Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The storm got angry again. It's back to thunder, lightning, noisy wind— all the ruckus. Harry gives a little jump every single time thunder claps, his growls and curses sounding more defeated and feeble when he covers his ears. Because it's becoming increasingly more embarrassing with Liam bearing witness. Harry just can't get over the thunder, crashing down more passionately than ever. Teasing became a regular thing when they both settled downstairs on the dining table. Liam kept bringing attention to Harry's inability to adapt, but that stopped when Harry started trying to light the candle. He'd need concentration, so Liam shelved his humor. The matches weren't working because stress kept interfering with Harry's execution. When Liam whipped out his lighter Harry gave him a disapproving look, not liking that he still smoked.

"I don't smoke as much as I used to," Liam defends himself again, watching as Harry moves the lit candle jar to the very end of the extra long dining table. It's the second time he brings up his plea, unsatisfied with Harry's lack of comment the first time. But just as he's about to pick up his sentence, he makes a face and laughs when suddenly Harry climbs onto the table. "What the fuck." Harry crawls over on all fours until he's right in front of Liam.

"My feet are clean, before you give me shit, " Harry's voice cracks as he chortles, lying down on his back in the very center of the dining table. The candle is a good foot away from Harry's feet, so there's no threat of knocking it over and starting a fire. He looks up at the ceiling and says, "My back hurts," as a means for explaining the why of what he’s done.

"Oh, I'm having you for dinner! Lovely." Liam outstretches his arms and grips Harry's waist to slide him closer.

"Heey."

"There we go," he pats Harry's chest like a drum as he flashes a grin down at him. His whole body is right at the edge of the table now, his left arm tightly pressed against him so it doesn't fall off. His head is in front of Liam in the same spot a plate would be, but just a bit further to the right. Harry frowns with a pout, feeling suddenly embarrassed by the position. Like he's a roast or a body on an embalming table.

"What is this?" he makes a face as he gives a pitiful laugh, somewhat regretful. He wiggles to test the table's structure. Sturdier than he imagined, he's satisfied to know when it doesn't move at all, helping to ease the worry of breaking the whole thing with his weight. He turns his head to the left to see Liam looking down at him unphased.

"As I was saying," he starts as he runs his fingers through Harry's hair, adjusting the cascade on the table. "I uh... yeah, I don't smoke as much as I—" The room flashes with white. "Oh shit."

Harry quickly brings his hands to cover his ears with a whine of protest, and Liam adds his own for extra sound-proofing. Thunder rips through the air and Harry's shoulders give a little twitch. He isn't as jumpy for the first time, and Harry wonders if Liam being so close is to do with it. Wonders what time it is as he looks up at the ceiling, warm-hued from the candle's golden flame. It suits the sound of the storm and the nature of their small, private get together, he thinks. Harry turns his head to the left again, happy that he can see Liam's face perfectly with some kind of artistic shadowing, too. He's a very handsome man. Liam could easily serve as anyone's muse.

When Liam moves his hands away from Harry's ears, Harry quickly lifts his head and taps at the wood under it to get his attention. And of course, Liam gets the message, sliding over his hand so Harry can use it as a pillow once he drops his head again. Just as he closes his eyes, Liam asks, "Is it a scented candle? It's scented, yeah?"

"I don't know" Harry sniffs, not able to tell apart the smoke from any other smell that might be lingering. "Is it? I picked it in the dark."

"Do you just have a military-grade stock of candles in a bunker somewhere and you pick one out from the shelf?"

"I think I collect them at this point. I even have those religious ones, with Mary—The Virgin Mary, and Jesus. I haven't used any yet."

"Serious?"

"Yeah."

Liam sniffs the air. "It smells quite fruity."

"Read the jar it says what it is."

"It's all the way down there. I can't read what it says." Meaning, he won't move because Harry needs his hand as a pillow.

Harry opens his eyes again to see Liam staring blindly at the wall, sniffing with concentration. "It smells like mango. It's mango."

"Oh, then it's uh.... Coconut Mango Dream, or something. I bought it recently, actually," Harry tells him, head turned to the left. "Oh it's getting pretty strong now, innit?" He can finally smell it in the air. Mango, definitely. And he can smell the coconut, too. "It smells good. Wow."

"I feel like I'm in a dark mango. It's humid. That's the fruit juice. From within the mango."

"My feet are getting hot," Harry complains with a frown, wiggling on the table. "I'm sweaty."

"Like you're in a mango, right?"

