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Zayn’s not the kind of best mate you take for granted.
He’s creative, and funny, and brilliant in so many ways. Zayn likes the same things Liam likes as well—even the geeky stuff—and he has the most amazing voice. (And as a sound engineer, Liam knows a thing or two about such things.) They would sing around the flat constantly, much to the annoyance of the other lads when they’d come over. Liam would say something that reminded Zayn of a lyric (or vice-versa) and soon they’d be bursting into song—swapping harmonies, adding over-the-top runs and ad-libs, and attempting to keep a straight face while being serenaded by the other with a soppy love song.
Except…Liam wasn’t actually pretending during all those times. Because Liam’s hopelessly in love with his best mate.
It’s not so bad though, not really. He’s resigned himself to the fact that his romantic feelings for Zayn will never be reciprocated, and it doesn’t hurt like it used to. Besides, he knows how lucky he is, being able to share a flat with the person he loves most in the world, being able to see Zayn every single day. And even if that changed, even if they moved on with their lives and were no longer flatmates, Liam knows that they would always remain the closest of friends.
Unless Liam did something to fuck that up.
And one time a while back, he almost did.
In all fairness, Zayn had started it. They were at some party with the lads, and Zayn had been knocking back shots steadily for the past hour because, apparently, he was the worst beer pong player of all time. And the longer they played, the more smashed Zayn became which definitely didn’t improve his performance. At some point, Zayn tried to pick a fight with him. He can’t even recall what the ‘fight’ was about, but he remembers Zayn poking him in the chest, challenging him with a combative “c’mon then, c’mon then,” and somehow, they ended up kissing.
Liam swears it was Zayn who leaned in first, but Liam hadn’t exactly pulled away either. He can still remember the taste of cigarettes and beer on his best mate’s lips, and really, all of that should have been enough to tell him to end the kiss, but he was too shocked to do anything for a while, and besides…
He liked it.
And maybe he had been a bit selfish, too. Maybe he knew it might be the only chance he’d ever get to snog his best mate. He used to daydream about it constantly, back when they were younger and Liam’s teenage hormones would rage whenever Zayn would curl into his side like a cat while they were studying or just lounging about.
Liam had survived those teenage years though, and he became much better at handling his unfortunate crush on his best mate.
But then came the kiss, and afterwards, Liam was scared to death. He didn’t sleep the whole night following the kiss, worried that Zayn would resent him because he’d only been a little tipsy whereas Zayn had been well past pissed. Liam worried it would change things between them, that they would lose that…comfort they’d always shared with one another.
They had always been the best of mates, each other’s sounding boards, each other’s safe space. And Liam was petrified that one stupid kiss would threaten a friendship that he treasured more than anything else in the world.
Fortunately, they managed to get it all sorted the following day. They both laughed it off. It was just a silly thing after all, just an accident really. But it also served as a valuable reminder for Liam. He couldn’t let anything like that happen again. He couldn’t risk a repeat because his friendship with Zayn was too important.
Liam didn’t think about snogging Zayn after that (well, he tried really hard not to anyway). Things soon slid back to normal and neither of them spoke about the accidental kiss. Liam did notice that Zayn started going out on more dates, but Liam was happy for him. The girls were all pretty and nice, and Zayn deserved to be happy. Liam would often greet them at the door, and each time, he wondered if that particular girl would be the one to steal Zayn’s heart.
(But she never was.)
That’s the way things stood on the day Zayn saw the advert for the pumpkin farm. He begged Liam to go, and even though there were a few warning signs flashing around his brain, Liam agreed to go because the idea of disappointing Zayn was too much to bear. And it did sound like fun. It would give them a chance to do something they hadn’t done in years.
They were going to have the best time.
(But then again, they always did whenever they were together.)
***
“You think we can take one home with us?” Zayn giggles as three young billy goats crowd around him, nibbling the feed from his hand.
Liam looks on, trying his best to hide his fond but probably failing miserably. “I wish,” he replies, reaching out to pet the closest animal, “but I doubt they’d fancy living in a tiny London flat. And besides,” he teases, “I’m not sure there’s going to be enough room for the two of us, what with all the pumpkins and gourds you loaded into that wheelbarrow.”
“You helped, too, Leeyum.”
“I picked out two.”
“Really, that’s all?” Zayn asks, looking sheepish. “I dunno…they were all so unique and I figured we’d have a sick time painting the ones we don’t carve.”
“Count me in,” Liam smiles, brushing the hay off his trousers as he stands up. “Ready to go? The farm is going to be closing soon, and I know you wanted to browse the Spook Shop before we leave.”
They leave the petting area and make the trek across the farm to the small black barn they saw earlier in the day. Zayn had spied it while they were on their way to the corn maze, and they planned to return after they completed the maze, but then they got distracted by the tractor rides, and the food stands, and the woodland walk, and of course the patch itself.
They leave the wheelbarrow of pumpkins outside, then enter the Spook Shop. Once inside, Liam feels a chill come over him. It’s a sunny day, unseasonably warm for October, but he supposes it’s normal for a barn to be a bit draughty.
Out of the corner of his eye, Liam sees Zayn shiver, and he immediately unties the flannel around his waist and drapes it on the other boy’s shoulders before he can protest.
“You two make a lovely couple.”
Liam searches for the source of the voice because the shop had appeared deserted until now. At last, he sees a woman, dressed like a witch, emerge from behind one of the massive spiderwebs hanging from the wooden beams. He’s too startled to be embarrassed…at first anyway, but then, he consciously takes a step away from Zayn and starts stuttering out a response. “Oh, um…we’re not, I mean, we’re not like—”
“We’re just friends,” Zayn supplies. “Best mates actually,” he adds, smiling at Liam and softening the blow.
The woman’s eyes dart back and forth between them. “Interesting,” she murmurs, and Liam can’t really see what’s particularly interesting about that, but he figures she probably lives an incredibly dull life and he isn’t one to judge a poor old woman. “Let me know if you need any help, dearies,” she crows out, going back to whatever she was doing before.
Liam tries to shake off the creepy vibes he got as soon as they walked in, and it’s not all that hard to do with Zayn right next to him. They have a laugh with the trick toys and admire the collection of wands down one aisle.
