Pairing: Liam/Harry (mentions of casual Harry/Louis)
Warnings: Slightly rough sex and a little bit of comeplay.
Summary: Liam is one of those people who seem to be able to handle everything, so Harry likes finding the cracks in his armour and poking at them. It's satisfying somehow, making him vulnerable. (~7,000 words)
A/N: Okay, I think part of the reason more people don't write this pairing is just that it's REALLY FUCKING HARD. :| Title from Amanda Blank's 'Might Like You Better'.
It's not a sexual thing. It's really not. Louis says it is, but Louis can find a hidden sexual meaning in anything. He's like Freud in stripes and braces.
Harry will admit that he's a little more interested in Liam's sex life than he perhaps should be, but it's just because he's curious. Liam keeps it such a mystery, and Harry is intrigued by mysteries. He's heard all the others wanking (so many times he's lost count) but never Liam, and it makes him wonder if he's just that quiet or if maybe he doesn't do it at all. He never talks about shagging Danielle, or any of the other girlfriends he's had, never talks about being hard up for it when they're on tour. He never even talks about watching porn, though Zayn did once manage to wheedle it out of him that he does.
A few months ago, Liam confided in Louis that he and Danielle have something of an open relationship, and of course Louis told Harry about twenty minutes later. (Liam should know better than to try keep secrets in this band, especially when he's telling them to Louis.)
"Whaaat," says Harry flatly, the word long and drawn-out, when Louis spills the beans. "So he can—what, so he can fuck other people while we're on tour? That's impossible, we'd know."
"Yeah, he hasn't actually done it," Louis explains. "She just said she'd understand if he did. Distance and stressful environments and that."
Harry ponders this. He tries to imagine Liam hooking up with like, a groupie or something, and finds it completely impossible. "He hasn't done it, then?"
"Nah, said he'd feel too guilty just picking up some random. I mean, come on, it's Liam." Louis regards Harry suspiciously for a moment. "You're going to tell him I told you, aren't you?"
Harry can't exactly help it; it's a brilliant opportunity to wind Liam up. For the entirety of the next week, Harry keeps attempting to set Liam up with various girls, trying to slip female interviewers Liam's mobile number and telling fans at signings that he's been eyeing them. It's all in good fun, really, just to see Liam do his Angry Face, but a part of him really wants one of these girls to take his offer seriously, just to see what would happen. He wants to see some kind of proof that Liam does have a sex drive after all.
"What would you even do, camp outside his hotel room with your ear to the door? Freak," says Louis, ruffling his hair.
"Nooo," whines Harry, "I just think he maybe needs to get laid."
"Uh huh," says Louis doubtfully, eyebrows raised. "That doesn't explain why you keep grabbing his crotch."
In fairness, it doesn't. Harry just does that because it's one of the few ways he can actually get a rise out of Liam. In the beginning, the best way to make Liam uncomfortable was to get suddenly affectionate with him at unexpected moments—fall asleep on him, tackle him into a hug, nuzzle into his neck. It took him a while to get used to the physical affection of the others and Harry always loved overdoing it just to see him squirm. But he adjusted to it fairly quickly, and Harry had to find a new tactic. He started winding Liam up with violence instead, hitting him and throwing things at him, giving him Chinese burns. That used to be fun, because he'd just go all tense and weird, but now he either ignores Harry completely or fights back, and that's not really what Harry's going for.
He's figured out a pattern, though. There's a surefire topic that always Liam feel awkward, and that's sex. It seems to be the only thing Harry can hold over him, the only way to get him to stammer and blush and lose his usual perfect composure. And Harry takes advantage of that, talking about sex whenever he can crowbar it into the conversation, making lewd innuendo, touching Liam in inappropriate places. It's just funny, because Liam has no idea how to react; he'll half-heartedly tell Harry to stop sometimes but for the most part he'll just kind of freeze up and Harry's not quite sure why he enjoys it except that—Liam is one of those people who seem to be able to handle everything, so Harry likes finding the cracks in his armour and poking at them. It's satisfying somehow, making him vulnerable.
Harry's found that what works best is actually a combination of all three methods, so Liam never knows quite what to expect, doesn't know if Harry's approaching him for a cuddle or a harsh nipple-twist or to paw at his dick through his jeans. Liam gets all jumpy around him then, trying to predict Harry's next move and work out if he's safe, but he pretty much never is. It's fun. It's just a game. It doesn't mean anything.
