Work Text:
“You'd look good with tattoos, Liam,” slips out of his mouth before he can bite the words back. He's not wrong though. He can see it in his head, lines of ink spreading over Liam's skin, twisting into shapes and words.
“Yeah,” Liam says, glancing over his shoulder before he grins and flexes. It makes the muscles of his back move in a way that draws Zayn's eyes almost helplessly.
“Yeah bro,” Jordan pipes up, and Zayn jumps at his voice, cursing himself silently for getting dragged into Liam's orbit again, forgetting there were witnesses. Oli joins in, all enthusiasm, as they both poke at Liam's chest, making him curl in on himself, laughing and swatting at them.
“You should give him some,” Zayn says, instead of giving into the ugly curl of jealousy in his stomach. He promised he wouldn't be that guy. Not again. The boys whoop in agreement and Liam goes down under a pile of bodies. Zayn digs in his bag and throws some markers into the pile, mouth tugging up involuntarily at Liam's breathless giggle but ignores Andy's attempts to wave him into the fun.
He stays where he is, watches as they sketch on Liam, not what he would do if he had the chance but good enough for a laugh. And he was right, he thinks with a jolt of self satisfaction, Liam does look good covered in ink. Imagining him with properly placed tattoos makes Zayn's head spin a little so he gets up and fetches a snack, tries to think about something else.
They lose interest eventually of course, moving on to drinks and a game tourney. Zayn joins in but his eyes keep straying back to Liam's forearms and the shapes etched there. It makes him itchy, to wash it off or to add to it he doesn't know, but he sits on his hands and stays out of Liam's reach. When it starts to quiet down, he retreats to the small closed off area at the back of the bus. The rest of them can pile together tonight, he needs the privacy.
Liam's pushing in beside him less than five minutes later. Zayn should have know, probably had known if he's honest about it.
“Alright?” Liam asks, still shirtless, still wearing his stupid hat tipped up. His eyes are on Zayn's face, not concerned, just checking. Zayn nods, looks away and hopes that'll be it. Liam drops heavily down next to him on the sofa so no, not it then. He bumps their shoulders together companionably then leaves his whole body there, pressed down Zayn's side. Zayn says nothing, tries not to tense. Something drops in his lap and he looks down to see a marker settled on his thigh.
“You didn't join in,” Liam says, and his voice is quiet, almost a whisper even though they can still hear the murmur of the boys out in the main part of the bus, fucking around on the console, someone calling someone else a cheater. No one is sleeping so Zayn doesn't know why Liam's curled down and close, like they're sharing a secret. He shrugs, doesn't make eye contact. Liam's arm drops heavily into his lap, making him startle.
“I saved you a space,” Liam says, and his voice is low and his skin is warm and Zayn picks up the marker without even meaning to, uncapping it with his teeth then spitting the cap to his right, uncaring where it lands. Liam doesn't even challenge him, which makes Zayn's breath a little short, but he touches Liam's arm gently anyway, uses fingertips to tilt it where he wants. Liam's whole body is turned into him, so close he can feel Liam's breath on his cheekbone.
“What are you gonna add?” he asks, and Zayn doesn't reply but he knows. He shouldn't. It's stupid and it gives too much away, but he swallows and starts drawing anyway. It comes out uneven on account of the way his hand is trembling a little, but the shape is the same familiar M. He wishes he had a yellow marker to do it properly, but black is fine, black is good.
When he's done, he lets go but doesn't move away. Neither does Liam. It's stupid. So stupid and so fucking risky. They both know better than this. Liam turns his arm this way and that and, when Zayn chances a glance, Liam is running his finger whisper-soft over the logo Zayn put on him. It's too much but he can't stop looking, and then Liam is looking right back at him.
“Saved you another spot,” Liam says, and gestures at himself.
Zayn's eyes drop to Liam's abs, to the side he's managed to keep completely clear despite the mess of the rest of his body. Zayn's hands are sweaty. This is such a bad idea. So fucking bad. His body moves anyway, almost without his permission, until he's straddling Liam's legs, knees spread wide over them. Liam slouches down, moves until Zayn can't spread any wider, until the outsides of his thighs are pressed all against the insides of Zayn's.
Zayn can't look at him. He doesn't know for sure what's on his face, but it's definitely incriminating. He flips the marker between his fingers, the heat of Liam against him making his brain feel like fog.
“Go on then,” Liam says, stretching his arms back along the top of the sofa, giving Zayn all the room in the world to work with. Zayn bites his lip and doesn't miss the way Liam's eyes stay on his face.