"No. Not at all." Harry turns his head back up to face the ceiling.

"Do you remember the movie James and the Giant Peach?"

James and the Giant Peach; stop-motion animated film about a little boy who sails across the ocean on a giant peach, full of bugs, to New York City. A seemingly horrifying premise, but Harry was thoroughly entertained when they all watched it on the bus on their Take Me Home tour. Zayn picked it out. He managed to be the one who liked it the least. "They lived in a peach with all the bugs, didn't they?" Harry laughs as he remembers. "What was it, a ladybug, a spider, a centipede..."

"Well it's like that! The smell of candle— I mean the mango candle, it's so strong. If you close your eyes— Listen," he shake's Harry's shoulder so he turns to look up at him, passionate on the subject. "Harry, mate, if you close your eyes it's like you're in a mango. Like James in the peach."

Harry can't envision it but he entertains Liam anyway. "James and the Giant Mango."

"Liam, Harry and the Giant Mango"

"Lirry. The fans call us Lirry."

Liam laughs. "Lirry and the Giant Mango."

"The mango mansion."

"Lirry and the Giant Mango Mansi—"

Thunder claps and cuts Liam's sentence, and he finds himself quickly putting his free hand over Harry's right ear as if to protect him. "Why the fuck does it always have to come when I'm in the middle of talking?!"

"Heckler hurricane."

"Heckler hurricane. That's bloody right." Suddenly Liam scoots his seat closer to Harry and tells him, "Oi, lift your head." When Harry does, Liam slides his arm out on the table. "Okay, drop it again."

And Harry finds that he's resting his head on Liam's lower arm as his upper arm lightly presses against his cheek. Like if Liam were cradling him. This is much more comfortable. Liam's other arm rests on top of Harry's chest and that feels good, too. Which Harry decides to make no comment on. No comment in general until Liam asks for one.

"Better?"

"Yeah," Harry giggles. "Thanks." He feels how Liam adjusts his other arm's positioning until it's holding his waist firmly. If anyone were to walk in, they'd be walking into a dimly candle-lit room where a grown man is lying on the dining table while another one cradles his head like an infant. Ritualistic, or sexual, or maybe both. Harry has to laugh about it to himself, face going red though Liam won't be able to tell.

"I wanted to tell you," Liam starts, suddenly. "Before."

"Hm?" Harry blinks his gaze from the ceiling to Liam, turning his head just a little towards him.

"I was telling you, I don't smoke as much as I used to."

"You want me to know that badly?"

"I felt like you were worried. Maybe. Like you might have been worried. You are, aren't you? Not very seriously but, that's why you hate that I smoke, yeah?"

Afraid you'll die, Harry thinks to himself, shifting his hips on the hard dining table. Liam starts running his fingers through his long hair, combing back from his hair line until it all flows back. Suddenly Harry wishes he were asleep. "I hate smoking."

"Hate to smoke or hate the concept?"

"Both."

"You weren't always so fussy about it."

Harry sighs, regretting talking at all before he even knows what he'll say. The sound of the hurricane distracts him, words rolling off his tongue in that monotonous drawl of his, "They have these commercials here, about smoking. These commercials like, public service announcements— they're about smoking. And they have these people coming out saying, 'I started smoking when I was in high school, when I was in my twenties. I didn't think anything would happen, I thought it could only give you cancer in your lungs,' and then they show them with like, tubes in their chests and surgery photos of them missing their jaws. They've got cancer or... just really sick. Or when they can't move or walk, and like... all these really... sad things. It's sad. I hate it." There's no melody to the way he speaks. Hurricane noise playing as images of dying people flash in his head like lightning before that awful thunder. And he has an idea of the thunder coming now.

Harry doesn't have the heart to watch any kind of suffering. Or maybe he has too much heart, too sensitive of a heart, bruising and bleeding over everything. Avoiding confrontation and cancelling out emotion is one thing. But there's nothing Harry can do about sight, images. You can't pay him to watch a horror movie, or even sit through an ASPCA commercial all the way. Because it sticks like a vice to the back of his eyes, and it never goes away.

And Harry doesn't want to think about it but

"Well I told you I don't smoke as much anymore. Sometimes I can go a whole day without smoking, now."

he thinks about

"I think I'll quit some day."

Liam

"I'm not gonna die."

dying.

"You could've died today," Harry says, just now realizing he's been holding Liam's arm against his stomach.

"What? Oh, the pizza. You still thinking about that?"