"It's like pulling the pigtails of the girl you fancy at primary school," he mutters, on more than one occasion after Harry's been messing with Liam's fragile nerves, and he only shuts up when Harry points out that he engages in some very similar behaviour with Liam himself.
For the most part, Liam's pretty sure Harry's just being a dick. But really, it's hard to tell. It's just—confusing. He can't exactly help being confused, when everything that Harry says to him is a double-entendre, when he'll curl up against him on the sofa mumbling about being sleepy and Liam will relax only to find that Harry's hand is cupping his balls three seconds later. It's not that he's a prude, exactly, he's just not as open about these things as some people. He's not the type of guy to brag about sexual encounters or to take nude photos of himself to send to someone, and Harry is that guy, and it's not something that should cause tension but Harry's making sure that it does. Liam just doesn't get it.
It's even worse when they're alone together, or when it's just the two of them and Louis. Harry seems to get worse with it then. He'll interrogate Liam about his sex life, utterly shameless, like he doesn't see how weird he's acting. He badgers Liam about when he lost his virginity, and when Liam claims he doesn't remember, Harry just explains in vivid detail how he lost his own, though Liam's pretty sure he does nothing to encourage the volunteering of this information. Harry is usually naked during these conversations, which doesn't help matters. Liam knows he's often naked and it shouldn't be significant, but—it seems to be pretty much always lately. He hopes he's not imagining it.
Liam's just—not sure how much more of this he can handle. Sometimes he wishes something would happen, that Harry would kiss him or something so at least he'd know what all of this means, but then again he's pretty sure he wouldn't be able to handle that, either. The thing is, he probably wouldn't have even started thinking about Harry in That Way if Harry hadn't encouraged it, getting in his space all the time and touching him and being all naked and talking about sex constantly. It's not even—Liam doesn't even think—it's not like that, it's just that somehow he's forgotten how to look at Harry and not think about sex. And he knows it's possible, because he used to do it all the time.
In some ways he thinks this isn't new. He and Harry have always clashed just a little bit, and Liam knows it's nobody's fault, knows it's just that their personalities don't gel as well as the others'. It never used to be a big deal, though—they'd bicker sometimes, Harry would find various ways to irritate Liam but it was always just playful and childish and this feels...not like that, at all. This feels charged with something. And the weird thing is that it doesn't even seem like Harry realises he's doing it, sometimes.
No, probably the weird thing is that Liam doesn't exactly hate it. He doesn't like it, the entire situation is scrambling his brain, but at the same time he knows he'd miss this bizarre behaviour if it went away. That's the worst bit, the fact that there's a little part of him that enjoys the attention, the way it makes his heart beat a little faster and his mouth run dry.
"I'm just saying, if you don't stop harassing him he's probably going to explode sometime soon," says Louis with a shrug.
Harry wrinkles his nose at him. They're in bed in their hotel room and neither of them can sleep, and Louis is offering his opinion on the whole Liam thing again, though Harry is pretty sure he never actually asks for it. "Explode? From like, anger?"
"No, from sexual tension," says Louis, rolling his eyes.
"There is no sexual tension," Harry informs him wearily, "because it isn't sexual."
"Mmhm." Louis sounds unconvinced, and it's irritating, because how many times does Harry have to say he just enjoys winding Liam up? They all do it, because it's funny, because Liam can be kind of uptight. Harry's methods are just a little more unorthodox.
Before he has a chance to argue, though, Louis's phone buzzes on his bedside table and he reaches for it with a sigh.
"Zayn's having girl troubles," he announces a second later, getting out of bed and pulling a t-shirt on.
"Did he text you to tell you that?" snorts Harry.
"Yeah, in the interest of privacy," Louis explains, then shrugs. "Fat lot of good that did. I'm gonna go over there so he can talk it out."
Harry wants to say, because you're such an expert when it comes to girl troubles, but does not. Instead he says, "Are you gonna sleep over?" hoping the tone of his voice accurately conveys his desire for the answer to be 'no.'
"Yeah, probably," Louis says, plucking another shirt and a pair of jeans out of his suitcase and then nipping into the bathroom to fetch his washbag.
"Oh," says Harry. "I don't wanna sleep on my own."
