Work Text:
smoke in my lungs (or the echoed stone)
it starts when he finds zayn sitting behind the building they're recording in. he's got a cigarette dangling between his lips, knees drawn up with his harms balanced on top. it's funny, louis thinks, looking like this, zayn looks more like he belongs in some hipster cafe writing shit poetry, not in a boy band singing catchy pop tunes.
it's been a long day for the lot of them; seven am wake up call, a breakfast of champions consisting of granola bars they found in the back of the van and those tiny bottles of water they give out during press junkets, a round of tv interviews, a few call ins to radio stations, and a photo shoot that's going on four hours.
they're all restless and yet exhausted all at once. it feels like they haven't had a proper rest in ages. which. now that he thinks of it, is probably true and the mere thought makes his bones feel ten times heavier than before.
he knows it's the worst for zayn.
(i'm an introvert he'd once explained to louis. it's not that i don't like being around you guys and it's not that i don't love you. it just that people get to be a bit much sometimes, you know?
no, louis doesn't know. louis thrives off of the energy of others; his very livelihood depends on the warmth of another body and the presence of another person. louis doesn't get it, but he thinks he gets it.)
there was a time when they would have thought something was wrong when zayn snuck away for a smoke. maybe he was upset, angry, hurt. and there have been countless times when one of them have made the mistake of invading his space when he just needs to be alone. but they've learned each other too well to misinterpret zayn's actions now.
louis knows all of zayn's quiet cadences like he knows the harmonies their voices create. he knows when to leave zayn alone and when to make sure there is someone attached to him at all times. he knows when all zayn needs is a reassuring hand on his shoulder and when needs louis to weave his fingers through zayn's hair and press bruising kisses to his lips.
so he joins zayn at the wall he's leaning against and holds out his hand for zayn to hold. zayn doesn't react immediately, but louis knows to wait so his keeps his palm face up and resting on the asphalt between them and stares off into the distance. he waits.
in his periphery, he can see the smoke billowing from zayn's lips. he's never liked the smell of cigarette smoke - it always reminded him too much of the old, ratty chair troy had left behind that never stopped smelling like mildew and cigarette ash. but it's become a comforting scent now because it's always lingering on zayn's skin and zayn's clothes. just a bit too sharp, stinging his nose when he breathes it in.
zayn inhales the last of the cigarette, his cheeks hollowing enough that it's almost obscene, and then he flicks the butt away watching it as it sails off into the air and hits the ground pathetically.
a few more moments and his fingers are lacing with louis's and his head is fitting into the crook of louis's neck. louis wraps an arm around zayn's shoulder and drops a soft kiss to the top of his head.
"y'alright, malik?" he asks.
"peachy, lou," zayn answers. and louis knows he is, but he thinks that he'll let them sit out here for a bit longer and make sure zayn can muster up the energy to actually deal with people again.
they're there for what feels like hours, but is only probably minutes, when their phones start to buzz. louis doesn't want to get up, so he doesn't move. zayn, however, navigates himself off the ground and stands up, holding a hand out to louis so that he can help him up.
louis sighs and takes zayn's hand, hoisting himself up. he loses balance at the last moment and falls into zayn's chest.
"you doing your best harry impression then, louis," zayn smirks.
louis refuses to even dignify that with a response, "fuck you," he says as he straightens himself out.
he stands in front of zayn, less than a couple of inches of space between them, and looks into his eyes, searching. "you ready?"
