Three Scenes, One Christmas - Liam/Zayn
Title: Three Scenes, One Christmas
Pairing: Liam/Zayn
Disclaimer: Very definitely a work of complete fiction, especially considering it takes place in the wizarding world. Talking mistletoe idea borrowed from the Shoebox Project.
Word Count: 2, 490
Summary: Harry Potter!AU. Three special scenes in the boys' first Christmas away from Hogwarts. The wonder of shopping in the greetings card village of Hogsmeade, their very first Christmas eve curled up together, beneath their first tree, and a bonus blowjob thanks to some rather bossy greenery. Pure fluff, a little smut.
A/N: A gift for Libby! But Happy Holidays to you all! xx
Hogsmeade
Hogsmeade is most beautiful at Christmas.
A gingerbread village with a thick dusting, a blanket, of icing sugar over it’s pointed roofs. The windows and lamps shining like match tips through candy wrappers. There are crowds of carolers on corners and bracketing shop doorways and new stalls too, springing up especially for the season. They look like open treasure chests. Tables bowing, so laden with trinkets and gifts and beautiful boxes of chocolates to rival Honeyduke’s ribbon trimmed finest. The scent of cinnamon sugar is caught up in the crisp winter air and the satisfying icy crunch of settled snow underfoot.
Something imagined in a book or inked onto a Christmas card.
Liam is in his element, his old school scarf knotted around his throat- red and gold like the rose in his cheeks. His eyes alive and reflecting each window, each jeweled ornament. Snowflakes in his lashes. He clutches at Zayn’s arm and tugs, all earnest about it- c’mon, c’mon, gosh, there’s so much to buy, are you wearing your gloves? Zayn is just as awed, same silly grin curving against his lips, but he’s quieter. Wanting to be a hush admist the festive chaos, soak up the wonder. He spots Hogwarts students too, bustling about looking for warmed butter beer and presents for their parents, and there’s that sort-of-lovely twinge of sentimentality about it all. It’s only their first Christmas out of school and he sincerely hopes that what they do can live up to Hogwart’s twelve majestic Christmas trees and the dry snow fluttering through the Great Hall.
The two of them shop for decorations first. Blown glass baubles, a star for the top of the tree [because, according to Liam, Zayn is too pretty- puts the angels on sale to shame]; festoons of glitter dipped leaves and holly berries and a fat little Santa, enchanted so that he emits throaty ho ho hos, belly wobbling beneath his red jacket. Even a carousel music box which Zayn thinks his sisters would adore, each horse with it’s gold hooves galloping in time to the tinkling tune. They find wax candles which smell like distilled yuletide evenings and lastly, two knit stockings to hang over the fire place. Crimson for Liam, night sky blue for Zayn, and a little playful bickering over that old House rivalry. The sort that had first got them flirting in Herbology class.
Caught up like spinning tops in the joy of it all, they kiss suddenly. Liam pressing Zayn up against a damp stone wall to lick his way into his mouth and sigh delightedly. Their gloved hands hold on to one another although it feels strange and numb through the wool. Fingers linked through fingers, and then pressing at hips and back dimples through numerous jumpers and thick traveling cloak. They’re so wonderfully in love; Christmas is creeping up on them; their noses are frozen pink from the cold and as their mouths meet, everything has the decency to stop around them, Zayn thinks. All of the village’s lights gone peacefully still, spilling silent rainbows over the snow. Opalescent and magical, as though they’ve been cast under something.
Deep bowls of pumpkin soup follow their kissing. Savory and satisfying with chunks of buttered bread to dip, then a few drinks in the pub with Niall, who they meet inside Flourish and Blotts [picking up parchment for paper snowflakes, Zayn’s forte]. Afterwards, Liam, a little tipsy, insists on pausing outside of The Three Broomsticks to lend their voices to a rousing rendition of God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs, before they apparate home, and Zayn obliges. Soft eyed and sweet voiced, they press shoulder to shoulder and sway. Smirk, starry eyed, their way through multiple verses.