"Suck it up, Styles. Zayn needs me. Go bug Liam or something." Harry considers this, and Louis laughs at him. "I wish you could've seen that, your face actually lit up at the idea. Go on then, go make his night hell, you little nuisance."
Louis's eyes are sparkling with mischief. Harry throws a pillow at him.
"Just don't do anything I wouldn't do," Louis warns, on his way out of the room.
Harry rolls his eyes. "That is the most pointless advice I've ever heard," he mumbles as the door swings shut.
"I HEARD THAT," Louis bellows back at him from the corridor.
Liam knows it's one of the lads from the complicated tune rapped out on the door of his hotel room; it's their special knock. He's even pretty sure that it's Harry, from the way the knock is so precise. Niall tends to forget, Zayn often gives up halfway through, and Louis usually just ends up banging with both fists until someone lets him in. Liam and Harry are the only ones who really bother.
"Hello," he says, opening the door to see Harry standing there in a pair of pyjama bottoms, with some clothes draped over one arm and a washbag dangling from his other hand. "Did you and Louis have a fight?"
"No, he's just with Zayn, so I'm gonna sleep here," says Harry, stepping forwards into the room. Liam stands aside, and Harry strides straight to the bed, dumps his stuff beside it, pulls off his trousers and then throws himself face-first into the pillows.
Liam blinks at him, and then shuts the door. "Are you sure you didn't have a fight?"
Harry says something Liam can't understand, because his mouth is buried in pillow.
"Oh," says Liam. "Okay."
He tries to act like it's normal for Harry to just show up in his room at midnight, but it's really, really not. He's actually not sure it's ever happened before. Definitely not Harry on his own, anyway. But that's okay, he tells himself. It's not like they never spend time alone together.
Liam goes back to sit down where he was before Harry came in, though he has more limited space now that Harry's flung himself sort of diagonally across the bed. He settles back against the wall, pulling his laptop back into his lap. He's in the middle of an email to his sister but he's totally lost his train of thought now. It's a bit hard to concentrate with Harry sprawled out beside him, motionless and silent and naked.
"Whatcha doing?" Harry says, lifting his head, and Liam jumps.
"'m on the computer," he mumbles, staring blankly back at his email and mentally adding, not staring at your arse.
Harry is quiet for a moment, and Liam is just managing to remember how he was going to end the sentence he stopped typing in the middle when Harry suddenly says, "Watching porn?"
"What?" Liam splutters. "No. Harry, you're right next to me."
Harry laughs, rolling over and propping himself up on his elbow. "Were you watching porn before I came in?"
"No," says Liam again, emphatically. He tries to gesture to the email open on the screen but Harry doesn't even bother glancing at it.
"What kind of porn do you like, Liam?" Harry asks, conversationally, idly scratching at his hip, drawing Liam's eyes downwards before he can catch himself. "I bet you spend hours searching for something you don't have to feel guilty about. Or maybe you're secretly into the kinky stuff." He considers Liam for a moment. "Are you secretly into the kinky stuff?"
Liam says "No," again, but he's starting to feel like there's very little point.
"It's all right," says Harry, shrugging. "We've all given it a go. I watched something where a guy was like, tied up and being whipped and stuff once."
"Um," says Liam, "good?" He stares at his email again but he knows it's a lost cause at this point. If he were to start typing again he'd probably end up just talking about porn and he's not sure Ruth would appreciate that.
"It was, actually," says Harry, his tone still light, casual. "Pretty hot. I came really hard, watching that."
Liam's finger skids across the touchpad and he somehow manages to shut his browser, email lost. Shit. Now he's just imagining Harry wanking off, and he really really doesn't need to be imagining that, especially not right now with Harry sprawled naked beside him, so close. He clenches his fists, knuckles popping out. He really, really doesn't know what to do, or say, or how to deal with this at all.
"You know, sometimes you get so tense it's like you haven't wanked off for a month," Harry tells him. "It's probably not healthy, that, Liam. You should do it more often." He looks at him closely. Liam stares fixedly at his laptop, feeling Harry's eyes on him. "When's the last time you got your rocks off?"
"I'm—we're—we're not talking about this," says Liam tightly. He wishes he could call Harry's bluff, talk back, but for one thing that's what Harry probably wants, and for another, he's pretty sure he couldn't without dying of embarrassment.