"always am with you."
louis huffs out a a small laugh and leans up ever so slightly to press a kiss to zayn's lips. no one can see them here, he thinks, they can do this here and not have to share this part of themselves. it may be selfish, but he thinks he's given up enough of himself to deserve to keep at least this.
he opens his mouth and as his tongue swipes inside, louis can taste the smoke on zayn. it's stale, not sweet like when they're shot-gunning, but a bit bitter and even a little bit spicy.
louis smiles when they pull away, the taste on his lips so uniquely zayn that he finds himself licking them for the rest of the day, trying to recapture the flavour of zayn's tongue in his mouth.
this is how louis finds himself alone in his own balcony with a pack of cigarettes he stole from zayn’s suitcase on their last night together before they all went back home for christmas. the boys had all piled into louis’s house, dragging their bags in with them for an early birthday thing that louis refused to acknowledge as a birthday thing because a, that’s way too sentimental, and b, his birthday was a whole week away and just – no.
it’s been weighing in his back pocket for days now, silently asking him if he’s really pathetic enough to do this. it’s just that zayn’s still back home with his family and louis’s been back in london for ages now. all he wants to do is talk to zayn, touch zayn, breathe the same air as zayn. there’s this desperate need in louis that he’s never felt before. he and zayn have always been close because they’re so alike in the smallest of ways and louis’s always needed zayn, but this is a different kind of hunger. it’s ingrained in his bones and mixed with his blood – this constant longing for zayn’s touch, taste, smell.
it’s not even chilly out, but louis’s got on one of zayn’s old jean jackets that still smells like the gucci cologne zayn wears, and maybe even a bit of the stuff that louis uses – he’s pretty sure his only bottle went missing a while back, this just proves that zayn stole it. he hugs the jacket tighter around himself, turns his nose into the collar and breathes in, tries to tell himself that this is enough.
it works for a few minutes as he gets lost a sea of zayn, but then the longing is back and all louis wants is for zayn to kiss him. but zayn is hours away and louis is alone in his house in london and everything is quite literally the worst. he flips the pack of cigarettes in his hand.
sighing, he reaches into the pocket of the jacket, almost certain that he’ll find a lighter there. (he wonders briefly how much money zayn spends on the little plastic lighters. there’s a joke in the band: if it’s got a lighter in the pocket, it probably belongs to zayn.) louis smiles when he sees that zayn’s doodled a little zap! onto the body in red and black sharpie.
he flicks the lighter on and off, watching the flames dance before lifting his thumb of the fuel to extinguish them. the pack weighs heavily with promise in his hands and his opens to take out a cig and twirl it around on his fingers.
he can hold on a little longer, he thinks, so he pulls his phone out of his back pocket and hovers his finger above speed dial three before pulling up a new text instead.
i miss you he types out, and then quickly erases because that’s maybe a little too straight forward.
he tries again, zap! kiss me when you get back. he hits send before he can think himself out of it and waits to see if he’ll get a response back. but zayn, as usual, is unreachable. it’s another fifteen minutes before he starts twirling the cigarette around his fingers and playing with the lighter again. the sky’s gone a lovely pink-purple-orange and louis realizes suddenly that he’s been out here for hours.
he brings the cigarette to his lips, flicks the lighter on again, and covers the flame as he brings to the end of the cigarette like he’s seen zayn do so many times before. the first inhale is awful – it tastes like tar in his mouth, his mouth full of smoke that he doesn’t know what to do with, and his head dizzy with the rush of nicotine. louis hastily moves the cig out of his mouth and quickly exhales, coughing and sputtering to get the burning smoke out of his lungs.
he wonders why zayn does this, how it can possibly make him feel good. but then – he guesses it must have some kind of pull because he’s bringing it back to his lips and sucking in again. he’s careful this time, making sure not to take too much in, but it still leaves him coughing and breathing heavily, gasping for air. by the third or fourth pull, he thinks he’s got a hold of it, except now he feels light headed and he can feel the slight throbbing in his skull that is a sure signifier of the massive headache he’s got coming on.
he stubs out the cigarette on the concrete floor of the balcony and drops it into the pot beside him that’s been steadily piling with the butts of zayn’s smokes.
louis pours himself a glass of water from his bathroom sink and pops a couple paracetamol before he throws himself onto his bed. he closes his eyes, and despite the ache building in his head and the way his lungs are still burning, he can taste the smoke on his lips – the little bit bitter and the little bit spicy. and he smiles because it’s like zayn’s been there and it’s something he can hold onto until zayn gets back.
