Chapter Text
It’s been ages since that moment with Noel after their show and you’ve hardly seen him since. It had been a one-off gig in the middle of nowhere, nothing else lined up for weeks, and after spending four hours at the pub you’d all gone home with the promise of seeing one another again soon looming distantly on the horizon. The adrenaline rush had yet to wear off; you weren’t on stage, but you were always eager to get back out there, especially now. Especially with how you’d left things with Noel.
There had been one time you’d run into him at the shop – you’d seen yourself out for a pint of milk, you think; it’s always one thing or another – and he’d nearly brushed you off before realizing it was you calling his name. You’d only spoken briefly, exchanged pleasantries, but the look in his eye was damning. It was hard not to feel stripped bare when he looked at you like that.
Enough time has passed since that gig that you’ve managed to forget what his hands felt like on your skin, but only barely. Some days, if you were lucky, you’d wake from a dream with the ghost of the taste of him still on your tongue. It was all getting slightly out of hand, but now that you knew how he felt about you, it was hard not to imagine what it would be like to see him again, or to get him alone.
There hadn’t been a formal rehearsal in ages – that’s to say, one that required your presence; typically the band just fucked with their own equipment until a gig rolled around – but you love to be in the space, to mess around with the instruments and the amps when no one else is there to tell you what to do. It’s how you find yourself meandering down the poorly-lit sidestreet it’s housed on at half nine on a Wednesday evening.
You’ve barely begun to turn your key in the door to the building when it opens from the other side. When you look up, Noel is standing in the doorframe, watching you with an amused look on his face.
“Fuck, Gallagher, you scared the life out’a me,” you groan, hand pressed against your chest, and he laughs like he didn’t just nearly kill you. The harsh light in the hall behind him halos the crown of his head, making him look like some sort of deity. In another life, you’d have dropped to your knees for him right there.
“Hello,” he murmurs, a soft smile on his face, “to you, too.”
“What’re you doin’ here? Thought for sure everyone was out today.”
“Nope.” Noel backs out of the doorway, allowing you to step past, close enough that you can smell the aftershave on his skin. He’s wearing that godforsaken green sweater again, and you flex your hand, remembering the way it felt in your fist. You stop in the foyer, glancing back at him and angling your head toward the front door.
“Where were you just headed?”
“Well, nowhere important now.” His voice sounds so sure, and it makes your stomach flip. He gestures to you to lead the way downstairs and follows hot on your heels as you make your way deeper into the building. Your heart stutters, but you’re careful on the steps to the basement.
You cut a look at him over your shoulder when you reach the door to the band’s rented rehearsal space. “Anyone else here?”
Noel shakes his head, the start of another smile – this time more self-satisfied – pulling at the corners of his lips. “Nah, love, just us.”
“Ah.”
“Think the better question, though, is what it is you’re doin’ ‘ere. No band, no need to set anythin’ up.”
Watching his face, you gauge whether to tell some outright lie – whether that would be easier than admitting you liked the quiet, liked the smell, liked to strum the guitars poorly when no one else was around – but you shrug and tell the truth instead. “Sometimes I come in on days no one else plans to be here and mess around. I like this place.”
“Well, look at that; same goes for me.”
“S’a wonder we’ve never run into one another.”
He hums, settles against the wall, and watches as you lean over to untangle some cables. You can’t help but think that it must be so obvious to him how aware you are of his presence looming behind you. The silence settling between you feels thick. The closeness brings back exactly what it felt like, his hands in your hair, his bottom lip slotted between yours. You’re almost lost in the memory of his touch – with the real thing less than a stride’s length from you.
You’re just thinking of how to break the uncomfortable moment when Noel clears his throat; you can’t help but to flinch.
“S’enough of that, don’t you think?”
You glance back over your shoulder at him. Noel’s eyes, hooded and with desire written so plainly in them, nearly pin you where you are. He licks his lips and it hits you low in your gut.
