second hand smoke, liam/zayn
Title: Second Hand Smoke
Pairing: Liam/Zayn
Disclaimer: Entirely fictional.
Word count: 1, 641
Summary: Liam likes to watch Zayn smoke his cigarettes.
A/N: For Amy, as I imagine only you, my love, will read this.
Theoretically, Liam knows that smoking is a ridiculous habit to take up. He remembers his biology teacher’s graphic warnings all too well: projected slideshows of lungs blackened by mottled tar and vile descriptions of the sort of gunk you’d start coughing up before your morning cup of tea. He also knows that smoking should be considered an especially terrible choice for Zayn, because his singing voice is so pretty- all fluid and sweet. But Liam doesn’t look at it like that anymore, he just looks.
They’re parked up somewhere nondescript and Liam’s kneeling as casually as he can up at one of the bus windows, nose tip smudging the condensation on the tinted pane. Zayn’s outside, a few feet away- one leg cocked up against the wall of the building they’ve tucked themselves behind, trainer sole flat to the red brick. He’s enjoying a sneaky fag break and he has some catching up to do, so he’s working his way through two or three in quick succession. Lighting up again every time the previous burns down to a tan-gold nub. Liam’s not close enough to see properly, but he has the routine memorised: the older boy cupping his hand, the lick of the lighter flame, the accompanying flutter of Zayn’s eyelashes.
Liam’s never tried a cigarette because he sat somewhere near the front in biology and he always wanted to make something of his singing. But often, when he watches his friend- all effortless James Dean cool, smoke dissipating up into his quiff- he sort of thinks that he might want to.
The next morning, they decide to split a breakfast order in Zayn’s hotel room. Harry and Louis will be doing the same, and Niall is always quite content to work through his fry up with nothing but the company of a blaring television, since he doesn’t have to share that way. When Liam arrives the door is a little ajar for him, but he can hear the rush of the shower too. He takes a seat on the edge of the king sized bed to wait, rubbing the last residue of sleep from his eyes, gazing around the room with abstract interest.
Zayn’s jacket from the afternoon before is slung over the back of a chair and Liam’s fingers curl inwards when he spots it- awkwardly itching to root through the pockets. He feels a flush rush over the nape of his neck, the apples of his cheeks, despite nobody seeing. Liam is usually quite adept at self-control but Zayn takes such lengthy showers and the jacket is within arms reach. He tips forward and checks the right pocket, and then the left, where his fingers nudge the cardboard carton he’d been hoping to find.
Breath hitching, he fishes it out and holds it ever so carefully, as though it’s something far more precious; a fragile secret. The box is a little crushed and when Liam flips it open he sees that Zayn’s lighter is hidden inside of it, too. The cheap translucent plastic sort. Liam just stares at the green of the lighter sitting beside the cigarettes, which smell very faintly of stale smoke and something papery; runs his thumb tip against the ridged row of them. He wonders whether Zayn would notice if he took just one- had he tallied up how many he had to go before he’d need to pick up a fresh pack?
“Alright, Li! I’ll be out in a minute, mate!”
“Shit,” Liam whispers and blushes all over again as he scrambles to stuff the cigarettes back into their original pocket, a big swoop dipping through his belly. Part panicked, part regretful that he had left each cigarette in it’s place.
“You alright, yeah?” Zayn asks, seeming a little bemused as he ambles out of the bathroom in just a pair of baggy sweat pants, towel turban fastened around his hair.
Liam lifts his lips into his best smile, assures him that of course he is and agrees to eggs, smoked salmon and bagels.
That night, after their concert, they hole up in Lou and Harry’s suite- sipping on minibar cokes and liquor and laughing raucously over Louis’ ipod. Dancing and fighting and biting at random limbs; digging hard fingers into rib dips and shrieking out rather imaginative combinations of Northern and Irish swear words. They are loud. A little too loud, so much so that Liam keeps one eye on Zayn. Hopes that he’ll get a nicotine craving.
“Coming?” Zayn says eventually. Liam tries not to look overly relieved as he heads out after him, sticking close to his heels.