he awakes in the morning to his phone buzzin.
zap! come get breakfast, it says. louis grins and hurls the blankets off his body so that he can run down the stairs to the kitchen. he waits at the door before walking in; watching as zayn turns the kettle on, humming as he sets plates on the breakfast bar. he’s there, in all his zayn-like glory, wearing liam’s joggers and louis’s t-shirt and niall’s hat and his own glasses looking sleep ruffled and absolutely amazing.
louis walks up behind him to wrap his arms around zayn’s waist and rest his head in the valley of his shoulders.
“when’d you get in?” he asks.
zayn turns around in his arms to face him, “half an hour ago; got the car to take me straight here when i got your text.”
louis snorts, “you need to check your phone more often, loser. what if i’d been texting you for help because i was in eminent danger, what would happen then?”
“please, the first person you would text if you were in danger would be liam and we both know it,” zayn chuckles. and well, yeah. it’s nothing against zayn, but they all know who to call when they need rescuing, and all batman jokes aside, it would definitely be liam.
“yeah, well it still doesn’t change the fact that you should check your goddamn phone more often.” it’s an exhausted old argument that louis doesn’t think he’ll ever win, but he’ll die trying.
zayn shrugs and leans in to kiss him. louis’s lips are chapped, still dry from sleep, but zayn’s tongue softens them and he sighs into the kiss. he’s missed zayn, quite a lot, actually.
“zap, you stole my cigs,” zayn says when he pulls away.
“zap, i missed your lips,” louis replies.
so it’s a thing now.
it’s a things like zap! is a thing. and replay is a thing. and bruising bites on the necks of best friends is a thing. and louis thinks that it just might be his very favourite thing.
the first time it’s at the back of a concert hall. it’s march, they’re in wales and it’s still freezing out. zayn’s huddled in a corner of the parking lot, hiding behind the bus, after they’ve done the sound check and the meet and greets. lou’s going mad looking for him so that she can fix his hair, but louis knows that if zayn doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be. which is why he goes looking.
“bum a smoke?” he asks when he’s close enough to zayn that he doesn’t have to raise his voice.
zayn startles out of his reverie. he snorts, “how long have you been waiting to say that?”
louis smirks, “all my life, babe, all my fucking life.”
zayn grins, and hands louis his already lit cigarette, not bothering to light another one. louis brings it to his lips having learned by now how to inhale and then exhale without choking on it. the burn is his lung is more like a pleasant buzz than a painful searing and the rush in his head feels fucking amazing. he takes two more puffs before handing it back to zayn.
“it’s a pretty dumb reason, you know,” zayn says.
louis tilts his head in curiosity, “what is?”
“smoking because you think it tastes like kissing me. not worth turning you lungs to tar over.”
louis laughs, soft and slightly mocking, “mate, i don’t think there’s ever a good reason to start smoking things people call cancer sticks. but...we still do, and on the list of things people like us could be doing to wind down that are bad for us, i think this is pretty ok, yeah?”
zayn shrugs, but he hands the cig back over to louis. they finish it off together and when the walk back into the dressing room, lou scrunches up her nose.
“disgusting, the lot of you,” she says as she starts tugging at zayn’s hair and shoos louis away, threatening him with a can of hairspray.
and really, isn’t that just how it goes?
it’s not always, and louis doesn’t smoke as often as zayn, but it’s something they do together now; like tattoos and video games and comic books.
it’s like sometimes zayn runs off, just so louis can find him. and sometimes louis goes looking even though he’s not supposed to. because he’s starting to think that their lips against each other’s and their bodies pressed close is just about as addicting as the nicotine and the tobacco in the cigarettes they smoke.
there’s a night in may, after a particularly amazing show, that louis has absolutely wound up and bursting with energy. he jumps around backstage, annoys the shit out of everyone, and pulls niall in to smack a dry kiss to his lips. like you do.
