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“Come on, Zayn,” Harry pleads, pulling the book from Zayn’s line of sight. “One night’s not gonna kill you.”
“It very well could,” Zayn reminds. Harry gives him a pout, the kind he's so good at, and Zayn sighs. “Fine, fine, I’ll go. But don't think you're doing me any favors.”
“Yay!” Harry cheers, jumping up from the couch. “And don't be too sure, Zayn. These frat boys are quite good looking and probably wouldn't mind sucking off the likes of you.”
“Shove off,” Zayn mumbles, returning to his book. Harry’s grin remains as he scurries off to his bedroom, but Zayn’s frown deepens. He’s never really enjoyed parties of any kind, especially not frat ones. They're just too much of everything, too much beer and music and dancing and vomit on the carpet. Zayn’s not really one to get super wasted, so they're not fun in that sense either. He’d much rather be curled up on the couch with Harry watching a movie than at a party, but Harry had been talking about this one all week and Zayn felt it was his obligation, not only as a roommate but as a best friend, to attend it with him.
But the night of the party, as their walking towards the frat house, Zayn is starting to regret his decision. A lot. The bass pounds all the way down the street, and as the house comes into view he can see toilet paper strewn about in the trees and at least two people vomiting in the bushes by the porch.
“I changed my mind,” Zayn says quickly, moving to turn around.
Harry catches his arm and drags him forward. “Don't be chicken, Zayn. I want you to have fun tonight, alright? Loosen up, dance, play a few games. I've heard they always have a pretty sick pong tourney set up. That's what Niall tells me, at least. Maybe you can try your hand at that.”
“Not likely,” Zayn mutters, pulling his jacket tighter to his body.
Harry sighs. “Talk to people, interact, get super wasted, I don't care. Just enjoy yourself as much as possible. Can you do that for me?”
Zayn twists his lips, looking into Harry’s huge green eyes. He exhales. “Fine, I'll try not to be the world’s biggest buzzkill. For you.”
Harry grins, slinging an arm around his neck. “Love you, you know.”
Zayn smiles softly. “I know.”
When they enter the house, the music is so loud Zayn can't hear what Harry says to him before disappearing into another room. So he’s stranded, basically, standing in the middle of a hallway with people lined on either side, drinks sloshing out of their cups as they talk with dramatic hand motions. A drink sounds nice, he realizes, and he explores down the hall to find a brightly lit and quite crowded kitchen.
“A drink for the pretty boy!” A voice rang out over the thudding bass.
“Louis,” Zayn grins, meeting the boy’s bright blue eyes. “Alright?”
“Never better!” He cheers, slipping off of the counter where he sat. “Can I get you a drink, seeing as no one listened to my command?”
“That'd be wicked,” Zayn nods, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
Louis pours him a mix of something, but Zayn honestly couldn't care less of what it is. He just needs a buzz going, anything to loosen him up and allow for the socialization he promised Harry.
He chats with Louis for a while, discussing their literature class briefly and then work. Louis seems distracted by everyone passing by, so Zayn bids him farewell shortly, telling him he’s off to find Harry.
He turns left out of the kitchen and further into the house, passing through different rooms with different people. He gets bumped multiple times and spills at least twice, so he’s got a scowl on pretty quickly.
He enters a room full of people surrounding a table, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out he has walked right into a pong tourney. He scans the crowd for signs of Harry but comes up empty. He tries to edge around the crowd but finds it more difficult in such a full room. Pong must be really popular.
“Ah, looks like Niall’s out of a partner,” someone taunts. Zayn turns his head at the familiar name but can't distinguish which lad it is.
“Anyone in?” Another boy calls. He’s bright blonde hair and light blue eyes, a SnapBack situated on his damp hair.
Zayn feels a hand clamp down on his shoulder as he’s almost out of the room.
“How about you?” A guy asks him, the one with the hand on his shoulder. “You in?”
“Uh, well I- I've never really played-” Zayn stutters, but he's pushed forward towards the table without hesitation.
“There you are, Niall,” the guy announces, addressing the blonde boy who Zayn now takes to be Niall. “Found you a partner. Now we can crush you.”
“I wouldn't get too smug, Davis,” Niall sneers, his voice thick with an Irish accent Zayn hadn't noticed in the few words he had spoken earlier. “Me and-” He turns to Zayn. “What's your name, mate?”
“Zayn,” he says, immediately regretting the feebleness of his voice.