Liam isn’t drunk, so he really has no excuse to stare quite so openly at his friend once he starts up his ritual, but Zayn doesn’t seem to notice. Or is it care? He’s distracted by his cigarette tip and his first inhale that makes the cherry bob and smolder. Zayn’s rather elegant in how he goes about smoking, is the thing, or so Liam finds himself thinking. The way in which he plucks the cigarette from between his lips to blow out dramatic plumes of smoke; the dainty flicks of ash towards the floor. It’s admittedly hard to think about cancer when Zayn’s cheekbones become that much sharper every time he sucks the carcinogens in.
“You’ve stopped giving me lectures,” Zayn murmurs conversationally, the words joined by a fond smile- “About this I mean,” He holds his cigarette aloft to illustrate his point and goddamnit, Liam blushes again as his eyes chase it.
He shrugs, silently fumbling for some sort of explanation that wont incriminate him in an way- “You know what you’re doing, Zayn, you’re not an idiot. Like- yeah, if you need it and that. Wouldn’t want you gettin’ all antsy.” Everything’s different for them now, but Liam supposes cigarettes sort of stay the same. A reassuring weight between Zayn’s two fingers, a familiar catch of smoke at the back of his throat.
Zayn doesn’t tell Liam that he’s fuckin’ adorable, not aloud anyway, but it’s hard to miss the sentiment in his eyes. And then in the way he loops his inked arm around Liam to guide him in towards his shoulder. There, where Liam’s enveloped by boy heat and the scent of Marlboros, Zayn holds him tightly and Liam wriggles into it with more need than his friend expects, sniffing at the smoke that’s wound around Zayn’s fingers and threaded through his clothes. Zayn’s fingertips tickle against his jawline and the very edge of his cheek, all softly softly, and Liam is rather intoxicated by them.
It seems as though an age passes whilst they cuddle, but in reality, it’s just enough time for Zayn to get started on a second fag. He clamps his lips around the cigarette when he’s touching the lighter to it, so that he can keep one hand combing through Liam’s hair, and his first exhale is a contented sigh. Other than that, there’s just them and silence and smoke ghosts drifting towards the lamp light. Liam keeps watch on Zayn’s lips and his cheeks, Zayn keeps Liam cradled in against his own body with an understated sort of adoration.
“What do they taste like?” Liam finds himself asking, clearing his throat afterwards and trying to hide that he’s taken himself by surprise.
“Er, the cigarettes you mean? Like... Kinda coarse but smooth too...” Zayn trails off, laughing lightly at himself, “And that was pretty shit as answers go, weren’t it? Nasty habit though, Li- I wont let you start up.”
Liam appreciates that, he truly does, but it doesn’t erase his curiosity. He’s not sure where it came from exactly, but he’s been watching Zayn indulge in his vice for weeks and now their current proximity is making him giddy.
“Just been wondering is all, ” Liam clarifies, scrunching his toes to steady his voice.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The older boy holds the last of his cigarette at arm’s length, the action inexplicably protective, and Liam squints at the burning ash- his heart starting to wake up as the cherry glows orange, deeper in the darkness. There’s something up in the air other than the smoke coils, he realises, and it’s not the moon either. When Zayn next smiles it’s sticky-syrup-slow all the way up to his eyes, as though he’s feeling it too, and he drags his tongue against his top teeth. The smile Liam returns is bashful and wondering. He sort of thinks Zayn might be planning to kiss him.
Zayn does, and the press of his lips tastes like the smoke embedded into the whorls of his fingertips and his shirts when he drags Liam into impromptu hugs. Liam’s eyes slip closed and his hands burrow their way under Zayn’s jacket, finding his waist; finding an anchor because he feels rather like a hazy wisp. Ready to float away. Zayn is reassuringly solid but his kiss is soft and he tenderly cups Liam’s jaw with his free hand. It’s lovely, especially when his thumb begins rolling over Liam’s cheek. Liam’s mouth falls open for that and the taste on Zayn’s smoky tongue is even more overwhelming.
They kiss until Zayn’s forgotten cigarette burns down to the butt and he hisses as it scalds his finger. Liam swallows the sound and then they fall apart, both staring at the ground with beaming grins. All lashes and blushes and subtle lip licking. Liam scratches at his neck and scuffs his toes and Zayn wishes he had one drag left. That only lasts for a second though, before he pulls Liam in for another hug and noses idly at his hair.
“Guess that was a better answer for your question, yeah?”
“I’d say so, yeah.”
“You wanna kiss again, before we head back to those mad fucks? You heard of shotgunning?”