Next, they come across the fancy dress accessories, and Zayn begins plopping the most ridiculous hats on him. Zayn picks out everything from a banana to a chicken hat, giggling like a naughty toddler after each one. Liam might be annoyed if it were someone else doing it, might even feel self-conscious, but not with Zayn. He just stands there like a good sport, waggling his eyebrows from time to time to make Zayn laugh even harder. The final hat, however, doesn’t elicit any laughter from his best mate. It makes Liam nervous—the silence, the strange way Zayn is looking at him.
Liam clears his throat. “I must look right naff in this one.”
Zayn blinks, then shakes his head. “No, it’s just…it sort of suits you?”
Liam walks over to the decorative oval mirror on the wall. He sees he’s wearing a tan fedora with a brown strap and a wide brim. It’s classy but it has character, too—a mix between Frank Sinatra and Indiana Jones. “Might want this one actually,” he admits, examining his reflection and not concentrating on the flaws for once. “Actually…never mind,” he sighs. “I’m not sure I can pull it off.” He goes to remove it, but an arm reaches out to stop him.
“How does it make you feel, Leeyum?”
Liam looks back into the mirror again, and this time he sees Zayn standing behind him, wearing the red flannel Liam lent him. “Makes me happy,” he confides, adding 'like you’ to himself.
“Then if you don’t buy it, I’m getting it for you,” Zayn threatens, crossing his arms to show he means business. “And if you need another excuse to get it, there’s always Halloween. If you wore it with chaps, you’d pass for a cowboy.”
“Only chaps and a hat, Zayn?” he asks, biting back a smile as he pivots around to face the other boy.
Zayn’s eyes widen. “Oh, I, uh, didn’t mean you should, like, only wear the chaps—though admittedly you could totally pull them off—but I, um, just meant like….”
Liam’s laughter cuts him off. From the way Zayn is blushing, it’s obvious his flatmate’s got a thing for cowboys—or cowgirls, more like—but Liam’s not going to tease him about it (not today anyway).
They spend a few more minutes shopping, then bring their haul up to the back counter. The woman who greeted them is nowhere to be seen, but then she suddenly springs up from behind the till like a jack-in-the-box, and Liam really wishes she would stop appearing out of thin air like that.
“Hello, dearies. Did you find what you were looking for?”
Liam places the fedora on the counter. “Yes, just this for me, thank you.”
After she rings him up, Zayn sets his items on the counter—a pumpkin carving kit and a packet of assorted googly eyes in all sizes and colours. When Liam had given him a puzzled look earlier, Zayn had explained the googly eyes were “for the gourds and mini pumpkins.”
The woman doesn’t ring Zayn up straightaway though. “Perhaps I can tempt you with one of my toffee apples?” she asks first, gesturing to a special display case behind her. Liam can see there are several different treats inside, but the toffee apples seem to sparkle under the display lamp. They seem almost too perfect, like they’re made of blown glass.
Liam still has a bit of a bad stomach from all the popcorn earlier, and he’s been trying to limit his sweets anyway, so he politely declines.
“This is no ordinary toffee apple,” the woman dressed as a witch tells them. “It's a magic wishing toffee apple.”
Liam knows it’s a load of codswallop, just an inventive way to make a sale. Even so, he’s starting to get weird vibes again, and he really wishes they would leave.
Zayn, however, steps closer to the counter. “A magic wishing toffee apple?” he repeats, eyes glued to the red candy-coated fruit as the woman sets the tray of apples down before them.
“Yes, dearie,” she cackles, “one bite and all your dreams will come true.”
Liam has to hold back a scoff. Even for a shop at a pumpkin farm, this lady is laying on the whole witch act a bit thick. Then again, Zayn doesn’t seem to be put off by it:
“How much for one?”
The woman smiles wider, showing off blackened gaps in her teeth that look incredibly realistic. “They’re freshly made, dipped by my little old hand. And because you’re such a lovely lad, I’ll even take half off today.”
“A gourmet toffee apple for only a quid?” Zayn declares, smiling like it’s the happiest day of his life.
(And yeah, Liam thinks that might be what he loves most about his best mate, the fact that he gets so excited about the simple joys in life. To be fair, it might not be Liam’s very favourite thing about Zayn, but it’s near the top of the list.)
A smirk creeps across the woman’s face. “I think you’ll like this red one, dearie,” she states, starting to wrap it. “The candy coating on it is rather special.”
Liam examines the apple in question and spots flecks of gold and brown on the shiny red surface. “What’s in it?” he inquires because, really, someone should.
The woman has a mysterious gleam in her eyes as she answers, “cinnamon spice and everything nice.”
“Leeyum, you sure you don’t want one?” Zayn doublechecks as he takes out his wallet.
Liam shakes his head. “No, I’m good—cheers though.”
They’re on their way out when Zayn suddenly turns to ask the shopkeeper a question. “Oh, I forgot to ask—when do I make my wish?”
The woman smiles ominously. “You’ve already made it, dearie.”
***
As they make their way to the car, Liam thinks this might be the best weekend ever.
To be fair, getting to spend an entire weekend with Zayn would automatically rank high on his list, but Saturday has already been stellar with the trip out to the pumpkin farm and the day’s not even over with. Zayn already asked if he wanted to start decorating pumpkins when they get back. After that, they’ve plans for takeaway and a horror film marathon. Tomorrow will be much of the same (without the pumpkin patch of course), and Liam’s looking forward to a lazy Sunday with his best mate.
There’s only been one minor problem really. It’s that Liam might not make it to tomorrow, not if he has to continue watching Zayn eat his damn toffee apple.
The thing is…Liam should have thought it through better when Zayn asked him if he minded pushing the wheelbarrow to the car so that he could start on his toffee apple. Liam hadn’t minded of course. After all, he’d been pulling the wheelbarrow around for the better part of the afternoon, ever since they (Zayn) loaded it up with half the farm’s autumn produce. Liam told Zayn that he enjoyed the natural strength conditioning, even joked that it saved him a trip to the gym, but that was only partially true. The real reason was that he had glimpsed Zayn checking out his arm muscles the first time he had the wheelbarrow, and after that, Liam didn’t really want to give up wheelbarrow duty.
(But back to the toffee apple.)