Harry tilts his head so the left side of his face cuddles into Liam's right arm, cushioned and warm from the hoodie sleeve. "I'm just thinking about..." Doesn't want to say it, but with a disappointed sigh he does, "what if you really had died." But he wasn't until now, this very moment. He won't shut up.

Car wrecked, down a ditch. "Don't do that. I was just overreacting." Body bag.

Cries heard around the world. "It would've been my fault."

"What's the use in thinking about something like that?" Liam says seriously, his furrowed brow showing he's uneasy if Harry were to look. "Just don't, Harry."

Harry breathes quietly, the candle's flame making his eyes look glassy. He lets Liam move his arm from his grasp so he can start petting him again, like soothing an animal. Pets his hair, fingers gently caressing over the baby hairs of his hairline. Harry's having a hard time staying quiet and he rarely does. Never does. But right now he just wants Liam to say something and make him feel better. Make excuses, tell lies for him. But no, that makes him feel worse, too. That entitlement, maybe. It's just as bad. It all is.

"Do you enjoy being my slave?" Harry asks, knowing he could've phrased that better.

"I'm not your slave!"

"I tell you to put your hand under my head for a pillow and you cradle my whole head in your arms. Why? I didn't ask you to."

Liam shifts uncomfortably, staring down at the design on Harry's jumper as he mutters, "Cos I wanted to. If you don't want me to then say so."

"Am I spoiled? Like, demanding?" Wrong, blunt wording. The kind of thing he'll have to internalize a meltdown for whenever someone comes at him with hard questions like that. Invasive questions like that. It's not the kind of thing you say or ask someone, much less a guest who wanted to come over and have a chat. It's not fair. "That I want everything my way?" He should say things better but he won't. Be more fair and considerate but he won't.

"Nah. I just tease you, saying you're a spoiled brat and all that."

"I'm happy when you do everything I want."

"Everyone is."

It starts in monotone, monochrome. A floodgate in the big, pitch blackness. Big or small or whatever, it comes down. Harry could stop breathing, he thinks, and he wouldn't really notice. Muttering, nearly a whisper, "You didn't want to go out to buy the pizza—"

Liam groans, rolling his eyes. "Ugh, enough with that."

"—but I made you feel bad so you'd go out and drive because I didn't want to. Because I was afraid that if it got to raining too hard that I'd crash I-I'm not a very good driver I'm not. I knew it was a bad idea because of the rain. And I knew you'd go out because you never say no to me. And you almost died. And if you had, it would've been my fault you'd be dead because of me. Over pizza..." And he chuckles. "Over fucking pizza you'd have died." A fucking glutton. "I can be so selfish sometimes and... manipulative just really impulsive." I'm the worst. I really am, Harry stops himself from saying. He stops himself completely.

Liam frowns deeply, frustrated and to some extent guilty. He shifts in the dining chair and says,. "I wasn't gonna die, Harry." He's angry at himself for making Harry really believe that, even though it was true. He feels like a parent comforting a child after a nightmare, an irrational fear keeping them up. Maybe it isn't as irrational as Liam makes it out to be. "I was overreacting. It was just hard to drive and— a-and it was scary but I wasn't going to die."

"You're lying to make me feel better."

"Jesus, I'm not," Liam says harshly. "What's the point in talking about this?"

Just then Harry sits up, whispering a frantic, "Okay, okay. You're right," as he just sits there, knees pulled up as he ruffles his hair, fixing it so it goes over his shoulders. He thought he would maybe get off the table and look for an excuse to leave the room for a bit. But instead Harry finds himself turning his body over to face Liam, scooting forward, and then clumsily adjusting his legs until they're hanging off the edge of the table and his thighs are pressed against Liam's waist. Slumped, he sits. The way he's prone to with that bad back. And he sits on stand-by. As empty as he started he stays. Thunder comes. And he forgets to move. Almost disappointed.

Liam would like to think of himself as a knight in nice-enough armor. Maybe sometimes Harry is just the perfect princess. The damsel in distress. The rescue isn't the subject of self flattery, a mission in ego. Princesses don't belong to the knight they belong to the prince. But Liam never sees one anywhere. He never sees anyone. Someone should be there for someone so important and precious and beautiful. But Harry's always alone. And Liam will be damned if he ever gets to knowing— much less understanding—why, in God's name, everyone has let that happen.