Pairing: Liam/Zayn
Disclaimer: Entirely fictional.
Word count: 1, 641
Summary: Liam likes to watch Zayn smoke his cigarettes.
A/N: For Amy, as I imagine only you, my love, will read this.
Theoretically, Liam knows that smoking is a ridiculous habit to take up. He remembers his biology teacher’s graphic warnings all too well: projected slideshows of lungs blackened by mottled tar and vile descriptions of the sort of gunk you’d start coughing up before your morning cup of tea. He also knows that smoking should be considered an especially terrible choice for Zayn, because his singing voice is so pretty- all fluid and sweet. But Liam doesn’t look at it like that anymore, he just looks.
They’re parked up somewhere nondescript and Liam’s kneeling as casually as he can up at one of the bus windows, nose tip smudging the condensation on the tinted pane. Zayn’s outside, a few feet away- one leg cocked up against the wall of the building they’ve tucked themselves behind, trainer sole flat to the red brick. He’s enjoying a sneaky fag break and he has some catching up to do, so he’s working his way through two or three in quick succession. Lighting up again every time the previous burns down to a tan-gold nub. Liam’s not close enough to see properly, but he has the routine memorised: the older boy cupping his hand, the lick of the lighter flame, the accompanying flutter of Zayn’s eyelashes.
Liam’s never tried a cigarette because he sat somewhere near the front in biology and he always wanted to make something of his singing. But often, when he watches his friend- all effortless James Dean cool, smoke dissipating up into his quiff- he sort of thinks that he might want to.
The next morning, they decide to split a breakfast order in Zayn’s hotel room. Harry and Louis will be doing the same, and Niall is always quite content to work through his fry up with nothing but the company of a blaring television, since he doesn’t have to share that way. When Liam arrives the door is a little ajar for him, but he can hear the rush of the shower too. He takes a seat on the edge of the king sized bed to wait, rubbing the last residue of sleep from his eyes, gazing around the room with abstract interest.
Zayn’s jacket from the afternoon before is slung over the back of a chair and Liam’s fingers curl inwards when he spots it- awkwardly itching to root through the pockets. He feels a flush rush over the nape of his neck, the apples of his cheeks, despite nobody seeing. Liam is usually quite adept at self-control but Zayn takes such lengthy showers and the jacket is within arms reach. He tips forward and checks the right pocket, and then the left, where his fingers nudge the cardboard carton he’d been hoping to find.
Breath hitching, he fishes it out and holds it ever so carefully, as though it’s something far more precious; a fragile secret. The box is a little crushed and when Liam flips it open he sees that Zayn’s lighter is hidden inside of it, too. The cheap translucent plastic sort. Liam just stares at the green of the lighter sitting beside the cigarettes, which smell very faintly of stale smoke and something papery; runs his thumb tip against the ridged row of them. He wonders whether Zayn would notice if he took just one- had he tallied up how many he had to go before he’d need to pick up a fresh pack?
“Alright, Li! I’ll be out in a minute, mate!”
“Shit,” Liam whispers and blushes all over again as he scrambles to stuff the cigarettes back into their original pocket, a big swoop dipping through his belly. Part panicked, part regretful that he had left each cigarette in it’s place.
“You alright, yeah?” Zayn asks, seeming a little bemused as he ambles out of the bathroom in just a pair of baggy sweat pants, towel turban fastened around his hair.
Liam lifts his lips into his best smile, assures him that of course he is and agrees to eggs, smoked salmon and bagels.
That night, after their concert, they hole up in Lou and Harry’s suite- sipping on minibar cokes and liquor and laughing raucously over Louis’ ipod. Dancing and fighting and biting at random limbs; digging hard fingers into rib dips and shrieking out rather imaginative combinations of Northern and Irish swear words. They are loud. A little too loud, so much so that Liam keeps one eye on Zayn. Hopes that he’ll get a nicotine craving.
“Coming?” Zayn says eventually. Liam tries not to look overly relieved as he heads out after him, sticking close to his heels.
