a five year old or an extremely drunk person can manage. "Super important, Zayn."

And maybe it is, Zayn thinks, but that doesn't mean it can't wait until morning. He's tired, they had a show last night and he doesn't have any energy left over to deal with anyone, especially not drunk anyone's. "How did you even get in here?" He specifically remembers locking the door to his room.

"Girl at the front desk gave me a key," Liam explains. "And she offered me a blowjob but I wasn't really interested. I needed to talk to you, like I said."

"How nice of her." Zayn wonders if he can pull some strings and get her fired. He also wonders why the fuck everyone feels the need to proposition sex to Liam.

"It was, wasn't it?" Liam covers his mouth with a yawn. "But can we talk now? 's that okay?"

"It's going to have to be, isn't it?" Zayn says. Liam pouts. "Yeah, we can talk. I'm already awake anyway."

Liam grins at him. There aren't many things in the world that he wouldn't agree to in order to get that grin, and waking up in the middle of the night isn't so terrible. "I'm very drunk," Liam states.

"I'm aware."

A giggle. "Sorry." A yawn. "I just —" Another yawn "— really needed to tell you this. Before I tell everyone else, 'cause you're my favourite and you should know before I tell everyone because… um… there was another reason but I forgot."

"Liam." If Zayn allows it, Liam will continue on like this forever, never actually getting to the point.

Liam shifts in the bed, and Zayn feels his body settle in next to his own, under the covers, a little too warm but somehow still perfect. "I just wanted to tell you that…" Liam says sleepily. Zayn waits. And waits. And then the sound of snoring fills the room, and he flicks on the lamp again.

Liam is out cold, mouth hanging open, one arm flung over his eyes. Dead asleep. If it were anyone else in the entire world, he knows he'd get annoyed. He'd shake the body beside his awake and demand to know what the hell was so important that he got woken up in the middle of the night, but it's Liam. So he turns the lamp back off, pulls the covers up a little higher, and slowly falls back asleep, comforted by the body beside his own.