Home is the pair of them hopelessly looking between their brimming bags and bare walls. The corpulent fir standing proud and green but bare. They tip out the baubles, which scatter over the floorboards, they chuckle, they shrug; Zayn hums, hmmm, before fishing out a length of fluffy gold tinsel. He strokes it over his palm, wondering, and then loops it quickly around Liam’s shoulders. He ruefully pulls him in for another kiss with it. For inspiration. To taste peppered soup and honeyed mead and cinnamon and bring a little of Hogsmeade’s beauty into their lovely, wonky flat. Held up by magic more so than bricks and mortar, and a first love.
Christmas Eve
“We did well, do you think we did well?” Liam asks, coming through from the kitchen with a tray of tea mugs and a plate of biscuits baked by Harry and sent over by owl. The icing is smeared but the flavour of vanilla and cloves is most scrumptious.
Zayn glances up from where he’s snipping at triangles of parchment. Shaping out snowflakes the Muggle way, with scissors and thumbed creases and surprises when they unfold. Delicate and different, each one. He is so pretty, roused from his concentration and sat cross legged in their grotto of a living room which is all aglow. Beeswax candles hovering about the tree, flames flittering like live fairies; a fire crackling in the grate and licking up towards the spillage of evergreens and pine cones laid across the mantel; their stockings in their house colours hanging and patiently awaiting gifts.
“We did,” He murmurs and untangles his legs, reaching out for Liam, for tea and cookies, too, “Come here, Li, we’ve gone what, ten minutes without a Christmas cuddle?”
As Liam slides down to settle at Zayn’s side, Zayn lifts his wands and sends a flurry of parchment snowflakes up into the air. Caught up in the breeze of the spell, they hang on invisible strings and the room is, at last, complete. From the ceiling’s fresh snowfall, to the overdressed tree, the table of terribly wrapped gifts: all uneven ribbons and too much spellotape. Liam aims his wand at the wireless and there is music, too. The effect is not unlike being encompassed in a large snow globe. Liam gasps and beams and that, for Zayn, is Christmas.
He noses against his cheek as they fit their bodies like puzzle pieces and cup their hot tea in both hands. Both exhaling over the rims of the mugs, blowing through the rise of steam, before taking careful sips and melting happily. Liam smells of pine, Zayn of peppermint. Both are dusted in a fine layer of sparkles and tired. It is different to Hogwarts, Zayn must admit, but he loves it all the same. The cosy twinkle of the kaleidoscope of colours and everything that’s home-made and imperfect because of it. Finding new traditions for the two of them to share.
“I bet this looks like a photograph,” Liam murmurs, after his first bite of biscuit.
“Probably,” Zayn agrees, and reaches for his wand again.With a muttering of wingardium leviosa he lifts his magical camera from a shelf, guides it across the room to set it atop a sturdy present box. “Smile baby,” He says, a grin of his own growing across his cheeks. Another wand flick and the camera’s shutter button depresses, as if touched by an invisible forefinger, and the flash sparks. “Let’s hope that caught us and not just a crowd of baubles, eh?”
The biscuits are crumbs in what seems like minutes and they refill their teas twice. Neither of them want to do much more than bask and they’ve both earned it in the rush that is the run-up to Christmas. The last few days of suddenly remembering forgotten gifts and scrawling over cards until hands cramp. Owls groaning at the sight of yet more envelopes and brown paper parcels The both of them are rather more appreciative of the Hogwarts house elves now, and also of their mothers- who they’ll be visiting tomorrow, Liam’s for lunch, Zayn’s for supper. A turkey roast and then turkey sandwiches, no doubt.
“Let’s sleep down here,” Zayn suggests, stretching before he squeezes Liam tight, lips through his hair, “Our bedroom doesn’t feel quite so special, you know?”
They strip down to their boxers and conjure up afghan blankets and goose feather pillows. Bed down beneath the tree to be watched over by the twinkling star bowing on the uppermost sprig of branches. Tucked together with the belly fizz excitement of children awaiting Santa, or perhaps too much powdered sugar. Zayn lays his cheek to Liam’s chest and Liam threads fingers through his dark hair. He pets Zayn as though he’s a cat and Zayn doesn’t complain, purrs instead.
