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1D Fanfiction - On the Tips of Our Tongues (Zayn/Niall)
Bill Nails
Title: On the Tips of Our Tongues
Rating: M
Genre and/or Pairing: PWP - Zayn/Niall
Warnings: None
Kinks: Blowjobs, grinding, whipped cream
Word Count: 1,105
Notes: Don't mind me, just obsessively filling prompts at the 2015 1D kink meme on LJ over here (this one, quite simply, 'Basically, Niall licks whipped cream off of Zayn's body, and they both love it.'). This kind of got a bit - weird? In that I thought it'd be sexy in a fun and lighthearted way but instead came out sexy in a kind of intense (but hopefully still fun) way. Sometimes my brain goes in a different direction to what I'm intending! :)
Summary: Time is a luxury, when they’re touring, and so is this: the white expanse of a hotel bed, a bottle of whipped cream, and Zayn naked and beautiful and waiting for Niall’s hands and mouth.

On the Tips of Our Tongues

Time is a luxury, when they’re touring, and so is this: the white expanse of a hotel bed, a bottle of whipped cream, and Zayn naked and beautiful and waiting for Niall’s hands and mouth.

Niall doesn’t even know where to begin; Zayn’s body is a work of art, a living canvas, and they’ve never done it quite like this before. He’s never had the opportunity to map Zayn’s body this way, taking the time to learn its shapes and shadows so intimately, and the bottle in his hand is a perfect excuse; the illusion of chasing the taste across skin when really it’s Zayn that he’s getting his fill of.

There’s a line, somewhere, between love and obsession. Niall enjoys having the opportunity to toe it, occasionally, is all.

Zayn shifts on the bed, movements relaxed and slow, and props himself up on his elbows.

“Y’alright there, Horan? Need some help?” he teases, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m getting to it,” Niall tells him, a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth. “Just – deciding, like.”

“Sure,” Zayn says, amused. He lets his eyes wander shamelessly over Niall’s body – his blood-flushed skin and his hard cock – so intently that Niall wants to shake under the weight of it. “Let me know when you’ve finished deciding.” Lying back down against the pillows and rolling his shoulders to get comfortable, he curls his fingers around his cock, giving himself a long, slow pull that makes Niall’s own cock ache with want. He doesn’t want to touch himself yet, though; he has a feeling that once he gets a hand on himself he won’t be able to stop.

“Hands off,” Niall tells him, and moves to straddle Zayn’s thighs. Zayn lets his hands fall to his sides and stills with a little hitch of breath, anticipating. Niall tilts his head, considering, and then draws a neat line of white froth from the hollow of Zayn’s throat, down the solid line of his sternum. The cream’s cold, still, from being chilled earlier, and Zayn tenses under him with a gasp.

Niall leans down and licks at his throat, rich and sweet; groaning, Zayn throws his head back, his hair a dark halo against the pillowcase. Working his way down, Niall swallows it all easily, letting his tongue drag over Zayn’s skin teasingly.

His next move is to underline three of Zayn’s ribs, cream sitting in the hollows between them in stark contrast against his skin. Niall drags his fingers through it, making a glorious mess, and then mouths over Zayn’s body eagerly as he cleans him up again. Sitting back, he admires his handiwork; the glossy streaks where he’s licked over Zayn’s skin, the sugar-white smudges of cream marking Zayn’s body so prettily.

He glances up to find Zayn watching him, and he can’t help but smirk as he holds the nozzle of the bottle to the crease between hip and thigh, Zayn twitching under him as he presses the smooth-tipped cold metal against his skin. He drags it down, leaving a thin line of cream as he does so, and Zayn gasps, cock jerking against his stomach at the proximity. When Niall leans down to lick him clean again, he’s so close to Zayn’s cock that he can breathe against it, hot and damp, his cheek pressed to the warmth of Zayn’s thigh.

He draws another line in the same place again, setting the bottle aside, and Zayn’s clearly not expecting it when Niall presses his thighs apart to settle between them before shifting forwards, holding himself up on his hands, and grinding his cock down. It bumps against Zayn’s, dragging through the wet, sticky mess left in the crease beside it, and Zayn lets out a quiet noise of approval, hand grasping at Niall’s bicep. Niall leans in for a kiss, fleeting, just a dry brush of lips, but Zayn rolls his hips up dirtily in response and Niall presses down against him with a groan, riding his hip.

“So fucking hot,” Niall breathes, and uses two fingers under Zayn’s jaw to turn his head to one side. He can feel Zayn’s pulse against his fingertips, a frantic, desperate rhythm.

Reaching for the bottle of cream again, he squeezes a scattered trail of droplets up the side of Zayn’s neck and then licks them off one by one. When he reaches the last, the sensitive spot below Zayn’s ear, he bites down gently and sucks as his hips stutter against Zayn’s.

 Zayn’s legs wrap around him, gripping Niall’s waist with his knees to fuck up against him harder and abandoning any pretence of playing it cool. It’s so good, heat coiling white-hot and exquisite, but this is a distraction and Niall needs to stop before it goes too far. They have time, today, for a change, and he’s going to use it wisely.

He gives one more filthy shove with his hips and then presses down, pinning Zayn to the bed with a pointed look.

The next time Niall pushes down on the nozzle he does it too hard, finger slipping distractedly, and cream pearls out in a messy rush into the hollow of Zayn’s collarbone. Niall closes his mouth over it, licking wet and messy, lips sticky against Zayn’s skin.

Zayn catches Niall’s chin with his hand and holds him there, thumb tracing the edge of his jaw. “Fuck,” he murmurs. “Don’t swallow. Show me,” and Niall opens his mouth obligingly. He knows how obscene it must look, curling the tip of his tongue under itself to make it all the more pornographic and blatant, the inside of his mouth white and slick.

Zayn swallows, his eyes dark and still focused on the wet promise of Niall’s mouth. “Suck me off, yeah?”

Niall doesn’t answer him, because he doesn’t need to; just lowers his head and kisses him, open-mouthed and filthy, and sucks at the soft swell of Zayn’s lower lip as Zayn makes a quiet, desperate sound like he’d be begging for it if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied.

Wetting his lips, Niall moves down Zayn’s body in a slow, languid slide; getting a hand around his cock, he takes him into his mouth, bitter tang where he’s wet at the tip pricking through the creamy-sweet taste on his tongue and making his mouth water.

Zayn pushes up into his mouth with a groan, fingers twisting into the bedsheets and body arching beautifully. There, Niall holds him in place, fingers in the divots of his hipbones where they’ll mark, and swallows him down until the taste on his lips is entirely Zayn’s.


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