Chapter Text
On intimacy.
French kiss, forehead kiss, eskimo kiss, butterfly kiss, neck kiss, hand kiss, earlobe kiss, cheek kiss, single-lip kiss, spiderman kiss, collarbone kiss, shoulder kiss, temple kiss, closed-mouth kiss, open-mouth kiss, lingering kiss, gentle peck, morning kiss, moonlight kiss, goodbye kisses, reunion kisses, comforting kiss, reassuring kiss, apology kiss, celebratory kiss, gratitude kiss, protective kisses, “I missed you” kiss, air kiss, nose kiss, surprise kiss, ticklish kiss, stolen kiss, teasing kiss, a quick peck, laughing kiss, sleepy kiss, candy-flavored kiss, passionate kiss, deep kiss, breathless kiss, rain-soaked kiss, slow-burning kiss, intense kiss, heated kiss, whisper-between-kiss, wall-pinning kiss, movie-style dramatic kiss, admiring kiss, worshipful kiss, tender kiss, devoted kiss, pride-filled kiss, "you’re amazing” kiss, forbidden kiss, midnight kiss, promise kiss, lucky kiss, heartfelt kiss.
Friendly hug, side hug, quick hug, full-body hug, one-armed hug, soft hug, sleepy hug, welcome-home hug, tight squeezes, “I missed you” hug, hug around waist, hugging from behind, slow dancing hugs, quddling hugs, forehead-touching hugs, chest-to-chest hugs, swaying hugs, lingering embraces, hugging while laughing, wrapped-in-each-other hug, comforting hug, hugging with head on shoulder, ‘not wanting to let go’ hug, protective hug, silent hugs, relieved hug, reassuring hug,“everything’s okay” hug, crying-in-someone’s-arms hug, shelter-from-the-world hug, pulling each other into a hug, hiding their face in the other's neck, clinging to each other, neck nuzzling hug, heartbeat-listening hug, holding-on-for-dear-life hug, breath-stealing hug, melting-into-each-other hug, trembling hug, reunion-after-a-long-time hug, bear hug, running hug, spin-around hug, jump-into-your-arms hug, surprise hug, tackling hug, victory hug (City played a great season), excited bouncing hug, hug and kiss, kiss-on-the-forehead hug, cheek-kiss hug, hand-holding hug, back-rubbing hug, hair-stroking hug, protective arm-around-the-shoulders hug, cozy blanket hug.
Blanket cuddling, couch cuddling, sleepy cuddling, morning cuddling, movie-night cuddling, pillow cuddling, quiet cuddling, warm-under-the-covers cuddling, rainy-day cuddling, fireplace cuddling, romantic, spooning, chest cuddling, lap cuddling, holding-each-other-close cuddling, face-to-face cuddling, legs-tangled cuddling, forehead-touching cuddling, heartbeat-listening cuddling, waist-holding cuddling, slow-breathing-together cuddling, comfort cuddling, protective cuddling, “I’ve got you” cuddling, hiding-in-someone’s-arms cuddling, head-on-chest cuddling, shoulder cuddling, stroking-hair cuddling, after-a-bad-day cuddling, calming cuddling, safe-place cuddling, clinging-to-each-other cuddling, “don’t let go” cuddling, neck-nuzzling cuddling, fingers-intertwined cuddling, breathing-in-sync cuddling, melting-into-each-other cuddling, holding-on-all-night cuddling, whispering-while-cuddling, hidden-face-in-neck cuddling, silent affectionate cuddling, ticklish cuddling, laughing cuddling, stealing-the-blanket cuddling, surprise cuddling, lazy-day cuddling, post-nap cuddling, penguin cuddling, stuffed-animal cuddling, messy-hair cuddling, midnight cuddling, window-watching cuddling, reunion cuddling, snowstorm cuddling, soft-heartbeat cuddling, dreamy cuddling.
They have done them all. It took them some time, but they have done them all.
The quick hugs in passing. The sleepy cuddling beneath tangled blankets. The forehead kisses that meant I’m here without either of them needing to say it aloud. The goodbye kisses at doorways that stretched longer than they meant to. The laughing, breathless sort of affection Liam once thought only belonged to other people, softer people, people who know how to stay still inside love instead of crashing into it headfirst.
Now, Damon pulls him close without hesitation. Now, Liam knows how to wait long enough to let him.
That didn't just happen once they first kissed in Damon's flat or once they made it more and more official (as official as it can get for them) in the weeks that followed that first kiss.
In the beginning, Liam thought affection was easy because he felt it easily. He reached before thinking, spoke before deciding whether he should or not, touched because touching felt natural and because silence didn't. He kissed Damon simply because he wanted to, he grinned through serious moments, he hid uncertainty inside jokes and movement and noise.
