His For A Price |z.h|

10

For a moment, Niall stood staring at him, unable to move or speak. Those last few precious hours of freedom he'd counted were gone, he realized dazedly. Time had finally run out. 

Eventually, he said hoarsely, "I-I don't understand. I thought - you - you said you had work to do." 

Zayn shrugged, the robe slipping away from one tanned, muscular shoulder. "I found concentration difficult, my love. During our separation I found that I desired you more than I had planned to do. So I decided that while work could wait, you could not. And I could not." He held out his hand. "Sweet cheeks," he commanded softly. "Come here." 

Niall said, dry mouthed. "It's the middle of the afternoon!" 

"The time of siesta," he said. "A habit I understand you have acquired since the time of your arrival. Today you will spend it with me instead of alone." 

"But I have a headache." Niall despised himself for the note of pleading he could hear in his voice. 

"I also ache," Zayn said with faint amusement. "But in a different way. Perhaps we will heal each other." He added more crisply. "And now, Niall love, please do not weary me with any further excuses. You know why you're here." 

The blonde made himself move then. Made himself walk to the bed, knowing with certainty that there was nothing else he could do, and also that there was a part of him - a part he tried desperately to banish - that flared with sparks of excitement. 

Zayn took his hand, drawing Niall down beside him gently. Niall saw that he was no longer smiling. Instead his expression was serious - even intense - as he reached for the sash of his robe and untied it slowly, almost carefully, pushing apart its concealing folds. 

The blonde knew that this was only the beginning, but all the same, he turned his head away, closing his eyes so he would not have to see his dark gaze burning over his naked body. 

If I don't look at him, he thought, maybe I can pretend this isn't really happening. But that won't work either, because he's been there in my dreams every night since we first met. Which is something I need to forget. 

The silence that followed was broken only by Zayn's sigh of pleasure, hardly more than a breath. 

The shorter of the two lay still as the Pakistani removed his robe completely, Niall's hands clenched by the sides to hide the fact that his body was, against his will, responding to the older man's touch. 

Zayn said softly. "You are very lovely. But worth the ruin of a man's whole future life? I wonder." 

Niall had not, of course, realized that shutting off the sight of Zayn would simply heighten all his other senses, making him vividly aware of the slight dip in the mattress as he moved even closer. So close that Niall thought he could feel the strong heavy chest of Zayn's heart echo in his own bloodstream. Could absorb the clean, soap enhanced scent of his warm skin. Hear the sharp rustle of silk as he discarded his own robe. 

Zayn began to touch him, his hand skimming lightly from the curve of Niall's cheek down his throat and to his shoulder, then molding the slender outline of his body in one long, sweeping movement, that in-spite of his inexperience, Niall recognized as more a declaration of intent that a cares. A gesture that promised total possession. 

In his self-imposed darkness, the blonde was conscious of other things, too. The strange sensation of a man lying next to him, his heated nakedness grazing his own skin. The powerful and potent reality of his male arousal. 

He felt fingers cup his chin, turning his face towards him, and then experienced the first brush of Zayn's lips on his own thin ones, lingering, searing, and oddly, unexpectedly gentle. He kissed him kissed, his mouth persuasive - insistent. Seeking, some instinct told Niall, the beginnings of surrender he dared not risk. Because once he had yielded he knew with utter certainty that there would be no way back - and, more shockingly, nor did he want to there to be.