Liam had suggested Zayn might want to save the treat for later so it wouldn’t spoil his supper. Zayn had brought up a valid argument though, asking what the point of being an adult was if you couldn’t have sweets before dinner every now and then, and Liam couldn’t argue with solid logic like that.
But maybe he should have because it might have saved him from the humiliating revelation that he is getting a stiffy just from watching his best mate lick a toffee apple like a giant lolly. Liam can’t recall ever being in this situation before as he thinks back on the various Bonfire Nights and autumn celebrations they’ve shared together through the years. But for the life of him, he can’t remember a time when Zayn so enthusiastically attacked a toffee apple, licking broad stripes up the sides with his long tongue while humming contentedly.
“Leeyum, you’re very quiet.”
“Oh, um…yeah, sorry. I was thinking about something,” he replies, doing his best to ignore whatever Zayn’s doing with that toffee apple as they approach the car.
“Anything you want to share?” Zayn asks innocently, setting his treat in the wrapper on the front seat before helping Liam load up the boot of the car.
Liam decides it’s probably a good idea to change the subject. “Zayn, what did you think about the woman in the Spook Shop?”
Zayn waits until they’re both in the car to answer. “Thought the witch makeup was sick,” he says. “She definitely gets my vote for best fancy dress. That wart looked crazy real, didn’t it?”
“Mm-hm,” Liam agrees, trying not to get too distracted as Zayn starts in on the toffee apple again. The boy flattens his tongue and twirls the stick with his fingers, licking around the circumference of the apple until Liam feels the tightness in his jeans return.
“Why’d you ask, Leeyum?”
It takes a second for Liam to remember they were discussing the witch from the shop. “Oh, no reason. It’s just that she kind of gave me the creeps.”
“Reckon it was just déjà vu,” the other boy reasons before (finally) biting into the apple.
“Déjà vu?”
“Yeah, she reminded me of the evil queen from Snow White,” Zayn tells him. “Like, when she disguises herself as the old hag and gives Snow White the poison apple.”
“Wait—you’re telling me you made that connection, and yet, you were still mad enough to buy an apple from her?” Liam demands, disbelieving.
“Lee-yum,” he teases playfully in singsong, “you’re actually worried I’m going to be cursed or summat, aren’t you?”
“No, but….” Liam stops himself. It’s ridiculous. He’s being ridiculous. “Well, you were the one who asked about wishes at the end,” he points out.
Zayn blushes almost as red as his toffee apple. “Oh, well…I figured it couldn’t hurt, yeah?” he offers up. “Besides, it’s fun to imagine that things like ‘magic wishing apples’ exist—don’t ya think?”
Liam can’t really argue with that, not when it was only last week when he had been blethering on about building a replica of Hagrid’s hut in his back garden if he ever struck it rich. They had been watching one of the Harry Potter films at the time. Zayn had just snorted and told him he was mental before spending the next hour helping Liam draw out elaborate plans for the hut.
(And Liam can’t get it out of his head, how shy and uncertain Zayn had looked when he asked if Liam would still want a flatmate if he ever bought that big house with a big garden. Liam didn’t know how to respond without revealing more than he should, without possibly scaring away the boy for good. But luckily, Liam was saved from answering when Zayn made a crack about how he could always move into the hut in Liam’s back garden. After that, it was Liam’s turn to snort and tell him he was mental.)
“Hold this a second, yeah?” Zayn asks, handing him the toffee apple stick. The other boy shimmies out of the flannel Liam had given him earlier, and they trade back.
“You can still wear it if you want,” Liam offers, already missing his flannel on Zayn even though he knows he shouldn’t be thinking such things.
“Cheers, but I’m hot as fuck, bro,” Zayn declares, turning on the air conditioning as soon as Liam starts the engine.
(And really, Liam can’t argue with that comment either.)
***
Liam is carefully stencilling the Superman logo on one of the pumpkins when he glances across the kitchen table to find Zayn’s hand shaking as he tries to paint the Batman logo Liam had stencilled on it earlier. “Alright?”
Zayn sets down his paintbrush and starts to unbutton his shirt. “Kinda warm in here, isn’t it?”
Liam didn’t think so a minute ago, but that was before his crush started undressing in front of him. “I can open a window?” he suggests, looking for an excuse to get up. “It looks like it’s getting cooler outside.” Liam doesn’t wait for a response, just heads for the window.
When he returns, Zayn has his face resting in his arms on the kitchen table, and Liam is immediately alarmed.
“Zayn?” he calls a little frantically, laying a hand on the back of the boy’s neck. He’s surprised by how hot Zayn’s skin is to the touch.
“Don’t feel so good,” Zayn murmurs, and Liam is relieved he hasn’t passed out on the table.
“Reckon a kip will do you wonders,” Liam suggests, trying to conceal the worry from his voice because Zayn doesn’t look good. (Well, that’s a lie—Zayn always looks good. Except now all the colour is drained from the boy’s face, and he doesn’t look well at all. Zayn’s complexion is usually a cross between sun-kissed honey and warm sand—not that Liam has given much thought to his best mate’s complexion of course—but right now he looks scarily pale.) “Yes, a little lie down is all you need,” he prattles on, sounding a lot like his mum.
Liam helps Zayn to his bedroom, then takes his temperature. It’s high but not terribly so. Liam makes sure he’s comfortable, fetches some water and paracetamol, and leaves the door cracked on his way out.
After Liam finishes cleaning up the kitchen, he softly knocks on his flatmate’s door and pushes it open the rest of the way.
Zayn is still awake. He’s got one sheet across his hips, and the rest are jumbled together near the foot of the bed with his shirt and joggers.
As Liam draws nearer, he sees the sheen of sweat covering Zayn’s nearly naked, tattooed body. Normally, Liam would run like hell if he even glimpsed Zayn in bed wearing nothing but pants, but he’s too concerned about the boy he cares most about to give it more than a cursory thought.
Liam takes his temperature again, and it’s a full degree higher than last time. “Zaynie, how you feeling?” he asks, sitting on the edge of the bed and petting the boy’s loose fringe back.
“Been better,” the boy rasps out. His throat sounds dry so Liam helps him take a sip of the water.