But Damon, Damon noticed everything, and that was the problem. Or maybe that was the solution, Liam still can't quite tell.
At first, Damon paused before every new thing, as if he had to hold it up to the light and understand its shape before letting himself have it. Liam remembers how frustrating that had been, not because Damon said no (he rarely did, rarely does), but because he hesitated. Because where Liam felt things instantly, Damon seemed to arrive at them through careful, winding roads inside his own head.
Liam acted.
Damon interpreted.
For a while there, they kept missing each other by inches.
Liam remembers thinking Damon was holding back. Damon told him he thought Liam moved too fast to understand what anything meant. They both talked about how that could easily have ruined just about everything between them.
When Liam kissed him without overthinking it, Damon spent the next hour wondering what the kiss changed between them, and not just that first one. Where Liam reached for his hand automatically, Damon noticed every small implication in the gesture and carried it around for days afterwards like something fragile.
Sometimes, Liam wanted to, and still wants to, shake him a little. Sometimes, Damon looked, and still looks, at him like he is trying to solve a language he has never spoken before.
But Liam learned, Liam learns. He learned that Damon’s pauses weren't rejection, they were care. Damon overthinks because feeling matters to him, because once he lets himself love something, he does it thoroughly and with his whole chest hidden beneath all that restraint.
And Damon learned too, Damon learns too. He learned that Liam’s impulsiveness wasn't carelessness, he learned that some people say things through movement before they can say them aloud, that Liam reached because holding back felt dishonest to him, that humour sometimes was just another way of offering vulnerability with the sharp edges sanded down.
Somewhere along the way, they both stopped treating their differences like obstacles to survive. Somewhere along the way, they began adjusting around each other instead.
Liam slowed down enough to notice the quiet moments before Damon spoke. Damon started acting on instinct before he could possibly think himself out of tenderness. Liam learned patience, Damon learned trust.
Neither of them became someone else, so the distance between them changed shape until it no longer felt like distance at all.
Now, affection comes easily. Not because it always does so naturally, but because they built it together piece by piece, habit by habit, touch by touch.
Now, Damon hides his face in Liam’s neck when he is tired without seeming embarrassed by it. Now, Liam randomly kisses him in the middle of conversations. Now, they cling to each other after difficult days. Now, they curl together on sofas and doorsteps and kitchen counters. Now, Damon sometimes reaches first and Liam sometimes waits.
Now, they meet in the middle far more often than they miss.
In the end, Liam thinks, this might be what intimacy really is, this learning another person slowly enough so that eventually, loving them freely becomes as natural as breathing. Instinct built, certainty deserved.
Looking back, it is embarrassing how long it took Liam to notice. Everyone else, everyone with a tad bit more brainpower behind their actions, would probably have clocked it right away. Damon certainly would have.
But well, Liam isn't Damon. Liam moves through most of his life without examining himself too closely and to him, touch has always come easy and casual so naturally, he thoughtlessly acts on it. Only instance where he hasn't thrown it around too freely was back in their pub-smoke days where Liam, for once, hadn't been sure about something in his life, hadn’t been sure about someone.
Other than that, he is the first to throw arms over shoulders and nudge people with his elbows and bump knees beneath tables and shove affection into jokes because that is simply how he exists in this world. And not even solely for romantic relations. Actually, mostly restricted to entirely platonic ones, come to think of it.
Bodies mean warmth and movement and presence, and warmth and movement and presence mean not being alone, that's all, nothing more complicated than that.
Until Damon.
Since Damon, suddenly every tiny thing feels sharpened.
It started small enough that Liam nearly missed it. One evening soon after that first kiss in Damon's flat, Liam had invited Damon over to hang. After all, they technically still haven't had an official, well, not date, but hangout, just like Liam had nervously yet confidently asked Damon to do some time. Sure they have hung out together before, but never under the disguise of that agreement.
So now, they are finally actually taking each other up on it, sitting shoulder to shoulder on Liam's sofa, watching some movie Damon picked that is quite interesting, honestly, yet Liam can't seem to remember its name for his life.
Figuring something more should happen between them, Liam shifts so his knee knocks against one of Damon's, staying there. With anyone else, that would mean absolutely nothing, but since this is Damon, Liam finds himself holding his breath and watching the lad through his peripheral vision while pretending to be fully immersed into the movie.
Damon goes still. Not in an obviously noticeable way and not in a way Liam can see exactly, but in one he can feel if the sudden awareness in the line of Damon's body and the strange tension that settles there for half a second too long are anything to go by. He doesn't move his knee away immediately, though with that reaction, it might have been better had he openly disapproved or retreated. Liam wouldn't have understood it, doesn't even understand the reaction he got, but at least then Damon wouldn't seem as rigid as he does now.
