Chapter 1: a little party never hurts no one
Liam’s shitfaced, as usual, and Noel’s pissed off. Pissed off as in pissed off, that kind of pissed that makes him mean and ugly and Liam just isn’t in the mood to fight his own brother now. He ditches Noel and spends the party gratifying from crowds to crowds, chain-smoking and making troubles until the itch kicks in. Either he really needs a fix or he doesn’t want to think about Noel unleashing hell on him as soon as they leave the party. So he pushes away the bird hanging off his arm and sneaked off to find some dirty toilet lids to snort a line or two.
He finds Albarn shooting up instead.
The blur twat’s slumped against the smoke-stained stall wall, eyes closed and skin pale under the shitty fluorescent light. His needle and whatnot still scatters around him. Liam watches him in silence for few moments, drunkenly wondering whether he’s dead or alive and somehow relieved when Albarn shifts and blinks his eyes open. Their eyes meet and the twat smiles dazedly at him instead of grimacing and that’s how Liam knows he is high off his mind.
“Well, aren’t you a doll to look at.” He sneered, falling easily into his antagonistic role in this stupid feud they had going. “Come out, you bastard. I need a fix.”
Albarn’s stupid smile only widens. He raises one perfectly arched eyebrow like he’s daring Liam to kick him out of the stall. “Find your own goddamn stall.”
So he’s feisty when he’s high. Liam rolls his eyes, knowing well that’s what he should be doing because there is no way he’s bothered to drag Albarn out kicking and screaming just because he’s being petty. He’s never one to back down, though, so he put his cigarette back to his lips and invites himself into the narrow stall Albarn already occupied, kicking his sprawled legs as he goes. “Move over.”
He kneels in front of the toilet seat, feeling Albarn’s bony knee digs into one of his calves. Albarn watches him closely, strangely interested. Liam can feel his gaze burning the side of his face. His hands shake a little as he divides the white powder into two neat lines and Liam wonders if it should make him worry, if he’s in too deep with the so-called rock and roll scene. But then he thinks, oh fuck it, and Albarn makes a sound.
He raises his hand, index and middle fingers pointed. Liam gets it somehow, giving his half-smoked cigarette to the older singer and watching him wraps his lips around the butt, takes a long inhale with a blissful look on his face. It feels like some kind of a kiss, Liam thinks, a strange feeling in his chest but then he bends down to snort the waiting lines and whatever it is, it disappears.
“Y’know.” Albarn says while Liam straightens himself, waiting for the crack to kick in. “We’d be in trouble if people find out.”
“Says the cunt who let the door open for the world to see.”
“No.” Albarn pushes himself forward, blowing smoke to the narrow space between them. He still has that dopey smile on his face and Liam starts wondering if the smack is really that good, if he should try some to see what’s the deal about. “People might think we shagged.”
It catches him off guard. Liam sits back against the opposite wall, taking his time to respond. The crack is staring to kick in, leaving his chest lighter and his tongue smarter. Sober, he would be all up in Albarn’s face the moment those words left his mouth. “Wouldn’t surprise them to see you into lads.”
“—might mistaken you for a bird, though.” Albarn continues and the corners of Liam’s mouth pulled into a grin, then he immediately wanting to slap himself. It’s the drugs, ain’t it, and the booze and Albarn looking well-fucked in front of him with his messy hair and well bitten lips.
“Fuck off.” He spits instead, easily mixing irritation into his voice. “—‘m not a bird.”
“Pretty enough to be one.” Albarn retorts, eyes heavy on Liam's lips. Then either he suddenly sober up or Liam’s glare is enough to push those smacks out of his bloodstream because he has that kicked puppy look back on his face.
Liam thinks of punching him but he’s feeling so good and he wants to talk, wants to run someone’s ear off and Albarn is the only person in his sight right now. “You ever walk past a fucking mirror, mate? You’d make a grown man blushes.”
Albarn has this strange expression on his face that Liam’s too drunk to understand. “Did I?”
“Make you blush.”