“You hungry? Can I make you something?” Liam offers but Zayn just grimaces. “Want me to ring the doctor or take you somewhere?”
Zayn shakes his head violently, almost as if he’s scared, and Liam is surprised by the intensity of his reaction. Zayn’s never minded hospitals or doctors before.
“Okay,” Liam says slowly, “then you have to talk to me, mate, tell me what your symptoms are so I know how to help you. Does your throat hurt?”
Zayn seems to think about the question for a moment, then shakes his head.
“Can you stick your tongue out for me maybe? I thought I saw something when I took your temperature earlier.”
Zayn opens his mouth, and Liam observes what he only glimpsed earlier. The inside of Zayn’s mouth seems to be sparkling, as if he gargled with glitter. Liam examines the boy’s tongue, and it’s coated in the glittery substance, too. It’s also very red which is slightly alarming until he remembers the toffee apple Zayn had been eating earlier. Liam exhales in relief, almost laughs at himself for not making the connection before because he had obviously noticed the red tint to Zayn’s lips before now. In fact, Liam had even joked during the drive home from the farm that Zayn looked like he was wearing cherry lip gloss.
“Looks okay,” Liam announces, figuring there’s no need to worry the other boy over nothing. “Now, do you have a headache with that fever?”
Zayn shakes his head.
“Sore throat?”
Zayn shakes his head.
“Stomach-ache?”
Zayn shakes his head once more, and Liam sighs. The way this exchange is going, they could be doing this all night.
Liam tries another approach. “Zayn, do you feel any pain or discomfort anywhere?”
Zayn seals his lips tightly and stares up at the ceiling, acting like a true toddler. But this time, the whole toddler act is far from endearing because Liam is worried sick.
“I’m checking on you in a half hour again,” Liam tells him sternly. “If you don’t look any better or start answering my questions, I’m ringing the doctor.”
Liam leaves, and he feels like shit. The last thing he wants to do is upset Zayn when he’s feeling poorly, but it’s killing Liam—not knowing what’s wrong, Zayn closing off completely. Because they’ve always been there for each other, and it fucking hurts that Zayn won’t even let him take care of him when he’s sick.
It’s agony waiting out the full half hour. At first, he tries to ring the pumpkin farm to find out some answers, but it goes straight to answerphone. He can’t find an email either, but he figures that even if he did contact someone, the likelihood that they would be able to help was slim to none.
He paces the flat for the remainder of the time, checking the clock every thirty seconds. When it’s almost time, he dampens a flannel with cold water from the tap and returns to Zayn’s room.
Everything appears much the same as it had before with one exception: the sheet that had been partially covering Zayn earlier has been pushed aside. Liam quickly diverts his eyes, then sits down on the bed once more. He lays the cold cloth on Zayn’s forehead, and the other boy sighs contentedly.
“Zaynie, ready to talk now?” Liam prods gently. “I hate to disturb you, but I’m worried about you, babe.” The endearment slips out, just like the quake in his voice.
“I’m fine, Leeyum,” Zayn tells him, looking away. “I just need some, uh, space.”
Liam tries not to take it personally, but it’s difficult. And yes, he’ll leave Zayn alone if that’s what the boy really wants, but he needs to first make sure this strange sickness isn’t as serious as it appears. “Could you at least tell me if you’re having any symptoms other than the fever?”
Zayn bites his lip.
Liam tries to hide his frustration. He wonders if Zayn is reticent to talk because he’s feeling exposed, wearing only his pants and all. Liam picks up the sheet and diverts his eyes as he covers Zayn’s lower body with it, but Zayn yelps the moment it makes contact, as if the mere touch of the lightweight linen is causing him pain.
Liam quickly takes the sheet away, and that’s when he notices that Zayn is hard…very hard.
“Did you take anything?” he demands, and Zayn looks up at him with wide eyes, pupils slightly dilated. “Zayn, did you take a bloody Viagra or something?”
Zayn groans again but this time Liam is fairly certain it’s from embarrassment. “No,” he answers, “I didn’t take anything, I swear. I’ve been hard for over an hour, and it won’t go away.”
Liam clears his throat. He feels a little light-headed because he wants to help his friend, but he definitely wasn’t expecting this. “Did you, uh, try thinking of turn-offs?”
“Huh?” Zayn asks, and Liam can see the other boy is having trouble following him now. He seems high as a kite, but Liam knows Zayn would never swear he hadn’t taken anything unless it was true.
Liam goes to remove the flannel from Zayn’s forehead because it’s sliding over his eyes, but then the most unexplainable thing happens: Zayn licks him.
Zayn licks him.
Liam instantly snatches his hand back. His heart starts pounding because what the fuck?
“Leeyum, you’re so fit,” Zayn starts to babble. “You’re like stupid fit.”
Liam pinches himself. There’s no way he could have heard what he just heard come out of his best mate’s mouth. Then out of the corner of Liam’s eye, he sees Zayn’s hand move towards the erection tenting his pants. He follows it dumbly, watches as Zayn’s fingers dip beneath his waistband.
Liam panics and quickly looks back to the boy’s face but it’s almost worse because Zayn is staring at him with hooded eyes, biting his candy apple red lips as he touches himself. And Liam knows it’s not a dream because there’s no way Liam’s imagination is this good.
Liam stumbles backwards, trying to get as much distance between himself and the boy on the bed. He is suddenly starting to understand why Zayn had been so reluctant to tell him about his other ‘symptoms,’ why the boy was desperate to avoid seeing a doctor.
(And it only seems to be getting worse.)
“Leeyummm,” Zayn moans from the bed, and it goes straight to Liam’s dick, makes his head stutter with inappropriate thoughts.
“Zayn, I think you had some kind of”—he wracks his brain for the word—“aphrodisiac, mate. I’m sure it will, uh, wear off in a few hours or something,” he conjectures, talking out of his box. The fact is he had no clue aphrodisiacs this powerful existed, and he has even less of a clue as to how long the effects might last. All he knows is that Zayn would strangle him if he found out Liam took him to hospital in his current state. (Liam would do the same if the roles were reversed.)
Liam dares to peek at the other boy, and his gaze lands helplessly on Zayn’s lips, stained red from the toffee apple he’d had earlier, the ‘magic wishing toffee apple’ given to him by a woman dressed in a witch’s costume.