Anyway, the contact lingers, warm denim against warm denim, until Damon softly clears his throat, shifting enough to break it after all.
Liam spends the rest of the evening unable to focus on anything else, which irritates him immensely, because what was wrong with that? They kissed and he knows Damon was okay with it. Now it is just a knee, a completely ordinary knee.
The moment haunts him even after Damon leaves. It had turned out a nice evening with no more innocent touching, which also meant no second kiss, and Liam had fun and Damon had fun and no doubt they will repeat it, yet still, the knee-thing’s following him even whilst brushing his teeth before bed.
To him, that was deeply concerning behaviour on Damon's part.
It doesn't stay a one-time incident, as things continue like that. Tiny moments. Ridiculous moments. Moments that soon become the reason for Liam to start watching Damon’s hands, finding they tell a lot about his state of mind, whether he realises or not.
Apparently, the problem had been that Damon didn't use touch carelessly. With him, it looks like every movement is considered, even when it probably isn't. He folds his sleeves over his hands when nervous, taps his fingers lightly against cups whilst thinking, keeps his palms tucked into pockets during conversations like he can physically contain himself.
However, sometimes, Damon reaches for Liam absentmindedly before catching himself, fingers brushing lint from Liam’s shoulder, a brief grip on his forearm to stop him walking into traffic whilst distracted by God knows what, probably more often than not a puppy while they are out at late hours to grab a bite somewhere, hearts pounding from the risk (and each other, in Liam's case at least).
Each touch arrives quick and instinctive, each retreat afterwards comes even swifter. All of it unsettles Liam even further. He understands instinct. Instinct makes sense to him, the retreat doesn't.
One afternoon, they dare walking outside together after rain, albeit still disguised. The pavement still shines wetly and it smells heavenly like air cleaned by rain. Noises blend together into a beautifully calming mix of their steps on the wet ground and distant traffic and Damon's quiet voice talking about something Liam only half follows because he is too busy watching the way Damon’s hair curls slightly in damp weather.
At some point, Liam steps off the kerb without looking, prompting a cyclist to swear loudly. Before he can react himself, Damon is already grabbing the back of his coat, yanking him backwards hard enough for Liam to nearly collide fully into his chest.
The whole thing itself lasts maybe two seconds, yet Damon’s hand remains fisted in Liam’s coat for one heartbeat longer than necessary and Liam realises he's been yearning embarrassingly much for any sort of touch coming from Damon. Now here it is, Damon's fingers near his ribs, warmth exchanged between them even with the smell of rain surrounding them. Perfect, innit. Liam knows a moment for a theatrical kiss when he sees one.
Their eyes meet and Liam ensures to make a show of dropping his gaze down to Damon's lips. Damon lets go immediately, looking almost startled by his previous reaction. “Watch where you’re going,” he mutters, not meeting Liam's gaze again. There goes the kiss. Too bad.
Trying not to let on to what nearly happened, what he wanted to happen, Liam grins automatically because that is what he does whenever something becomes too real. “You save all your near-romantic gestures for near-death experiences?”
Damon rolls his eyes so hard it should count as a medical event, though there is colour climbing into his cheeks now. He wanted to kiss him too.
After that incident, things became worse. Or better. Still impossible to tell.
He figures in order not to startle Damon, he has to start putting some thought into it before touching him, which he's never felt the need to do with anyone before but whatever.
Never has he been cautious, not by nature anyway. He reaches first and deals with consequences afterwards. But Damon somehow infects him with his hesitation and suddenly, Liam becomes acutely aware of every movement he makes around him. If he sits too close. If his hand lingers too long. If Damon notices. If Damon wants him to notice.
Sometimes, Liam catches Damon looking at his mouth mid-conversation only to immediately glance away afterwards like he has committed some terrible crime.
Sometimes, Damon stands close enough that their shoulders brush but never quite enough to make it obvious.
Sometimes, Liam thinks he is imagining all of it, including their kiss.
Then there are the aborted touches and honestly, those nearly kill him.
Once, they sit opposite each other in a pub in Italy, international schedules having overlapped. The small city they are in now is far out enough from anywhere major, while still reachable by cab in less than an hour. It hadn't even been a discussion when they first realised Blur and Oasis would be in Italy at approximately the same time.
The people around them don't even look at them and it seems most don't even speak English in the first place, if even any at all, and it is oddly freeing. Damon too looks about as loose as Liam feels.