Liam quiets down, stares at him. He knows Albarn’s pretty, everybody knows that. The twat knows that, what with all those girlish gestures and eyelash batting he’s done on stage. A fucking tease, that’s what he is. Liam scratches his nose, blinks slowly, suddenly unsure, confused, but the next thing he knows he’s kneeling in front of Albarn. The drug must have fucked him up, making him lost his goddamn mind because when he plucks his own cigarette from Albarn’s lips and leans closer it feels like the right thing to do.
Albarn’s head hit the wall behind him with a thud, he gasps, more out of surprise than pain, and Liam takes advantage of that. His heart’s racing, vision spinning even when he closes his eyes and Albarn grasps at his hair, pulling him closer, starts kissing back. He’s so warm, like he’s burning with fever, and god, so pliant; lets Liam takes what he wants even when he doesn’t deserve it.
Albarn moans when Liam starts kissing the column of his neck just for the hell of it, and the sound goes straight to Liam’s cock. He has this vivid image of Albarn beneath him, neck bares in a display of submission, face twists between pain and pleasure. The imaginary is almost too much and Liam pulls back, sitting back on his side of stall, their legs intertwines.
He’s half-hard. His only saving grace is that his clothes is two sizes too big for his body. Albarn stares at him, dazed, out of breath, and Liam has to look away. He has color on his face now, lips even redder and Liam feels his own face heats up.
“—now what?” He asks, like Liam has any idea himself.
He could just laugh it off, a thought comes to him, calls him cruel names and leave. Spin a funny little story by the time Noel starts yelling at him so they can be on the same side again. But Liam can’t do it, doesn’t even want to think about his brother. He shrugs. “You wanna get out of here?”
Albarn opens his mouth, then closes it again, contemplating. “You’ve got a place?”
“Sure.” He doesn’t even remember the name of the hotel they’re staying at. He could find one, though. “You can walk or do I need to carry you off?”
“Watch your mouth, brat.” Albarn laughs, swats his hand away, and that’s the earnest laugh Liam has seen all night.
Maybe he is kind of smitten.
Chapter 2: damn my situation (and the games we have to play)
Now that he’s coming down a bit, Damon doesn’t have the excuse of being high for the almost tender look he has going. If he keeps looking at him like that Liam might do something stupid; like thinking that the twat’s genuinely fond of him.
do i actually have to do an essay instead of writing this? i do.
“Nice room.” Albarn says, leaning against the handrail and vaguely turns his head towards the room behind them. The way he says it makes it clear that it was only for the polite chit-chat, to break the ice or whatever it is that people saying. Liam had thought they’d be going at it as soon as the door closed but instead they just fucked around on the balcony, rummaging through the mini-bar and going through Liam’s cigarettes like a pair of old mates catching up with each other. It’s gone, isn’t it, whatever possessed him to kiss Albarn and making him fucking moan at that, and now he needs to work it out from the start again.
They had magically managed to sneak out of the party without paparazzi chasing after their arse. You know, Liam had imagined himself saying, if they were to be caught, when I’m not giving a kick-ass performances or picking fights with you cunts I do enjoy shagging my rival. But not even one of them shows up, so both of them just shuffling along like two inebriated penguins until they passed a random hotel and Liam thinks well this one looks just about right.
“Shit‘s not mine.” He shrugs, picking up his can only to realize that it’s empty. He put it back, then turning to gesture around the room. “All the same, aren’t they? A bed there, a desk there, a tv there that is fucking shitty, you’d think they actually want it to get thrown off a window, you see? We got a fucking bill when we did that.”
“Pity.” Albarn says, his sarcasm doesn’t lost to Liam.
“Try it.” He exhales in the same time Albarn does. For a moment he watches the smoke dancing together before dissipating into the cold air. “Maybe then your little band can keep up with us.”
Albarn is staring at him again, the way he did back in the stall when Liam was making neat little lines with a fake ID card he still kept for whatever reason. He doesn’t look annoyed after Liam insulting his band; he looks like the furthest thing away from being annoyed. Now that he’s coming down a bit, Damon doesn’t have the excuse of being high for the almost tender look he has going. If he keeps looking at him like that Liam might do something stupid; like thinking that the twat’s genuinely fond of him.
He stares back. Ruining the moment. Someone has to. “See something you like, Albarn?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Rite. See something you like, Damon?”