Except…the more that Liam thinks about it, the more he’s beginning to doubt that the old woman was wearing a costume.
“Zayn, I think it was the toffee apple,” he says, not sure if the discovery makes the situation better or worse. “I’m guessing it had something in it.”
“’Cinnamon spice and everything nice,’” Zayn babbles.
Liam recalls the witch saying those exact words when describing the apple. Moreover, he remembers the strange gleam in her eyes as she spoke them. He forces himself to take a few steps closer to the bed, careful not to let his eyes wander lower than Zayn’s chest now glistening with perspiration. “Is there anything I can get you?”
“Yes, your dick, please.”
Liam’s legs nearly give out after that one. He squeezes his eyes shut and reminds himself that Zayn doesn’t mean what he’s saying right now. “Zayn, I think it’s best if I leave you alone until this, uh, passes.”
“Don’t want you to leave, Leeyum,” Zayn whimpers. “It hurts less when you’re near.”
“I, uh, have to,” Liam apologises, tripping over his feet to get out of the room before he does something they’ll both regret. “I can’t…I can’t help you. I’m sorry.” He rushes out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
As he suspected, it doesn’t take long before Liam hears the desperate, needy moans, the squelch of a sweat-slicked hand beating out a release. He tries not to listen, but he can’t help it. Zayn is being so loud, and Liam is afraid to stray too far or even turn on the telly to drown out the sound in case Zayn needs him for something that doesn’t involve mucking up their friendship. So he suffers through it, ignores the way his cock strains against the front of his jeans.
And eventually, the desperate sounds speed up and plateau. Then, it goes quiet again.
Liam shakes with relief. He waits another minute or two for Zayn to recover, then walks over and knocks on his flatmate’s bedroom door. “Feeling better?”
There’s no response at first. But soon, Liam hears a wrecked sob and he’s bursting into the room, bracing himself for whatever he might find.
What he finds is Zayn lying face-down on the bed, sobbing into a pillow.
Liam turns on the lamp and rushes to his side. “Babe, what’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong—please, Zayn.” He can’t stand watching Zayn upset under normal circumstances, so this whole ordeal has been pure agony for him.
Zayn turns his head in Liam’s direction, and Liam can see the boy’s tear-streaked cheeks. “It didn’t work,” he chokes out. “I came, and it didn’t make me feel any better.”
Liam isn’t sure what to say, doesn’t know how to comfort the other boy. He sits on the bed and rests a hand on Zayn’s back, trying to soothe him. The boy keens at the touch, probably welcoming the relative coolness of Liam’s palm against his flushed, burning skin.
And oh God, Liam can tell without going for the thermometer that Zayn’s temperature is rising.
“Zaynie,” he says, his next words shattering his heart before he even speaks them, “maybe I can ring up someone to, uh, help you through this?”
“Don’t want anyone but you, Leeyum.”
Liam’s breath hitches because these are the words he’s been waiting years for Zayn to say, but not like this, not under these circumstances. It’s so unfair he wants to scream.
“Zayn, I can’t,” he falters. “I just…can’t.” The dejected expression on his best mate’s face kills him.
“It’s okay, Leeyum,” Zayn sniffs, but Liam can tell it really isn’t. “You’re not, like, attracted to me or whatever. I get it.”
“Wait—what?” Liam asks. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…I don’t want to do anything that could potentially ruin our friendship, Zayn. It’s too important to me.”
“But I need you,” Zayn whinges.
“Yes, but—”
“Leeyum, I’m begging you,” Zayn pleads, teary-eyed. He almost sounds like himself again, and Liam wonders if the orgasm from a few minutes ago helped clear his mind a little, if nothing else. “It could be like that silly snog we shared; afterwards, we can forget it ever happened.”
Liam finds so many faults in that statement he doesn’t even know where to begin. First of all, it might have been easy for Zayn to forget they snogged, but that was because Zayn wasn’t suffering with unrequited feelings for his best mate. Second, Zayn basically just negated his whole bloody argument by bringing up a kiss he was supposed to have forgotten. And last (but certainly not least), Liam has a strong suspicion that getting Zayn through the effects of the aphrodisiac is going to require a hell of a lot more than simply swapping saliva.
“Zayn—”
“I wouldn’t ask if I thought there was any other way,” Zayn cuts him off. He sits up, and Liam tries not to get distracted by the fact that the other boy is completely starkers now, his dick fat and pink despite his orgasm mere minutes ago. “The truth is…I don’t think this will go away until you…until we….” Zayn makes a helpless gesture.
“How could you possibly know that?”
“I just know,” Zayn says quietly, not meeting his eyes. “Fuck, it’s getting bad again,” he whimpers, and Liam takes him in his arms, wishes he could take the pain away.
And that’s when he realises he probably can.
Liam can’t take watching the other boy suffer anymore. If Zayn promises it won’t affect their friendship, then there’s really nothing holding Liam back from giving him what he so desperately needs.
(Except for the one small detail that Liam is hopelessly in love with his best mate.)
Liam takes a deep breath. “Okay, how do you want to do this?”
“Maybe I could blow you?” Zayn asks, licking his red lips, and it’s all Liam can do to keep it together.
“Yeah, um, sure.”
No sooner are the words out of his mouth than Zayn is pushing him down onto the mattress. Liam barely has enough time to shuck off his polo as Zayn tugs his boxers and jeans down out of the way. Liam’s not sure where the sudden burst of energy came from, but it’s not his top concern, especially when the boy he’s been dreaming about for years has his lips wrapped around his dick. Liam’s only semi-hard, but it doesn’t take long to get him the rest of the way there, not with the eagerness in which Zayn is sucking him off.
And Zayn’s mouth….
It’s sinful. Warm, wet, and velvety. Zayn seems intent on taking in as much of him as he can, but what really turns Liam on is that it’s not to impress or even pleasure him—well, that doesn’t seem to be the boy’s first goal anyway. No, it’s as if Zayn can’t get enough of Liam’s cock. He’s got the foreskin pulled back now, licking around the head with the same enthusiasm and attention he gave to the toffee apple earlier.
“That helping, babe?” Liam asks, shivering as Zayn’s tongue flicks over his slit to collect the pre-cum there. “Feel any better yet?”