“Me and Zayn are going to kick your sorry arses,” Niall says, slinging an around Zayn’s neck. He's got a white tank top hanging off of his lean frame, and though he's quite sweaty his body lets off a nice smell, like a good deodorant.
Davis narrows his eyes. “Well let's play, then.”
“Niall,” Zayn squeaks out. “Niall, I’m really sorry but I've never played this before, and I’m sure I’m not that-”
“That's alright,” Niall waves, seeming distracted by the competitors. “Just follow my lead. It's not that hard.”
His words do little to comfort Zayn, and he really does not have enough liquor in him to handle this well. He quickly downs the rest of his cup and tosses it somewhere behind him, wiping his hands nervously on his jeans.
The other team shoots first and misses both shots. Niall retrieves both balls, handing one to Zayn before lining up for his shot. The ball goes into the cup on the far left in the very back row, but the only celebration from Niall is a smirk. He turns to Zayn.
“Your shot,” he says. “If you make it in that same cup I did, they have to drink twice and we get the balls back. If you make it into a different cup, they both have to drink. You miss, only one drink.”
“Right,” Zayn breathes, not understanding anything Niall just said with his accent and slur.
He takes a deep breath and lines up the ball, giving his arm a few pumps before releasing it, watching as the ball hits the rim of a cup and bounces off. Davis drinks the cup that Niall had shot.
“Good start,” Niall grins, his whole face illuminating. He claps Zayn on the back, his hand warm. “You'll make the next one.”
The opposing team makes only one shot, and Niall takes the drink before shooting his. He lands one again, and Zayn fiddles with the ball nervously in his fingers.
“Line it up and shoot,” Niall coaches softly from behind him.
Zayn does just that, and the ball lands in a cup. He actually made a shot.
“Atta boy!” Niall cheers. “Knew I could count on you, Zayn. Drink up, Davis.”
Davis scowls from across the table as he downs the drink. “We were just getting warmed up, Horan, don't kid yourself.”
“Ah,” Niall nods sarcastically. “Alright. Let's see what else you have, then.”
Davis misses his shot but his partner, Pat, makes his, and Niall takes the drink. Zayn’s old drink has long since been forgotten, discarded somewhere on the floor littered with red cups just like it.
Zayn learns that Niall is very, very good at this game. He makes almost every shot, and each ball at least is close to being in, if not all the way. Zayn also learns that he himself isn't that bad at beer pong, although having Niall there coaching him definitely isn't hurting.
“Elbow behind the table,” Niall reminds nicely. “There you go. Nice and easy.”
Zayn meets his piercing blue eyes quickly before returning his gaze to the table. He takes his shot and sinks it. “You're a good teacher, you know.”
“’Ve got a great student,” Niall beams. “You sure you've never played before?”
Zayn nods. “Parties aren't really my speed as much.”
“Well, I'm glad you came out tonight,” Niall tells him. “You're better than my old partner. Surprised I even made it this far in the tourney with him.”
Zayn smiles as the other team lines up to take their shots. It’s Zayn’s turn to drink the one they sink, and that he does, gulping down the cheap beer with a few swallows. He's learned to drink quickly as to avoid being shot at. Niall explained to him that if the other team makes it into the cup you're drinking from, then the game’s over. You lose. So Zayn’s made sure to chug the few inches of beer when he gets a cup.
When it's their turn again, Niall’s laughing so hard at something a crowd member said to him that he totally whiffs his shot and doesn’t even hit a rim, instead sending the ball whizzing far over the cups.
“Fuck,” Niall curses, a few chuckles still slipping out.
A few people start shouting “air ball”, and Zayn is really glad they didn't do that the couple of times he missed the rim as well. It's pretty distracting. So distracting, even, that it causes Zayn to throw an air ball too.
“Double air ball kiss!” Someone shouts, and Zayn looks confusedly from a smirking Davis to a slightly-frowning Niall.
“What's that?” Zayn asks Niall, feeling for the first time rather on display playing in front of all these people.
“Double air ball kiss,” Davis starts loudly, “is a rule that states if both players from the same team air ball on their shots in a single turn, they must share a kiss. Lock lips, snog, if you will.”
Zayn turns to Niall, curious of his reaction.
He nods, surprising Zayn. “Those are the rules, and this is my house.”
The next thing Zayn knows Niall’s lips are on his, bitter from the beer but sweet, almost like from a nice Chapstick. His arm is slung around Zayn’s neck casually, bicep pressing into his skin, pulling him towards Niall. Zayn can feel his cheeks heat up just thinking about their situation. Niall is kissing him right now. In front of all these people. And Zayn would have to be really straight (which he isn't) to say that Niall isn't very attractive. But he never thought he’d get a kiss from him, never in a million years.
