Liam is breathless and a little dizzy when he places the new, only barely refined portfolio on the desk in Zayn’s home office. He waits.
Zayn doesn’t even look up. “That will be all, Liam.”
And suddenly Liam is furious. He was forced to leave his sister’s wedding reception early just to get this shit done, and Zayn can’t even show one ounce of gratitude. Liam curls his hands into fists by his side.
Zayn looks up and sees him still idling. “You’re dismissed, Liam. I thought that much was clear.”
“Aren’t you going to say thank you?” Liam demands.
“Why would I thank you for doing the one thing I pay you for?” Zayn asks incredulously. “It would be like praising someone for displaying basic human traits, Liam. I’m not one for over-congratulating.”
“You’re not one for showing gratitude either,” Liam says through clenched teeth.
Zayn reclines back in his chair, looking amused. “Are you upset?”
“I am,” Liam tells him. There’s no point in lying anymore, not when Zayn was almost guaranteed to fire him if he gets something as small as a fucking coffee order wrong. “You’ve never said thank you to me, not even once. Or to Louis, or Niall, from what I can tell. You treat us like dirt, and I’m sick of it.”
Zayn watches him with an impassive, even gaze. Slowly, he uncrossed his legs and leans forward a little. He gestures for Liam to come closer, narrowing his eyes until Liam stumbles forward, compelled by some invisible force. “What would you like me to say?” Zayn asks him. He curls a hand over Liam’s hip, barely a light pressure but enough to have a spark shoot through Liam’s body. “Do you want me to tell you how good you are?”
Liam doesn’t answer. He can’t answer. Not when Zayn’s eyes are looking up at him like that, dark and predatory.
“Do you want me to call you a good boy, Liam?” Zayn continues. He licks his lips a little. Liam nods numbly. “Well, Liam, I’m afraid good boys have to earn their title.”
Liam can feel it, then, that tension between them coming to a peak, a make or break moment.
“How do you want me to earn it?” Liam asks quietly.
Zayn leans back in his chair with a small smirk, a quirk of his lips that almost looks like a soft smile. “Impress me.”
Liam doesn’t have to be told twice. He leans forward and mouths over Zayn crotch, until the man’s cock thickens beneath him. He looks up at Zayn when the man cards a hand through his hair, wondering what it would take to make the man drop his indifferent, vaguely amused expression.
“Such a good boy, aren’t you?” Zayn murmurs. He scratches Liam’s head softly when Liam mewls from the praise. “Gonna show me what else you can do with that pretty mouth of yours?”
Liam sucks him off there in the chair, quick and expertly, revelling in how Zayn couldn’t hold back his aborted noises, couldn’t stop his hands from tugging on Liam’s hair. Liam swallowed him down whole, overwhelmed by the heavy feeling of Zayn’s cock in his mouth, the bitterness of his cum, the sweet praise pouring from his mouth.
When he’s done, Liam pulls off with an obscene ‘pop’ and gazes up at Zayn, waiting.
Zayn zips himself up. “That will be all.”
Nodding, Liam pushes himself to his feet and exits the immaculate home, smirking because Zayn didn’t look so immaculate when Liam left him breathing heavily in his study.
The next day, Zayn doesn’t say thank you when Liam brings him his coffee, but he doesn’t comment on his sweater vest, either.
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