Zayn pops completely off for a moment, doesn’t even bother to wipe the string of saliva connecting his mouth to the tip of Liam’s cock. “Yes, thank you, Leeyum,” he hums. “Feels so much better when I’ve got you in me.”
But before Liam can manage a reply, one that sounds less douchey than the automatic response of ‘you’re welcome,’ Zayn is swallowing him down again.
And that’s when Liam starts to feel it, the tingling sensation all over his sensitive bits. He wonders if it has something to do with the toffee apple’s candy coating, the “cinnamon spice and everything nice.” He supposes he should be more alarmed about the glittery fairy dust that is likely causing the sensation, but it’s difficult to focus on possible side effects of something that shouldn’t logically exist when he is receiving the best blowjob of his life…from Zayn.
He almost has to pinch himself again because that seems even more incredible to him than the existence of things like witches and magical wishing toffee apples.
Liam lifts himself up on his elbows; he doesn’t want to miss a second of this. Zayn has one hand wrapped tightly around the base of Liam’s cock; the other, gripping his own erection. Liam reaches out to tangle his fingers into ebony black hair as Zayn’s rose-red lips slide up and down his length. And Liam can’t get it out of his head now, the thought that they’re trapped in some fucked-up version of Snow White.
He can’t last much longer like this, not with the way Zayn’s going at him like Liam’s cock is his salvation. Liam stammers out a warning and then he’s coming, wave after wave after wave. Zayn sucks and slurps every last drop as he continues to wank himself. Soon, he’s coming, too, moaning around Liam’s softening dick as he spurts hot white streaks across Liam’s jeans and thighs.
Zayn collapses next to him, and almost immediately, he’s out.
It worked.
That’s what Liam focuses on. (That’s the only thing he allows himself to focus on.)
Liam takes another minute to recover, then heads for their shared bathroom to wash up and change into a pair of joggers. He thinks of Zayn and almost feels guilty brushing his teeth. He does bring back a wet flannel, though, doing his best not to disturb the other boy too much as he wipes away traces of their crimes. Zayn’s forehead still feels feverish, and Liam wonders if he should stay with him a little longer or if he has overstepped the boundaries of friendship enough for one night.
He decides on a happy medium and brings his duvet and pillow into Zayn’s bedroom, setting them up on the floor. Before switching off the lamp, he steals Zayn’s duvet since Liam hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt and the other boy isn’t using it. (Zayn’s already kicked off the light sheet Liam tried to cover him with twice.) Then Liam falls asleep, lulled by the peaceful, rhythmic breathing of the boy in the bed beside him.
***
A couple of hours later, Liam wakes up to another sound, a disconsolate, restless whimpering.
He’s up and at Zayn’s side in an instant. “What’s wrong, babe?”
“You’re here,” Zayn sobs in relief, clutching onto him. Zayn’s cheek is pressed up against his chest, skin to skin but still not close enough. “Need you to make it better, Leeyum.”
The other boy is burning up again, and Liam wonders how long this can go on. “I’m not sure what else I can do,” Liam tells him, and it’s true.
Zayn mumbles something into his chest.
Liam draws back, tipping the other boy’s chin up, but it’s hard to read his expression when all Liam sees are flushed cheeks, blown pupils, and a forehead glazed with sweat. “What was that?”
“I think it’ll go away if we shag,” Zayn repeats reluctantly.
Liam sighs. “Zayn, we tried that already.”
“And it worked!”
“Only temporarily.”
“That’s because it was only a blowie, Leeyum. It didn’t really count.”
And now Liam knows he must be losing it because Zayn’s line of reasoning is starting to make sense. “So you think us shagging—proper like—is the antidote then?”
Zayn opens his eyes wide and nods. “It was a magic wishing apple,” he whispers, and Liam wonders how that’s supposed to qualify as an answer. He’ll give the boy a pass for now though since he’s clearly not in his right mind at present—which now that Liam thinks of it, is all the more reason not to go along with his mad theory.
Besides, if Liam has learnt anything in his life, it’s that shagging is never the answer (not entirely anyway). He’s telling himself that as Zayn crawls into his lap and starts mouthing kisses against his neck, licking at the skin around his birthmark. He’s telling himself that as Zayn takes one of Liam’s hands and leads it to his needy, swollen prick. He’s still telling himself that as he jerks the other boy off. His own dick can’t help but be interested even though it’s tucked away in his joggers, enjoying the accidental friction as Zayn bounces on his lap and fucks into the hollow of Liam’s fist.
Zayn comes, spilling over Liam’s hand, panting and thrusting until Liam milks him dry. He’s still hard somehow—not as painfully hard as before perhaps—but his cut prick is pulsing and heavy against Liam’s palm.
And then before he knows it, Zayn is kissing him.
Wiry arms drape around his neck as the other boy surges forward to press their lips together. It’s not like the only other time they’ve done this, a drunken accidental snog tasting of beer and cigarettes. The kiss isn’t what it should be either, a gratitude-laced messy meeting of lips, morning breath mixed with stale salty cum.
It’s neither of those things.
It’s toffee apple and autumn leaves and Liam’s peppermint toothpaste. It’s hot breath and hotter skin, soft sighs that frame his mouth and echo inside his bones. It’s waking up and woodland walks and coming home. It’s cinnamon spice and everything so fucking nice Liam wants to scream because it’s all he’s ever wanted.
Zayn. Zayn like this. Zayn above him and below him. Zayn falling apart in his arms. (Zayn falling apart because of him.)
Zayn’s mouth and Zayn’s fingers. Zayn’s mornings and Zayn’s nights. Liam wants it all, wrapped up in brown paper and tied up with string. He wants to be selfish for once. He doesn’t want to settle, not this time.
Not when he knows what it’s like to have all of Zayn.
It’s unhealthy—he knows it’s unhealthy—to want someone this much, to need someone so much your heart beats out of sync when they’re not around. As a sound engineer, he often thinks in musical terms, and Zayn’s friendship is like a rhythm track: essential, consistent, fundamental. Being with Zayn as they are now, though, is the missing harmony, the one that leaves the song sounding empty and unfinished even when you can’t pinpoint why.