Niall draws back after a moment. The room had gone quiet, and you could actually hear the music now, more than just a thudding bass. He blinks at Zayn, his blue eyes wide and studying him. And just as quickly as it happened, Niall is back in the game, hollering to Davis to take his damn shot already, they don't have all night.
Zayn, however, takes a little longer to process it all. He can still feel where Niall’s puckered lips had met his, and he has to stick his hands in his pockets to keep himself from reaching up and touching his own lips, tracing the faint touch Niall had left. He’d kissed him. Just like that. Zayn can't say he doesn't yearn for another, doesn't want to see what else Niall can do with his lips and his pink tongue that’s visible every time he laughs with a great, open mouth.
“Oi, Zayn,” Niall says, waving his hands in front of Zayn’s eyes.
“Yeah,” Zayn snaps out of it, blinking.
“Your ups, my man,” he says, handing him the little white ball. “And I hit the rim on my last shot, so you don't have to worry about me slobbering on ya again.”
Zayn pushes out a chuckle with him, but Niall’s lips are honestly all he's thinking about right now.
Funnily enough, even with a distracted mind he makes his shot. Niall gives him a congratulatory clap on the back, and Zayn nearly jumps at the contact. He can't see Niall the same now, not when he knows what his lips feel like. Zayn only got a little taste, and his craving is growing and growing the longer he stands next to the blonde little Irishman.
When the score is tied, each of them having five cups left, Niall introduces Zayn to a new rule through example.
“Island,” he announces. He leans back towards Zayn. “I called island, which means I’m shooting for that isolated cup right there.” Sure enough, one of the five seemed to be on its own, separated from the others. “If I make it, they drink twice. If I get it in any other cup, it doesn’t count. No extra penalties for missing it. Each person can call island once.”
“Right,” Zayn nods. “Got it.” That rule actually makes sense to him, much more sense than the air ball kiss that’s been floating in his mind for the past three rounds.
Niall sinks his island shot, and cheers ring out from the crowd. Davis scowls as he downs his drink, Pat doing the same. Zayn’s shot hits the rim, and he’s glad Niall is picking up his slack.
“I’m probably not the partner you wanted or expected,” Zayn admits, rubbing the back of his neck. He watches Davis take his shot, not wanting to look at Niall.
“What?” Niall says. “Come off it, mate, you’re doing amazing! Like I said, you’re probably better than my other partner anyway. Your performance has been impressive considering this is your first time playing. Are you sure you don’t practice?”
“No,” Zayn chuckles, loosening up a bit because not only is Niall really cute, he’s also just really nice and makes Zayn feel so…comfortable. “No, I don’t practice, trust me.”
Niall grins at him, his face shining like the sun, warm and happy. “Well, I’d take you on my team any time. Fancy signing a contract, maybe?”
Zayn laughs, feeling tingly and not just because of the beer. Niall’s so damn charming, and Zayn’s never witnessed anything like it. There’s no possible way to not like Niall.
The game goes on, more shots being missed than sunk. Niall teaches Zayn all of the idiosyncrasies of the game, and by the time they each have two cups left he’s feeling buzzed but ready to win, much better than he had at the beginning.
“Alright, Zayn,” Niall says seriously, warm hands clamped onto Zayn’s shoulders. He stands behind him, studying the table. Niall’s ball floats victoriously in the far left of the remaining three cups. “If you can't make it into mine, at least make it into one of the others. We really need two cups gone before they can catch up.”
Zayn’s eyes dart down to the four cups in front of them. He nods jerkily, stomach churning from alcohol and nerves and probably also the fact that Niall is standing in a close proximity. And he's counting on him. Shit.
“Oh, and it might be good to know this is a pretty important game,” Niall adds quickly. “Just so you know.”
Zayn tenses, turning to look at Niall incredulously. “Why would you tell me that now?” He hisses.
“Oi, you gonna shoot, pretty boy?” Davis calls from the other side, and Zayn is too irritated by him to be flattered by the title he received.
“You got it,” Niall assures, slapping him on the shoulders and taking a step back.
“Right,” Zayn mutters, lining up his shot again. He clears his mind of all the pressure and surroundings and just—shoots.
He makes it into the first cup. Not as good as if he had made it into the one where Niall’s ball already bobs, but a hell of a lot better than missing. They've only got one cup left now, but Davis and Pat get their turn now. Zayn’s stomach jumps as he watches Davis shoot. He makes it into the far back one, and now Niall’s hopping around anxiously. Pat sinks his, too, so when it’s Niall’s turn again it’s two to one.