When Liam says something extra stupid, intentionally of course, Damon laughs so much, his head tips back and his eyes brighten beneath the general exhaustion that comes from being them.
Without thinking, Liam reaches across the table table then, meaning to simply touch Damon's hand because he can't kiss him. One, because Damon might not want him to, and two, because they still are two men in public...
Halfway there, however, he hesitates, the unfamiliarity of that hesitation making his chest feel heavy. Not wanting to rush Damon or put him into a situation he doesn't want to be in, like with that knee-bit, his hand aborts the movement halfway, awkwardly grabbing his drink instead.
Judging by the furrowing of Damon’s brows as his gaze flicks down towards Liam’s hand before returning to his face, Damon more than just notices. Something unreadable passes across his expression, something quieter than rejection or relief at Liam not going through with it. Disappointment, maybe, a possibility that sits strangely inside Liam afterwards.
The thing is, Damon never laughs at these moments, never weaponises them. Damon never lets him know what he's thinking.
If Damon teased him, Liam could recover and adapt. Humour he understands. But Damon treats every almost-touch like it matters, like Liam’s hesitation means something worth protecting instead of mocking and slowly, horrifyingly, Liam begins treating it that way too.
There is one moment he remembers more vividly than the others, one that took place one late evening when they were on their way back to London after having spent a day in Brighton on Damon's request. Wouldn't Damon continuously agree to and even ask Liam himself to spend time together, Liam would have started thinking Damon didn't want anything to do with him anymore, would have started worrying he didn't even want that first kiss. Everything comes back to that, doesn't it.
Anyhow, so now they are on the train back to London. Next to him, Damon sits with his head resting against the seat and his eyes half closed. The carriage rocks gently enough that Liam feels it through their shoulders every few seconds where they touch lightly through layers of clothing.
Neither of them moves away, which more importantly means, Damon doesn’t move away.
Outside the windows, the rain is more heard than seen, as it taps against the windows rhythmically while they pass villages and fields that are hardly even visible.
Damon looks the sort of tired that strips some of the carefulness away from him and Liam gets it. As fun and, by all means, perfect the day had been, it doesn't eliminate previous damage done by previous schedules, and Blur's one especially has been beyond packed.
At some point, the train jolts sharply, which appears to shake Damon enough to slip his hand against the seat between them and brush his fingers against Liam's. Instantly, both of them still, and Liam waits for Damon to pull away. He doesn't, however. Their fingers remain touching tentatively, far from the holding or intertwining Liam would very much like to initiate, but it is there, it is something real and tangible.
Liam feels Damon hesitate beside him before slowly (so slowly Liam nearly thinks he imagines it for real), Damon turns his hand until the side of his little finger presses against Liam’s. A choice, tiny and terrifying, Liam supposes, and his chest physically aches with it.
Too afraid to ruin the moment by speaking and possibly scaring Damon and this improvement off, he doesn't joke or grin, doesn’t even so much as smile.
Very carefully, he shifts his own hand the slightest amount closer. Damon exhales softly. Neither of them looks at the other, neither of them says anything. But Liam spends the entire journey home feeling like something has quietly begun, finally, and he is more glad about Damon trusting him more and more, than the fact that he finally got to feel him again.
Things vastly improved after that and it even got to a point where Liam allowed himself to think fucking finally.
It isn’t like they suddenly jumped back into kissing, let alone making out or anything of the sorts, but after that train ride, Damon started bumping their knees while sitting and started brushing their shoulders in passing and started letting their fingers touch when one offers the other a cigarette or a light or a glass or a bite or whatever. He even started reaching out for Liam at the end of a night to hug him goodbye, albeit only ever a short embrace, almost just a squeeze. It makes parting a little easier, a little less of something to dread.
It is almost as if the unsure part of Damon has finally started realising Liam is planning on sticking around for good, and Liam welcomes that change gladly and with no intention to psychoanalyse it.
When he starts registering Damon watching his mouth more and more, Liam knows he is in for a second kiss any time now, although the waiting becomes almost ridiculous after a while.
Most of the time, Damon doesn't even seem aware he is doing it at all, yet Liam can't help but catch it everywhere and every single time. Across sticky pub tables, in the middle of conversations, whilst lighting cigarettes outside in the cold. Damon’s eyes flick towards Liam’s mouth and then quickly away again.
And Liam waits, waits for him to keep staring, waits for him to make the move.
Patiently at first.
Then less patiently.
Not because he thinks Damon owes him anything, never that, no. Liam likes to believe he already understands him better now than he did at the beginning, he understands the strange traffic jam inside Damon’s head, the caution, the spiralling thoughts, the way fear seems to creep in even during good moments and poison them from the inside out.