But maybe Harry isn't a princess at all. Maybe he's just a rightfully damned outcast, banished to the banks that keep him in a sloped in-between. Not lost but right where he's meant to be. Not that it makes a difference, anymore.

It could never, anymore.

Harry sticks out his hands in front of him, palm side up like a beggar. And Liam meets his wishes by holding his hands. They look at each other for a while, Liam nodding his head with the purse of his lips and the squint of his eyes just to kid around. The smell of mango stays strong, the sound of the storm with the angry wind blowing still there. Rain slapping against the windows and stomping down onto the roof. After a deep breath inhaled and then exhaled, now Liam has to really tilt his head back to look up at Harry, looking him in the eyes as he softly tells him, "Harry, you are the most selfless person I know. You know, you're always... doing things for other people and for fans and and for me. I don't know why you act like you don't. I like doing things for you because I'm like that. I like it. You're a very charming bloke, that's all! I've not done anything for you that I haven't actually... wanted to do. You know, ever. I do it all on my own... free will because I'm not a fucking baby. Alright?"

If Harry could just get to crying he'd feel better. "Yeah. Yeah, I was just thinking out loud. It's nothing. I'm sorry."

"I didn't mean to make you upset when I came back today. I was just a bit fired up. It's not your fault or blame— I-I don't blame you or anything like that. Some things really aren't worth thinking about. I really don't want you thinking about me dying. Or thinking you're guilty if I were to die. It's just no good it's rubbish." Like a reminder, laying the truth for him to see, "No one... died. So... nothing happened. It's cool." Cool is a small word for small moments. Liam uses it, like if he could squeeze this whole talk down into triviality.

Harry doesn't say anything, looking down at their clasped hands. He's squeezing Liam's fingers in his palm like he'll fall if he lets go. It's so Shakespeare, he thinks; being able to hear the storm rumbling against the house, a single candle lighting the room while Liam talks to him about death. Harry's embarrassed immediately. A little kid waking up in a soiled bed.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Harry makes it sound like it would be ridiculous to think he wasn't. Just a fall and the scrape of his knee, he'll insist. "Just blacked out for a sec. Sorry," he apologizes with a chuckle and the cock of his head, chin doubled as he looks down at Liam.

Harry's nose is itchy but if he sniffs Liam will think he's crying. He has to let go of Liam's hands, bringing his own up to his face to scratch the side of his nose. And while he does, Liam's hands relocate to Harry's waist, reaching around as much as his arms will let him until he's actually hugging him. Rubbing him a little, head turned to the side to look at the candle and try to detach from what he's doing. But it's not easy when Harry's hands are on his shoulders, one snaking up his neck until it's on the back of his head, petting his short hair.

It isn't unexpected when Liam turns his head forward again and presses his face into Harry's jumper. It definitely isn't when Harry's hand starts petting Liam's head with just a little more pressure, as if to keep him there against him. And it still isn't unexpected when Liam's hands slide under Harry's jumper, his warm hands touching over the bare skin of his lower back. But maybe it's a just a little unexpected when Harry lifts his jumper from the front, hand on the back of Liam's neck encouraging him to push his head forward again right into his bare, crinkled belly. A little more unexpected when Harry is scooting back on the table, leaning back until he's resting his weight on his hands behind him and his legs spread a little wider. And it isn't expected at all when Liam slides his chair back and leans forward in his seat, digging his face right into Harry's crotch. And Harry pulls his sweatpants up so the fabric doesn't bunch up. And Liam can actually feel with his mouth that he isn't wearing underwear.

Harry wants to see what Liam will do on his own, encouraged to go on with just a hand caressing the back of his head. He lets out shaky breath, swallowing as he looks down between his legs at Liam nuzzling his face into his warm, clothed groin. He doesn't pull down the sweatpants yet, seeming to enjoy the new experience of leaving wet spots on the cotton fabric as he starts leaving kisses over Harry's hardening cock. Brings up his hands to assist him, grabbing at the outline of the shaft so he knows where the head is, knows where to keep his mouth and suck through with a wet patch. Now Harry's having trouble keeping quiet— and keeping his eyes open. They fall closed, shut tight. No one's ever done this to him before. Dining table, blackout, pants still on. He hears the sound of a zipper coming undone, an excited pulse going through his dick knowing Liam's brought down a hand to jack himself off. Liam starts kissing over the rest of Harry's cock, rubbing over the shaft with his hand and squeezing his balls through the fabric. Harry opens his eyes as he drops his head back to look up at the ceiling, dark and poorly lit. Just as Liam slides his arms under his thighs and pushes his knees back, the room flashes with light and thunder crashes through the air. It makes Harry's heart jump in his chest, his breathing jagged. But maybe that's Liam's doing. He's pushed his face against Harry's ass, moaning while his hand reaches under his sweatpants to grab his dick.

