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“This is a big deal; a cover for Vogue. Do you understand how big this is for you, Zed?” Harry drones into the phone. And yes, yes, Zayn knows how big this is. This is about the two millionth time Harry’s said those exact words.
“Don’t wanna get up, H,” Zayn mumbles into the receiver, still buried underneath blankets, the warmth of his bed making him want to stay. He’s supposed to be getting ready for the Vogue photoshoot, competing against other models for the November cover. But it seems as if he’s lost all motivation.
The thing is, Zayn has no doubt he’ll get the shoot. He may be against other gorgeous people, but he himself isn’t that bad. He glances at himself at the mirror across from his bed. Even with a bed head, he looks quite decent. He had dyed his hair silver a couple weeks ago, once shiny, but now it had faded to a cool, dull grey. He was quite fond of it actually. His beard had grew out nicely and it really suited his face, getting rid of the cute, boyish image he had a couple years ago and making him look a bit more rugged.
“Zed, are you even listening to me? Zayn, c’mon, mate. I can’t get you another deal like this,” Harry practically begs into the phone.
“Alright, I’m up, I’m up. Give me a second,” Zayn grumbles, throwing the comforter off and immediately regretting doing so, as the cold air hit his skin.
. . .
Harry guides Zayn into the room, placing his hand on the small of Zayn’s back. He pushes past the groups of women bunched together, chatting nonsense about their diets or what gigs they’ve gotten for various acclaimed magazines.
“Relax,” Harry whispers into Zayn’s ear as he continues to walk the two of them to the room where the photoshoot is supposedly taking place.
“I am perfectly relaxed,” Zayn retorts, the tremble in his voice betraying him. Sure, he had been in modeling for quite a bit and he wasn’t exactly inexperienced, but this was a big deal to him. Big names would be here.
“The changing rooms are right there,” Harry says, ignoring Zayn’s obvious lie. “I’ll leave you there with the other models. Make friends, yeah?”
Zayn rolls his eyes and reluctantly enters the room. Friends? Yeah. Unlikely. The modelling industry was cutthroat - you only made “friends” to feed off of them and get various opportunities and connections from them. No other reason, besides maybe modelling tips or some dietary suggestions.
He takes a seat next to who he assumes is the other model. Since he arrived before Zayn, he looks a bit more glamorous. Zayn eyes him, not because he’s attracted or anything of the sort, no, but to size up his competition. He’s gruff looking, bits and pieces of his hair curled and twisted to make a messy sort of quiff. He’s got a hard jawline and a beard to compliment his lumberjack aesthetic going on. He wears a blue denim jacket, not buttoned all the way, to reveal his chest and what Zayn thinks is a birthmark on his neck. His eyes scan his arms and he can see these defined muscles through the jacket and some tattoos peaking out. Yeah, he’s got pretty decent competition.
The other model seems to notice Zayn’s staring and quirks an eyebrow. “Can I help you, mate?”
Zayn shakes his head, a tad bit embarrassed that he got caught, but he recovers quickly. “Sorry, was just trying to figure out something.”
“Yeah? Alright. Name’s Liam.”
“Zayn,” he replies, his mouth a little dry because, okay, yeah, Liam is quite terrifying. He’s this big sort of muscular guy who is simultaneously gorgeous, but Zayn really needs this cover and the publicity.
“Zayn,” Liam repeats, almost as if he’s testing how the name feels in his mouth. “You nervous?” Liam is attempting to make small talk, and Zayn chuckles a little bit. He seems so genuine for a guy who’s in such a dangerous and backstabbing industry.
“A little. Vogue’s a big name, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Liam agrees. The makeup artist (Donna, he thinks?) takes Zayn’s attention away from Liam when she starts to work on his hair. She seems to be chatting with Liam’s makeup artist, going on about some mishap at work. She doesn’t necessarily style Zayn’s hair, but instead ruffles it around, making it messy. She grabs a leather jacket from the clothesrack and tosses it to Zayn.
“You’re on in two,” she says shortly, before going back to chat with Liam’s stylist.
