Archive of Our Own

harry's all sweaty and tired from practice, his legs sore and tired as hell; but seeing liam like this is always the best part of his day.

"harry?" liam's voice is small and croaky when harry hovers over him on the bed, eyes blinking tiredly up at harry, his right cheek red from being pressed into the pillow. he stretches momentarily, arching his body and bringing his arms up a bit, and harry smiles fondly. "you're back early today," liam says after, yawning, and harry can't stop smiling.

"a little early, yeah," harry replies, his voice so soft and quiet just so he can hear the way liam's breath hitches when he laughs, face crinkling up at the corners of his eyes and the way he smiles just for harry. liam's always been like this little ball of innocence and happiness and harry's always wanted to be in there, with him, and now he is. he leans down and kisses the smile off liam's lips, mumbling, "reckon i should shower first?" into them, and liam squirms to say yes, of course you twat.

so harry drags liam along with him, just so he can push liam against the slip of the wall and kiss him senseless, licking into his mouth, swallowing the noises liam makes, body quivering under harry's large hands by his hips.

(liam pushes him off a few minutes later, scolds harry, "we're wasting water," and when harry scoffs, trying to lean back, liam adds, "come on, get clean first; we've been kissing for the last ten minutes." so harry huffs fine, and washes himself off.)

later, liam's pressed into the bed with a mostly naked harry, his mouth already bruised red but harry's relentless; kissing him over and over, his hands running up and down liam's sides, his thighs, the back of his knees.

when harry trails his mouth across liam's neck, he mumbles, "you're all mine," just faintly, as if liam wasn't meant to hear it, but then harry looks up and liam's throat closes up.

harry's fingers are long and skinny, but bigger than liam's, and liam always forgets just how massive harry's hands are until harry's crooking two into liam, slick with lube and liam moans, bites down on his lip as harry slowly stretches him apart.

(sometimes he forgets how much bigger harry has gotten, because liam used to be the bigger one: taller, stronger, older- but now, harry's grown so much that liam's got to lean up on his toes, harry's gotten as strong as liam himself - his legs especially from football - and it's all switched around and it's weird. but harry likes it; likes the way his clothes fall over liam's smaller shoulders, the sleeves just a bit past liam's hands, likes the way liam's got to lean up all the way and it makes it so easy for harry to tease him. likes the way he can push liam against the wall and let liam's legs wrap loosely around his hips and be able to hold him up while they snog. and liam- well, liam likes it too.)

liam wants - always wants - to beg and moan and squirm, push back, until harry's fingers are as deep as they can go, fucking into him and crooking into that perfect angle that sends a rush all over his body.

(harry's long since stopped wearing a condom, ever since they found they were both clean and they both liked it messy. and plus, harry's got this thing with filling liam up - really filling him up - watching his come slide down the smooth of liam's thighs, dripping from the cleft of his arse, his hole red and sore around the edges. liam seems to like everything harry likes - likes everything harry does to him - because he can't get enough of the feeling; the shape of harry's cock opening him up by each inch, stretching until liam breaks down to a near sob, curling his hands around the sheets and shutting his eyes tight as harry groans low and spills into him with a hot rush.

harry likes dragging his fingers across the mess too; watching it with intent as it slides down liam's thighs and then collecting it with a stroke of his finger and pressing it back into liam's hole, twitching at the touch, sensitive. liam's thighs would be wet and sticky - and he never needs a hand on him to come anymore, just the feel of harry all over him, inside him, filling him up - his stomach covered in come, but he can't ever get enough, wants more, so he'd whine and push his own fingers back into himself, fucking himself open and hearing the way harry's voice is fucked up and rough, heavy, when he breathes, "fuck, fuck, fuck," like a mantra.)

harry likes going slow the first time when he fucks liam; taking his time to slick up his fingers and stretch liam open, adding a finger every other minute, and when he reaches the fourth, liam's usually a squirming mess in the sheets, bucking up to harry's fingers and trying to get them farther.

and then he fucks liam, rolling his hips to meet liam's every time he thrusts, shifting just slightly and sinking in deep when he finds the right angle. it drives liam mad; because liam might be sweet and fucking adorable and kind- but he loves it hard and fast, unrelenting, just the drive of harry's dick straight into him, likes the way it hurts and the way it makes him curl up and keen, coming in a few moments, but addicted to the way the sensitivity courses through his veins like wildfire and spreading into his bones, until harry thrusts particularly hard and finally fills liam up, spilling down his thighs.

so harry fucks him hard and rough after, filling liam up a second time, making him all wet and hot and loose, shiny and dripping with harry's come and the lube. liam would crumple into the sheets after, eyelashes long and brushing against his cheeks as he tries to catch his breath, usually passing out just like that. harry would clean him up with a warm wash cloth, gentle strokes, savoring the way liam's skin would be blush pink, with new bruises and red marring his hips and his thighs. 

it's always tempting to just climb under the sheets and curl up with liam until it's decent to wake up again, but harry's got to get up and make dinner, and most of the time it ends up just being leftover pasta because harry's too lazy.

when liam wakes up later, it's to the smell of something that makes his stomach churn at him to get up and eat it, but liam wouldn't be able to move as far as to throw on a shirt and shorts closest to him and slowly climb out of bed to shift his way out the bedroom.

he's sore all over, and it's a normal occurrence, but liam can never actually get used to feeling sore and worn out all over. (he doesn't even understand how harry can do it, with football and all.)

harry catches him down the hallway, a dark look on his face when he walks over and liam blinks up at him.