Albarn—Damon, alright then—scoots closer, until the height difference between them becomes prominent and Liam has to look up a bit to keep the eye contact going. Damon’s kind of looking at him through his lashes; like a bird making a move on him, Liam realizes. Fucking tease.
“Kiss me.” Damon whispers so Liam grabs the soft strands on the back of his head, dragging him to his height. Their breath intermingles, lips brushing against each other in a half-second pause of hesitation before Liam kisses him hard.
It doesn’t quite feel the previous kiss, lacking the element of surprise that’s probably what makes the kiss alarmingly electrical. But Damon responds immediately this time, tasting of tobacco and alcohol and it shouldn’t feel good but it does. Liam had kissed men before, lots of them, and he knows it’d feel different from kissing birds. Yet there is a glaring difference between doing it for a gag—for the scandalized look on people’s face—and doing it properly, trying to make it good for the other party. Damon’s hands come to rest on his hips; warm and heavy. Liam almost pushes him away, but he catches himself and bites down at his lower lip instead, tugging at it. Not too hard, just testing the water. At least he thinks so.
“Ow.” Damon pulls away a bit, still close enough that his warm breaths ghost over Liam’s face. “Wanker.”
“Sorry, mate. Thought you could handle me being a tad rougher.”
Something flashes in Damon’s eyes; almost predatory, and Liam feels a chill runs down his spine at that. He likes that look on Damon, making him somehow different from the nice pretty boy he and Noel like to trash talked. It’s gone as fast as it came, and Liam wonders if he can get it back.
“Come on.” He pushes him backwards with the confidence he doesn’t feel, towards the goddamn single bed Liam had been eyeing since the first time they stepped into the room. “Are we still going to fuck or are you satisfied by just snogging me?”
Damon actually laugh at that. Or he would have, but Liam pulls him down again for a kiss, teeth knocking, so Damon laughs into the kiss instead. How sweet it is, that he’s laughing at jokes about himself rather than spitting insults and swinging fists. Liam gets that feeling again, like he is not supposed to do this; that he doesn’t deserve how nice Damon is being toward him. This is why he should have done another fucking line; because even his head is turning against him.
But Damon is still grinning when he pulls away and Liam feels better. At least until the twat opens his mouth. “Get rid of the rags, then.”
Rags. How fucking dare he. Like he dresses any better. Liam tries to think of a comeback but Damon starts taking his shirt off and he’s distracted by the sudden exposure of skin. He looks away before Damon notices because he knows the other man would just throws Liam’s own words to his face. See something you like?
“You’ve done this before?”
Liam pulls his own t-shirt off, messing up his own hair in the process. He shakes them off his eyes, looking up at the other man. “What?”
Damon sits on the bed, only in his boxer. “You’ve fucked a lad before?”
Well, no. Liam would never tell him that. He figures it wouldn’t be too different with fucking a bird anally, technically at least. He kicks his jeans off and makes his way toward Damon, taking a hold of his chin; making him look up. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“You’re a cunt, you know that?” Damon says but there is no heat in his voice and those eyes flutter shut as Liam scratches his nails on smooth shaven skin.. “You and the rest of your bunch.”
Liam runs his thumb over the well-bitten lips, relishing the way Damon hisses as he pulls too hard. “And you’re about to let this cunt shag you.”
“Yes.” Damon admits. His eyes find Liam’s, heavy lidded, and he looks—god, he looks drugged; looks so open and wanting and vulnerable and just devastatingly pretty. His lips part obediently when Liam pushes his thumb into his mouth, feeling his teeth scrapes against it when Damon speaks again, almost groaning. “God, please.”
“Fuck.” Liam groans before he can stop himself, arousal pooling tight in the pit of his stomach. “You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?”
Damon shudders, eyes fluttering shut again. He’s practically whimpering like a kicked dog, his words tumbling into each other like he had waited for so long to let it out. “—want to get you alone and choke on your cock since the first time I saw you.”
He pushes Damon to his back, half wondering if he should make him sucks him off first, making true of his words, but the other man goes down so easily, spreading his legs so Liam can kneel between them. Damon might be on the scrawnier side of the spectrum but he’s all bones and lean muscles; doesn’t feel like a bird at all, pretty as he is. Damon cants his hips upwards and Liam can feel him, hard, against his thigh. He presses him down into the mattress, experimentally grinding their hips together and he doesn’t know which one turns him on more; how good it feels or the way Damon throws his head back, neck bared, groaning low in his throat.