“We’ve never been able to sleep together on Christmas Eve before,” Liam muses, voice tinged with regret, “Far too wise for your own good, my little Ravenclaw. Whole different wing of the Castle, you were in. Or whole different city if we were home...”
“Should of been brave enough to sneak in, shouldn’t you? Or floo over when our parents had fallen asleep?” Zayn smirks, giving cheek and dancing fingertips over Liam’s abdomen.
“I know a handy little charm for turning gifts into coal, you know,” Liam warns, stopping Zayn’s fingers with his strong hand, “But no, no, I think I love you too much to use it.”
“Yeah?” Zayn rolls across to rest his chin between Liam’s pecks and wriggle an arm beneath him, “Well, I’d like to think so, but maybe we should get to sleep before I get myself into any more trouble?”
Liam knows a charm for cleaning teeth too, so he casts it, and then he slides Zayn’s glasses off. Gets a proper look at that face that still makes his heart stutter, eyes bright with anticipation. He smiles, far too fond, and kisses Zayn goodnight. Merry Christmas eve, my love. They both extinguish the floating candles and the fire at the hearth, and then, blinked into blackness, they fall asleep. Slow breathing, wrapped up in each other, blankets and seasonal sorcery. The wireless plays on.
Bonus Boxing Day Blowjob
Louis’ mistletoe is talkative. Louis’ mistletoe is opinionated, nearly violently so, and five hours into Louis’ party- once the attendees have thinned out and those left are roaring drunk and wearing a shocking array of hats won from crackers- the bunch dangling in the doorway to the bedroom barks out a command at Liam and Zayn.
“Oi! A blowjob! Now! On your knees for Christmas’ sake!”
Maybe it’s the vodka jelly shots the Muggle born girls brought along, or the crate of Firewhiskey Niall had procured, but both Liam and Zayn are far gone enough to just raise an eyebrow up towards the lewd mistletoe in contemplation. Zayn peering past the rim of a wreath-trimmed bowler hat, Liam backing up against the door frame with hopeful eyes that he’ll be terribly embarrassed about in the morning. A little less gentlemanly than he might usually like to be. Not quite making Godric proud... [the antlers he’s sporting not helping much].
“Tis the season?” Zayn suggests, unsteady on his feet and incredibly endearing with it. Sloe eyes, wobbly giggle. Behind him, there’s a collection of lit candles, a shower of metallic stars dangling from the ceiling too, and it gives him an ethereal glow. Some sort of spirit- Christmas, or Gryffindor boldness, or alcohol- makes Liam want to defile it.
“And you have been teasing me with candy canes all night long,” Liam finds himself saying, his voice sounding foreign once the words have left his tongue. But Zayn had been purposefully twisting them within his pout, Liam had been sure, getting his lips all sticky.
“Have you been dreaming of a white Christmas, yeah?” Zayn smirks, face scrunching up as he tries to force back an attack of more giggles. “Oh shit, sorry, that was horrendous. I’ll just sink to my knees, shall I?”
“I think that would be best!” The mistletoe snaps in reply, rather than Liam. It’s not particularly patient, as greenery goes. It’s voice suspiciously similar to Louis’, actually.
“Should we?” Zayn’s gaze, as steady as he can keep it, darts over Liam’s antlers- into the empty bedroom, “Unless we want an audience?
By way of response, Liam reaches and knots his fingers into the angora knit of Zayn’s sweater to tug him inside of the room, his second hand at his own zip. Zayn uses his last scrap of forethought to send a colloportus back towards the door, so that it locks, and then crashes down onto his knees in a spectacular show of intoxicated anticipation.