But Liam is still Liam, and Liam is deeply and helplessly aware of Damon all the bloody time. Aware and in awe. Aware and in awe of the warmth of his hand lingering too long around a lighter. Aware and in awe of the way Damon leans in close when speaking quietly, like slowly, proximity is starting to happen more naturally to him too. Aware and in awe of those brief goodbye hugs that are becoming more frequent and slightly tighter each time, with Damon’s chin often brushing Liam’s shoulder for one tiny suspended second before he pulls away again.
It's torture.
Lovely torture, but torture nonetheless.
So when one evening, Damon asks if Liam wants to come around to his flat at the end of the night with that look in his eyes, Liam goes with the full certainty that tonight will finally be the one where they stop hovering around each other like nervous idiots, again.
Naturally, when they arrive, Damon’s flat is quiet. Ever since the first time he walked into it, he liked it, even if he never really admitted it aloud. It feels lived in, with books stacked sideways where they shouldn't be and half-finished mugs of tea forgotten on windowsills and lyrics scribbled onto scraps of paper and jumpers draped over chairs, including that armchair Liam knows to creak.
It feels like Damon, and that is what a proper home should do, isn't it, feel like its habitant.
“You want tea?” Damon calls.
“No.”
A pause.
“Beer?”
“Only if you’re having one.”
Damon reappears carrying two. Liam watches him move around the flat with his sleeves shoved up and his hair slightly messy from the wind outside, and Liam’s chest tightens at the sight, a sensation all too known to him ever since they started becoming... something. Damon seems to be the only one capable of causing it simply by existing near him. It only worsened after the kiss, although he is very, very far from complaining about it.
When Damon hands him a bottle and their fingers touch, Liam gladly notes how neither flinches or hurries to move away immediately. Improvement indeed.
Smiling, Liam tips his head back against the sofa and continues watching Damon over the rim of his bottle, which of course doesn't go unnoticed by the lad.
“What?” he asks eventually.
Feeling bold and validated, Liam gets straight to the point. “You keep starin' at me mouth.”
That has Damon nearly choking on his drink.
“Subtle.” Liam's smile turns into a full on grin.
“Fuck off.”
“Oh, but ya totally are.”
“Am not.”
“Absolutely are.”
The rolling of his eyes doesn't stop the blush from climbing into Damon's cheeks, and Liam feels something fond and helpless bloom inside him at the sight of it.
He allows Damon to steer the conversation away then, on to their usual stuff about music and schedules. Damon recalls some ridiculous story about an interview gone wrong, which Liam barely processes as Damon keeps moving closer and closer without seeming aware of it.
Their knees press together.
Stay there.
Liam’s pulse starts climbing.
At some point, Damon says something that makes Liam laugh enough to lean sideways into him instinctively, shoulder knocking against shoulder. Nothing they've never done before. Damon laughs too, softer than Liam, quieter, and then suddenly they are very close.
Close enough that Liam can see the faint shadows beneath Damon’s eyes.
Close enough that Damon’s gaze drops to his mouth again.
This time, he doesn't look away.
Finally.
First, Damon's hand lands lightly against Liam's arm, almost cautious despite everything. His fingers curl slightly into the fabric of Liam's sleeve. Déjà-vu.
Liam turns towards him fully, or maybe one could even say he lets himself be turned towards him fully.
Only once, Damon's eyes flick away from Liam's mouth and up to his eyes, before he timidly leans in, slow enough that Liam could stop him if he wanted.
As if Liam would ever want that.
Heart thudding nearly painfully against his ribs, Liam instinctively reaches for Damon's waist. For just one second, Damon tenses beneath the touch before relaxing into it and Christ, Liam nearly loses his mind.
Their mouths are inches apart now. Liam can feel the warmth of his breath.
Damon breathes shakily once, then... stops.
Not physically at first, the hesitation happens somewhere behind his eyes with Liam seeing it arrive in real time. The fear. The thinking. The horrible retreat inward. It looks as if something inside him has suddenly been pulled tight and then pulled back together, Damon's expression shifting to one that Liam finds impossible not to read as one of agony.
Like he hates doing it, this, the stopping.
Frustration hits Liam so fast and sharp, it nearly embarrasses him and for an incredulous second, he just sits there, staring at Damon whilst disappointment burns hot beneath his skin.
Damon looks stricken already, which makes Liam feel immediately guilty for the reaction clawing around inside his chest. Still...
“Damon,” he says quietly.
Damon rubs a hand hard across his face. “I know.”
“No, no, ya don’t get to do that and then act like nothin' happened!”
“I’m not acting like nothing happened.”
“Then what is it?”
Silence.