And honestly, Liam isn’t sure he can be content with going back to how things were between them now that he knows what ‘more than friends’ feels like.
“Fuck me?” Zayn murmurs in his ear, and Liam should say no. They’ve already gone too far but that’s just it: he figures since they’ve blurred the line between what ‘friends’ are supposed to and not supposed to do, they might as well obliterate it, might as well take a sledgehammer to the job.
“Didn’t think you were into that.”
“You never asked me,” Zayn says simply, as if it’s a normal thing to ask your seemingly straight best mate if he likes to take it in the ass. Zayn shifts in his lap, and Liam can feel the hard curve of the other boy’s cock against his stomach. “It’s getting bad again.”
Liam can’t think with Zayn so close so he gently pries Zayn’s hand from his bicep and lays the boy down in the middle of the bed.
“Need your cock, Leeyum,” Zayn whinges, and Liam pretends for a moment that he really does, that it’s not just the stimulant or spell or whatever else talking. “Need it now.”
“I’m not going to take advantage of you, Zayn,” Liam states firmly because looking at him now, laid out on the bed like this, he sees just how out of it the boy is (and he only seems to be getting worse). Now there’s no room for excuses. As much as Liam wants to give in, as much as he’s willing to risk his own happiness for a single night with this boy, he can’t ignore Zayn’s bright eyes and shivering, flushed form.
Zayn lets out a frustrated wail as he pushes himself up into a sitting position again. “I’m asking you to fuck me. No, I’m actually begging you to fuck me, so if anyone is taking advantage of anyone, it’s me taking advantage of the fact that I know you’d be willing to do almost anything for me, even this.” His voice chokes up at the end, and he lets his head fall forward on Liam’s shoulder. “Please, Leeyum. I need you.”
The plea rips straight through Liam’s chest, breaches the defensive walls of his heart. “Okay, if you’re sure….”
“Leeyum, I swear to God if you ask me that one more time—”
“Lay back,” Liam growls, cutting the other boy off. He figures if they’re going to do this, they might as well do it right.
Zayn shudders and does as he’s told. The boy spreads his thighs, and Liam’s cock twitches at the invitation.
“Lube?”
“Top drawer.”
Liam doesn’t leave the bed, just reaches over and rummages for what he needs. He finds the lube and a nearly full box of condoms.
“Gonna open you up first,” Liam tells him as he squirts a generous amount of lube into his palm. “You’ve, uh, done this before, right?”
“Yes, Leeyum,” Zayn answers impatiently, wiping the sweat collecting at his brow. Liam can tell he’s burning up again, hanging onto lucidity by his fingernails. “Don’t worry about the prep.”
Liam swallows hard, resists the urge to do as Zayn says, but he knows better. Liam knows he’s too big to even consider fucking Zayn (or anyone else) without properly prepping them first. “I’ll be quick,” he promises.
And he is.
He’s quick but thorough, adding a finger as soon as he thinks Zayn can take it, then another. He almost wishes he could take his time, maybe take Zayn apart with just his fingers or his tongue, but he knows that’s not an option, not with the way the other boy keeps urging him on.
“That’s enough,” Zayn declares just as he’s about to add a fourth finger. “Need you in me, Leeyum. Now.”
Liam’s hands shake with anticipation; he’s a ball of nervous energy as he slips off his joggers and unwraps the condom. It’s not the first time he’s done this—far from it—but it almost feels like it is. This time feels different, feels special somehow even though it’s not. (He has to keep reminding himself of that.) It’s meaningless sex with a purpose…for Zayn anyway. It’s worse than that even: it’s a sex cure. It’s scratching an itch. It’s that purple cough medicine you down quickly so you don’t taste it, so it doesn’t linger on your tongue.
But it’s easy to forget that this doesn’t mean anything when Zayn is naked and looking at him like that.
He walks forward on his knees and hooks one of Zayn’s legs over his shoulder. Then he stops—just long enough to take a deep breath. He can’t believe they’re doing this, can’t believe he’s about to dick into the boy who colours his dreams, the boy who makes his blood heat up and his breath catch.
Liam gives himself a few pumps before lining up with the boy’s puckering hole. Then he nudges in, inch by inch, until he’s halfway sheathed inside that tight heat. “You alright, babe?” he checks, waiting for a signal before going deeper.
“Yeah,” Zayn answers, quivering around him. “Yeah, yeah, keep going.”
Liam pushes in deeper, Zayn’s body pulling him in, asking for more, asking for everything Liam can give him. And Liam delivers, gliding in his hard length until he bottoms out. “Still good?” he pants, and it’s dizzying to hold back, to restrain himself from pounding into the other boy when it feels so damn good.
“Oh God yes,” Zayn moans drunkenly. “Fuck, you’re so big.”
The words make Liam’s head spin. He slides out slowly, enjoying the clench of Zayn’s walls around him. Then, he thrusts in again, deep.
Zayn quivers like a plucked harp string as he scrapes his nails down Liam’s back. And maybe it’s just Liam’s imagination, but the boy seems to be glowing: body shimmering with sweat, lips glittering with cursed fairy dust, and eyes bright as liquid gold.
“How do you want it?” Liam asks (because a gentleman always asks).
Zayn bites his red lips. “Hard.” His eyelids flutter as if he’s getting off on his own words. “Don’t go easy on me; I won’t break.”
Liam’s hips stutter. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Hard,” Liam repeats, giving a few practice strokes. “Want me to fuck you so hard you won’t want anyone else to fuck you ever again?”
He crossed a line; he knows it as soon as he’s said it.
Luckily, Zayn’s too blissed out to care. “Yeah.”
“Deep, too?”
“Fuck, yes.”
Liam leans into it, gives the boy everything he’s got, and Zayn takes it all. Liam rocks into him, again and again. His neck strains with the effort, hips snapping forward until Zayn is crying out, back arching up off the mattress, until Liam is unravelling inside him.
And then he’s kissing the boy, sealing their lips together one last time.
***
Liam wakes up sticky.
He groans, cursing his laziness. (He’s normally much better about these things.) He’s thankful he at least binned his used rubber, but that’s about all he managed before passing out last night next to his best mate.
Zayn.