He noses against the soft, snitch-patterned fabric of Liam’s boxers through the split of his open fly; wets his minty lips before sucking a damp spot over a pair of wings. He makes Liam groan, drag his nails against the nape of his neck nape, and then tips up to nip against the fuzz of his happy trail. Pinches the tender flesh beneath his belly button between his teeth until Liam skates his hands up to remove the bowler hat, so that can get a good grip on Zayn’s hair. Guide him back down to the tent of his desperate cock.
“C’mon angel,” He urges, hissing as Zayn noses at the dip down towards his inner thigh, “Don’t be a tease, Zaynie.”
So, Zayn frees his boyfriend’s cock and swallows all that he can of him; hungry for the knock of the bitter-sticky tip towards the back of his throat, the weighty swell of it, salted flesh and throbbing veins, over his tongue. He digs his fingers deep into Liam’s thighs, lowers his lashes and drags his way off with a pop. Chasing what his mouth leaves behind with his tongue- stroking against the head, indulgent stripes to his hilt; sucking his way to hollow cheeks and groans of need. Liam tips his chin to watch, breathing rough, antlers lopsided, and can’t think of anything beyond a foggy oh fuckin’ Merlin, my boyfriend is glorious.
Zayn bows lower, head bobbing, Adam’s apple rolling. Sloppy and loud. He slips a finger, two, into his mouth along with dick, until they’re nice and wet with spit, and then reaches right around to stroke at Liam’s opening, past the crease of his Quidditch player’s behind, and Liam sees a tree’s worth of candles. Blurring out of focus. Dizzy. He comes in splashes over Zayn’s tongue, hot wax gleaming against the roll of his bottom lip, and regrets not having cast a silencing charm as he calls out his lover’s praises.
“That was... that mistletoe, we should probably thank it,” He pants, caressing Zayn’s cheek once he’s tidied himself up. Thumbing at what’s left of his release, what’s still clinging to Zayn’s darkened mouth. “Gotta thank you first though, c’mere. I love you, my Christmas angel.”
Zayn laughs, Liam beams, they kiss. Something between how chaste they’d been at Hogsmeade and their intimacy in their snowglobe of a living room. It’s a little rushed, they’re rather flushed, and Liam’s antlers are almost blinding him, but it’s most beautiful.
Pairing: Liam/Zayn
Disclaimer: Very definitely a work of complete fiction, especially considering it takes place in the wizarding world. Talking mistletoe idea borrowed from the Shoebox Project.
Word Count: 2, 490
Summary: Harry Potter!AU. Three special scenes in the boys' first Christmas away from Hogwarts. The wonder of shopping in the greetings card village of Hogsmeade, their very first Christmas eve curled up together, beneath their first tree, and a bonus blowjob thanks to some rather bossy greenery. Pure fluff, a little smut.
A/N: A gift for Libby! But Happy Holidays to you all! xx
Hogsmeade
Hogsmeade is most beautiful at Christmas.
A gingerbread village with a thick dusting, a blanket, of icing sugar over it’s pointed roofs. The windows and lamps shining like match tips through candy wrappers. There are crowds of carolers on corners and bracketing shop doorways and new stalls too, springing up especially for the season. They look like open treasure chests. Tables bowing, so laden with trinkets and gifts and beautiful boxes of chocolates to rival Honeyduke’s ribbon trimmed finest. The scent of cinnamon sugar is caught up in the crisp winter air and the satisfying icy crunch of settled snow underfoot.
Something imagined in a book or inked onto a Christmas card.
Liam is in his element, his old school scarf knotted around his throat- red and gold like the rose in his cheeks. His eyes alive and reflecting each window, each jeweled ornament. Snowflakes in his lashes. He clutches at Zayn’s arm and tugs, all earnest about it- c’mon, c’mon, gosh, there’s so much to buy, are you wearing your gloves? Zayn is just as awed, same silly grin curving against his lips, but he’s quieter. Wanting to be a hush admist the festive chaos, soak up the wonder. He spots Hogwarts students too, bustling about looking for warmed butter beer and presents for their parents, and there’s that sort-of-lovely twinge of sentimentality about it all. It’s only their first Christmas out of school and he sincerely hopes that what they do can live up to Hogwart’s twelve majestic Christmas trees and the dry snow fluttering through the Great Hall.