Harry shrugs. "Just asking," he says. "I mean, I don't do it so often these days either, but that's 'cause I've got Louis. Well, sometimes, you know. When we feel like it. Still have to make do with my own hand when the timing's not right."
"I don't—" says Liam, flustered. "We—you shouldn't—"
It's not like the Louis thing is news to him, but he still gets sort of twitchy whenever one of them outright mentions it. Especially because neither of them have any shame about the subject—not that they should, but Liam's pretty sure it's not normal for Harry to go around boasting about—about how hard Louis gave it to him the previous night, or for Louis to casually mention how good Harry is with his mouth.
Liam doesn't want to think about these things. He really, really doesn't. He doesn't.
"Have you ever had sex with a bloke, Liam?" Harry asks suddenly. "You should try it."
Liam is floundering. How is he supposed to interpret all of this? It's becoming increasingly clear that this isn't just a joke anymore but if this is—if this is flirting, why the hell is Harry always just talking instead of doing something? It seems absurd, but Liam's beginning to feel like this is never going to end unless one of them makes some kind of move. And right now, in this moment, Liam's pretty sure there's only one move to make.
"Right," he says, steeling himself. Harry is staring at him sort of challengingly, green eyes glinting. "Right," Liam says again, and then pounces.
The kiss only lasts about three seconds, but that's all Harry needs to make him realise this is what he's been wanting all along. When Liam lunges at him he's a little bewildered, but then their mouths collide and everything clicks into place and Harry thinks yesyesyes and throws his arms around Liam, trying to pull him in closer. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he's really annoyed to realise that Louis was right, but it doesn't really matter, not with Liam's lips all soft and warm against his.
Liam pulls back suddenly, steadying himself on one hand so he can put the other one over his mouth. His eyes are wide and shocked like his body did that without consulting his brain. Harry scowls at him impatiently, trying to tug him back in, but Liam is stronger, resisting and then actually kneeling back to get some more distance between them.
"Sorry," he sort of squeaks, voice higher-pitched than normal. He's between Harry's splayed legs, looking sort of shellshocked. "Sorry. Wow. I don't—I didn't—that was—"
"What? Shut up," says Harry, sitting up too and trying to pull Liam back down, curling a hand around the back of his neck. He feels the tension there and rubs gently with his fingertips. "Li, c'mon."
"But I—you—you want—?" Liam stammers.
"Yes," Harry almost hisses.
He may have only realised it a few seconds ago, but he's pretty sure that doesn't matter. Liam's hand slips from his mouth and Harry takes his chance, ducking in quick and pressing his lips to Liam's, sucking gently on his bottom lip and trying to get him to open his mouth. Liam relaxes a little, letting Harry deepen the kiss, and Harry manages to pull them back down onto the bed, and, god, having Liam on top of him feels really really good, their chests pressed warm and firm against each other.
"I thought," says Liam against Harry's mouth, his voice quivering as Harry continues to try and kiss him, nipping at his lower lip, "I thought you were just messing with me."
"Well, I was," Harry says, "but this is a lot better." Liam still looks slightly panicked. "Liam, c'mon. You're the one who kissed me."
"Yeah, but—" Liam flounders, "I—I wasn't thinking."
"Well, you should not-think more often," Harry decides.
Liam seems to go with this, kissing Harry with a heightened intensity, like—like he really wants it, stroking his tongue into Harry's mouth, and Harry can't get over how good it feels, how this is exactly what he was trying for without even realising. This is why he couldn't stop, why he kept nagging and pestering; all he wanted was for Liam to snap, throw him down and kiss him like this. It's exciting, because it feels like Liam's lost control of himself a little bit; Harry's managed to wear him down, get him to push past that sensible part of him and just go with his gut. It's so rare.
And Liam is good at this, the weight of his body on top of Harry feels so right, like he could really hold him down. Harry gets the feeling he's still thinking; his kissing is sort of careful, his tongue skilful like he's trying to—impress Harry, almost. But he doesn't mind, if it's this good. He likes how Liam tastes, too, sweet in a non-specific kind of way, and he always has that comforting warm smell like clean clothes, even now when Harry knows the basketball shorts he's wearing haven't been washed for a few days. Only Liam would have a natural scent like fabric conditioner.