Harry can't help but abandon modesty, biting his lip as he pulls his knees back more and takes over rubbing his own cock. Moaning when Liam's head goes down further, rubbing his face against his ass. He's fervent; kissing and sniffing and breathing hard and moaning. It only takes a few minutes more before Liam loses control. And he's quickly pulling his jeans down to his ankles, taking off Harry's sweatpants before digging his face into his bare ass. Harry gasps, eyebrows knit together as he watches Liam go down on him. Liam's mouth leaves wet kisses over his hole, beard chaffing and tongue lapping at his baby smooth skin. He bends down more in his chair so his head can get at deeper angle. Moaning, tilting his head wherever it needs to go to make Harry loud. He laps at him, tasting him so desperately it's making Harry's face burning hot. The sounds are obscene, all wet and loud.

And suddenly Liam pulls away for a moment, leaning back against the chair just to take the view in. Deep brown eyes flash up. Harry looks down at him hazed, cheeks so red Liam can tell even in such low lighting. Nothing on but that grey jumper already halfway pulled up above his stomach. And his stomach, his tummy— so soft and plush, adorned with butterflies and laurels that serve to adorn his plump cock nicely as it lies flat against his skin. And Liam looks down further, down at Harry's tight little hole. Harry touches it for him, rubbing over with his fingers and dipping them inside enough to tease both of them. Liam sinks back into his chair more and jacks off hard as he watches the little show Harry's putting on for him. Biting his lip when he looks up at Harry's face. Blood rushing makes the younger boy rosy-lipped and pink-skinned from the face down to his chest, humidity making his chestnut hair a wonderful curly bouquet around his shoulders. His chest rises and falls fast as he fucks himself with two fingers, holding his weight on one elbow. And looking down at Liam, he gives him a shy little smile that only serves as part of the show. Because he's shameless, really. He loves the attention. Moaning and pulling his hand away when Liam goes down on him again.

Greedily Harry pushes his body down against Liam's face, rocking his hips, groaning when Liam pushes back with wetter kisses. Because Liam's lust drives him to force his head into Harry harder, his hands moving to Harry's thighs to squeeze and touch madly. Harry's a bit of a mess, a bit overwhelmed, eyes never looking away. And his breath hitches in his chest when Liam's tongue dips inside his stretched hole. "Fuck, Liam..." he lets himself fall back against the table, thrusting his hips as he rubs his ass against Liam's beard. He whimpers, cock leaking strings of precum onto his stomach. "Oh my God..."

"This what you like?" Liam kisses on his skin.

It's his favorite thing when there isn't a cock in his ass. The one thing to drive him desperate and over the edge, milk him dry without even touching himself if the right person's between his legs. "Yeah, yeah..." Harry whispers with every exhale, hands going under his sweatshirt to pinch his nipples. His face feels like it's burning, vision blurring as he blinks up at the ceiling. Rain hits harder against the roof, against his whole house. Wind whirling the water against the windows in the storm. Harry's balls feel tight and his breath comes and goes recklessly, inconsiderately. He knows he's close but he wants to get to just before the very end, rocking his hips and pinching his puffy nipples as Liam eats him out. Harder, panting, wheezing, whimpering— "W-Wait, wait wait—" Harry's voice cracks as he pushes Liam's head back, thighs dropping down as his back arches off the table. "Fuck, oh fuck...!"

Liam laughs as his eyebrows come to curve upwards, stroking himself as he watches Harry reel himself back from the edge. Stomach twitching, whimpering curses as he keeps playing with his nipples. And Liam feels a bit proud, ego making his balls twitch. "Just from that?" he slaps Harry's quivering thigh before rubbing over it softly.

It takes him a while, but Harry comes down from the high, hands going over his warm face as he giggles, "Don't act surprised..." Liam's already done it twice before. Both times on tour, both times drunk. The only thing that separates this time from the past is that Liam is very much sober, and Harry stopped himself from making a mess.

Liam watches him lazily push himself up until he's sitting on the table again. Red faced, skin looking sensitive. The look of his leaking erection prompts Liam to ask quietly, "I suppose you want me to fuck you now?"