“How does the game end?” Zayn asks as Niall is washing off his ping pong ball in the cup full of courtesy water (which is looking a little brown now, but Zayn tries not to be disgusted).
“We just need to make this cup,” Niall says with a grin. “And they need to not make theirs, too, or else there’s a redemption round. And those are never pretty.”
“Right,” Zayn breathes, eyebrows creased.
“Hey,” Niall says in a surprisingly gentle manner. “It’s fine. Whatever happens, it’s fine, alright?”
The fire in his eyes suggests otherwise, suggests he wants to win at all costs, but his kind words do help to settle Zayn’s nerves a tad.
“You may not even have to shoot,” Niall shrugs almost cockily, adjusting his backwards hat.
And then the unthinkable happens. Niall misses. The crowd goes quiet. Niall turns around from the table, face blank, and walks away from the edge. Zayn opens his mouth to say something, anything that might help, but nothing comes out.
“It’s all you, Zayn,” Davis says from the other side.
Oh shit. Zayn looks down at the white ball in his hand. If his nerves had been bad before, they’re positively horrible right now. And all over a silly game. And a really cute boy that Zayn can’t let down. He glances back at Niall, whose arms are crossed over his chest, a storm brewing on his flushed features. Zayn really can’t fuck up, not now.
He somehow gets himself to the edge of the table to take his shot. His body moves without connecting to his body, lining up to throw the ball. If he thinks about it, he’ll never do it, so he doesn’t think just shoots. The ball leaves his fingertips and soars through the air in what seems like slow motion. Everyone holds their breath as they watch it arc over the table and land—
Right in the last cup. The shot is so good it causes a little of the beer to splash out. The crowd is silent for a moment, absorbing the play, before erupting in cheers. Turns out a lot of people had been rooting for Niall and Zayn, because the noise level is louder than Zayn expected. He’s suddenly attacked from behind, a pair of pale arms being wrapped around him from the back.
“You saved me,” Niall cheers, squeezing the life out of him. “You saved my reputation. I owe you my life, Zayn.”
“Surely not your life,” Zayn says, shyly now, running a hand through his hair. Niall turns Zayn so he’s facing him.
“That was fucking brilliant, Zayn,” Niall tells him, grinning from ear to ear. “You saved my fuck up. I’ll never be able to repay you.”
“It’s fine, Niall,” Zayn chuckles, very aware of Niall’s warm hands extended to his shoulders. “You saved my arse all game. And Davis and Pat still have their turn, so we haven’t won yet.”
Niall shrugs. “Davis isn’t good under pressure.”
As if to prove his words, Davis shoots and misses by a mile. Pat misses his, too, and the two boys have to drink the rest of the beer on the table. They slink off sourly, and Niall does a few bows for the crowd. Pretty soon, though, people disperse and the room becomes much less dense.
Niall grins at Zayn, slinging his arm around Zayn’s neck. “Can I at least get you another drink?” Niall wonders, leading him towards the kitchen. “Something better than that piss beer they made us drink? The bastards.”
“Sure,” Zayn says, not sure if he could even refuse him.
Zayn people watches as Niall mixes them both drinks at the counter. Secretly, he had been afraid Niall would ditch him after the game. And Zayn wouldn’t blame him, really. They aren’t really friends and Niall has no other ties to him, save Harry but Niall probably doesn’t even know about that. So he’s really glad Niall stuck around, glad to be able to just talk to him without the pressure of the game because Niall really is a ball of sunshine and Zayn’s been feeling kind of cloudy, lately.
“I’ve never seen you around campus,” Niall starts, handing Zayn his drink. He nods to the hallway off the kitchen, and Zayn easily complies because the kitchen is quite loud and Zayn doesn’t know if he could be loud enough to respond. “What’s your major?”
“English,” Zayn answers, sounding like the biggest nerd and immediately regretting it. He’s thankful Harry made him leave his glasses at home. “I want to, uh, be an English teacher.”
“That’s sick!” Niall exclaims, and Zayn relaxes, feels silly for panicking. “I’m here for business, but I’ll probably end up working my da’s farm back in Mullingar.”
“Do you like farming?” Zayn wonders, taking a sip of the extremely strong drink Niall made.
Niall shrugs. “Well enough. Da doesn’t want to see the piece of land leave the family, though, and my brother just moved to Dublin with his wife and son.”