Liam hates that his own exasperation keeps leaking through despite his best efforts. He doesn't want to pressure him, doesn't want Damon feeling cornered or guilty or trapped or unsafe or any less precious than he is, really, but God, he wants him so badly, he sometimes thinks it might physically kill him.
“You kiss me once and then spend weeks lookin' at me like ya wanna do it again yet the whole time ya don't touch me and every time we get close you panic.”
“I know.” Damon closes his eyes briefly.
“That’s not exactly helpful, innit?”
“No,” Damon whispers. “Probably not.”
Silence, again.
He hates where this is heading. He doesn’t want this to end in an argument. “I ain’t tryin’ to be a prick 'bout this.”
“You’re not.”
“I am a bit.”
“You’re really not.”
“Right,” Liam huffs a disbelieving laugh. They both know he is, complaining about someone not kissing him. Ugh, he needs to be better for someone like Damon.
Suddenly, Damon looks miserable, which immediately softens something inside Liam despite everything. Because Damon isn't rejecting him, Liam knows that, doesn't he? Knows it absolutely.
If anything, the problem is almost the opposite. Damon looks at him like he wants too much, that's the annoyingly irritating bit.
“I loved the first kiss,” Damon shyly confesses.
Liam stills.
Damon is staring down at his own hands now, speaking quietly like the words hurt on the way out. “I loved it,” he repeats. “And I love...” He stops, swallows hard, starts again. “I love when you touch me. I love you close to me. That’s the problem...”
To hear it, to know he was wanted close, wanted near, cherished and all the quiet ways he has been longing for, feels like standing in the warmth of sunlight he could never quite reach before. The words settle inside him with a sweetness that almost aches, their tenderness catching on the edge of the fact that Damon feels like his yet he won't fucking act on it and it is so unfair to the both of them and he knows it isn't Damon's fault. God, who hurt the guy...
“My stupid mind just...” He presses the heels of his hands briefly against his eyes. “It won’t stop bringing things up. Every possible thing that could go wrong. Every reason this is dangerous or stupid or temporary or bound to end badly somehow.”
Liam says nothing.
“I try,” Damon admits quietly. “I really do try. And sporadically I manage it for a while and it feels easy and good and then suddenly my head just…” He shakes it once helplessly. “I really do hate my mind sometimes, honestly.”
The sincerity in his voice hits Liam harder than any argument could have. Damon sounds tired, tired of himself and very far from defensive or in denial about his actions. Good, that is good. Means Liam didn't accidentally guilt trip him, at least.
“And then I ruin things,” Damon finishes defeated, and something inside Liam gives way a little at that as he shifts closer before he can think better of it. Wary and hopeful all at once, Damon looks at him.
“You’re not ruinin' anythin',” Liam says firmly.
“Feels like I am.” Damon... sniffles.
“Well, yer not, I promise ya.” Liam pauses before proceeding more quietly. “I ain’t goin' anywhere, y'know.”
At that, Damon’s expression changes, a tiny, barely visible change, but Liam sees it.
“You can take yer time,” Liam says. “I mean it. I’m not about to fuck off just 'cause yer brain’s a bit dramatic 'n I'm sorry if I made ya feel like I would.”
That earns the smallest reluctant smile. Liam feels his own frustration loosening now, leaving something more vulnerable behind. “It’s just…” He exhales hard. “Christ, Damon, sometimes I get frustrated because I can’t touch the person I...”
The word catches him off guard. Yeah, the person he what?
Damon goes completely still.
Fuck it. No point pretending anymore.
“The person I love,” he says plainly, feeling strangely calm suddenly now that it's out. “There,” he mutters. “That’s what this is, innit?”
It's so quiet, Liam fears either of them might simultaneously have forgotten how breathing works.
“You love me...”
Snorting softly, Liam feels the softest of smiles making its way up his lips. “Well, yeah. Bit obvious at this point, I s'pose.”
Unexpectedly, Damon laughs, a startled little sound full of disbelief and something dangerously fond. Liam finds his emotions are more visibly across his face now and he just knows his confession is safe.
“You really are thick sometimes,” Damon murmurs.
“Yeah, well.”
“And you think I haven’t been feeling the same for ages?”
That catches him off guard because no matter how sure and confident Liam had been in his feelings being reciprocated, hearing it out loud, let alone this unadorned, it doesn't leave him unfazed.
Damon looks almost overwhelmed now. Frightened still, maybe. But something warmer sits beside it now too. Relief, perhaps. Would be justified. It's what Liam feels, oddly enough. Relief and pure happiness.
He just has to touch, has to make it feel real.
So he does, reaching up slowly, now being the one to give Damon every chance to pull away. Damon doesn't.