Harry's getting hard, cock filling up against Liam's thigh, and he whimpers into Liam's mouth, pushing up with his hips and hoping Liam will get the hint. Liam seems to get all hesitant again then, like he's distracted by the feel of Harry pressing into him and too nervous about it to concentrate on kissing him properly.
"Do you want to touch me?" Harry murmurs against his lips.
Liam draws back. "What?"
"My cock, Liam," says Harry slowly, "do you want to touch my cock?"
Liam bites his lip, going pink, and then nods. "Um. Yeah," he says, "like—yeah, that's—something I want to do."
Nothing further happens for a few seconds.
"Then do it?" Harry suggests.
"Right. Sorry. Shit, Harry, I don't—" Liam takes a deep breath. "Okay. Wow."
He lifts himself up enough so that he can comfortably reach down between their bodies, hand quivering just a little until he rests it over Harry's erection. The slight contact of his palm is almost blissful, and Harry arches up encouragingly until Liam wraps a clumsy fist around him.
"You're—you're really big," Liam says in a small, sort of awed voice, "I mean, I knew that but I—it's different like this."
Harry grins, hitching his hips up some more so he can push through the circle of Liam's fingers. Liam makes a sort of oh sound and then takes his hand away, and Harry makes a frustrated noise but then he sees that Liam's just cupping it to his mouth and spitting into it. This time when he curls his hand around Harry's cock he's a lot more sure of himself and he works over the length smoothly, his palm slick and firm, and Harry moans and nods eagerly, pulling Liam back down to kiss him again.
It's clumsy then, Liam's hand sort of trapped between them and Harry's hips bucking because he can't seem to keep still, and Liam's struggling to multitask, to kiss Harry and wank him off at the same time. But Harry likes that, likes that it's messy, likes that Liam doesn't exactly know what he's doing but he's not freaking out about it and trying to make everything perfect for once. Liam twists his wrist and then the pad of his thumb skims over the head of Harry's cock, and Harry's teeth graze against Liam's bottom lip as he hisses.
He can feel that Liam's hard too now, cock a stiff line against Harry's thigh, and he can tell he's trying not to just rut off on Harry's leg but they're both sort of thrusting clumsily against each other for more friction, and the knowledge that Harry got Liam hard is really doing something to him. He wonders if that's what he was secretly hoping for every time he put his hand between Liam's legs, every time he felt out the soft shape of him.
"I wanna suck you off, Liam," he murmurs, deciding suddenly, "can I do that?"
"Oh, god," says Liam, and the flush across his face is instant, his cheeks darkening at the words.
"Yeah?" Harry goes on, that usual thrill thrumming through his veins at making Liam blush. "Wanna feel you in my mouth."
"Shit. Harry," Liam sounds breathless.
Harry is grinning, getting off so hard on having this effect on him, desperate to know how he'll react with Harry's mouth around his dick. He lowers his voice, bats his eyelashes. "Need to taste your cock, Liam, will you let me?" he says, and that's what does it.
"Yeah," Liam sort of whines, his head spinning, as Harry knocks him onto his back on the bed, rolling them over and nearly sending Liam's laptop flying. Liam reaches out for it, trying to shut it and put it somewhere safe, but Harry's pulling at the waistband of his shorts and Liam's brain is going fuzzy and he can't focus on anything but the fact that Harry is trying to undress him. This is okay, he keeps telling himself, because it is, it's just—experimentation or something, it's normal and if it's not a big deal for Harry then it doesn't have to be a big deal for him, and Danielle will understand. Probably. Once Liam understands it himself.
He manages to feebly push the laptop out of their way and then turns his face into the pillows, watching through half-shut eyes as Harry gets him to lift his hips up and let him tug down his shorts and boxers, slowly revealing his cock, flushed dark and curved up against his stomach. Harry touches it instantly, slender fingers sliding confidently over Liam's length and making him gasp. It feels weird, being so exposed like this, his arousal so evident when he's put so much effort into trying to hide it in the past, gritting his teeth and thinking about unpleasant things whenever Harry started touching him here. And now that he knows this is what Harry wants, he wants to see that he's made Liam hard, and not just for some weird twisted joke—that's different, and kind of scary, but he likes it.