Zayn gives her a quick nod and looks over himself in the mirror. He looks good, he won’t lie. It’s simple, really. His messy, silver quiff paired with a black t-shirt and black jeans. Then, he’s got the leather jacket, and a thick, fur winter coat for the later photos.
“Zayn Malik,” the voice calls from outside the room. He looks at Liam one last time, who gives him what Zayn hopes is a genuine smile and a thumbs up. It’s endearing--Liam being so supportive of his competition. Maybe Zayn should take a few notes from him.
The shoot is quite simple, making use of various warm colors to really bring out Zayn’s cool coloured clothing. His first shoot is in a garage of sorts, the purple and red lights bouncing off of his face. He leans against the wooden post, his hands running through his hair as he hears the click of the camera.
“Shirt off?” the photographer insists. Zayn nods, removing his leather jacket and hearing more clicks as he does so. Teasingly, he raises his shirt, revealing his flat stomach and v-line. His tattoos peek from the top of his jeans, and he does his iconic smoulder at the camera.
“There we go!” the photographer praises. Zayn continues, getting into it as he does. He finds something oddly calming about the whole process. It isn’t just sitting pretty in front of a camera, no. It’s almost formulaic. You have to change your character completely, to fit what the media want. He’s played the Bradford bad boy, but also the rising heartthrob from Bradford. He’s done photoshoots in the nude, and photoshoots with puppies the next.
Zayn’s only caught off guard when he sees Liam watching him from afar, his eyes focused on him. No one else, but him. He regains his focus though, getting back into his groove. A few more clicks and then he’s done.
. . .
“You smashed it, Z! Looked sexy out there, mate. I’d do you if Lou wouldn’t yell at me for it,” Harry says excitedly after the shoot ends.
Zayn chuckles, “Thanks, mate.” He’s about to take off, not wanting to see the results yet. It’s a tradition of sorts, maybe taboo. He’s not allowed to see the photos until one week later or else he won’t get the job. (Or...at least that’s what he’s convinced himself.)
“Uh, you looked good,” a voice says from behind him. He turns around to see Liam, still dressed up in his set outfit.
“Thanks. Is your shoot up?”
“Yeah. ‘m next.” He shifts uncomfortably, as if not sure what to say next. It’s...actually kind of endearing.
“I might stay then. Might wanna watch how it goes down or summat,” Zayn says teasingly, grinning mischievously as he does so. Liam flushes, scratching the back of his neck.
“Yeah, do that.”
. . .
Liam’s shoot goes incredibly well. He’s absolutely gorgeous, and Zayn still can’t comprehend how Liam can go from this sunshine smile to absolute bedroom eyes in the span of two seconds. The photographer’s got him leaned against a bed and bookshelves, face cradled in his hand and other on his knee. He’s pouting at the camera, eyes squinted a bit, but the message isn’t lost. It’s sinful and filthy. The poses are meant to emphasize his arms, muscles. The rawness and roughness of Liam’s beauty.
“Alright, now stand and put your arms up on the archway? Yeah, there we go!” Liam does as he’s told, looking dramatically away from the camera. Zayn’s eyes run over his arms, admiring just how fit Liam is. Absolutely gorgeous.
The shoot pauses, though, when the two stylists from earlier whisper something into the photographer’s ear. His eyes widen and he looks at Zayn, pointing at him. “You!”
“Yeah?” Zayn asks, a bit confused. Liam looks quite alarmed as well.
“I want you to join him in there.”
“‘Scuse me?”
“It’d look good. C’mon.” Zayn hesitates, but reluctantly walks up to Liam. He’s trying to gauge his emotions, but his facial expression doesn’t give away much.
“Sorry,” he mumbles to Liam, but Liam just grins.
“Sorry? This is bloody great, mate. That means we’re both getting the role. We have to, now.”
“Alright, Liam. You’re gonna have to get a little handsy. We want this to reflect sexy and wanting. You’re good with that, yeah?”
He looks at Zayn, lips quirked in a questioning manner. Zayn blushes, but nods anyway.
“Do what feels right, but make it look sexy. That’s our angle. Keep it hot, boys,” the photographer demands.
“Right,” Zayn whispers to himself, “sexy.”