niall grimaces and pulls away, “you and zayn need to invest in mints or something,” he says.
harry seems to agree as he starts throwing tiny little excel mints at louis’s head.
but louis thinks that would defeat the purpose.
then there’s the two weeks between may and june when they’re preparing for america and zayn’s back home again louis misses him like hell. it’s a bittersweet thing, living out of each other’s pockets. when he’s with the boys, he’s homesick and missing his girls, but when he’s back home, he’s missing his boys.
his mum finds him in the yard one night.
“of all the nasty habits, louis,” she says, scrunching up her nose.
louis smiles because he knows there isn’t any heat behind it. his mum’s always been pretty cool about these things.
on one of their darker nights together, when she and his dad were still going through divorce procedures and mark had just moved out, she’d put the girls to bed and brought out a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses.
a drink and a smoke every now and then won’t ruin your life she’d said but it just might kill you sooner. it’s the worst thing he’s ever heard his mum say, but he thinks there’s some truth there.
she sits with him on the porch and drags him into her side. he leans his head on her shoulder as he smokes. minutes pass before she holds out her hand.
“give it here,” she says. for a second louis thinks it’s because she doesn’t want him smoking it anymore, but then she brings the cigarette to her lips and it’s literally the most surprising thing his mum has ever done.
“i haven’t seen you smoke since you were pregnant with lottie,” he says.
she shrugs, “took it up after the divorce was finalized…around when you went off for tour actually.” she passes the cigarette back to him.
louis blinks, taking it back, “oh, mum,” he whispers.
it’s always the worst feeling, remembering how he left her behind to chase his dreams. on bad days, he pretends that his mum hates him for going off jet setting and leaving her to take care of four girls by herself.
“shut up,” his mum says, pushing his shoulder. “i wouldn’t have let you stay even if you begged and pleaded me to. you were meant for more than this goddamn house in this stupid, bloody city, louis.”
louis sighs and closes his eyes, stubbing out the last of the cigarette. he turns to pull his mum into a bone-crushing hug and she squeezes him in return. if there’s one thing tomlinsons have always been good at, it’s hugging.
“love you, mum.”
“love you too, darling boy,” she smiles at him, “stop smoking and call your zayn.”
if it were that easy, louis thinks he would’ve done. but zayn still hasn’t learned to pick up his phone and louis’s always been known to pine. so louis’s been smoking three times a day to make sure the taste never leaves his lips and at this rate, he might just end up spending all his money on cigarettes instead of cars and his sisters’ uni fund.
and then it’s july and they’re in texas and it’s bloody sweltering out. it’s not even ten in the morning.
laundry day is upon them and louis is down to his last pair of shorts and he’s already out of clean underwear. he’s walking around the venue with a pile of clothes to give to whoever’s taking them without a shirt on. partially because it’s hot, but mostly because he doesn’t have any.
“you should put on a shirt, mate,” zayn says when he corners louis by the buses.
louis shrugs, “haven’t got any.”
zayn hums and pushes louis up against the side of the bus. “you should find one,” he noses along the underside of louis’s jaw.
“mmm, why should i do that?”
zayn grinds his hips down, and oh. “i think you can figure out why, louis.”
“then do something about it,” louis grins.
zayn responds by pushing louis harder against the bus. louis can feel something pressing up against his back, and it hurts a bit, but louis doesn’t care much when he’s got zayn pressed up against his cock, to be quite honest.
his mouth is glued to zayn’s as their hands slip down into each other’s shorts. louis moans as zayn wraps deft fingers around his dick, his hand is slick with sweat and louis fucks up into it. it’s quick, and it’s dirty and it’s really fucking amazing.
the fact that the can exchange hand jobs in a parking lot, pressed up against a fucking bus, in the most ungodly heat louis has ever experienced, and still have it feel like they’ve fucking in their large beds for hours – well it’s what louis loves about sex with zayn.
