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It’s fucking hot in Kansas City.
Louis would like to blame his sudden spike in body temperature solely on the weather, but really, he’s only a good liar when he’s not lying to himself. He knows that it just so happens to be one of those nights – the ones where he and Liam are inexplicably clingy and close and maybe a little bit too touchy, and maybe the boys or the fans or even the tabloids will finally get around to speculating about it this time, but no one really knows the truth. Granted, Louis doesn’t really know what the truth is, either. He couldn’t define this – whatever the hell it is – if he tried.
All he really knows is that the stage lights are hot and blinding in a way that makes his shirt cling to his back with sweat and his fringe is beginning to droop even after having his hair cut earlier, and maybe he’d feel more concerned about it if Liam didn’t choose to remedy the insufferable heat by dumping a bottle of Powerade over top of Louis’ head, his eyes narrowed in on the way it cascades in mini-waterfalls over his chest, pupils blown in a way only Louis can detect.
The thing is, Liam never looks at the other boys like that. Louis knows he doesn’t.
The crowd goes wild for it, of course. They love it, scream impossibly louder when Liam drapes an arm around Louis, pulling him into a hug. He tucks his head into the crook of Louis’ shoulder, and it passes as strictly platonic, of course, because no one can see where his lips are brushing against Louis' neck. And they certainly can’t feel what Louis can feel, because Louis can feel Liam’s cock, half-hard and wet where it’s pressed against his hip through their jeans. No one hears the way his lips whisper “later” without actual words.
Louis hears it, though.
He can wait, but just barely.
By the final encore of Best Song Ever, they’ve upended a total of six Powerade drinks over top of each other, foreheads pressed together as they stand under a stream of pink and orange and blue electrolytes, giggling like schoolboys who will never, not in a million years, admit to their unspoken, mutual crush.
It’s probably not a far-off comparison, really.
After the show, they stumble backstage in a haze of sweaty limbs and bodyguards and personal assistants with bottles of water and tiny little hand-held fans at the ready. Just then, one of the heads of transportation steps in with a clipboard tucked under his arm, looking stressed as he reports a traffic jam just outside the venue on the main highway.
Looks like they’ll be stuck here for a while, then.
It’s so fucking hot.
Louis groans, slumping down on a nearby couch. He fans himself with his hand, the other tugging at the white, sheer little shirt that’s still sticking sugary-tight to his chest. Maybe Powerade was a bad idea.
It’s not really a surprise when Liam plops down beside him a moment later, peeling out of his own shirt and tossing it to the floor, the bastard. He leans back against the couch cushions, sighing in relief as the air conditioning cools the droplets of sweat on his chest. His legs are spread just so, and Louis can actually see a bit of the outline of his cock in his jeans.
Louis can’t even tell if Liam is doing this on purpose or not.
He must be losing his touch.
“Good show, yeah?” Liam says, apparently oblivious to the internal struggle that’s currently waging war inside Louis’ head; To fuck, or not to fuck?
Louis nods, lips twisting into a slight smile. “Sick crowd.”
Liam wipes at his forehead with the back of his hand. “Just didn’t realize it was this hot in Kansas.”
“Kansas City,” Louis corrects.
Liam quirks his brow. “What’s the difference?”
That gives Louis pause. He mulls it over for nearly three seconds before shrugging. “No idea, actually.”
Liam laughs, that squinty-eyed giggle he gets whenever Louis says anything even remotely funny. It shouldn’t be a turn on.
Somehow, it is.
Louis huffs out an impatient breath, angry with himself for giving into this – this thing – so easily, but right now, he can’t quite bring himself to care. They’re sitting in a companionable silence for a long moment before Louis finally waves that damn white flag and reaches out a hand, poking at Liam’s thigh, the sensitive little spot just above his knee. A place where no one notices, no one sees.
Liam turns his head the tiniest bit in his direction, glancing at him out of his peripheral vision, the look in his eyes a mixture of uncertainty and intrigue. “…Now?” he mouths under his breath.
Louis can understand his confusion. Any other time, they’ve waited until they made it back to their hotel, usually intoxicated in some way or another after a round of drinks, or a spliff in the back of the tour bus. Tonight, however, Louis is sober, save for the usual post-show adrenaline, and he really doesn’t want to think about what’s making him so impatient right now. He’ll save the self-loathing for later, confident that he’ll find a way to gain back the upper hand. After all, Liam can’t ultimately win at this. Not against Louis, anyway.
He figures he’ll let him savor in the small victory for now and bites at the corner of his lip, his body making the decision before his brain can intervene. He nods, inclining his head towards the back of the building, where the toilets are.
Liam exhales, his hands clenching into nervous little fists at his sides. He always gets so fucking jittery just from the very prospect of fucking Louis.
Louis doesn’t tell him how endearing that is.