"why didn't you stay in bed?" but it's not really a question and liam knows, because harry's look is grim and worried, and he cuts liam off right before liam can say he's fine. "you could hurt yourself."

"i'm just sore, harry, i'm fine," liam says, shrugging it off, but it does hurt; a burning sensation down his thighs and it's a pain numbing his skin on fire, but liam can walk with a limp and be alright.

except harry wouldn't leave him alone - never does, he's stubborn - and picks liam up. "don't lie."

"i'm not," liam argues, curling his arms around harry's neck and rests his chin on top of harry's head. harry's hands are warm and large around his waist, on the back of his knees, and liam remembers when he used to be the one carrying harry around like he weighed nothing.

harry digs a little harder into the back of liam's knee, just for a few seconds, and then he's saying, "i get too easily stressed out about you," and liam looks down.

"well you shouldn't," liam reasons, tilting harry's chin up and kissing him on the forehead. "you should worry more about football, not if i'm a little bit sore all the time-"

"all the time," harry cuts in and smiles, blinking up as liam crinkles his nose for a moment and runs his thumbs across harry's eyebrows.

"- anyways, you should really only be focused on football," liam finishes, and harry laughs breathlessly as he sets liam down on the couch.

"i can't even leave space to care about my boyfriend?" harry asks, mocking like he's astonished, his mouth twisted up and his eyes questioning, leaning down close to liam's face. "that's quite a tough rule to follow, innit?"

liam rolls his eyes, slumping back into the couch and he shifts his legs accidentally and cringes the slightest. harry catches it and his eyes turn darker. "well, footie's like the most important thing in your life, and you can't let anything distract you that could possibly throw you off your game." liam shrugs, avoiding harry's eyes. "i'm just saying you shouldn't get stressed out over stupid things, and just- focus on more important things."

"that's not true," and liam does look up this time, because harry's voice is all low and small, quiet, and harry's staring hard at him when liam looks. "stressing out over you isn't a stupid thing. and football is a great part of my life and i love it, but you're a fucking huge part of my life too, if not, my whole life."

liam bites down a smile, or a laugh, he's not sure. it just seems sort of funny how it led to this conversation from liam being sore because of being fucked so often on a regular basis.

"cheeky," liam slips out, even if it might not make sense, but it makes harry's lip spread into a smile and he leans down to kiss liam.

"just don't say that," harry says, and liam presses another kiss against the corner of his mouth. "i stress over you because you literally are the most important part of my life. and i don't even know how you do it."

"stop it," liam flushes, breaking out into a grin and harry does the same. "football. c'mon, you care a bloody lot about that, don't even lie, harry styles."

"'m not lying, simply stating that you're more important than it, is all."

liam rolls his eyes and tries to keep himself from smiling harder, but it's really almost impossible, when harry leans in and presses his nose against his. 

it could really just stay like that.

+

harry comes back to the flat around four in the afternoon on a tuesday, and liam's not there. he goes in the kitchen and there's a note stuck to the counter top- "went out with zayn to see a new movie. be back at 6 x"

and- zayn. harry's, well, he's friends with him through liam and louis, just like how he knew niall through them as well, but zayn's always been that nerve that annoys harry. zayn's nice; he's really quiet and nice and he's been liam's best mate since years ago, but zayn's always been too close to liam. 

(harry knows he's easily jealous, especially over things that are his, but liam'd laughed, said, "zayn's not like that. we've been mates since year eight, harry, i'm twenty two now. it's been well over eight years." and then liam would scoff at him and just say that you're always like that with everyone i'm with and you get jealous too easily, but harry knows that, he just doesn't get why liam doesn't see that zayn obviously seems to fancy him more than just a best mate.)

harry refuses to call liam and tell him to come home, or do something else as repulsive, so he steps into the shower and washes the sweat off.

liam's back early, making something in the kitchen when harry comes out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist and his hair dripping wet onto the tiled floor. he can't help but feel a rush of relief when liam's back early, because it means he decided to come home to harry and not hang out longer with zayn.

"hey babe," harry greets, pulling liam in from behind and kissing him on the neck - almost like a rush of jealousy that liam just came home from watching a movie with another bloke - nipping at it briefly. "how was the movie?"

"it was good," liam replies, mixing his salad and harry blanches at it from behind. salads are bland and tasteless and disgusting to him- he can't ever finish one and sometimes liam would force him to eat one with him just to get a laugh. harry doesn't think it's funny at all.

"was it good to see zayn?" and liam nods, and harry says, "did he try to make a move on you?" before he can take it back.

