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Ziam - sad, funny, dumb, and brave like that

Zayn likes a lot of things about Raina: her name, which is unique and a bit silly, he thinks; her long, lithe legs; and her shiny black hair, softly twisting around his fingers. Maybe those aren’t necessarily the most important things to like about someone, but Zayn thinks it’ll be enough for tonight.

She knows who he is but isn’t obnoxious about it, and when they get back to his hotel room – he’s got the single on this leg of the tour, which is always nice – she toes off her surprisingly sensible shoes and asks Zayn if he wouldn’t mind leaving the light on while they were together.

“I’m a little bit afraid of the dark,” she admits, lifting her shirt over her head.

He smiles. Yeah, he does like this girl.

She ends up between his legs on the bed, arms wrapped under his thighs, the smooth swell of her arse pushed up in the air. He levels up on his elbows to watch her: mouth slick, lips tight, hand working at the base of his cock before she lets him into her throat with a muffled gag.

He reaches down to slide a hand into her hair. When he feels a fingernail scratch behind his balls he shivers, but it’s nothing compared to the searing feeling of two of her fingers sliding against his hole.

She takes his groan as assent – thank god she’s so perceptive, he couldn’t speak even if he tried – and presses a bit, only with spit to guide her. Zayn’s eyes snap shut, white bursting behind his eyelids. He tries to keep his hips from bucking up into her mouth, the slow slide of her fingers fiery hot.

Once she’s all the way in, she moves her fingers in time with her mouth and Zayn can’t keep himself from shouting. He hopes none of the boys are anywhere near or in the hall because they’ll have heard, oh god, and he’ll never hear the end of it: she suck your brain out through your dick, Zayn? Yeah? But no, it’s better than that, her fingers stretching him gently and pulsing against spots that make his muscles melt.

“Yeah,” he hisses, trying to be quieter. “Yeah, please.”

She presses deeper and his hips shoot up but she takes it like a champ, sucking him harder and just as he’s marveling at the intimacy of having someone so deep inside him, she pushes against a spot that makes Zayn catch fire and he comes harder than he’s ever come before.

He’s so wrung out that he barely remembers to slip his hand between her thighs and get her off, too. She’s wet and willing to grind down onto his fingers, though, and it’s easy enough for Zayn to wrap his arms around her and pull the blankets over their heads when they’ve finished. And like that, it’s easy enough to fall asleep with the lights on.

//

The next morning, Zayn almost wishes he was awake enough to initiate one last go, but instead he drags a pair of sweatpants off the floor of the bathroom and walks Raina down to the hotel lobby. They take the stairs because it’s “safer,” says Paul, and before she leaves, Raina kisses him on the corner of the mouth.

“I’ll follow you on Twitter,” he says, because goodbyes are weird. She smiles.

He finds Liam in his room when he gets back, kicking things into a pile next to Zayn’s suitcase.

“Hey, bugger off,” Zayn tells him. “You’re making it worse.”

“Good morning to you too,” Liam responds, but it’s without malice. Zayn softens; Liam is, as always, only being his temperate early-morning self. Zayn has spent a lot of time willing himself to get used to it.

“We’re leaving in an hour, you know.”

Zayn runs his hands through his hair, pushing it to an acceptable height. “I do know, Liam.”

“This is me helping you pack.” Liam lifts the mass of clothes and shoes and magazines and electronics into the empty suitcase. After surveying his handiwork, he reaches down and snags something black and silky from the pile. “Although I don’t think you’ll be needing these…”