Instead, he stands up from the couch and inches back towards the bathroom, inconspicuous as possible, or at least he hopes. He pulls the door to the tiny, cubicle-sized bathroom closed without a sound, leaving it unlocked. He’s rather pleased when he turns to meet his reflection in the mirror, his hair slicked back, shirt still wet and clinging to his chest, all the familiar parts peeking through the fabric, pectorals and nipples and the slightest ghost of a curve around his waist and the dip of his back. He hops up on the linoleum counterspace there, parting his thighs a bit while he waits.
Liam sneaks inside a moment later in a rush of quick, over-anxious limbs, reaching a hand back to lock the door behind him.
Louis rolls his eyes. “Please tell me you’ve got lube?”
Of course he does; Liam is always prepared. He pulls a travel-sized packet of lubricant (honestly) from his pocket with a triumphant little noise, tossing it on top of the counter. And then he’s stepping between Louis’ legs, looping a hand behind his neck to tug him into a kiss.
It shouldn’t be this familiar, but it is.
Louis inches forward on the countertop, scooting in even closer to lock his legs around Liam’s torso. His cock brushes up against the hard slab of Liam’s abdomen and he groans, mouth falling open to let him lick inside.
Liam smiles, pulling back to peck at the corner of Louis’ lips. “Didn’t think you’d be up for it, tonight.”
Louis scoffs and kisses him more fervently, just searching for a deflection. “You were up for it first.”
Liam pulls away, ducking down to mouth at Louis’ neck, instead. “Dunno what you mean.”
“You know exactly what I mean,” Louis tells him, fighting back a gasp as Liam sucks down hard at the pulse-point in his throat. “Could feel you – when you hugged me, I could feel you against my hip – your fucking cock.”
Liam shrugs, relatively unabashed, although his cheeks have gone a bit pink. “Told you, I have a thing for seeing you wet.” His hands slide down Louis’ torso then, coming to rest at the plush, tiny love-handles of his hips that peek out through the sheer material of his shirt. He gives them a little squeeze, nuzzling at his neck.
It’s amazing, really. Liam has done all of this – put his hands on Louis just like this and so much more, at least a dozen times in the past, and yet he still touches him reverently, as if he can't actually believe that he’s allowed. “God, can I just – ” his hands hover eagerly near the curve of Louis’ arse, “please?”
Louis doesn’t answer, just leans back against the mirror, raising his hips up from the counter. Liam takes it as the go-ahead, fingers fumbling anxiously at his fly. He pops the button out and pulls the zip down, tugging Louis’ jeans off along with his briefs, the still-damp material dragging begrudgingly over his thighs.
Louis’ cock springs free, curving up towards his belly, pink and hard and straining at his foreskin. For a moment, Liam just stares, his hands brushing delicately at Louis’ thighs. Then he ducks his head to drop a kiss to Louis’ tip, his lips parted, tongue peeking out to lap at his slit.
Louis’ head drops back against the mirror with a satisfied groan. He spreads his thighs open for more, trying to tempt Liam to hurry up and fuck him already without words.
Liam takes the hint, kicking off his shoes and stepping clumsily out of his jeans, dragging the heel of his palm against the long shaft of his cock for some relief, the tip of it flushed red and throbbing dully. He tears at the packet of lube with his teeth and drizzles some onto his fingers, before bringing them gently to Louis’ hole.
Louis exhales, bucking his hips up into Liam’s touch when he finally sinks a finger inside, swirling and nudging and pressing, making room for more. Louis measures his breaths, concentrates on relaxing. They don’t exactly have enough time for generous foreplay, here. And Liam leans up to catch his lips, carefully tucking a second finger inside.
“This alright?” he whispers, always such a bloody gentlemen.
Louis nods, breathing laboured against his lips.
Liam crooks his fingers up then, brushing at the fleshy, tell-tale little bundle of nerves that has Louis seeing stars. His breath hitches sharply, head tipping back. “Fuck – yeah, fuck - there.”
Liam pumps his fingers in and out, eyes locked on Louis’ face, watching closely for each and every change in his expression, hungry for it. He practically craves the approval. He presses in deep, fingertips rubbing at Louis’ prostate, and Louis makes a choked-off noise, biting at his knuckles to keep in his sounds.
Liam drops his forehead against his shoulder in anguish, his face pained. “Lou – Louis, please. Can I fuck you? I – god, please, Lou?”
Louis is gagging for it by now anyway, his gaze fixated on Liam’s cock like it’s a prize he’s already won, but he keeps quiet, gets off on hearing Liam beg just to fuck him.
Liam peppers the hollow of his throat with kisses, still easing his fingers in and out with gentle strokes. “Please, Lou, I – I can fuck you so much better than just my fingers, you know I can.” His kisses get a little desperate then, mouth trailing up to Louis’ ear. “Wanna fuck you 'til you come, Louis, please.”
That innocent, uninhibited desire in Liam's voice has little pearls of precome bubbling out from Louis' slit. He spreads his legs imperceptibly wider but doesn’t relent, not quite yet…
Liam groans, his palm clenching needily around Louis’ hip. “Baby…?” he whispers, quiet and unsure against Louis’ neck. And oh – Liam’s got him, now.