Harry parts Liam's thighs a bit more, and then gets his fingers wrapped round the base of Liam's cock so he can keep it steady as he guides it into his mouth—Liam feels himself push over the wet warmth of Harry's tongue and then Harry's closing his lips around him, sucking him into the silky heat of his mouth and oh, god, it's so good Liam almost wants to cry. He watches, awed, as Harry takes him deeper, fitting his throat around him and Liam can feel the soft flutter and pulse of it, the way Harry's straining himself but doing it so expertly, and Liam can't help but wonder how many times he's done it, knowing it must be because of Louis that he's so good. Harry's eyelids are lowered, his fringe sweeping down over his forehead, his lips reddened and shining, but when he senses Liam staring at him his eyes flick open and he looks up at Liam wickedly.
He pulls off a little, gently, teasing at Liam with the tip of his tongue. Liam's hips jolt and Harry takes him right back down in one smooth motion, a tight swallow. Liam reaches out, wanting to touch him but not sure how. He curls a tentative hand over Harry's shoulder and Harry's head begins to bob, his throat working, and Liam gasps out a mindless, "Oh, Harry, wow," and clutches helplessly at Harry as he sucks. He feels close already, about to spin off the edge, but Harry eases back off right then.
"I—" says Liam, "I was going to..." He trails off.
"I know, I don't want you to," says Harry simply, and his voice sounds rougher, and Liam feels a tingle go down his spine at the knowledge of why. And then Harry says "I want you to come while you're fucking me," and Liam nearly chokes.
"Wh-what?" he sputters. He really didn't think this was going to go that far. He thinks guiltily of Danielle again, but—she did give him permission. Not for this exactly, but it's—it's not some random girl, it's Harry, and Danielle trusts Harry, and it's not like this is going to get completely out of hand. Though Liam does sort of feel like it's heading that way. "Um," he says, "are you sure? I mean, I've never—are we really—?"
"Yeah," Harry says plainly, and he's leaning over the side of the bed now, finding his washbag in the pile of clothes he brought in. He unzips it, keeping his eyes on Liam as he says, "Louis hasn't given it to me for ages, I'm dying for a fuck."
"Harry," Liam says, though reprimanding him for saying things like that at this point feels a little futile.
"You want to, right?" Harry asks.
"Y-yeah," Liam says, and it's sort of bewildering to realise just how much he does, and to admit it. Especially to admit it to Harry, when he still feels like this could just be some elaborate prank and Harry might snatch this all away in a second and cry victory, claim he's won whatever game they've been playing.
But Harry's smile goes soft, instead. He leans over Liam and kisses him deeply, and Liam can taste himself on Harry's mouth, a slight musky sweetness. "Good. Okay," says Harry then, breath hitching for a second and his eyes going dark. "I'll show you what to do."
He takes Liam's hand and pulls him up, so he can lie down in Liam's space. He bends his legs, bringing his knees up, and Liam settles between them uncertainly, trying to ignore the way his heart is pounding dangerously fast. Harry's got a condom in one hand and a tiny little bottle of something in the other, and he proffers the bottle.
"This. Fingers. Inside," he says simply.
Liam fumbles with it, trying to snap the cap open and drizzle the liquid over his fingers, and he's so shaky and Harry's so impatient for it now, now that he knows this is actually going to happen. He's so aware of how long he's been wanting it without even realising.
Liam brushes two fingers down behind his balls and Harry starts at the cold touch, which makes Liam draw back suddenly. "Sorry," he says. "Um—"
Harry tries not to roll his eyes. "It's okay," he says. "Just. One at first, okay? And slow."
Liam nods. "I just—I want to make it good for you."
"You will," Harry grins, "but only if you actually do something."
Liam is more self-assured, then, stroking at the tight hole until he can gently begin to push inside, his middle finger turned upwards and sliding in ever so slowly. Harry nods encouragingly, glad for once that Liam is always so desperate to get things just right. His finger sinks in to the knuckle and then he freezes, like he's not sure what to do next.
"Liam, I know you must've fingered girls before, c'mon," Harry says impatiently, trying to grind down against his hand. "It's really not that different."
Liam bites his lip. "I just—it. You." Harry doesn't bother asking him to elaborate, especially because then he actually starts moving, finger working back and then in again, easing Harry open just a little.
"Yeah," Harry breathes, "yeah, that feels good."
He's still sort of bucking against Liam's hand, trying to encourage him to go faster, and Liam misinterprets it and starts to push a second finger alongside the first but Harry's not complaining, feeling the stretch turn into something more, that slightly fuller feeling that he loves. Liam works at him with his fingers until Harry is moaning, spread out on the bed and begging for Liam's cock.
