Niall is soft, steel-blue eyes and pale, alabaster skin with fragile bones and ribs that work hard to keep his frail heart from breaking. Zayn thinks they do a pretty good job because he hasn’t hurt the blonde yet. Niall is his baby, though, and he doubts he could ever do such a thing.
It goes like this, most days. Zayn will be angry because people can be so damn stupid; he gives them solid instruction, they shouldn’t be able to fuck up as bad as they do. He’ll be so blindingly furious that his chest is rumbling in nowhere near the gentle way it does when he holds Niall. No, his chest will rumble and he will be prepared to pick people apart by their fingernails.
But then Niall will be there and any bad thoughts he has will dissipate, and his eyes will go soft. He’ll open his arms and Niall will flush prettily and stumble into them. Sometimes, the blonde will press kisses to his jaw and make it clear what he wants, and other times he’ll sit and tell Zayn that he’s been eyeing this pair of shoes, they’re only sixty euros, if you don’t mind.
Today is no different, not really. He’s on the phone with their systems management, receiving updates on their rivals, on the companies behind them in the industry. There’s been a fuck up somewhere and they’re falling behind.
Zayn’s voice strains as he yells, asking over and over how in the hell they’re going to fix this, explaining quietly and fiercely that he so desperately needs them to not lose money, he’s got plans for some special people. The poor girl on the other end of the line is trembling for sure, the shake in her voice almost makes Zayn smile, knowing that at least someone will listen to him.
The call doesn’t last much longer after that, the girl apologizing profusely, promising to get it all straightened out and Zayn tells her he would like to keep her around; she’s a good employee. It does end with him slamming the phone down though, in an effort to calm his nerves.
Niall has school today and therefore won’t be able to show up here, in his office to place his tiny hands on Zayn’s stubble and to make him smile as he tells him that everything will be okay. Niall won’t be there to giggle softly into Zayn’s neck when he starts talking about how stupid people are today.
Niall won’t be there to sleepily mumble that they should run away.
When Zayn gets home that day, he’s still incredibly angry, still seething and sucking in air through his teeth. He’s sweaty and gross, his hair is flat and he just wants to see Niall.
The stupid red clock on the wall (that Niall picked out) tells him that Niall won’t be home for at least another hour or so and Zayn could punch something. Fuck.
He just wants Niall there, in their home. He just wants to feel the weight on Niall on top of him whether is talking or sleeping, hell, even if it’s just Niall trying to tickle him while he talks him into buying things (because Niall is a smart shit and Zayn has trouble telling him no. Louis says its because Niall is one hell of a sugar baby and Zayn is terribly whipped). He just wants Niall to giggle softly into his ear and fist his hands in Zayn’s shirt while he rides him and whines greedily.
He just, Niall is everything to him. Zayn could probably lose the entire company and he would still fight for a way to provide for Niall because this boy is so young and so his. Mostly, he just wants Niall right now because he’s been half hard all day, angry filling his veins and he knows Niall can calm him. He wants Niall on his cock and in his arms, wants him to mewl softly and call him Daddy as Niall gets what he wants.
Zayn feels a shower is in line, and he’ll probably get harry to drop by some white roses from his shop in the meantime. Showering is simple enough, but it’s no fun without Niall there to laugh and put his hair up in a mohawk with shampoo. its almost not worth it without Niall talking quietly in his ear, begging his daddy to buy him things.
But Zayn figures its worth it, just this one time because this is for Niall, so he’ll be clean and refreshed and ready for Niall to make dirty all over again. It’s not so bad when he thinks of it that way.
Niall comes home a few minutes late because he’d stopped to help a little girl find her frantic mother on the other side of the street. he’s so tired, too, what with his schooling and then teaching guitar lessons and he just wants to see Zayn.
He steps in the door and locks it silently behind him, a habit he’d picked up after that one time he was followed home by paparazzi. Zayn quite likes the habit.
Dropping his things by the door, he listens for signs of Zayn and smiles when he hears the telly playing softly in their room. He knows Zayn ordered dinner, too because he can smell it from here and he’s starving after the long walk home.
Zayn opens his arms the second he see Niall’s floppy hair and tired smile, cooing softly at the younger boy. Niall’s shoulders drop and his relaxes, stumbles into Zayn’s arms and just breathes.
There’s a box of pizza sitting on the edge of the bed in front of Zayn, who’s tucked under the covers and smells like he’s fresh out of a shower. Niall can’t be arsed to move out of his lap. He wraps his lips around the sharp jut of Zayn’s jaw and sucks lightly, a silent thank you.
Zayn combs through his messy hair with lithe fingers until Niall is a pool in his arms and his own anger has simmered into nonexistence. The elder smiles easily and presses his own lips into blonde hair.
Niall’s face comes up then, kissing Zayn softly as he shifts to straddle him. Zayn grips his hips with large hands and Niall keens softly. He’s the first to talk then, “Hi, Zee.”
"Hey, baby boy." Zayn nuzzles his jaw, eyes gentle.
Niall’s cheeks flush and he laughs quietly, “This is really great and all, but I’m starving and there’s pizza behind me.” He raises his eyebrows and Zayn laughs at him, tongue pressed to the backs of his teeth and eyes crinkled.
Niall smiles back at him and them moves to get the box of pizza, the twist of his waist is enough to show off the pale skin of his hips and Zayn reaches out to run a finger down the lovely slope of them. The blonde squawks indignantly and then laughs himself, claiming that it tickles.
Zayn mumbles something that sounds like a vague sorry, he just wanted to touch and Niall laughs at him and his pouting lips, moves so he’s facing the boy again and puts Zayn’s hands back on his waist, smiling genuinely.
They eat the pizza like that, Niall in Zayn’s lap and face to face, laughs loudly in their quiet room about pizza sauce and all of the people they don’t like. Niall laughs the loudest when he gets sauce on his cheek and Zayn licks it off, awkwardly shifting before laughing at the two of them.
It’s after that Niall makes a move, rocking in Zayn’s lap after the box has been moved to the floor and they’re the only things left in the bed. He speaks in a low voice, gravel in his throat like after Zayn fucks his mouth. “I saw the flowers. They’re pretty, Daddy, but are they are pretty as me?” He grinds roughly then and Zayn moans.
“Never, never baby. Nothing is as pretty as Daddy’s baby.” Niall gins at him and takes his shirt off.
His flushed cheeks are the only indication that he’s nervous again, easily flustered and sixteen all over again, not sure if his little act of dominance is okay (it is, it’s so okay that Zayn doesn’t ever want it to end). Zayn goes straight for Niall chest when his shirt is dropped and gently makes red splotches all over the exposed skin.
Niall moans then, sweet and high and Zayn is so in love he could cry.
They make love then, Niall riding Zayn with the covers pulled around his hips and his cheeks flushed, lips bitten and red and used as he whines and keens and cries. He comes violently with Daddy ripped from his raw throat. Zayn isn’t far behind him, Niall’s words pushing him over the edge.
Niall falls asleep laid on his stomach on top of Zayn’s chest, one leg thrown over Zayn’s waist and the other pressed against Zayn’s. He’s got one arm wrapped around Zayn’s neck, fingers running gently through his sweaty hair and he’s got the other entwined with Zayn’s. Zayn’s breath is right by his ear and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Zayn has fired probably close to 300 hundred people and scared close to half as many; he’s been vicious and terrible, ruined people’s lives and been entirely too cruel for the business he’s in but he’s soft now, gently moving the boy on top of him around and smiling into his hair, thinking about the car he’s going to give him for his eighteenth birthday next week.