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It began with a hello, as soft and as sweet as the dew on the grass that Zayn played in when he was small. It was the first thing to properly touch his heart in years: because before the tattoos and the piercings and the dye, he knew how to feel.
Niall is soft, with pink-tinged, clear skin and eyes that start a fire in the pit Zayn's belly. His hair is dyed, a blonde and brown sort of mix, and there's constantly a flower petal in his hair, like nature can't bear to have something so beautiful adorn the earth without a piece of itself in it.
He's nothing less than a hippie, and where Zayn is rough around the edges and constantly shielded, Niall is gullible and trusting, like a bird learning to fly. They first met in a crossroads record store between two small towns that hadn't yet existed, and Zayn had felt a drumming in his soul the moment he laid eyes on Niall.
They hadn't known each other yet, but they would.
Niall couldn't stop giggling through their first few dates, because he was holding hands with Zayn and kissing Zayn and while these experiences weren't entirely new, Zayn was--he was new and shelled and bright and that made him more fun than anyone Niall had ever gone a date with.
It was a few months later that Zayn decided to take Niall away completely, rescuing him from this dreary town to somewhere they could both be happy. Niall didn't mind it in the slightest: didn't care that Zayn was a tattoo artist and that they were living in hotels all the time. It was all an adventure to him, and every night Zayn wished he could be naive again, to the point where everything was both exciting and freeing.
Giving Niall a blowjob was an experience because he didn't moan ; he giggled and sighed and found things to do with his hands, like tangle them in Zayn's hair and play with his earrings. Zayn likes blowing Niall, because Niall makes blowjobs funny without even meaning to.
When they eloped, on an unnaturally cold day in late March, Niall was wearing white, and Zayn was in black. They entered the courthouse at seven short months, and Zayn couldn't be happier, because every breath, every pulse, every kiss, just whispers Niall .
They scraped up enough money and rented out an apartment, a tiny, one-bedroom, one bathroom thing with holes in the walls and noises in the ceiling. It was cheap and rundown and old, but Niall absolutely adored it.
And three months after that, it was their first anniversary: and while neither boy could remember the exact date that they began seeing each other, they still liked to go out on a weekend in mid July and celebrate and tell people it was, anyway.
It had occured to Zayn one night, while he was reading his worn copy of The Great Gatsby and Niall was playing his guitar in the bathroom, that they hadn't said I love you yet, which was strange because they both knew they felt it, since they were married and living together.
Zayn put his book down and opened the bathroom door, where Niall was sitting in the tub, playing his guitar idly. Zayn sat in the tiny tub with him, whispered the three words in Niall's ear, and kissed him slowly. When they pulled back, Niall brushed hair out of Zayn's face and smiled. "Good," he said. "I love you, too. I was beginning to think you didn't."
They go to bed and Zayn can't sleep for smiling all through the night.
Sex for the first time was different, because they'd been together for a solid year and three months, and the most they'd done was exchange messy handjobs and blowjobs when the time called for it. This was the first relationship where Zayn hadn't immediately slept with someone, and to be honest, he hadn't felt the need to.
They don't plan for it to happen--hell, the hadn't even talked about it before--but it does, and Zayn (out of habit from his old life) always kept a bottle of lube somewhere around. They start slow, because Niall is still a virgin and Zayn doesn't want to hurt him at all. His cock slides in when penetration is beyond easy, and Niall shudders: his skin is a deep, flushed red, and his pupils are blown from something that, for once, isn't an artificial high.
Zayn moves slow, pressing into Niall gently and kissing his neck, listening to the tiny keening sounds the blonde is making. He's shocked when Niall moans, an actual moan that tears through his throat and racks his body. He begs for Zayn to move faster, and more moans just like the first leave his lips, and Zayn has never felt more proud in his life.
They don't do it often, though, because they don't need it: by the time they hit their two year anniversary, they'd had sex a grand total of three times.
They were at three years of marriage when Niall brought up the idea of children. It wasn't entirely unnatural for him to want a baby, even when they were still kids themselves, but the thought still makes Zayn's heart flutter. He agrees with the idea and kisses Niall.
Niall looks up and smiles, and maybe he's not serious: maybe he'll forget about it by tomorrow, but Zayn really hopes not, because Niall will make a beautiful father, in his eyes.
It began with a hello, as soft and as sweet as the dew on the grass that Zayn played in when he was small. It was the first thing to properly touch his heart in years: and even after the tattoos and the piercings and the dye, it taught him how to feel.