“C’mere,” he whispers, and you rise, hesitating slightly. He tilts his head, and when you realize he really means c’mere, that it’s not a dream, you cross the room and fall into him. Hooking a hand behind one of your elbows, he pulls you closer, engulfing you in his warmth. His aftershave fills your nostrils again.
Noel hums, eyes roving your face. “You miss me like I missed you?”
The question punches your breath from you, exhaled sharply through your nose, and before you can even think to play it cool, you look up at him from under hooded eyes. “Fuck, Noel, I missed you so much, you’ve no clue. Thought about you nearly every day.”
“Had to toss one out in the bathroom at the pub that night, you know that? Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about…”
He pinches the sliver of skin that’s exposed itself where your shirt has ridden up. You inhale sharply, and he catches the blush topping your cheeks and grins.
“Did you?”
Furrowing your brow, you cock your head. “Did I what?”
He fixes you with a c’mon, you know better look. It darkens his eyes, parts his lips. It makes him look dangerous. “Did you touch yourself, too?”
You had no idea your face could get so hot, but you’re less embarrassed now – more turned on. Your stomach flips when he brushes the backs of his knuckles across it, his touch triggering your fight or flight. Evidently, you pick freeze instead. “I – I don’t –”
“No, s’alright, love, tell me. Did you?”
Slowly, you nod, and Noel tips his head back slightly, nostrils flaring.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he groans, “can picture it now. How’d you do it, hm? Where?”
“I – soon as I got home,” you stammer, your throat so thick with want it’s almost difficult to get the words out. “When we got back that night, m’flatmates were still out. I – fuck, I got in the bath, and I…”
Noel’s pupils are beyond blown. He starts to reach for the waistband of your trousers, but you both freeze as the door to the building opens right above you. Groaning, he mutters, “Fuck, not again, please.”
You push in closer to him – this time, it’s your turn to press your mouth to his neck, lips ghosting across his Adam’s apple until you feel his breath shudder out. He’s still frozen, waiting for the telltale sound of someone making their way downstairs, and you take advantage of his lapse in composure to cup his hardening cock through his kecks.
“F-fuck,” he breathes, murmuring your name, and you lap up the sound of it, surging forward to press your mouth to his. No one comes downstairs, and the knowledge that it’s the two of you alone, no chance this time of interruption, emboldens you. You feel his tongue, wet against the seam of your lips, and part them to allow him to push inside. He kisses you like a man dying, like he’s on the edge of something terrible, and you’re his only salvation. You continue to palm him and feel him stiffen further, sweat beading at your temples. When you remove your hand from him, he groans into your mouth, pulling back and brushing his fingers softly through your hair.
“Fuckin’ tease.” It comes out like a breathy whine, and you can’t help it; you laugh at him. “S’funny, yeah? Get a man half-hard and leave him high and dry?”
“I’d say more than half by now,” you bite back, then feel his hand squeeze your hip again. Noel steers you backwards, toward the couch tucked back in the corner of the room, and you gasp when you feel it at the backs of your legs. You let him push you down onto the cushion, then watch as he sinks to his knees between yours. “Oh, fuck. F’real?”
When Noel looks up at you from beneath his unfairly long eyelashes, you have trouble meeting his gaze, glancing around the room – at the monitors, the pedals near the wall, out the small window that looks out onto the street – anywhere but right at him.
“Nah, look at me,” he whispers, shaking his head. Planting both his palms on your thighs, he pushes them apart gently then trails his hands up your legs. “This alright, yeah?”
Nodding, you reach one hand down to touch his cheek, and he lets you cup his jaw and pull him closer. His hands make their way to the front of your trousers, taking the zip between two fingers and inching it lower. You shift so that he can help you pull them down and off, and you feel exposed in just your knickers. Noel shakes his head, drinks you in, and breathes, “Christ.”
Your lips part in surprise when he presses his thumb against your clit over the fabric, the pressure miniscule but still damning. Noel takes his bloody time, tracing your outline, watching the cotton of your knickers as it grows wetter. He reaches up with his other hand and grasps the hem of your shirt, shoving it up and over your stomach. Your fingers brush against his as you clamber to pull it up and over your head.