neither of them last very long; they’re both too practiced at getting each other off backstage fifteen minutes before a show and frankly too fucking horny for it last for any significant time at all.
it’s louis first, gasping for air and arching into zayn’s hand as he comes. he’s still panting as he pump his hand faster around zayn and he can feel zayn wipe his hand on the inside of louis’s shorts. all of zayn’s hand is resting on louis, his hand is gripped around louis’s hips and he squeezes as louis brings him closer and closer.
there’s a sharp pain on his neck where zayn bites down when he comes all over louis’s hand.
“shit,” zayn gasps.
“yeah,” louis breathes back. “’s fucking hot, and i’ve probably got bruises on my back now. thanks for that, malik.”
he can feel zayn smile into his shoulder. he pulls away from louis and louis pulls his hand out of zayn’s shorts. he studies for a bit and then shrugs, licking the come on his fingers. he makes sure to look zayn directly in the eyes.
“fuck. don’t do that,” zayn says, but he doesn’t do anything to stop louis. louis grins and licks his hand clean.
“you suck,” zayn huffs.
“yeah, i bet you wish i did, right about now,” louis throws back.
zayn groans, exasperated, but he’s already walking away, backwards and lighting a cigarette as he goes. louis laughs, a bit incredulous.
“are you seriously having a post sex smoke after handies behind a bus?” he calls out.
“what can i say, you’re just that good, babe,” zayn smirks.
“fuck off tosser,” louis shouts as he flips zayn the bird.
when harry sees him, he glares at him suspiciously, “where the fuck did you find the time, and the space, to have sex?”
“secrets i’ll take to the grave, styles. to the grave!” louis shouts as he runs away.
he walks around the venue for another couple of hours shirtless, with angry red marks on his back that’ll surely form into bruises later on.
it’s not until later on in the day, louis stops to think about just how insane it is, the stuff they do for the success of this band. louis’s in tight black jeans and the old blue jean jacket of zayn’s he’d put on all those months ago. the temperature is almost at boiling point. mad they are, every last on of them.
they’re leaning against the side of the building where they’re doing their photo shoot, hidden under the shadow in an attempt to escape the heat. louis’s hair is styled like kenickie’s from grease and it makes louis smile just thinking about it.
“this is going to so much fun. it’s a pretty bad ass idea, yeah?” louis says.
“yeah, very high school musical 3,” zayn replies.
louis absolutely guffaws, “only if i can be zac efron.”
“please, if anyone’s zac efron, it’s liam. you’re totally sharpay.”
“i am not! you take that back!” louis gasps in mock insult.
“never!” zayn grins as he pulls out a cig from behind his ear. he lights it with a lighter he fishes out of his front pocket and only takes one drag before handing it over to louis before running off towards the set they’ve got up for the shoot.
louis smiles as he wraps his lips around the cigarette and breathes in. they can’t kiss here, not when there’s cameras all around and they know for a fact that there’s people out side trying to sneak photos. they can’t kiss here, but it looks like zayn’s found a way to do it anyway.
louis walks over to where liam is standing in his scuffed up boots and sleeveless jean jacket, cigarette dangling from his lips.
he grins at liam when he looks at louis; a thousand watt smile that has the dirtiest thoughts behind it like he can make liam hear them if he thinks them hard enough (ha, hard).
“you’re gross,” liam says. and louis knows it’s not smoking he’s talk about.
he tries to look as innocent as possible, but fails miserably when can’t help saying, “you’re just jealous that your boyfriend can’t think of ways to metaphorically snog you.”
liam rolls his eyes, “i hate all of you. i’m going to go find niall, he’s the only one i ever liked anyway.”
louis shrugs and brings the cigarette back to his lips. zayn’s looking at him and when their eyes meet, zayn smiles and louis can feel it on his own mouth. yeah, he thinks, this is totally a thing.