"no, harry, christ- for the last time, he doesn't fancy me."

harry breathes, "yeah, okay, that's good." and sucks lightly on liam's skin. "just checking."

liam falls against his chest, tilting his chin to look up at him. "you've 'ought to stop assuming things like that," and harry shrugs and kisses him.

+

harry opens liam up with his tongue that night, licking him open with small flicks, wetting liam's rim until it's glistening, stretching him bit by bit. liam fists his hands into the sheets and pushes back against harry's tongue, so harry presses his tongue harder into him until he feels liam clench just the tiniest bit, keening into the pillow. 

"you like that?" and liam nods, eagerly; pleads, more, harry, please, more. so harry angles two fingers in him and liam immediately falls into the mattress, a moan breaking out from him, and harry pulls his fingers out and fucks them back in with a slick, dirty sound. "god, li, look at you."

he gets liam so worked up until the point that liam's holding himself open, bucking into the mattress for relief, so harry slicks up his cock, whispers "guess i haven't got a choice, have i?" into liam's ear, and fits himself in; watching liam swallow his dick inch by inch, the rim stretching so obscenely around harry's prick, clenching and twitching.

"you're gorgeous," harry breathes, and that makes liam writhe in the sheets, his face reddening. harry pushes in slowly, so slow, trailing his hands down the length of liam's thigh, the smooth of his waist, rubbing over a nipple, and liam moans and tries to push back.

harry slips the tip of his thumb in.

liam whimpers, loud, into the pillow, and harry loses his focus entirely; watching liam's rim stretch that little bit more with the tip of his thumb in. liam tries to adjust to it, harry can tell, but it's not long until harry pushes his thumb the tiniest bit in more and liam's pushing back too, making small, muffled noises.

"is this okay?" harry asks, soft, although it's sort of obvious what the answer will be.

liam makes a noise that sounds affirmative, but then nods too, a jerk of his head against the pillow, and harry smiles, leans down and kisses his skin. "good."

+

"do you have practice tomorrow?" liam asks, voice tired and small, quiet, against harry's chest. they're huddled into the sheets, warm and clean (since they'd just quickly changed them), and liam sinks into the mattress, hands gripping onto harry beside him.

"yeah," harry says, kissing liam on the forehead. "you could come watch?"

liam buries his face into harry's neck and bites down a little, not enough to hurt, but enough to make the skin redden. harry makes a noise at the back of his throat. "i might," liam says finally, and when he looks up, he looks happy and warm and everything harry ever wanted, really.

"the team hasn't seen you since last month," harry reminds him, and liam hums. "they've missed you. i think they like you more than me."

liam laughs, small and breathless, and harry smiles, feeling the way liam vibrates arond him. "right, of course," liam jokes, but laughs again right afterwards and harry's chest tightens into something unexplainable. he wants to always keep liam like this: happy and warm and home.

"i'll come," liam says after a long while, and harry mentally contemplates on making liam wear his old jersey.

"cool," harry replies, shrugs, like it doesn't actually matter, but then he crumples into a laugh, and liam- liam's probably rolling his eyes at him. "no, that's good," harry says, smiling, and liam bites at him again, this time with more intent. "that's really good."

+

the next day when they're loading the car with harry's bags, harry closes the trunk and turns to liam beside him, wearing harry's old jersey, tattered and faded but the letters that spell out styles is still evident on the back.

he twists liam to turn to him, only to crowd him onto the back of the car, trapping him in. he leans down and catches the soft of liam's lips, grazes, licks.

liam breathes something close to "later," and harry chuckles, hides it into liam's neck and kisses there too.

they stay like that for a moment, despite harry having practice in thirty minutes, but it's six in the morning with the sun still making its way up, and all harry wants to do is come home with liam later and spend the rest of the day like that.

when harry finally moves to get off liam, he says, soft and quiet but clear, "i'm in love with you." and then his heart fills and his stomach knots because he realizes he had always been in love with liam.

liam stares at him, blinks, his eyelids fluttering, and harry wants to keep him and breathe him in every single day. he looks too small in harry's too big jersey - even though harry knows liam's far from small, just smaller than harry himself - but he looks breathtaking and beautiful, something indescribable until you've seen it for yourself. liam's his heart and his happiness, his little bubble and his rock, always keeping him grounded, and he's also home.

for a moment, it's like time stops, because liam still hasn't said anything back, but then he opens his mouth. "cool," he says, and then does a tiny shrug, and harry-

liam's face quickly scrunches into laughter and oh, harry thinks, it's payback for yesterday night. liam's laughing, and harry says, pouting, "not cool, i just confessed my undying love for you and all you respond with is a mimic of my response from last night."

"just proved it's a bad response!" liam laughs, and it makes harry laugh too, right there with him, at six in the morning.

once liam's stopped laughing, harry's still staring at him, like he's expecting something else and liam just rolls his eyes. "i'm in love with you too, you git," he pauses, adds, "so stop getting jealous when i hang out with zayn," and harry's lips spread into a smile, picks liam up a little and twirls him around, while liam hides his face into harry's neck and breathes in.