Whistling, he glances up at you and hooks one finger in your waistband; you whine when he pauses there and angle your hips up, silently pleading with him to just get on with it, already. If there’s one thing you know about Noel Gallagher, it’s that the man doesn’t back down from a challenge, and a flash of that bullheadedness comes over him now. Instead of indulging it, though, he takes pity on you, clicking his tongue and inching the garment down over your thighs. The air in the basement studio is cold against your skin, and Noel wastes no time pulling one leg up and over his shoulder, sighing when he catches sight of you for the first time. His left hand reaches around to cup your arse, pulling you closer to the edge of the cushion.
“Such a pretty cunt,” he mutters, running his thumb along the seam of you, and on instinct your head falls back against the couch. Noel taps his fingers against the outside of your knee. “Nah, love, got’a look at me, okay? Need you to keep your eyes on me. Can you do tha’ for me?”
The effort it takes to hold your head upright nearly kills you, but you do it, and when your eyes meet his, the pure want in them nearly knocks you out. You nod, your chin tucking closer to your chest.
“Use your words?”
“Yes, Noel,” you breathe, crying out when he leans in and licks a stripe, tongue flat, where his thumb had just been. His hand returns to your leg, palming the outside of your calf, holding you still as he pushes his face against you further still, tip of his tongue teasing your folds open, nose bumping your clit in a way that drives you fucking mad. His eyes disappear behind the swell of your breasts as your back arches.
“Noel,” you whisper, and when he doesn’t respond – and instead latches his lips around your clit and sucks, hard – you reach a hand down to tug at his hair, keening. “Noel.”
He grunts, fingernails digging into the skin of your calf, and comes up for air, tilts his head to meet your eye. “Wha’ is it, love?”
“Your fingers,” you pant, tensing when you feel his hand leave your backside, feel it then inch its way up your inner thigh. Noel leaves a kiss, lips wet with you, against your pelvis and traces the fingertips of his newly-freed hand over your skin.
“Yeah? This wha’ you want?” Before you can respond, one of his fingers presses against your entrance, slipping in and filling you up. You gasp. Yeah. This is what you want.
At first, one is enough. His fingers are thick; he stretches you nicely. He leans back in and clasps his lips around your clit, flicks his tongue against you, finally taking his eyes off of yours. The longer he works you open, the harder your heart begins to thud in your chest. You try to watch him for as long as you can, but the precipice is coming, and it is coming fast.
But then he adds one more, and you don’t know how you ever thought you’d be able to come without it. The two together nearly split you apart. His callouses and knobbly knuckles drag against your walls just right; and when he curls them up into you, the couch gives way from underneath, and you’re falling. Clutching his shoulder, you try to push him away, but he’s insistent, chasing your orgasm more fervently than you are. Your thighs shake against his ears.
You don’t know how long it’s been, but when you catch your breath – and when the stars are gone from your eyes – Noel is looking up at you with reverence in his own. Your chest heaves, a flush spreading across your breasts under his heady gaze.
“Right,” he says, though it comes out more like a shudder, a sigh. It’s like he feels out of control, kneeling in front of you like he is, fully clothed and close to coming in his pants like a teenager; like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. His hands shake against your thighs and for the first time that night you realize, holy fuck, Noel Gallagher is nervous. He has no idea what to say, where to look. Now it’s his turn not to meet your eye – your turn to take pity.
“C’mere,” you murmur, echoing Noel’s earlier sentiment, carding your hand through his short hair and forcing him to look you in the eye. You smile, pulling him forward to press your mouth against his, and he lets you.
Noel holds himself up, hands on either side of your hips, and he lets you kiss and kiss and kiss him, taste yourself on his tongue. He leans over you a moment longer, nose pressed against your cheek, before lowering himself to sit on the couch beside you and tugging at your leg, pulling you against him until you’re halfway across his waist.