He shouldn't do this. He should get up, laugh like it's a joke, go join the boys in whatever game they're playing. He doesn't. Instead he brings the marker to Liam's skin and starts to draw. Doesn't think, just lets his hand move, lets it take shape of its own accord. A dagger. Of course it is. It's too much, too honest, too real. Zayn keeps drawing.
Eventually he's done everything he can with it. Shaded it where he wants. Made the lines heavy where they needed to be. He inspects the work and it's good, it suits Liam, just like he knew it would. He can't stall any more so he looks up, meets Liam's eyes. Liam's face is flushed and he's still wearing his stupid fucking hat and Zayn loves him. It's a terrible, inevitable truth that Zayn can't run from or deny. Liam won't look away and Zayn can't. It's like being pinned, like being caught. It makes Zayn's heart pound and his vision blur. If it was anyone else, anyone else in the world, he'd be gone. But it's Liam. Zayn can't run from Liam. He doesn't know how.
Liam shifts under him, not much, a fraction at most, but Zayn's eyes drop and Liam's got a semi. That's definitely a semi. He looks back up, helpless not to, and Liam's looking back. Of course he is. Liam's always looking back. Liam's mouth is parted a little and his breathing is deep and even. His eyes are dark. Zayn feels like he's combusting, like he's melting.
“Anything else?” Liam asks, voice rough. It makes Zayn shudder. He doesn't mean to. Liam's eyes go heavy-lidded. “Anywhere you want,” he says, in that same secretive tone, tilts his body somehow more open than it already is, shirtless and spread wide. “Whatever you want.”
Zayn, he means to draw, but instead he tips forward, right into Liam's body, hands curling around the heavy curve of his shoulders, and bites at the exposed line of Liam's neck. Liam groans under him, a full body rumble, and flexes up, lifting Zayn off the sofa for a bright hot second. When they land back down, their bodies are pressed more firmly together. Zayn feels like he can't breathe, like maybe he doesn't want to. Liam's hands land on his shoulderblades, big heavy points of heat through his shirt, drag all the way down to the band of his jeans and flex there, like somehow Liam is the helpless one here.
He's not. Zayn knows he's not because Zayn promised himself he wouldn't do this and here he is, in Liam's lap in the back of a tour bus, their friends only feet away, sucking a monstrous hickey into Liam's neck. That Liam is letting him put there. That Liam is moving his head for, angling under Zayn's mouth to give Zayn more space to work on. Liam's hands find the back of Zayn's thighs and flex hard. Zayn whines into Liam's neck, sucking harder, desperate to leave a mark, proof that he'd been here, he'd done this.
There's a thump just outside their little cocoon, a body hitting the floor followed by a struggle and laughter. They both jump, Zayn yanking himself back, only Liam's grip on him keeping him from tumbling to the ground himself. They stare at each other, Liam's eyes dark and his chest heaving. Zayn can feel how wide his own eyes are, how wet his mouth is. Liam's eyes drop to it and Zayn can feel the way his muscles coil, like he wants to make Zayn stay.
Zayn doesn't because one of them has to have some fucking self-preservation. Instead he tugs until Liam lets go, scrambles up and off and away as much as the small space allows. It's not much at all. Liam watches him go, looking like he might follow, before visibly forcing himself to relax back into the sofa.
“Shit,” Zayn says, getting his first good look at the mess he made of Liam's neck. “Shit, shit, shit!”
Liam's hand lifts to prod at the tender skin.
“We can't leave it like that, fuck!” Zayn moans. Liam stays quiet, watching him but his fingers don't stop pressing at the mark Zayn left on him.
“Why?” Liam says, like he's genuinely curious. Zayn makes a face at him, then dives for the marker that got dumped on the floor.
“Stand up, come here,” he says, and then stumbles back when Liam does so immediately, getting right into Zayn's space.
Zayn takes a breath and steadies himself on Liam's shoulder. Liam shuffles closer, until there's barely a breath between them. Zayn wills his hands to stop shaking, then his fingertips press lightly into Liam's jaw, and Liam just goes with it, tipping his head at the slightest pressure. Zayn hesitates with the marker pressed into Liam's skin, a wild urge to sign his own name making his muscles tremble. Instead he bites his lip and carefully writes a flourishing Liam over the mark he left.
“It should be enough to cover it,” he says, leaning back to look, lying mostly to himself. It's not particularly concealing, but Zayn's just going to hope the boys are too unobservant to notice.
“Zayn,” Liam says, fingers catching at Zayn's elbow. Zayn twists out of his grip, shakes his head.
Liam lets him go.