Gently, Liam touches the side of his face, to which Damon leans into right away. His heart somersaults.
“You’re allowed to stop thinking for five minutes,” Liam reassures further for no other reason than the fact that it feels right.
“I genuinely don’t know how.” Damon faintly smiles despite the devastating truth and reality behind those words.
“Give it a go anyway.”
Smiling even wider at that, Damon leans in again. No stopping halfway this time, as finally, Damon is kissing him, and Liam feels the exact second Damon lets himself have it.
The kiss starts tentative, careful in that very Damon way, but the moment Liam’s hand settles warm against his jaw Damon exhales softly against his mouth, something in him loosening completely.
God.
Yes.
Practically intuitively, Liam kisses him deeper, unable not to after wanting this for so, so long, and Damon makes the quietest broken sound into the kiss, before moving closer all on his own.
That more than anything undoes Liam entirely, because Damon is choosing this now. Choosing, not enduring. Choosing, not analysing. Choosing, wanting. Choosing and wanting Liam.
He grins into the kiss.
-
Being who they are, they can never go public. Won’t even dream of it (would be a nightmare anyway).
Yet, Liam supposes, they did publicly kiss once. Kiss-ish. Publicly-ish.
He quite likes that memory.
It’s the NME Brat Awards in January of ninety-five, which means everybody involved is at least mildly drunk and behaving like complete dickheads.
Liam included.
Especially Liam, probably.
The room buzzes loud with laughter and loud and slurred conversations all over and journalists pretending not to eavesdrop whilst absolutely eavesdropping. Cameras flash every few seconds, capturing anyone who dares standing in front of that ugly blue wall.
Damon looks unfairly pretty beneath dim yellow lighting, which feels frankly offensive considering Liam is trying very hard to maintain at least some commitment to their supposed mutual hatred.
Not that either of them is trying particularly hard anymore. They have become too good at this strange balancing act between antagonism and affection. The lines blur when they are around each other too long. Liam can tell Damon enjoys it now, the performance of it all, the private joke buried beneath every public argument. There is a particular glint Damon gets in his eyes during these moments, one that is both immensely entertained and slightly reckless.
He has it tonight. Liam clocks it immediately from across the room.
Damon leans lazily against the bar nursing a drink, eyes already fixed on Liam before Liam even properly looks over. Their gazes catch for one brief second, which is the exact moment Liam sees that bloody twinkle, feeling something in his own chest answering it instantly. Trouble.
A photographer from NME approaches them eventually with the confidence of somebody who clearly has no survival instinct whatsoever. “Can we get a photo of you two together?”
Already snorting before the bloke even finishes the sentence, Liam exclaims in a hopefully offended tone. “Hell nah.”
The photographer sighs like this is deeply unsurprising. “Come on.”
“Not a chance.”
Traitorously enough, Damon immediately shrugs, “I don’t mind.”
Liam turns to stare at him, finding Damon looks entirely too innocent about it.
“Oh, you don’t mind?” he asks loudly.
“Not particularly.”
This possibility of cooperation has the photographer visibly perking up.
Liam knows exactly what Damon is doing and more importantly, Damon knows Liam knows, which is what makes it impossible not to enjoy himself.
Whenever Blur's and Oasis' schedule overlap and they see each other outside their flats or walking the world undisguised, underneath all the bickering and posturing and insults, they are both secretly having the time of their lives winding everybody up. Suddenly, Liam feels almost giddy with it, very much fuelled by alcohol and Damon’s amused eyes and the ridiculousness of the entire situation.
So naturally, he doubles down, stepping directly into Damon's space until they are nearly toe to toe, the room around them tuning in with interest.
“I’ll tell ya to your face,” Liam announces dramatically, jabbing a finger vaguely towards Damon’s chest. “Yer band’s full of shit, right, so I’m not gonna do a photo with ya.”
A couple of people nearby laugh nervously. Noel cheers. The photographer looks delighted.
Damon, bastard that he is, remains impressively calm through all of it. He merely lifts his drink and arches one eyebrow like Liam is behaving exactly as expected. Well, to be fair, between the two of them, he is.
“You done?” Damon asks mildly.
“Not even close.” Liam grins. He can see Damon trying not to smile properly too, lips twitching faintly around his cigarette. His cheeks are slightly flushed already from drink, eyes bright and warm and fixed stubbornly on Liam’s face.
“You don’t honestly want a picture with me, do ya?” Liam continues, enjoying himself thoroughly now. “Well I don’t really want one with ya either. At least I’ve got the arse and balls to say so.” Which is complete rubbish, obviously. If someone offered Liam a photograph of the two of them together that he could keep privately forever, he would probably treasure the bloody thing.
