His For A Price |z.h|

12

It seemed almost as if his body had been ready - even waiting - to be united with Zayn's. As if it was only the driving rhythm of his possession that could appease the throbbing ache now building slowly and insidiously far within him. 

Tempting him to put his arms round him and offer his parted lips to the kisses he'd once denied Zayn. To arch his body towards him, taking him ever more deeply into him in the ultimate surrender. 

Above all to pursue and capture those incomprehensible but exquisite sensations that seemed  to be hovering, tantalizing him, just beyond his reach, and so discover for the first time the reality of passion's physical conclusion. 

And then, just as Niall realized, stunned, that this might be an actual possibility, it was suddenly over. He heard him cry out hoarsely and felt his body shudder into his. For a moment, he lay still, Zayn's face buried into the crook of his neck, his slackened weight pressing Niall into the mattress and Niall conquered an impulse to lift a hand and stroke his sweat dampened black hair. 

How can I even think of something like that? He asked himself incredulously. When I hate him? And when I've told him so?

Yet was that really what he felt? Or did he only hate the senses that had so nearly betrayed him? 

Before I met him I never knew, he thought. Never imagined - how it must be...

After a while Zayn moved, lifting himself silently away from the blonde. He got up from the bed, picked up his discarded robe and walked across to the door, Niall guessed must lead to his bathroom. 

As soon as he was alone, Niall hastily adjusted his nightgown, pulling up the straps of the bodice and tugging the skirt over his legs so that he was reasonably covered again. Then, heart racing, he waited. 

Zayn was not gone for long. When he emerged, Niall saw thankfully that his robe was now wrapped around him. He came back to the bed, not hurrying, and lay down beside the blonde on his back, arms folded behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. 

The Pakistani turned his head slowly and looked at him. "I hope this time you experienced less discomfort, and that you did not find my demands too excessive?" 

Niall touched the tip of his tongue to his dry lips. "No, I-I didn't."

"Then that is a beginning at least." He said. "Even if not the one I hoped for."

Niall took a deep breath, trying desperately to pull himself together. To regain control of his thoughts as well as his emotions. "May I go now, please? Or do you - want...?" 

"No." Zayn said harshly. "You may leave." 

He slid off the bed, retrieving the shawl on his way to the door, enfolding himself in its softness, even keeping it round him as he climbed back into bed in his own room. It was far too warm a night for it to be necessary but he found it oddly comforting just the same.

But why should he need comfort? After all, he knew now the worst to expect and that it was - endurable, wasn't it? Or even dangerously more than endurable, he thought, remembering the seductive caress of his hands and lips as they'd gentled his body, coaxing him towards the threshold of delight. And if he had refused to cross it with Zayn, he had only himself to blame. Or thank. 

At any rate, it would not last for much longer. He was sure of that. 

Zayn had made it clear that he had not found tonight particularly rewarding, Niall thought. So he would soon be looking for a more amenable girl to be - what had he called it? - a pillow friend.