Concern claws at his chest as he shoots up in bed. Zayn is lying next to him, and he should feel more awkwardness about the situation, about waking up in his best mate’s bed, but that will have to save for later. Right now, he needs to know that Zayn is alright. It’s all he’s thinking about as he hurriedly tugs on the pair of joggers he left at the foot of the bed.
He feels Zayn’s forehead; there’s no sign of a temperature and he exhales in relief.
Zayn’s eyes flutter open. “I feel gross,” he groans, and Liam can definitely relate…to a degree anyway. Zayn has it much worse, what with the fever and the fact he came so many times that Liam lost count.
And oh. Liam blanches, remembering the details of last night, remembering the way he drew out those orgasms from Zayn, his best mate. He panics, too, because he doesn’t want Zayn to hate him, doesn’t want—
Zayn is up in a flash, slapping his palms against Liam’s cheeks and forcing the other boy to look at him. “Leeyum, I know we’re literally sitting in cum-soaked sheets right now, but I’m keeping my promise. I won’t let this fuck up our friendship, okay?”
“You remember that?”
Zayn winces as he readjusts how he’s sitting. “Yeah, uh, I remember all of last night.”
Liam nods, but he can’t stop his internal panicking because they shagged. (Holy fuck, they shagged.) But that isn’t even the worst part. They kissed and Liam felt something, and now he’s terrified that Zayn felt that he felt something.
“Leeyum, please stop,” Zayn begs, gathering up the bed sheets and cocooning himself in it. “You’re making me feel guilty.”
“Why the bloody hell should you feel guilty?”
“Let’s see,” Zayn deadpans, “maybe because I convinced you to have sex with me even though you obviously didn’t want to?”
“I wanted to have sex with you, Zayn. God, of course I wanted to have sex with you,” he insists, completely flustered by the direction the conversation has suddenly taken. “Why? Did it seem like I wasn’t into it or…?”
“Then why were you offering to arrange a booty call for me, Leeyum?”
“I don’t know…so this wouldn’t happen?” Liam blurts out. The whole discussion is doing his head in. “I wanted to have sex with you, but I wanted to make sure I wasn’t taking advantage of you either, okay? And yes, I had reservations at first because you’re my best mate, Zayn, and like I said, I didn’t want to muck things up between us.”
Zayn looks chastened by Liam’s words as he draws his knees up to his chest. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Just one thing…I still don’t understand why we needed to shag in the first place.”
Zayn blinks at him. “You asked if I was on Viagra, mate. Surely you noticed my raging boner sometime between then and when we had sex?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, it was difficult not to,” Liam blushes. “But what I meant was…well, you seemed dead certain that it had to be me, that I was the only one who could, er, help you out.”
“Uh…yeah. I just, like, had a feeling about that.”
Liam hitches an eyebrow.
“Okay, fine,” Zayn huffs. “But it was sort of your fault.” He heaves an exasperated sigh. “You made that cheeky remark about the chaps, and then I couldn’t get it out of my head, how you’d look wearing assless chaps and that stupid bloody hat.”
“Sorry, I still don’t get it.”
“The apple, Leeyum,” the boy divulges reluctantly. “It was a magic wishing toffee apple, and well, I might have sort of been daydreaming about you in the chaps and the hat while I was licking it on the way to the car park.”
“So tell me, cowboy,” Liam teases, trying to hide his smirk, “was there any ‘riding’ involved in that fantasy of yours?”
Zayn shoots him an irritated look, and Liam can’t help but laugh even though he probably shouldn’t. “It’s not funny, Leeyum,” he mutters, face falling all of a sudden. “If I hadn’t been thinking rude thoughts about my best mate, this never would have happened.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Zaynie. You weren’t the only one having rude thoughts about his best mate when we were leaving the pumpkin farm,” Liam confesses. “If the tables were turned…well, let’s just say there was a moment there when my thoughts weren’t exactly pure while I was watching you lick that toffee apple.”
“Was sort of hoping that would get your attention,” Zayn admits, blushing. “But you never seem to notice when I do flirty things so….”
“Oh, believe me,” Liam sputters, heat rising to his cheeks, “you definitely got my attention with that.” He receives a cute little smile in return, and as mad as it sounds, he thinks things are going to be okay between them until Zayn’s smile suddenly drops.
“Leeyum…there’s, uh, something else.” Zayn bows his head, and Liam braces himself for a confession. “I wished we were together,” he whispers, and Liam just stares at him, dumbfounded.
“I…don’t understand.”
“You remember how that woman said we made a ‘lovely couple’?” he asks, and Liam nods. “Well, I kept thinking about it the whole time we were in the shop—no, even before that,” he confides, looking miserable. “I suggested the pumpkin farm because I thought it would be fun, yeah, but it also seemed like a chance to pretend we were more than friends, just for a day, and I’m sorry.”
Liam’s brain is stuck on the ‘more than friends’ part, but he’s afraid to go there just yet, afraid he might have misunderstood. After all, he misunderstood the accidental kiss, and he doesn’t want to make the same mistake twice. “And you think it’s all connected, the toffee apple and your, er, wish about us?”
“I don’t know what else to think,” Zayn frowns, hugging himself. “I’m just so sorry you had to be involved in all this.”
Liam’s pulse quickens as he musters the courage to say the two words that might change everything between them, for better or for worse. “I’m not.”
Zayn’s sucks in a breath, and Liam can’t get over how stunning he is, even like this—especially like this. But then suddenly, the other boy’s face falls. “Oh, I get it,” he laughs hollowly. “You meant you weren’t sorry about last night because the sex was good.”
“No,” Liam swiftly corrects him. “Well, yeah, the sex was amazing—it was mind-blowing actually—but what I meant was…I’m not sorry last night happened if it brought us to this moment.”
Zayn regards him cautiously. “This moment?”
“Yes,” Liam replies, cupping his cheek. “You see…I have something to confess.”
“Oh?”
Liam tenderly traces the other boy’s jaw. He never imagined he would feel this calm, this at peace, while divulging the deepest secret of his heart, but he is. “I’m in love with my best mate, have been for a while now.”
Zayn’s eyes search his. “Does he know?”
“Think he does now,” Liam chuckles.
“Wow, what a coincidence.”
“Why?”
Zayn smiles fondly at him. “Because I’m in love with my best mate, too.”