Harry grins, letting himself drop down on the dining table again as he moans an, "Mhm," like the dissipate boy he is. But as he licks his lips, he suddenly corrects himself, "No, I mean— if you want. To." Fuck, please, he prays not too proudly in his head. Otherwise Harry got a little too ahead of himself and gave himself blue balls for nothing. Knowing Liam he could just flake and pull up his pants, deciding he's already done enough before an internalized guilt comes out to grieve him. It can be 50/50.

"Yeah."

"Thank God."

Liam laughs, taking off his shoes so he can pull off his jeans from around his ankles. He stands up from his chair, giving Harry's thigh another little slap. Because he's nervous. And he wants this so bad, wants to be snapped back into his shameless libido. Harry's scooting himself down until his ass is at the edge of the table, eager for Liam to nestle his hips between his spread thighs. Liam hesitates to look down, and he's embarrassed of that. So he quickly pulls off his hoodie and drops his weight forward on the table, on Harry. And he kisses him, kisses him hard. Harry lifts his head into him, moaning for more. Desperation unravels, Liam's hand back to his erection. And like jumping into a moving current everything falls into motion, and promises never to stop. With a kiss to Harry's cheek Liam pulls back, standing firmly on his feet as he rubs his cock against Harry's hole.

Maybe it's because Liam takes too long getting his cock wet with spit, or because reality knocks on the glass along with the branch that just blew across the window, but suddenly Harry closes his eyes and quietly chuckles, "I'm always a slut when I get sad," he furrows his brow. Because he's embarrassed to say it, head turned to the side at the candle. New sight. It's melted quite a bit.

"Been there," Liam snorts, eyes going wide. "Oh yeah."

Harry smiles and lifts up his head to look at him, standing between his legs.

"We all wank after we have ourselves a little cry," Liam tells him in sing-song like if he were narrating a fable, slicking his cock with one last spit in his palm before he drops his weight forward. "You're just lucky enough to have me around. And I'm quite lucky as well, actually."

Harry stumbles with his words, an awkward murmur he forgets to hold back. "You sad?"

"Who cares," Liam mumbles against Harry's lips, thrusting his hips between his legs, sliding his dick over his hole.

"I care," Harry whispers back, just before Liam kisses him. Softly, so sweetly. His mouth is warm, faint taste of cigarettes making Harry emotional enough for his libido to fall into the mix. Like his heart races double, holding Liam closer against him for reasons he can't spell out. And he won't get the chance to for a while, moaning into Liam's mouth with a hard kiss when his fat cock is squeezing inside him. Liam moans back, hands going around Harry's waist once his cock is stuffed snugly all the way inside. "You're so fucking big..." Harry praises him, adores him as he squeezes down on his cock, hands rubbing up Liam's strong back.

Liam pulls out slow, thrusting back in just as steady. It's gentle, making for a sharp contrast at all the angry noise outside from the storm. They're just used to it now. Used to the dark, too. Not that they're strangers to the dark, living for five years under the harsh stage lights in a pitch black screaming stadium. But it's just the two of them now. Liam kissing Harry harder, moaning deeper in his throat every time his cock is swallowed to the base. Harry's eyes are closed, his cheeks rouging with that angry pink again as his oversensitive body gets fucked. He wasn't stretched enough for this and it's a feeling he can't get enough of. How thrust after thrust, Liam's cock still squeezes through him. They break the kiss and Harry drops his weight back back on the table again, exhausted and overwhelmed with pleasure. He keeps from touching his aching cock, knowing he can get off just like this and wanting to so desperately. Feeling Liam thrust harder inside him puts Harry in a drunk haze, eyes shut tight with the furrow of his brow. Running his hands up Liam's hairy abs and his strong chest, flexing under his fingers with ever sharp snap of his hips.

"Just like this?" Liam groans, bending himself over the table as he picks up his pace, hands reaching up to cup Harry's cheeks. Eyes closed, strong grip, firm against his jaw.

"Anything you want... anything, everything..."

Neither of them see the lightning flash through the room, so neither of them expect the thunder that smashes violently down against the air. This time it scares Harry, crying out as his body shutters under Liam. Hard to breathe as he starts to tremble, like his body's too defenseless to deal with the fright. That fear, it merges with his lust just like the thunder that came before. He spreads his thighs wider as Liam starts fucking him with quick, short thrusts that slide him on the table back and forth. The grip on his throat is all that's keeping him in place. Harry's sweating onto the wood already, and his skin under his jumper feels like it's burning. He yanks the fabric up with trembling hands and rubs them over the sweat-slick skin of his heaving chest. And then Liam takes over for him, palms harshly rubbing over Harry's fat nipples while he fucks him, weight on his body, groaning against his throat. He pinches the swollen, sensitive nubs callously just to hear the gorgeous, begging moans from Harry's lips. Sticking out his chest, wanting more. 