“This,” Noel whispers, hips meeting you halfway, “is what I want.”
You nod, tucking your hair behind your ear, and settle into his lap. The fabric of his trousers feels odd – but not unpleasant – against your bare skin, and you try not to think about the mess you must be making of him. You can feel him through them, how hard he is. The thought that you’re the reason he’s so worked up is intoxicating.
“You this hard for me, huh, Noel?”
You smile at the look on his face, your words taking him by surprise. His lips part before he gives you one of his rare smiles. It reaches the corner of his eyes, pulling them down. Your heart gives a little kick at the sight. You reach behind your back and undo the clasp of your bra, finally ridding yourself of the last of your clothing, and flush under his greedy gaze as it flicks to your bare breasts.
“Yeah, darling, s’all for you.”
It surprises you pleasantly to find that his undivided attention warms you from the inside out. Leaning down to kiss him once more, your fingers find the buckle of his belt, beginning to work it open. Before you can undo it yourself, his hands chase your own away, practiced and hurried. The belt is discarded behind you, lost to the mess of the studio floor, and rather than rid himself of his trousers and briefs entirely, Noel pulls them down just enough to pull his cock free.
The sight of it makes you gasp. You haven’t seen very many in your life, but you wouldn’t soon forget this one, even if you had. What he’s – barely – lacking in length he makes up for in girth, and then some. The tip of it is red and angry, and when he fists the base of it, squeezing slightly, it jumps in his grip.
“Got rubbers in – in – ah, fuck,” he mutters, shifting so there’s a bit more room on his left, space for his elbow and your knee, “in m’guitar case.”
You snort, eyes roving his face. His mouth draws a thin line at your tone. Oh. “Seriously? In the guitar case? Noel.”
“Comin’ in handy now, aren’t they?” He grins, eyes fixed on you as you lean over the arm of the soda and root around in the case. When you shift back into place, your thigh grazes his cock in his hand, and he grunts.
“I suppose,” you laugh, squealing when he pinches your hip. You hand the foil to Noel and watch anxiously as he unwraps it, then rolls it over himself. Wordlessly, he wraps one hand around your torso, tugging gently at the hair hanging in waves down your back. His other fingers dance featherlight across your ribs, thumb a whisper against your bare nipple. You clench your jaw, place a hand on his stomach, and push yourself up until you’re hovering over the tip of him. When you glance up at his face, he’s watching you carefully.
“Y’alright?” What he’s really asking is if you’re still sure you want to go through with this.
“M’alright,” you murmur, because it’s all you’ve dreamt of for as long as you’ve known him.
He lines himself up, leans forward to press his forehead to your temple, and in between breaths, you sink down. His cock presses into you, and at first you’re met with an ache, a stretch that isn’t altogether unpleasurable but is certainly unfamiliar. When you’re fully seated, you exhale against his cheek; Noel shifts beneath you and, involuntarily, you clench around him.
“Fuck,” he grunts, his forehead slipping from yours to rest against your collarbone. You can sense his eyes catch on where your bodies meet. “So fucking tight. So wet. Here.”
Noel’s hands settle at your hips, grip gentle but firm. First he pushes you away from him, then pulls you forward; the push-pull feels even better than the drag down had. His eyes flick back up to yours. “Like this.”
He lets you take control but doesn’t move his hands away. The fucked out look in his eye does wonders for your confidence, and you experiment with shifting your hips on your own. You watch him draw his lower lip up between his teeth, his brow furrow. The skin on his chest is red and you find yourself wanting to run your fingers through the coarse hair there, so you do. You change gears and ease yourself up and off of his cock, feel him nearly slip from you, before sinking back down to meet his hips.
“Christ,” he groans, hips stuttering when you repeat the motion. “M’not gonna last much longer here, love.”
“Then don’t, Noel,” you whine, hips canting. “Give it to me.”