Zayn frowns. “You don’t have to farm. You should do what you want. You should be happy. Always.” The alcohol makes him loose-lipped, and the words fly out before Zayn can think them over. He’s never been an impulsive speaker, like Louis, for instance, but he’s not exactly in his element right now and unusual slip ups are bound to happen, right?
Niall contemplates the words, leaning against the wall. He stares down at his drink. “I don’t want to disappoint him.”
Zayn leans next to him. “Have you ever talked to him about it?”
“Er, no.”
“Well, Niall!” Zayn gives him a little shove, making Niall’s drink slosh over the sides, but Niall doesn’t seem to mind, just smiles ruefully. “Talk to him, yeah? I’m sure he’ll understand.”
Niall nods. “I guess it couldn’t hurt.”
“There you go!” Zayn exclaims, wondering why he’s becoming so animated. Could be because the drink in his hand is about three fourths vodka.
Niall chuckles, looking back up at him. His face is still flushed like it had been during the game, but it brings out the brightness in his blue eyes. “Thanks again for playing with me. And for saving my sorry arse.”
Zayn shrugs. “It was fun. A good experience, yeah?”
Niall smiles, adjusting his hat. His blonde fringe sticks to his forehead with a little sweat, and he looks fucking hot. Zayn hopes he’s not drooling, honestly. “And sorry about that whole air ball kiss, too.”
Niall seems much more laid back, shy even, when they’re one-on-one, not in front of any crowd with tons of people to please. It’s nice, a side of him Zayn can actually relate to, and is not nearly as intimidating.
“That’s alright,” Zayn finds himself saying. “I didn’t mind.”
Niall’s eyes shoot up to Zayn’s. He stares for a second. “You didn’t mind?”
Zayn’s cheeks burn. Shit, of course Niall doesn’t feel that way. What the hell was Zayn thinking? He shifts awkwardly on his feet, finding himself unable to swallow. “Er-”
But then Niall’s lips are on his once again, a little vodka spilled on Zayn’s shirt. Zayn doesn't care, of course, and doesn't even notice under he's doing his laundry a week later. Right now, all he can focus on is Niall’s lips, pressing against his with no hesitance. Niall’s body crowds Zayn, a hand placed on his waist, fingers digging into Zayn’s side. Zayn is no doubt stunned initially but impresses himself by reacting quickly, puckering his lips under Niall’s and grabbing a fist full of his loose white tank.
Zayn doesn’t exactly recall how, but soon they’re full on making out in the hallway, pressed hotly against a wall. Niall tastes of vodka and something sweet, like Sprite, maybe, and Zayn licks away at his mouth, devouring the flavor. His body is fully pressed against Niall, crotch grinding into Niall’s thigh just slightly, enough to get him hard and flustered. His other hand, the one not grabbing his shirt, reaches up to cup the back of Niall’s neck, finding it sticky with sweat. It is really hot in this house, he realizes, and he hopes he slathered on enough deodorant.
Niall lets out a grunt as Zayn grinds harder onto his leg. Their lips detach, much to Zayn’s dismay, but only long enough for Niall to mumble, “Bathroom?”
Zayn nods quickly, too eagerly, and Niall grins, taking his hand and leading him farther down the hall and through a door. He pulls Zayn in and shuts the door quickly before connecting their lips once more. Zayn had missed the taste for the few seconds they had been separated. Now that he has it back, he kisses his vivaciously, tongues dancing. Niall has him pressed against the counter, the laminate cold through Zayn’s shirt. It feels good on his overheated body.
Niall’s lips stray from Zayn’s and move down his cheek to his jaw, brushing over the stubble growing there, down his neck, and finally rest on his collarbone. Zayn tilts his head up, inhaling deeply and focusing only on the feeling of Niall’s wet lips on his sensitive skin. Niall sucks, no doubt leaving deep purple bruises while he does, and Zayn has a goofy smile on his face as he stares at the ceiling with half lidded eyes.
Suddenly, Niall’s fumbling with Zayn’s belt buckle, and his lips detach from his shoulder. He looks up with bright eyes, his cheeks even more red now. “This okay?” He tugs at the buckle to signal what he means.
“Better than okay,” Zayn breathes, and Niall lets out a chuckle.
“Good,” he says, his voice taking on a new, sultry tone that makes Zayn’s dick stir in his jeans.
Soon, said dick is free and in Niall’s warm hand, being stroked slowly. Niall kisses him again, slow this time, not as hurried as before. Zayn likes it, of course, likes any kiss from Niall. Niall wrestles his own trousers button with his free hand until Zayn pushes it away so he can do it himself, lifting up his shirt slightly to rub a thumb over the skin right below his navel, making the boy shudder.
