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“I know, babe, I miss you too. I’ll see you soon. Love you so much.” Liam’s voice is low and quiet, travelling across time zones. It’s late in California, hot and dry and dark. Danielle is in London, mid-morning there. He can imagine her, holding her coffee and bouncing through the London streets to a rehearsal. Their conversation is brief, and Liam misses her more than he thought possible. It seemed like it could be enough, but it wasn’t. Not a world away.
He is out on the patio of their hotel room, back against the stucco wall facing the room. Everything is dark, save the table light in between the beds, both neatly tidied. Liam likes to keep it neat. The other guys are clubbing or playing video games in another room, respecting his need to occasionally shut down and fold inward. And maybe have phone sex with his girlfriend.
He tweets something sweet, something about the fans being everything and life being wonderful, when really he feels a little distant and sad. Happy, but that disconnected feeling when you are so far away from the ones you hold dear. On a wild rollercoaster filled with teenaged panties and screaming girls. Not that there is anything wrong with panties or girls.
The door opens, and Liam looks up. Zayn and a tall brunette (great ass long legs probably a sweet person devoted daughter) are desperately attached as they enter. Zayn’s tee shirt is already off before the door is shut, their mouths parting panting as he pulls it off. Shoes thrown across the room, heels removed (still tall), dress rucked up. Zayn pulls it off her, and she’s naked. Cheeky girl. Liam blinks quickly, coming to the realization that he is about to watch his mate pull a girl in the absolute creepiest ways. He’s red faced and frantic, trying to find a way out. There’s no balcony close enough to climb over, and now he is feeling awkward. He’ll have to open the door and squeak through, apologizing and stammering and maybe disrupting Zayn’s game. But his phone lights up with a million re-tweet notifications, bright in the darkness. He looks up to the room, and sees Zayn’s eyes right on him. They stay as he pushes his pants down, hard and wanting and just there.
He knows. He sees. He does it anyway.
Liam gulps, stomach fluttering, and watches as Zayn rolls on a condom (well done, responsibility), then picks the girl up, and comes closer. Close. Close. Closer. Until she is pressed against the glass of the sliding patio door, her (impossibly wonderful lacking of tan lines) ass spreading as he thrusts in. Her legs fold around his waist, her hands in his hair, head bouncing with each snap of Zayn’s hips. And Zayn’s eyes? Firmly attached to Liam’s eyes in the dark as he sucks a mark on the girl’s neck.
This is live porn, which Liam can barely suffer through to wank perfunctorily. He can’t stop watching. He licks his lips, Zayn licks his, and everything is so simply complicated he can’t stand it. He can’t hear anything, unsure if it is silent in the room or if the glass protects him from being even more embarrassed. And utterly turned on. Zayn’s hand reaches between he and this girl, and Liam imagines the slip slide wet and his cock is weeping. He realizes he has been palming himself through his trackies, adding just enough pressure to feel his foreskin slip slide too.
And all at once, he fears it is over. Zayn pulls out. The girl must have come; Liam didn’t notice. Zayn strips the condom off, and she falls to her knees, swallowing him whole. She remains facing away. Zayn keeps the eye contact with Liam. She must be good at her job, as his eyes flutter closed, but always open to Liam’s. Liam does not know what this means. Zayn nods, and Liam lifts up, pushing everything off until the dull thwack of his cock against his belly is the only sound he dare make. The girl’s hair is twisted in Zayn’s fingers as he fucks her mouth, her hand visible between her legs. Liam spit slicks his hand and gives in.
Zayn’s body is five feet in front of him. There’s not been a single more erotic moment than this in Liam’s entire life. Zayn lifts the girl up, holding her still and edges her towards the bed. Liam’s bed. He places her face down, ass up (that’s the way we like to fuck), and she waits. Zayn rolls on another condom, taking his time as his hands move between her legs. And then Liam really sees. He is opening up her ass expertly, using lube from the dresser drawer. Liam can barely stand it. He tugs, slowly, slowly, to the rhythm of Zayn’s fingers, gasping when he adds another.
The girl’s face is covered by hair, but the bed sheets are between her teeth as Zayn finally sinks in. Her hands make fists, and Zayn turns his head to face Liam. His eyes find Liam’s eyes, and he kneads the girl’s ass in time with his slow, steady strokes. He glances down, somehow able to know that Liam’s hand is on his cock, and Zayn bites his lip as he nods at his band mate beyond the door. And swats the girl on the ass. This continues.
It’s too much. Liam spills into his hand, dragging it out, longer than he ever thought possible. He shuts his eyes, unable to think of anything behind his lids other than Zayn. And the girl.
When he catches his breath and looks up, Zayn’s ripping the condom off and coming over the girl’s ass. Liam’s spent cock twitches at the sight. He can’t believe that all just happened, can’t imagine himself doing anything remotely like this. He is the responsible, mature, sweet one. The one who would never objectify a woman. And his feelings about Zayn, wondering what it all means anyway. Soon enough the girl is ushered out of the room by an efficient boy band member. Her ass isn’t painted white (though it is still red) and she looks glowing (thoroughly well fucked). Zayn flops on his rightful bed, naked as he came into the world, under the covers and somehow asleep in moments.
Liam pulls his pants up, trackies on, and nudges the door open. He is sticky, padding to the bathroom, unable to breathe. He cleans off, staring a little extra at himself in the mirror, and makes it to bed. The smell alone will surely haunt him, but he sneaks a look at the sliding patio door.
He can only see his own mirror reflection and nothing, no streetlights or car beams, on the other side. Zayn never knew he was there.
There’s no regret, only flushing, knowing he’ll replay this far too many times on lonely nights stayed in.