"Are you—are you sure you're ready?" Liam asks uncertainly, fingers still gently pumping in and out.
God, he's such a tease and he's not even doing it on purpose, has no idea. "C'mon, Liam, need you to fuck me, hurry up," Harry whines impatiently.
Liam colours. "Stop saying that."
"But I want it."
Liam heaves out a breath and withdraws his fingers, reaching for the condom at Harry's side and getting it unwrapped and on with surprising dexterity. He slicks some of the lube over himself and Harry notices how he's gone all tense, his shoulders hunched and back taut. Harry thinks he must be getting under Liam's skin again, making him want to retaliate, because he doesn't waste any more time—he lowers himself down over Harry, hooking a hand behind Harry's left knee to pull it up around him, and Harry finds himself complying instantly, wrapping his legs around Liam's waist and watching his face as he reaches down to guide his cock inside. He wants to taunt, to urge Liam on, but somehow he can't find words, not when he feels the head of Liam's cock breaching him, opening him up. He bites his lip, hard, staring up at the concentration on Liam's face.
"Are—are you okay? Is that—does it hurt?" Liam asks, still going so slow, gradually sinking in, showing great restraint. His other hand is clutching at the duvet, fingers digging into the fabric, and the tension in his body shows how good Harry feels, how tight and hot around him.
"No," Harry says instantly, breathing through it, "keep going, it's so good, fuck."
Liam swallows, steadily letting go of himself and easing in all the way, 'til they're flush against each other and Harry can feel the whole length of Liam inside, smooth and solid and still.
"Fuck," says Harry again. He knows he should wait, knows he needs to give himself a moment to adjust, but all he wants is for Liam to pound him into the mattress.
"Tell me when you're ready for me to move," says Liam softly, and he doesn't sound so nervous now all of a sudden; it's like he's switched over into that mode he has of wanting to take care of everybody, so focused on everyone else's needs that he forgets to think about how he's feeling. Harry wants to break that down right away, get Liam to just take what he wants.
"You can move," Harry tells him, and it's probably a little too soon but he knows Liam is going to go slow at first anyway and he's right—Liam draws back a little, and Harry feels the shift of his cock inside, the friction as it slides out and leaves an empty ache behind before Liam fills him slowly back up.
Harry whimpers, nodding, and throws his arms over Liam's strong shoulders, loosely wrapping them around his neck. It feels good, curled under him like this—Harry's technically taller than him but it doesn't feel like it now. Liam always has a way of making him feel small, and young, and maybe that's partly why Harry's always doing whatever he can to get one up on him, but right now he doesn't care about that, right now he likes it, wants Liam to show him how strong he is and fuck him really hard.
He says so, and Liam goes pink-cheeked and flustered again, but this time Harry doesn't consider it a victory.
Liam tries to give Harry what he wants, but it's—god, he's so tight, so tight, it really feels like Liam could hurt him. He thrusts in a steady rhythm, trying to build it up, feeling the hot clench of Harry all around him and it's making him light-headed, making his heartbeat short. Harry keeps talking to him, looking into his eyes and saying how good it feels, and Liam doesn't—he doesn't know how to deal with that, with the sudden sincerity in Harry's voice like he means this, he's not just saying it to make Liam blush. It's stupid, but he feels so close to Harry right now, so much closer than they've ever been. And it's not like they've never tried, before, they used to make so much effort to click the way they did with the others, used to get so excited whenever they found something they had in common. It's never been an issue of not liking each other, of not being able to talk to each other, and they are close, but there's always been a distance, something missing from their bond. It seems ridiculous that it might be this, but—
"C'mon Liam please, give it to me hard, make me feel it tomorrow," Harry's pleading with him, and Liam kisses him mostly to shut him up because he really can't handle him talking like that.
Harry moans into his mouth as Liam's hips begin to work faster, his cock plunging deep over and over. Harry's clawing at his back, scratching him, and he shouldn't like that, but there's something about being able to do this to Harry—for Harry—that's sending him crazy. One of Harry's hands drops down between them to stroke at his cock where it's lying dark and heavy against his tummy and he's tugging at it in time with Liam's thrusts, quick and harsh, arching his back like he's trying to get Liam in even deeper.