Liam isn’t drunk, so he really has no excuse to stare quite so openly at his friend once he starts up his ritual, but Zayn doesn’t seem to notice. Or is it care? He’s distracted by his cigarette tip and his first inhale that makes the cherry bob and smolder. Zayn’s rather elegant in how he goes about smoking, is the thing, or so Liam finds himself thinking. The way in which he plucks the cigarette from between his lips to blow out dramatic plumes of smoke; the dainty flicks of ash towards the floor. It’s admittedly hard to think about cancer when Zayn’s cheekbones become that much sharper every time he sucks the carcinogens in.
“You’ve stopped giving me lectures,” Zayn murmurs conversationally, the words joined by a fond smile- “About this I mean,” He holds his cigarette aloft to illustrate his point and goddamnit, Liam blushes again as his eyes chase it.
He shrugs, silently fumbling for some sort of explanation that wont incriminate him in an way- “You know what you’re doing, Zayn, you’re not an idiot. Like- yeah, if you need it and that. Wouldn’t want you gettin’ all antsy.” Everything’s different for them now, but Liam supposes cigarettes sort of stay the same. A reassuring weight between Zayn’s two fingers, a familiar catch of smoke at the back of his throat.
Zayn doesn’t tell Liam that he’s fuckin’ adorable, not aloud anyway, but it’s hard to miss the sentiment in his eyes. And then in the way he loops his inked arm around Liam to guide him in towards his shoulder. There, where Liam’s enveloped by boy heat and the scent of Marlboros, Zayn holds him tightly and Liam wriggles into it with more need than his friend expects, sniffing at the smoke that’s wound around Zayn’s fingers and threaded through his clothes. Zayn’s fingertips tickle against his jawline and the very edge of his cheek, all softly softly, and Liam is rather intoxicated by them.
It seems as though an age passes whilst they cuddle, but in reality, it’s just enough time for Zayn to get started on a second fag. He clamps his lips around the cigarette when he’s touching the lighter to it, so that he can keep one hand combing through Liam’s hair, and his first exhale is a contented sigh. Other than that, there’s just them and silence and smoke ghosts drifting towards the lamp light. Liam keeps watch on Zayn’s lips and his cheeks, Zayn keeps Liam cradled in against his own body with an understated sort of adoration.
“What do they taste like?” Liam finds himself asking, clearing his throat afterwards and trying to hide that he’s taken himself by surprise.
“Er, the cigarettes you mean? Like... Kinda coarse but smooth too...” Zayn trails off, laughing lightly at himself, “And that was pretty shit as answers go, weren’t it? Nasty habit though, Li- I wont let you start up.”
Liam appreciates that, he truly does, but it doesn’t erase his curiosity. He’s not sure where it came from exactly, but he’s been watching Zayn indulge in his vice for weeks and now their current proximity is making him giddy.
“Just been wondering is all, ” Liam clarifies, scrunching his toes to steady his voice.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The older boy holds the last of his cigarette at arm’s length, the action inexplicably protective, and Liam squints at the burning ash- his heart starting to wake up as the cherry glows orange, deeper in the darkness. There’s something up in the air other than the smoke coils, he realises, and it’s not the moon either. When Zayn next smiles it’s sticky-syrup-slow all the way up to his eyes, as though he’s feeling it too, and he drags his tongue against his top teeth. The smile Liam returns is bashful and wondering. He sort of thinks Zayn might be planning to kiss him.
Zayn does, and the press of his lips tastes like the smoke embedded into the whorls of his fingertips and his shirts when he drags Liam into impromptu hugs. Liam’s eyes slip closed and his hands burrow their way under Zayn’s jacket, finding his waist; finding an anchor because he feels rather like a hazy wisp. Ready to float away. Zayn is reassuringly solid but his kiss is soft and he tenderly cups Liam’s jaw with his free hand. It’s lovely, especially when his thumb begins rolling over Liam’s cheek. Liam’s mouth falls open for that and the taste on Zayn’s smoky tongue is even more overwhelming.
They kiss until Zayn’s forgotten cigarette burns down to the butt and he hisses as it scalds his finger. Liam swallows the sound and then they fall apart, both staring at the ground with beaming grins. All lashes and blushes and subtle lip licking. Liam scratches at his neck and scuffs his toes and Zayn wishes he had one drag left. That only lasts for a second though, before he pulls Liam in for another hug and noses idly at his hair.
“Guess that was a better answer for your question, yeah?”
“I’d say so, yeah.”
“You wanna kiss again, before we head back to those mad fucks? You heard of shotgunning?”