His For A Price |z.h|

11

Niall felt drained when he reached his bedroom that night. He had it to himself, to his relief, although Hara had clearly been there at some point, to then the bed down on one side only.

He changed into one of his own cotton nightshirts, hanging the slender shift in leaf green silk that he'd worn for dinner back in the wardrobe with the rest of the clothing Zayn Malik had provided, then sat down to brush his hair.

This must rank, he thought, as the worst evening he'd ever spent- in the company of a man who had deliberately outraged him both physically and emotionally, and announced his intention of continuing to do so at some future point.

An abnormal, even impossible situation by any standard which he, somehow, had made seem almost normal and even - feasible.

Because when Zayn eventually joined him in the room he had turned into the perfect host, politely attentive and, Niall thought grinding his teeth in chagrin, undeniably charming.

He had acknowledged the new dress with a slight inclination of the head, but there'd been none of the edged remarks Niall had expected.

He'd offered the blonde some drink, which he had refused and white wine which, against Niall's better judgement, he'd persuaded him to accept.

And then, over a lamplit dinner on the terrace, Zayn had chatted to him lightly and without any hint of flirtation, let alone sexual innuendo, on neutral topics and in a way that demanded a response from him that could not be as exclusively monosyllabic as Niall had planned.

Someone had clearly told the raven haired man that Niall was a reader, because he enquired as to his favorite authors. Whether he preferred Dickens to Thomas Hardy, or Jane Eyre to Wuthering Heights. Asked if Niall had enjoyed the Day of the jackal and if he thought The dogs of war was any good. 

"You must tell me if there are any books you would like to read and I will get them for you." The Pakistani went on, and Niall looked away.

It was a novelty for him to have this kind of conversation again. Bobby had no interests in books, and had often told him that he was wasting time reading when he could have been acquiring skills as a poker player which would stand him in good stead for the future.

It occured to Niall, reluctantly, that if Zayn Malik had been anyone else he might almost have begun to enjoy himself. And realized just how dangerous that was.

"But it seems you do not care for music," the older spoke , over the coffee that had been served indoors.

'That's not true." Niall said defensively. "I'm just not used to that kind of system."

"Ah," he said. "You wish me to demonstrate its use, perhaps?"

"No thank you. It- its not important." Niall put down his empty cup and drew a breath. "Can I go to my room please?"

Zayn glanced in surprise at his watch. "So early? Why?"

"Because I-I can't do this," the blonde said raggedly. "Can't sit here and chat as if  - as if..."

"As if we were friends?" He supplied with a touch of mockery. "You don't think in time we may become so?"

"I know we won't".

"You disappoint you," Zayn said softly. "However, run away, if that is what you wish."

Niall was on his wag to the door but he halted, swinging round to confront the tanned brooding man.

"Wish?" The blonde repeated. 'Do you know what I really wish Mr. Malik?"

"Of course, my lovely Niall." Zayn drawled.  "You would like never to set eyes on me again, unless I am lying dead at your feet. Is that a summary of your feelings?"