fill for the niall smutathon zee is hosting! for the prompt "zayn/niall - d/s (don't care which is which) and how their relationship works, what it's like in sub-space and how much love is shared between". it's maybe not exactly the prompt, but hopefully anon will dig it? 1370 words, explicit.
“oh,” zayn says, and he’s not all the way under but he’s definitely hovering close. niall can feel it in him, everywhere they’re touching, niall’s hands on his back and sides and niall’s nose pressed to his neck, and it’s this sort of weary tenseness but it’s also wound tight like a spring that’s about to go off and is just waiting.
zayn’s usually already good by now, but niall figures it’s been a while, and he’ll have to try a bit harder. he’s not really worried about it, knows they’ll get there. “ ‘mon,” he mutters, slides his hand back to zayn’s arse, palming at him, spreading him a little better and squeezing until the golden skin around his fingertips turns white, then flushes pink, so he can get his dick in past the head. seriously, zayn’s going to kill him one day; he’ll just die and it’ll all be because of zayn’s body and zayn’s noises and zayn’s whole. zayn thing.
the good thing is that the combination of slick and warmth and niall’s hand seems to do the trick, and zayn’s shoulders fall almost like he’s had the wind knocked out of him, another little “oh” leaving him at the very same time. zayn’s not very loud to begin with, but when it’s like this, if niall plays his cards right, he can work a series of pretty sounds out of him on every other thrust.
“jus’ like that,” niall hums, inching his hips closer, and zayn nods beneath him, inhales and exhales deeply.
niall’s only goal now is to avoid coming straight away; he has to draw his hips back before he bottoms out because he knows if he lets himself he could get off just like that, just now, and zayn would. zayn would probably whimper and be a mess of pathetic doe-eyes and niall’d have to deal with him trying to lick niall’s dick back up to speed and... they’ve gone down this road before. while niall is all for multiple orgasms and several rounds of sex, usually, he’d really just like to get this right the first time. wham, bam, awesome sex, everyone’s happy and then he can make them dinner and they can finally, finally go to bed. and then do it all over again in the morning.
zayn makes a tiny little sound like he knows niall’s head has gone off somewhere other than this, other than him. niall thinks it’s endearing, how he lets himself be selfish like this when he won’t, other times- or, at least, he’ll be open about it and do something about it rather than just be pouty.
still, though, niall knows what zayn needs when he’s like this, grunts and bites down on his lower lip as he gets his hips moving without giving much time for zayn to adjust. zayn’s all deep, shuddery breaths as niall digs his fingernails into the dip of his hip and over his shoulder, holds him up and grinds into him every few thrusts, pushed deep inside. “so good, fuck,” he mumbles, and zayn whines, drops his head.
it doesn’t take long before he’s collapsing down on his forearms- elbows going out sudden, as niall draws back from a nice figure-eight twist of his hips. he says something, muffled against the sheets, and niall swears, leans forward and carefully, carefully tips zayn’s head to the side so he can be sure he’s at least breathing. “what?” he asks, thumbing at zayn’s jaw, taking in his fluttering dark lashes and half-open mouth.
“condom,” zayn manages, and it takes niall a minute to figure out there was supposed to be a question mark somewhere in there. maybe zayn had been more out of it than he realized, before, if he can’t remember that- or maybe he just wasn’t paying attention, which is believable too. “no, ‘m not- not got one,” niall says, has to go still so he can form the words. “d’you. d’i need to get one?”
zayn makes a grumpy sound and sort of writhes in the sheets, which niall interprets as a shrug. he’s about to press for a real answer when zayn forces his eyes open, looks back over his shoulder for the first time since they started. his eyes have gone glassy and dark, and he’s so fucking gone, niall realizes. “no,” he says, all slurry, but definite. “wanted. come in me?”
niall could kiss zayn; he’s terrible at pulling out. “fuck,” he replies eloquently, and zayn buries his face into the sheets again, whines when niall’s thrusts make their skin slap audibly. “zayn,” he tries, remembers how zayn told him he likes knowing what niall will do next, “g’na pull your hair, yeah? it’s- fuck, it jus’ looks good from here.”
zayn makes a little sound of approval that niall could swear has a bit of a laugh behind it, but he doesn’t care as long as he gets to push his fingers into zayn’s hair, right at the crown, and tug a fistful, tipping his chin up. “c’mon, babe,” niall mumbles, twisting his fingers.
zayn bucks into it, back arching and his hands fisting in the sheets like he’ll try to pull himself upright again. he doesn’t quite make it, and it means that niall’s hand jerks a bit harder than he intended. “oh,” zayn says again, and it’s breathless, barely more than another sound, but his entire body shudders, and niall doesn’t have time to get a hand around to his stomach before he’s coming.
“well, fuck,” niall says, keeps his fingers wound up tight in zayn’s hair and follows him a few jerky thrusts later, zayn’s arse cradled in his hips. niall thinks, through the fuzz, that he might’ve pulled at zayn’s hair a little too hard, but that’s the full extent of his worries, really. he has the mind to pull out carefully when his hands stop shaking and roll zayn onto his side, off the mess he’s made on the sheets, before he collapses on his side, too, loosely spooned up behind zayn.
zayn goes still but not quiet in the aftermath, his head lolling back to rest against niall’s shoulder. his mouth is bitten red and wet from where he’s been licking his lips obsessively. niall remembers, amused, when he wasn’t the biggest fan of after-sex cuddles. it seems ridiculous now, in the face of a boneless zayn and the quiet, nonsense happy sounds he can’t stop making, the way he turns his face into niall’s neck, looking for contact even like this.
“love you,” niall hums, scratches at zayn’s shoulder gently. he knows it’ll be a few minutes, at least, before zayn can really say much, let alone get on his feet, but he goes on, anyway. “was thinkin’ i could put on some noodles for dinner. ‘m starving. you can sit with me in the kitchen, yeah? we’ll get you a glass of water.”
zayn quietens for a moment, which is a good sign, means he’s thinking, and niall keeps petting at his arm. after a minute, zayn nods, slow and syrupy, makes an affirmative noise and kisses niall’s chin.
“i like that we have a bit of time to do this, y’know?” niall continues, doesn’t really know where he’s going, but zayn seems to appreciate it. “to- to let go, yeah? so you can let loose. really does you good.”
zayn exhales deeply and shifts, drags himself over so that he’s facing niall, can tuck his head under niall’s chin and fit his hands up against niall’s pale, skinny chest. “thanks,” he says, and niall tries not to shiver at how low his voice has gone, how it feels reverberating against his throat.
“i love you,” niall repeats, logical enough a response, and zayn hums happily. he’s more responsive, which is always a good sign. “need anything? wanna clean a bit?”
zayn shakes his head and huffs against niall’s arm. “g’me a mo’.”
niall nods and tries to ignore the way his tummy is caving in on itself with cramping hunger. it’s surprisingly easy to do when zayn is all warm and cuddly and half flopped on top of him, twining their calves together under the blankets.