"Do I feel good?" Harry whimpers as he runs his hands up Liam's back.

Liam's a mess on top of him. "Fuck yeah..." his voice trembling, cock ramming in and out of Harry's ass. He's on his tip toes, bent over on the dining table to fuck him good.

And Harry kisses him deep and sloppy and loud, his curly baby hairs already damp on his forehead. He doesn't know what's gotten into him. And he's only just noticed, or realized, or whatever way it came to him— he can't tell like this. He just knows, suddenly. That when he lifts himself to prop his weight on his elbows again, lifting his jumper all the way up to his collarbone, it's so Liam can bend his head down and start sucking on his nipples. As hard as he wants. It's Liam's favorite thing and maybe it's because it's Harry's other favorite thing. But he loves it, suckling at Harry's tits. Harry just wants to feel that fixation. That anything and everything he promised. He feels like he's missed Liam. Or like he'll miss him. Both at once, maybe more and all over again. Harry's never wanted him this bad. Not to say he's been wanting him less all the times before. But just that he's needing him in such a different way right now. Like he's far or going away goodbye. It's that feeling. It's horrible because it makes no sense.

But this isn't. "Fuck... oh God..." Harry breathes as he looks down at Liam, mouth latched onto his chest as he sucks his hard, puffy nipple. He swirls his tongue around it, sucking harder and harder until it's too much, and then he lets go, kissing it and licking the nub gently until he's starting up all over again. It beginning to sting and Harry likes that, bringing his knees back more as Liam's cock starts hitting his prostate. And Liam moans desperately on Harry's nipple while his arms wrap tightly around his waist, fucking into him hard, balls slapping against his ass. Harry's brow is knit together tight. Flushed, kiss-swollen lips parted as his head falls back. He moans, whines, long hair swaying back and forth with every thrust. His balls tightening, cock twitching and aching with every orgasm he denies it. Edging back and forth and back and forth—

Until the room flashes white. And Harry's heart jumps in his chest high enough it feels like he can't breathe by the time the thunder comes down. It's awful, sudden, like two metal pots slamming together in a deafening impact that roars through the sky.

And that's when Harry cums.

He forgets to say anything, voice just cutting into a guttural whine as his hips snap up from the table and cum is spurting from the tip of his bobbing cock. All over his jumper and clenching stomach, and all over Liam. It has to be the most helpless feeling. Pleasure rips through him with more pain in his balls than he anticipated, making his watering eyes roll behind his closed eyelids as his body trembles. Every orgasm denied makes for thicker cum, more of it, landing on his skin and across Liam's throat. And Liam just keeps fucking Harry hard on that dining table, suckling on his nipples as he moans through the fading ring of thunder. His hold on Harry's lower back keeps him from falling back onto the table, keeps his chest against his face. And Harry's clenching down around Liam's cock while the cum keeps dripping down from his dick onto his belly. Cum inside me, he'd beg him if he didn't want to be so damn selfish.

But with a frantic moan Liam is already spilling his seed inside him. Harry can feel his arms twitching around his waist, muscles flexing. Liam's mouth leaves Harry's nipples and he goes to kiss him on the lips. Harry's surprised by the slow pace of that kiss through his vehement thrusts, the taste of cigarette on his tongue gone. And Liam's pulling back his arms from around Harry, carefully letting him fall back down without breaking their kiss. Harry drops his thighs, legs dangling over the edge of the table again. Sore, terribly. They breathe hard through their noses, sweatier than they realized once they're pressed chest to chest. It's a cute gesture when Liam pulls down Harry's jumper and adjusts the wrinkles. He isn't thinking when he does it. Mostly he just wanted something warm to cuddle on for a moment, for that kiss.

Until he pulls away and holds himself up on his hands, catching his breath. By now he would've rolled off and changed the subject with a joke while dressing himself. But he just wants to be close to Harry right now. Keep him company, watch over him for a bit. Because why not. The hurricane outside has no intention of stopping and they're alone in the dark with only a single red flame to give them sight of each other. It's an open invitation for intimacy that even Liam can't deny. They already fucked. And there's nothing else to do. But even if there was, Liam knows he would stay right where he is. No place he really thinks he'd rather be.

