Work Text:
Zayn fucking hated Liam. How he was always so cocky, always so 1000% sure that his amazing, flawless, perfect team could never ever make a mistake. And how whenever he’d point out this annoying trait of his, Liam’s puffy, pink bottom lip would jut out just a bit, barely out of his consciousness, but just enough to distract Zayn from what he was doing. Just enough for him to lose his argument, eyes caught on the sight, throat dry as one little, tiny part of his brain wondered what it would feel like to bite that lip. Wondered if Liam would like that, too. Wondered if Liam had ever entertained such an idea himself.
Why did Liam have to get so close when he was arguing? His face suddenly inches away from Zayn’s, breath hot against his face, the distance between the lip in question was only getting smaller, closer to Zayn’s lips. Liam’s arms were flailing, going on about the same dumb play again while they were still in the middle of the grassy field. His eyes piercing, there was a brightness in his eyes. It was deep and to the core, a special, passionate kind reserved only for Zayn, even if it was passion from anger. He’d have to take what he could get.
“Are you even listening?” Liam growled suddenly as he waved his hand angrily in front of Zayn’s face, bringing Zayn—with a sigh—back to the present.
What was he saying?
Oh yeah, he hated Liam.
Zayn had hoped he could forget all of this, had hoped he could go back to what it was like before, but to no avail. What was before? Yelling and screaming about soccer without any repercussions—like a boner, he thought bitterly, feeling the sensation growing as he began his retort back to Liam. “Liam, I don’t care what you think. That was a fucking foul,” he spit out, taking another step closer to Liam. Now they were so close that his newly-formed boner was almost rubbing against Liam. Almost. Zayn shuddered involuntarily at the thought, letting out a little breath in an attempt to clear his mind.
“Honest to God! Zayn, Liam!” The coach cried out from behind them, more than fed up from all the days of fighting between these two. “Just kiss already or let’s get back to the fucking game!”
Kiss. The word made Zayn’s brain swim, all thoughts in reach just a moment ago, but now drifting far out of grasp. He swallowed, didn’t allow his brain to think. Reached for the back of Liam’s neck as his lips smashed into the other boy’s, pushed him close enough so that his bulge actually touched Liam’s, let out a little noise when he found it to be similarly thick as Zayn’s—thicker even.
Liam’s tongue slid its way into Zayn’s mouth, yearning for more. Zayn could hardly breathe from it all, could barely process that he was kissing Liam. And Liam was kissing him back. Hard.
As if from every direction, murmurs of “What the fuck” and “Much more entertaining than the actual game” surrounded Zayn.
He pushed back, deepening the kiss momentarily before pulling back suddenly. Pulling back before the two of them were kicked off the team and before their names forever lived on in infamy—though Zayn suspected it was too late for that. Face still close to Liam’s, he smirked, “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that.”
“Didn’t know you’d keep me waiting so long, you arse,” Liam retorted with a snort, poking him in the chest before running back to his wide-eyed, drop-jawed team with a grin.