The two of them shop for decorations first. Blown glass baubles, a star for the top of the tree [because, according to Liam, Zayn is too pretty- puts the angels on sale to shame]; festoons of glitter dipped leaves and holly berries and a fat little Santa, enchanted so that he emits throaty ho ho hos, belly wobbling beneath his red jacket. Even a carousel music box which Zayn thinks his sisters would adore, each horse with it’s gold hooves galloping in time to the tinkling tune. They find wax candles which smell like distilled yuletide evenings and lastly, two knit stockings to hang over the fire place. Crimson for Liam, night sky blue for Zayn, and a little playful bickering over that old House rivalry. The sort that had first got them flirting in Herbology class.
Caught up like spinning tops in the joy of it all, they kiss suddenly. Liam pressing Zayn up against a damp stone wall to lick his way into his mouth and sigh delightedly. Their gloved hands hold on to one another although it feels strange and numb through the wool. Fingers linked through fingers, and then pressing at hips and back dimples through numerous jumpers and thick traveling cloak. They’re so wonderfully in love; Christmas is creeping up on them; their noses are frozen pink from the cold and as their mouths meet, everything has the decency to stop around them, Zayn thinks. All of the village’s lights gone peacefully still, spilling silent rainbows over the snow. Opalescent and magical, as though they’ve been cast under something.
Deep bowls of pumpkin soup follow their kissing. Savory and satisfying with chunks of buttered bread to dip, then a few drinks in the pub with Niall, who they meet inside Flourish and Blotts [picking up parchment for paper snowflakes, Zayn’s forte]. Afterwards, Liam, a little tipsy, insists on pausing outside of The Three Broomsticks to lend their voices to a rousing rendition of God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs, before they apparate home, and Zayn obliges. Soft eyed and sweet voiced, they press shoulder to shoulder and sway. Smirk, starry eyed, their way through multiple verses.
Home is the pair of them hopelessly looking between their brimming bags and bare walls. The corpulent fir standing proud and green but bare. They tip out the baubles, which scatter over the floorboards, they chuckle, they shrug; Zayn hums, hmmm, before fishing out a length of fluffy gold tinsel. He strokes it over his palm, wondering, and then loops it quickly around Liam’s shoulders. He ruefully pulls him in for another kiss with it. For inspiration. To taste peppered soup and honeyed mead and cinnamon and bring a little of Hogsmeade’s beauty into their lovely, wonky flat. Held up by magic more so than bricks and mortar, and a first love.
Christmas Eve
“We did well, do you think we did well?” Liam asks, coming through from the kitchen with a tray of tea mugs and a plate of biscuits baked by Harry and sent over by owl. The icing is smeared but the flavour of vanilla and cloves is most scrumptious.
Zayn glances up from where he’s snipping at triangles of parchment. Shaping out snowflakes the Muggle way, with scissors and thumbed creases and surprises when they unfold. Delicate and different, each one. He is so pretty, roused from his concentration and sat cross legged in their grotto of a living room which is all aglow. Beeswax candles hovering about the tree, flames flittering like live fairies; a fire crackling in the grate and licking up towards the spillage of evergreens and pine cones laid across the mantel; their stockings in their house colours hanging and patiently awaiting gifts.
“We did,” He murmurs and untangles his legs, reaching out for Liam, for tea and cookies, too, “Come here, Li, we’ve gone what, ten minutes without a Christmas cuddle?”
As Liam slides down to settle at Zayn’s side, Zayn lifts his wands and sends a flurry of parchment snowflakes up into the air. Caught up in the breeze of the spell, they hang on invisible strings and the room is, at last, complete. From the ceiling’s fresh snowfall, to the overdressed tree, the table of terribly wrapped gifts: all uneven ribbons and too much spellotape. Liam aims his wand at the wireless and there is music, too. The effect is not unlike being encompassed in a large snow globe. Liam gasps and beams and that, for Zayn, is Christmas.