"C'mon, c'mon, harder," he chants, breath damp and hot against Liam's cheek now, and Liam is already going harder than he's ever fucked anyone, harder than he's comfortable with, really, but Harry just wants more. "Liam, come on, be rough with me," Harry begs and there's a different note in his voice now, frustrated and impatient, urging Liam on. It's like he doesn't think Liam can do this, and Liam wants to prove that he can.
He straightens up and Harry's legs slip from his back, and he grabs at them instinctively, holding them bent up in the air and far apart, keeping them spread wide as he pounds into him. Harry moans desperately, nodding, hand flying over his own cock as he keeps saying "Fuck me, fuck me," like a mantra. It's all Liam can do; his hips snap back and forth and his grip goes tight around Harry's ankles and Harry is just spread out and taking it, fingers grappling with the pillow beneath his head, his star tattoo standing out crisp and black against his pale skin and the muscles tensing beneath. Liam feels like he's losing control, like his body's moving of its own accord; he can't stop just thrusting into the tight heat, driving his cock into Harry over and over, staring like he's hypnotised by the expression of pure bliss on Harry's face. He looks like nothing's ever felt this good.
Harry cries out suddenly and Liam realises that he's coming, clamping down around Liam's cock as he spills messily over his own fist, come dripping down over his clenched knuckles. Liam is transfixed by his face, still, the pleasure so evident on it, and he doesn't notice what Harry's doing until he feels the swipe of something wet and warm across his cheek. He startles and Harry grins cheekily at him, cleaning off his hand on Liam's face. Liam inhales sharply and hopes he looks sufficiently scandalised but—but Harry's going tighter around him in a strange rhythm with the aftershocks of his orgasm and it's sending something buzzing down Liam's spine. He surrenders to it, doubling over and clutching tight at Harry's hips as he buries deep, gasping as he comes.
He feels dizzy after, the room going swimmy around him for a moment before his eyes focus on Harry's face. Harry looks sort of smug, smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and Liam is slumped over him trying to catch his breath when Harry suddenly pulls Liam down by his head and licks his cheek, tongue gathering up his own come, and Liam makes a helpless sound somewhere between disgust and arousal, pushing Harry back down as Harry persistently tries to lap up the last traces.
"You—I don't—" Liam stammers, and Harry cuts him off with a kiss, and Liam goes utterly boneless against him when he tastes Harry's come in his mouth.
Harry breathes a sigh, stretching, his muscles feeling cramped in a familiar sort of satisfying way as Liam tries to disentangle their bodies, fumbling with the condom. He watches through sleepy eyes as Liam manages to tie it off neatly while simultaneously touching it as little as possible, but when he actually tries to get up Harry locks his legs back around him, keeping him down.
"Oh, leave it," says Harry, batting the condom out of Liam's hand and frankly not caring where it lands. Liam makes a disapproving face but gets distracted when Harry pulls him down for another kiss, fingers combing through his hair. "Just lie down a second, yeah? And try not to think about anything."
Liam makes a small noise of protest, but gives in, flopping down beside Harry and shuffling about for a moment trying to get comfortable. Harry pulls him close, absentmindedly tracing patterns on his soft skin, prodding him to get him to turn over slightly so Harry can admire the faint scratch marks he left on his back. Liam seems all twitchy and agitated, and Harry not sure that's normal when someone's just had an orgasm but then, this is Liam.
"I'm sorry, I'm thinking," says Liam after a while, his voice small and pathetic. "Harry, I really want that to happen again."
Harry turns his head to look at him. "Will Danielle mind?" he smirks.
Liam makes a face. "Will Louis mind?"
Harry doesn't really want to think about Louis, because he knows when they see each other again tomorrow morning Louis will recognise his just-got-fucked look right away and will probably gloat for about a week because he knew what Harry wanted before Harry did. Because he was right.
Because, yeah. It's totally a sexual thing. Lying here wrapped around Liam, both of them naked and in a sort of post-coital haze, Harry can't exactly deny that anymore.
"We could probably work something out," Harry says. If Louis does mind, maybe he can use that to his advantage, make him all jealous and get some possessive sex out of it.
"Okay," says Liam quietly, nuzzling into Harry's shoulder. "Okay. Um. Good."
Harry chuckles. "Yeah," he says. "Good."