“Prick,” Niall mutters into Zayn’s mouth with a smile.
“Mhm,” Zayn hums, cupping his hand over Niall’s cock.
“Just-”
But Niall’s words are cut short because that’s when Zayn chooses to unbutton his trousers and pull his cock right out of his briefs, giving it nice, long strokes just like Niall is doing to him. He brings his lips to Niall’s, giving him a sensual kiss much different from the heated kisses earlier.
“God you’re so fucking hot,” Niall slurs, his breath hot against Zayn’s cheek. “When you showed up as my partner, all I could think was ‘Fuck, I need to…I need to kiss that boy. Maybe suck him off.’”
Zayn giggles, heat pooling in his stomach from Niall’s words and from his hand working at his dick. “Really?”
“Fuck yeah,” Niall answers, the end of his word turning into a groan as Zayn’s thumb slides over his slit.
“Well, you can do both,” Zayn murmurs, pressing kisses to Niall’s neck. “If you want.”
“Yeah,” Niall nods. “Yeah, I want.”
He’s quick to kneel on the white bathroom tiles, keeping his hand going on Zayn’s cock. He licks over the top a few times, nearly making Zayn’s legs give out. He holds onto the counter for support, watching in awe as Niall takes him all the way down. The brim of his hat gets in the way, funny enough, hitting Zayn just below the naval, so Zayn takes it off of Niall’s head and places it atop his own sloppy hair. It causes no further problems there, and now Zayn can focus at the boy at hand, or dick, rather.
Niall’s head bobs up and down on Zayn’s cock rhythmically, putting Zayn in a trance. He weaves his fingers through his now exposed blonde hair, noticing the brown peeking out of his roots. His hair is as soft as it looks, and Zayn tugs at it, encouraging Niall along. Niall’s tongue swirls effortlessly around him, and Zayn’s seeing stars soon, he’s in heaven.
“Gonna come soon,” Zayn grunts out. “Just-just so you know.”
Niall pops off, replacing quickly with his hand, and returns to his feet. “I swear I would swallow, it’s just that when I’m drunk and I do I always end up throwing up. I want to, though, want to see what you taste like so fucking bad. I bet you taste real good.”
“When you’re sober, then,” Zayn says cheekily, and honestly he can’t even be disappointed because the fact that Niall just sucked him off for a good period of time is enough to tide him over for a month, although hopefully not that long.
"You're on," Niall winks, taking both of their cocks into one hand and stroking quickly, furiously. His brow is furrowed in concentration, looking down at their dicks sliding together. Zayn tilts his head back again, eyes closed. He ruts his hips forward into Niall’s hand, the friction overwhelming.
“Niall,” Zayn chokes out a warning. “I’m-”
His orgasm hits him hard and without much further warning. He had thought he would have at least a couple of seconds to finish his sentence, but apparently his body had other ideas. He moans as Niall strokes him through it at a fast pace. The come stains his shirt and a little of his trousers, but he hardly pays it any attention.
His lips latch onto Niall’s neck, and apparently that’s all he needed because he’s sent over the edge quickly after that, groaning and thrusting into his own hand against Zayn’s now flaccid dick. There’s a mess in between them, but neither of them make any move to clean it up. Instead they stand there for a good while, catching their breath and leaving little pecks on each other’s flushed skin.
Finally it’s Zayn who grabs a bit of paper towel and wets it in the sink, using it to wipe away any come on skin and clothes.
“You look fucking hot in that hat,” Niall mumbles, tucking his cock back into his briefs.
“Yeah?” Zayn questions smugly as he does the same. “Thanks. Might have to keep it, even.”
“Fine by me,” Niall murmurs with a smile as he leans in to press a soft kiss to Zayn’s lips. “You’re bloody brilliant, by the way.”
Zayn snorts. “Me? I didn’t even do anything, mate. That was all you.”
“Well, that’s the best orgasm I’ve had in a long, long time,” Niall says. “Must have a magic dick, I’m sure.”
Zayn chuckles, nuzzling Niall’s cheek with his nose. “Maybe.”
Once they’ve both got their trousers buckled again, Niall opens the door, flicks off the light, and grabs Zayn’s hand again.
“Next time will be even better,” he promises.
Zayn just shakes his head and smiles. “Don’t know if that’s possible, babe.”
“I’ll be sober,” he mentions with a wink.
“I can’t wait.”