He noses against his cheek as they fit their bodies like puzzle pieces and cup their hot tea in both hands. Both exhaling over the rims of the mugs, blowing through the rise of steam, before taking careful sips and melting happily. Liam smells of pine, Zayn of peppermint. Both are dusted in a fine layer of sparkles and tired. It is different to Hogwarts, Zayn must admit, but he loves it all the same. The cosy twinkle of the kaleidoscope of colours and everything that’s home-made and imperfect because of it. Finding new traditions for the two of them to share.
“I bet this looks like a photograph,” Liam murmurs, after his first bite of biscuit.
“Probably,” Zayn agrees, and reaches for his wand again.With a muttering of wingardium leviosa he lifts his magical camera from a shelf, guides it across the room to set it atop a sturdy present box. “Smile baby,” He says, a grin of his own growing across his cheeks. Another wand flick and the camera’s shutter button depresses, as if touched by an invisible forefinger, and the flash sparks. “Let’s hope that caught us and not just a crowd of baubles, eh?”
The biscuits are crumbs in what seems like minutes and they refill their teas twice. Neither of them want to do much more than bask and they’ve both earned it in the rush that is the run-up to Christmas. The last few days of suddenly remembering forgotten gifts and scrawling over cards until hands cramp. Owls groaning at the sight of yet more envelopes and brown paper parcels The both of them are rather more appreciative of the Hogwarts house elves now, and also of their mothers- who they’ll be visiting tomorrow, Liam’s for lunch, Zayn’s for supper. A turkey roast and then turkey sandwiches, no doubt.
“Let’s sleep down here,” Zayn suggests, stretching before he squeezes Liam tight, lips through his hair, “Our bedroom doesn’t feel quite so special, you know?”
They strip down to their boxers and conjure up afghan blankets and goose feather pillows. Bed down beneath the tree to be watched over by the twinkling star bowing on the uppermost sprig of branches. Tucked together with the belly fizz excitement of children awaiting Santa, or perhaps too much powdered sugar. Zayn lays his cheek to Liam’s chest and Liam threads fingers through his dark hair. He pets Zayn as though he’s a cat and Zayn doesn’t complain, purrs instead.
“We’ve never been able to sleep together on Christmas Eve before,” Liam muses, voice tinged with regret, “Far too wise for your own good, my little Ravenclaw. Whole different wing of the Castle, you were in. Or whole different city if we were home...”
“Should of been brave enough to sneak in, shouldn’t you? Or floo over when our parents had fallen asleep?” Zayn smirks, giving cheek and dancing fingertips over Liam’s abdomen.
“I know a handy little charm for turning gifts into coal, you know,” Liam warns, stopping Zayn’s fingers with his strong hand, “But no, no, I think I love you too much to use it.”
“Yeah?” Zayn rolls across to rest his chin between Liam’s pecks and wriggle an arm beneath him, “Well, I’d like to think so, but maybe we should get to sleep before I get myself into any more trouble?”
Liam knows a charm for cleaning teeth too, so he casts it, and then he slides Zayn’s glasses off. Gets a proper look at that face that still makes his heart stutter, eyes bright with anticipation. He smiles, far too fond, and kisses Zayn goodnight. Merry Christmas eve, my love. They both extinguish the floating candles and the fire at the hearth, and then, blinked into blackness, they fall asleep. Slow breathing, wrapped up in each other, blankets and seasonal sorcery. The wireless plays on.
Bonus Boxing Day Blowjob
Louis’ mistletoe is talkative. Louis’ mistletoe is opinionated, nearly violently so, and five hours into Louis’ party- once the attendees have thinned out and those left are roaring drunk and wearing a shocking array of hats won from crackers- the bunch dangling in the doorway to the bedroom barks out a command at Liam and Zayn.
“Oi! A blowjob! Now! On your knees for Christmas’ sake!”