But that rather defeats the purpose of all this.
Something changes in Damon's expression, then, something most people would probably miss entirely whereas Liam sees it the second it forms. A sudden softness beneath the amusement. A flash of recklessness.
Before Liam can properly process the look, Damon reaches out, catches hold of Liam’s jacket collar, and plants a quick kiss against his cheek.
The room freezes. Genuinely, Liam thinks every single person here right now stops breathing at once. Even the photographer looks spiritually removed from his body.
And Liam, Liam just stares at Damon in complete shock. Not because of the kiss itself. Christ, they have kissed plenty by no, slower and deeper and far more meaningful than that quick press of lips against skin.
No, what stuns him is the fact Damon did it here.
In public.
In front of everyone.
Clearly, Damon realises this approximately one second afterwards, colour flooding into his face.
He steps back half an inch, eyes widening slightly, and Liam can practically hear the frantic machinery of Damon’s mind beginning to scream at him internally. Stuff like you idiot. What have you done? Everyone saw that. Why did you do that? Actually, Liam would bet money that those exact thoughts are currently stampeding through Damon’s head.
The entire room waits, a palpable tense collective anticipation. Everybody expects outrage, swearing, shoving, some dramatic escalation.
Damon tries very hard to look unaffected, but Liam notices the way his fingers tighten fractionally around his glass. Panicking. Absolutely panicking. It seems this is one of the moments where Damon acts on instinct for once, desire outrunning fear for one reckless second, allowing him to simply do idiotic things like kissing Liam Gallagher on the cheek in front of fellow musicians and a bunch of journos. In front of cameras. Seems Liam will have a picture from tonight to cherish after all.
He feels unbearably fond of him.
Not wanting Damon to spiral any further, Liam steps forward and catches him lightly by the chin, the movement earning him another collective silence from the room.
Pointedly, Liam lets his eyes flick down towards Damon’s mouth for just a second before looking back up again. Damon goes even redder.
“Do I have fucking lipstick on me face now or what?” Liam mutters in mock annoyance. Softly though. Teasing. Enough edge to preserve the performance, enough warmth underneath it that Damon immediately hears the reassurance too. Enough senseless implication to give the press something to write about. Liam Gallagher accuses Damon Albarn of wearing lipstick, or whatever bullshit they deem worth making up.
It works, the soothing-Damon-part, that is. Liam watches the panic ease fractionally from Damon’s expression, replaced instead by something dangerously close to laughter.
“You’re unbelievable,” Damon murmurs.
“And yer pissed.”
“Says you.”
People laugh then, while some start talking again, about them, if Liam had to make a very obvious guess.
The photographer, recovering from temporary death, hurriedly starts snapping more pictures whilst the moment still exists, and Liam throws an arm around Damon’s shoulders purely to worsen the situation.
Damon snorts into his drink.
Neither of them stops smiling for the rest of the night.
Later, much later, when the crowds have thinned and the music has died down and everyone else has finally begun stumbling off into cars and cabs and afterparties, Liam and Damon end up lingering outside together beneath the cold January night.
By now, the adrenaline of the moment has naturally faded. Mostly.
Damon lights a cigarette with slightly pink ears still visible beneath the streetlights, likely only now actively recalling what he did.
Liam watches him quietly for a moment.
“You nearly had a heart attack in there,” he says eventually and Damon groans.
“Liam...” Half a warning, half affection.
“Ye did.”
“I know.”
“What was that 'bout anyway?”
Avoiding Liam's eyes now in a way that tells Liam everything already, Damon takes a drag from his cigarette. “Dunno.”
But he does know. Liam laughs softly. Damon gets like that sometimes nowadays. Bold all at once, as if he spends so much time restraining himself that occasionally, the wanting simply bursts through the cracks unexpectedly.
Liam understands the feeling completely.
Damon does eventually glance sideways at him, caution beneath the lingering embarrassment. “You weren’t angry?”
Liam’s chest twists a little at the fact that he sounds actually worried about it. “No, ya twat.”
It earns him a faint smile around the cigarette from Damon, and Liam can't resist the urge to calm Damon some more. The lad visibly still needs it.
So he steps closer and loosely wraps an arm around Damon’s shoulders in order to pull him in just enough to press a quick kiss against his cheek in return. “Right back at ya,” he murmurs.
Looking genuinely started at first, then simply... happy, Damon laughs softly and ducks his head down against Liam’s shoulder for the briefest moment before straightening again and Liam thinks that maybe, this is the real miracle of it all. This, Damon learning, slowly, that affection doesn't always have to be survived and that he is allowed to enjoy it and be reckless with it and initiate it and just... let it be.