“Reckon you should do that pout of yours,” Liam says against his neck. He’s moved closer to him, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him in. He surrounds Zayn, his muscles tightly securing him. Zayn leans into the touch, the feeling of Liam, his hot breath making him shiver in anticipation. He loves how he smells, like a cocktail of his favorite colognes. Zayn exposes his neck a bit more, doing the pout Liam suggested.
“That’s it! Keep it going,” the photographer broods. Liam runs his lips over Zayn’s neck, nose brushing. Zayn can’t help but close his eyes as he struggles not to squirm against Liam. It’s overwhelming. In a pathetic attempt to ground himself, he reaches up and grabs at Liam’s arms, almost holding him in place. A sign telling him not to leave. Liam moves his head to Zayn’s shoulder, pulling him in to rest against his chest.
“This good?” Liam murmurs.
“Yeah,” Zayn replies quietly, a little breathless because it feels like a workout. Liam’s overwhelming. Exhausting. But so worth it. Liam quickly turns Zayn to face him as the camera angle changes. His look is intense, making Zayn almost squirm under it. It’s so intent, so strong. He tentatively reaches forward, brushing Zayn’s cheek with his thumb.
“There we go! More! Sensual! Intense!” the photographer yells, but it sort of fades into the background. Zayn looks into Liam’s warm stare. His thumb moves from rubbing circles into his cheek, to his lip. His finger traces his lip. Almost subconsciously, Zayn darts his tongue out to lick his lips and accidentally wets Liam’s thumb.
Liam tries to make it inaudible, he really does, but Zayn can’t miss the small, breathy groan he lets out. “I’d wreck you right here on the spot,” Liam says under his breath, “but I don’t think they’d appreciate that much.”
Zayn pulls him close, grabbing his face and tilting it towards him so that their breaths mix. They’re close, their noses brush and his lips are right there, foreheads touching. “Yeah?” Zayn pants, pushing back into Liam’s touch.
“Yeah,” Liam replies, grabbing Zayn again, pulling his hips in. Both of their pupils are blown wide and Zayn doesn’t dare break eye contact. Their eyes are heavy and lidded and all Zayn can think is a mantra of LiamLiamLiamLiam.
But the two are snapped out of it by the photographer obnoxiously interrupting. “That’s it. Thank you! Absolutely amazing, you two. Good choice, Donna.” They pull away from each other, both breathless, and walk off set.
“So, um, that was…” Liam splutters. He’s doing that thing where he rubs the back of his neck, transforming from a sex god to a shy, sputtering lad within a matter of seconds. Zayn has no idea how he does it.
Zayn traps his lip in between his teeth and smiles. “Yeah.” Silence. Both of them are just waiting for the other to make a move. “Here. Alright, look, Mr…?”
“Payne. Liam Payne,” Liam replies quickly. Zayn grins again.
“Alright, then, Mr. Payne. Since you’re obviously too shy to initiate this whole thing, though we both know you are most definitely not shy, especially after that whole photoshoot. How about we head back to my place, yeah?”
Liam blushes and nods. “Yeah, sounds good. Good. That’s...that’s good. Here, um, here’s my number.” And Zayn just laughs because, God, this guy was unreal. One moment he was something fierce and sexy and the next he was a mumbling dork. And Zayn loved it.
Zayn looks up at Liam, almost questioning, and Liam picks up on it. He tilts his head upwards and connects their lips and it’s unlike anything Zayn’s ever experienced before. Liam’s lips are so soft against his own and he’s so open and pliant, letting Zayn completely take over the kiss. Liam’s hands go to grip Zayn’s hips, not applying any pressure, just holding them there steadily.
Zayn wraps his arms around Liam’s neck, deepening the kiss, and slips his tongue inside Liam’s mouth. He happily obliges and moans as Zayn’s tongue explores, licking eagerly inside. Liam tastes sweet and salty and just good. He tastes like cigarettes and coffee, two things that Zayn’s absolutely addicted, too.
Zayn pulls away from the kiss, nibbling a bit on Liam’s lower lip. “See you tonight, Leeyum,” Zayn says cheekily, winking at Liam and maybe he sways his hips a bit as he walks away.