Maybe it’s the vodka jelly shots the Muggle born girls brought along, or the crate of Firewhiskey Niall had procured, but both Liam and Zayn are far gone enough to just raise an eyebrow up towards the lewd mistletoe in contemplation. Zayn peering past the rim of a wreath-trimmed bowler hat, Liam backing up against the door frame with hopeful eyes that he’ll be terribly embarrassed about in the morning. A little less gentlemanly than he might usually like to be. Not quite making Godric proud... [the antlers he’s sporting not helping much].
“Tis the season?” Zayn suggests, unsteady on his feet and incredibly endearing with it. Sloe eyes, wobbly giggle. Behind him, there’s a collection of lit candles, a shower of metallic stars dangling from the ceiling too, and it gives him an ethereal glow. Some sort of spirit- Christmas, or Gryffindor boldness, or alcohol- makes Liam want to defile it.
“And you have been teasing me with candy canes all night long,” Liam finds himself saying, his voice sounding foreign once the words have left his tongue. But Zayn had been purposefully twisting them within his pout, Liam had been sure, getting his lips all sticky.
“Have you been dreaming of a white Christmas, yeah?” Zayn smirks, face scrunching up as he tries to force back an attack of more giggles. “Oh shit, sorry, that was horrendous. I’ll just sink to my knees, shall I?”
“I think that would be best!” The mistletoe snaps in reply, rather than Liam. It’s not particularly patient, as greenery goes. It’s voice suspiciously similar to Louis’, actually.
“Should we?” Zayn’s gaze, as steady as he can keep it, darts over Liam’s antlers- into the empty bedroom, “Unless we want an audience?
By way of response, Liam reaches and knots his fingers into the angora knit of Zayn’s sweater to tug him inside of the room, his second hand at his own zip. Zayn uses his last scrap of forethought to send a colloportus back towards the door, so that it locks, and then crashes down onto his knees in a spectacular show of intoxicated anticipation.
He noses against the soft, snitch-patterned fabric of Liam’s boxers through the split of his open fly; wets his minty lips before sucking a damp spot over a pair of wings. He makes Liam groan, drag his nails against the nape of his neck nape, and then tips up to nip against the fuzz of his happy trail. Pinches the tender flesh beneath his belly button between his teeth until Liam skates his hands up to remove the bowler hat, so that can get a good grip on Zayn’s hair. Guide him back down to the tent of his desperate cock.
“C’mon angel,” He urges, hissing as Zayn noses at the dip down towards his inner thigh, “Don’t be a tease, Zaynie.”
So, Zayn frees his boyfriend’s cock and swallows all that he can of him; hungry for the knock of the bitter-sticky tip towards the back of his throat, the weighty swell of it, salted flesh and throbbing veins, over his tongue. He digs his fingers deep into Liam’s thighs, lowers his lashes and drags his way off with a pop. Chasing what his mouth leaves behind with his tongue- stroking against the head, indulgent stripes to his hilt; sucking his way to hollow cheeks and groans of need. Liam tips his chin to watch, breathing rough, antlers lopsided, and can’t think of anything beyond a foggy oh fuckin’ Merlin, my boyfriend is glorious.
Zayn bows lower, head bobbing, Adam’s apple rolling. Sloppy and loud. He slips a finger, two, into his mouth along with dick, until they’re nice and wet with spit, and then reaches right around to stroke at Liam’s opening, past the crease of his Quidditch player’s behind, and Liam sees a tree’s worth of candles. Blurring out of focus. Dizzy. He comes in splashes over Zayn’s tongue, hot wax gleaming against the roll of his bottom lip, and regrets not having cast a silencing charm as he calls out his lover’s praises.
“That was... that mistletoe, we should probably thank it,” He pants, caressing Zayn’s cheek once he’s tidied himself up. Thumbing at what’s left of his release, what’s still clinging to Zayn’s darkened mouth. “Gotta thank you first though, c’mere. I love you, my Christmas angel.”
Zayn laughs, Liam beams, they kiss. Something between how chaste they’d been at Hogsmeade and their intimacy in their snowglobe of a living room. It’s a little rushed, they’re rather flushed, and Liam’s antlers are almost blinding him, but it’s most beautiful.