One Direction One Shots 2

Camping (Niall)

“Niall!”’

            You chase after the boy and his bobbing orange backpack a few meters up the mountain ahead of you. His blonde hair’s all hidden in his beanie, his black clothes blending with the darkening trees. You have been hiking for three hours, snaking around a looming cliff littered with trees, trails and cricks. Your body feels like a collection of sandbags, and yet the blonde boy who enticed you almost two miles above ground level is still at a half run. You come to the rock Niall teased you from just moments ago and shuck your backpack to the ground. You are surrounded with forest and thin air, your lungs unsteady. Niall runs down the trail and sits down next to you.

            “You city folk are terrible at like.” He laughs and kisses across your slickened forehead.

            “Do not, pretend, you, did not, grow up, in a, city.” You huff half-annoyed and shake your head from his lips. He smiles and pecks your mouth. If he’s held it you might’ve passed out.

            “Well, you couldn’t tell.” Niall stands and you grab at his hand.

            “No, no. I need a minute. Not yet.”

            “Y/N, we won’t make it to the lake before dark.”

            You swallow and reach for your bag, going slow, faking a fumble before getting to your feet and running past Niall up the trail, hearing his “Hey!” behind you as you muster what you can and run over the gritty trail, higher. He outpaces you easily, jumping in front of you as you reach the next bend. You trip on a tree root and fall to the dirt, cheek narrowly missing the ground. Niall turns around and nearly laughs, biting the inside of his cheek.      

            “Oh man.” He kneels and helps you up, noting the scrapes and little beads of blood forming on your palms. He slings his bag around, pulling out the first aid, fiddling with the sanitary wipe before wiping lightly at the cuts. You wince noticeably.

            “Sorry, sorry love.” Niall brings his cheek to yours, nose nuzzling at your temple as he dabs at your palms. His stubble is like carpet brushing your face. You exhale as he tosses the wipe into the trash bag and pulls out the band-aids. He pulls his face away and tears the wrappers with his teeth and cocks an eyebrow as he looks up at you. He’s pink in the face, forehead shiny and bits of hair peeking out from the beanie. He looks lovely, stooped over you though he isn’t so much taller, large hands fumbling with the smallness of the bandages. You hold out your hands to him and he presses the band-aid to one palm and the next one to the other. He grabs you round the waist and pulls you to your feet, holding you tightly with his lips to your ear.

            “That’s not happening again, promise?”

            His voice has gone dry and low and you blush and nod against his shoulder. He pulls away and grabs his back, lacing his fingers in yours, carefully, and pulling you farther up the mountains. After fifteen minutes the trail flattens out and you reach a dense brush. Niall lets go of you and runs to the bushes.

            “We’re here!”

            He swats the brush away from him and is swallowed by it. You follow and duck your head under a branch. On the other side is a small sort of valley, flat and dry slab of rock, a lake the size of an Olympic swimming pool around the edge. It is dusk and the water reflects orange. Niall throws his bag to the ground and begins running towards the lake, stripping off as he goes: shoes and socks, jacket and shirts, pants, and finally his boxers. Your eyes remain on the small ripplings of his back and shoulders as he plunges into the darkened water, a flash of his cock between his legs utterly naked.