(In a less compromising situation, perhaps one where Liam’s fingers weren’t stroking deliciously at his prostate, Louis would never admit that he likes to be called ‘baby’ in bed. Liam figured that one out the first time he ever got his cock inside him.)
Louis finally relents with a nod, tipping his chin to capture Liam’s lips, licking filthily into his mouth as he parts his thighs for him. Liam responds in earnest excitement, pushing his cock against Louis’ hip. “Yeah?” he breathes, still a little unsure, reaching down to slick himself up.
Louis nods again, tilting his hips up. His eyelashes flutter the moment he feels Liam’s cockhead nudging against his rim, pushing passed the tight ring of muscle with a slick pop.
Finally.
Liam whimpers at the tight clench of Louis’ body, biting at his lip to keep control as he sinks into him, slick with lube. His hands grip at Louis’ thighs, pulling them tight around his waist and shifting the angle a bit. And then he starts to move, fucking in and out with shallow pumps of his hips.
They both gasp at the same time, lips parted, breath hitching in choppy little puffs of air. Louis slumps forward, pressing his forehead against Liam’s, looking down to watch his cock disappear inside him. He feels so perfectly stretched and filled he could cry. It’s been a while since he’s had him like this. “You’re so fucking thick, Li. Jesus.”
Liam feels high from the praise, slipping his hands down to Louis’ bum to spread him open wider, fuck into him deeper, groaning when Louis cries out for him – loud, breathless little whimpers.
“Oh!” Louis gasps, “oh, oh – oh, fuck.”
Liam nuzzles at his neck, feeling the warmth there, skin damp and smelling of sweat and a hint of citrus from the Powerade they drenched themselves with on stage earlier. It seems like ages away. He kisses at the little soft spot below Louis' ear. “You always feel so good,” he tells him, pressing in close. “Perfect around me – so tight.”
Louis’ mouth falls open on a silent moan, eyes wide with disbelief as the bulbous head of Liam’s cock drags across his prostate again and again and again. Louis’ hand inches up to the back of Liam’s head, fingers tugging on his spiky hair, just enough to tilt his chin up. He leans in to suck at his bottom lip, grinding his hips in close. Liam hooks his arms under Louis' knees then, folding his thighs up towards his chest. The new angle has the head of his cock jabbing at Louis' sweet spot with every thrust, their hips pressed tight, skin slapping together wetly.
“Ah!” Louis hiccups, breaking the kiss. He buries his face against Liam’s neck to stifle his sounds, shaking his head because it's just so much. “Ah – ah,” he mewls, his nails dragging down Liam’s back. “Li-Liam.”
Liam whines, his eyes clenched shut, his hips rabbiting. “God, you sound so good,” he groans. “Lou – baby.”
There's that word, again. Louis never should have given Liam this much power - Lord knows he's already ruined him with that big fucking cock of his, thick and perfect and god damn him. Louis is panting now, his arse slipping across the countertop, damp with sweat and lube as Liam holds him open with both hands, mouthing obscenely at his neck. It's a struggle for Louis to get enough air in his lungs, needing to come just as badly. He reaches down to take hold of his cock, stroking himself with quick little tugs while Liam keeps pounding into him, his biceps flexing, nailing his prostate just right - Christ. He holds him so, so infuriatingly gently but fucks him hard, wrapped up in Louis' thighs and the sweat and the heat and the endless limbo of whatever-the-hell-this-is.
Louis can't put a name to it, but it's always just as good, always scratches that itch, always has him moaning and whimpering on Liam's cock in a way he'll never admit to once they leave this place. For now, he clenches down on him hard, smirking when it makes Liam's eyes roll back into his head with a primitive grunt. Liam gets him back for it of course, when he pushes in deep and stays there, grinding his hips against Louis in small, filthy little circles just to hear him whine for more.
"F-fuck," Louis sobs, hand clutching uselessly at Liam's bicep.
Louis comes first, trembling, but Liam holds him through it. He bites down on his shoulder to muffle a whimpered cry. His back arches, hand slipping feverishly over his cock as he spurts all over his tummy, some even landing up high on his chest. And Liam moans indulgently at the sight, pulling out at the last second before he comes in the crease between Louis’ hip and thigh, spilling in white and wet streaks.
They collapse against each other, catching their breath in a haze of euphoria and slickened skin, the mirror fogged where it’s pressed to Louis’ back and fuck, how did they end up here again?
Before Liam pulls away, he kisses Louis’ temple, something Louis only lets him get away with in those first few minutes after sex. It’s just – it’s too gentle. Too intimate for friends – just friends – who happen to orgasm together, on occasion. And that’s all this is. Really.
“Forgot to mention,” Liam says, just a little shy as he nods to Louis’ freshly cut hair, damp and tousled on top of his head. “Your hair looks nice like this. Short, I mean.”
Louis does not blush.
He doesn’t.