At your words, he grasps your hips and gives one short, sharp thrust up into you, forcing the air from your lungs. Noel plants his feet on the studio floor and angles his hips so that when he fucks into you again, his cock drags along a spot inside you that nearly has you crying. You feel that cliff rising to meet you once again, and he can sense it, too.
“You gonna come f’me?” The question is whispered against the side of your head, and the desperate rasp in his voice makes you want to. So bad. You nod and tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, one hand fisting the hair at the base of Noel’s neck. His hips quicken against yours, his desperation to make you come growing the sloppier your own movements become. “Words, baby.”
“Yes, Noel,” you cry, your eyes falling shut. “Please.”
When he slips his hand between your bodies to trace circles around your clit, you start to shake. You clench again and hear Noel groan fuckin’ hell, then feel him stiffen beneath you. His breath leaves him in sharp bursts as you come around him, as he comes inside of you, and the two of you melt into one another when it’s all said and done.
“Oh my fucking God,” you whisper, stifling a giggle. Noel peels his face away from the crook of your neck and furrows his brow, brushing your hair back from where it sticks to your sweaty forehead.
“What the fuck you laughin’ for?”
“I just think it’s funny. How you thought I hated you.” You snort again, remembering the look on his face when you’d pissed him off onstage at that gig.
Noel rolls his eyes, murmuring, “Alright, love,” but you catch the smile on his lips, the flush that’s risen to his cheeks. You gasp when he slips from you, nails digging into his shoulder, and watch him discard the rubber in its wrapper. He brings his hand back up to wrap around you, pulls you against him, and shifts until you’re both flush with the couch cushions, pulling his sweater over the both of you.
Tucked against Noel’s bare chest, his fingers threading through your hair, you sigh and close your eyes. It’s got to be close to midnight by now and you’re certainly feeling it. You notice his breathing evening out beside you, though his hand continues its work against your scalp, and settle closer to him, ready to join him in the eventuality of slumber.
“I can walk you home, if you like,” he murmurs, catching you off guard. “Don’t know that it’s a good idea for us to stay here all night.”
“Yeah, alright,” you respond, but make no move to drag yourself away. He’s too warm; you’d just gotten comfortable; and even worse than that, you don’t want to think about what will happen after this night is over.
Will the two of you walk out of here and never speak of this again? You don’t know what you want, but you don’t think that’s it.
Eventually he pushes against you and the two of you rise from the couch, gathering your clothes from the floor and dressing yourselves in silence. He pulls your knickers off the floor and teases like he’s going to pocket them, until you give him a very cross look and he holds his hands up, feigning innocence. Noel laughs to himself, pulling his trousers up his legs with his back to you.
“Noel?”
He hums, fastening his belt.
“Will you stay?”
Noel furrows his brow, glancing over his shoulder at you. Something unspoken hangs in the air while he waits for you to elaborate.
“When we get to mine.”
His lips part, and in that moment, every worst case plays out in your mind – he’ll tell you to fuck off; he’ll tell you it meant nothing; he’ll tell you to pack your shit, that you’re fired – but instead, he nods. His gaze skates down your body, then meets yours, and he tells you what you didn’t know you’d always wanted to hear from him: “I’ll do whatever you want.”
He leads you up the stairs into the foyer, making sure to lock the door behind you, and follows as you slip out into the night. Without thinking, you tuck yourself into his side, and to your shock, you feel his arm drape across your shoulders.
For a moment the two of you walk in silence, the only sound the foxes screaming in the distance and the gravel of the sidewalk scuffing beneath your feet. In the still of the night you’re reminded of how this all began – who urged you to give Noel a chance – and you scoff, laughing gently.
Noel’s eyebrows pinch together. “What’s so funny, now?”
You pause and look up at him, at the way the moon is silhouetted behind him, and your heart kicks when you think to yourself how beautiful he looks in this moment. You can’t help it; you feel compelled to lean up and press your lips to his. Before you do, though, you laugh again and whisper against his mouth, “Liam is gonna lose his fuckin’ mind.”