Harry's gone soft between his legs, Liam's cum trickling under his thighs. Liam's already pulled out but he stays leaned over Harry in the same position. What a dreamboat, Harry thinks to himself as he looks up. Liam's red in the face like when he works out for too long, strands coming loose from his tight quiff. His disheveled beard adds new shadows to his sculpted face, eyes looking black in the dining room's low light. The eye contact doesn't come as an incommodity. Liam is a panting, sweaty presence but Harry's fine with having him just where he is. More than fine, leaning his head to the side until his head is against Liam's arm. The dark seems to comfort Harry now, a dizzy haze making everything feel ambient and serene to a pair of green, heavy-lit eyes.

"I don't think the lights are coming back any time soon."

Harry looks up to ceiling for what feels like the millionth time, because that's how he finds himself acknowledging the hurricane outside. It doesn't sound any better what with the rain raging against the walls and the rumble of distant thunder to be heard. Category 3 hurricane means bad, Harry will remember from now on. But the consequences haven't been entirely all that bad— Liam is with him. Though they played catch and throw with their own natural disaster for a moment there, Harry doesn't regret it. It might have something to do with the sex, but he'll insist definitely not. "You staying over, then?"

"Have I got a choice?" Liam raises his eyebrow, smirking down at Harry.

And for a change, Harry finds himself saying, "Sure you do," softly with a little smile. He's a doormat for everyone that doesn't matter, it seems. Liam deserves it more than anyone. Because it's not like Liam could actually drive out in the middle of the storm. So really, it's stupid for Harry to say that Liam could just leave. But he wanted to prove that the intention, the thought, it's crossing his mind. More like bashing against the walls, actually, since he isn't making sense. 

But Liam catches notice of that intention, stuttering a smile before quickly telling him, "Yeah, I'll stay. Stay here in this blackout with you." Like he forgot, too, that he really can't leave if he wanted to.

"I forgot it still smells like mango."

Liam reaches out his hand to pet Harry's damp hair and tells him, "You smell better." Sweat and sex and cum and just the faintest linger of some organic body mist from his shower at noon. When Liam tries to pull his hand away, Harry grabs his wrist with a pout. Liam chuckles, petting him again like a cat who won't take no for an answer.

Dreadfully, in that moment, Harry realizes he's still starving. Maybe now more than ever. And Harry is a damned man all over again for thinking about Liam dying for the third or fourth time this night—he doesn't know. With how hard he was fucked, he wonders if Liam had anything causing trouble in his head. "And I'm quite lucky as well, actually." —That's come back to demand his attention. If Harry didn't know any better he'd think it was his fault he planted some menacing weed in Liam's head. But he does know better. Of course it's his fault.

"I'm sorry," he imagines himself telling Liam. Never has a problem with apologizing. But Liam will just tell him it's fine anyway, tell him there isn't anything to apologize for as he gently pets his head.

"For what?" he'd say with that smile. Because he doesn't want Harry being sad, is all. Because Harry's a charming bloke, is all. Sure. It's funny how Liam can be so demanding about opening up, and at the same time be so good at changing the subject and blocking conflict. Maybe he's more like Harry than Harry thought. Or maybe he's adapting for him, learning to leave more than just his sexuality unspoken. All as a means to protect him. And that's so much goddamn effort.

"You don't have to tend to me, the way you do. It's not good for you. I'm not worth it."

"Of course you are, sunshine."

"Why would I be?"

Why knights always slay dragons to rescue princesses.

"Because I'm in love with you. Thought you knew that already."

"Oi."

Harry opens his eyes. "Hm?"

"What are you thinking about?"

He smiles, dimples creasing his cheeks as he looks into Liam's eyes. And then he turns his head to the side, sighing with a stretch as he says, "I'm thinking about the poor souls that are gonna have to eat quinoa off this table."

"Noooo!" Liam cackles as he roles over on the table, covering his face. "Fuck!"

"I'm proper leaking here. I'm just sitting in a puddle."

"For God's sake clean it..." He's embarrassed, laughing as he shoves Harry who announces bluntly like a charismatic TV host,

"Ass, semen, sweat..."

"I should... really probably wash my face," Liam can't say with a straight face.

And Harry chortles, cheeks turning red all over again as he turns over to look at Liam and tell him, "I volunteer."