“Just—” Liam stops, pulling away, stumbling over to where he kicked his jeans off. Damon raises his head, blown eyes following his movement. “—hold on for a sec—”
Damon snorts when he sees him rummaging through his pockets, falling back to the mattress. “Came prepared, aren’t you?”
Liam stretches him open with one, then two fingers, watching him winces and gasps and moans, eyelashes fluttering just over and above his pretty boy eyes. Then it’s three and Damon’s eyes start watering, his moans bordering more on pain rather than pleasure. Liam stops moving, leans over him to place wet kisses on his neck, trying to find that spot that make him moaned back then.
“Damnit, keep going.” Damon growls, eyes closed. “—’m not gonna break.”
But it does look like he’s gonna break; the light playing tricks on his long eyelashes and perfect nose, on the rise and fall of his chest. Damon’s not fragile but he sure looks like it at this moment. All pretty things are; that’s why they don’t last. Damon seems like it until Liam crooks his fingers a bit and Damon jerks, nails sinking into Liam’s back.
“Ah, fuck.” He gasps. “There—”
So exception does exist. It gets easier after that. Liam teases him until he’s shaking, until his eyes watering for a completely different reason before he relents and drags his fingers out unnecessarily slow just to hear the noises Damon tries to swallow. Relent, as if Liam’s not painfully hard and frustratingly unsure on what to do next. Technically the same, right? So he rolls on the condom and pushes himself in with the same agonizing slowness, albeit not on purpose this time. He sees a glimpse of Damon gritting his teeth, forcing himself to let Liam in and then he has to scrunches his eyes shut. He’s fucking tight; it’s almost painful. Damon is gasping next to his ear, legs wrapped around Liam’s waist and heels dig painfully into the small of his back.
“Move.” He hears the other man demanding, heels pressing bruises onto his back.
Liam buries his face into the crook of Damon’s neck, tasting his sweat and the remnants of unfamiliar perfume and spilled drinks from the party that feels like centuries ago. “Maybe I will if you stop squeezing the shit out of me, you twat.”
Damon fucking clenches himself. Liam chokes out a groan, seeing white and for a moment just staying really still, willing himself not to come like he was fourteen years old again. Damon’s lips find him, licking into his mouth. Fuck, that was fucking dirty.
“Fucker.” Liam starts moving, slowly easing himself out and pushes back in. He can’t really think of a clever response, not with how fucking good it feels. Damon grabs at him for leverage, brows furrowed and teeth sinking into his own bottom lip. Liam watches him for a moment, painting the image in his memory and letting his ego swells. “—you dirty bastard.”
Damon opens his mouth, undoubtedly to come up with something sarcastic even in the throne of pleasure. Liam shoves himself in hard, sliding Damon up a bit over the mattress and watches the clever reply crumbles into a shocked shout. He has a fleeting worry that he’s hurting the other man but Damon only drags him closer, eyes glazed like he were high. There is something incredibly erotic in watching him fall apart like that; Damon fucking Albarn. Liam starts going harder, trying to keep hitting that spot that makes Damon gasps like air is being fucked out of his lungs.
Damon shifts, spreading his legs wider; one hand letting go of Liam to stroke himself. He can’t seem to keep his eyes open even when he wants to look at him so Liam kisses him instead, swallowing the moans he never thought he’d ever hear, pinning him deeper into the mattress. They are so close, pressed against each other and Damon still trying to pull him closer like Liam would get up and leave at any second. He comes without warning, body seizing up and breath stuttering and Liam feels him coming all over their stomach. He fucks him through his orgasm, until Damon goes slack beneath him and finally meeting his eyes; blue on blue, sated on desperate, and the corner of his lips curl just enough to form the faintest smirk.
And of course that what pushes Liam over the edge.
“Are you going to punch me now?”
Damon asks the weirdest questions. Liam snatches his cigarette from the other man’s lips. It’s the last one; should have thought about it more before they smoked the rest on the balcony. “Why the fuck would I do that?”
“I don’t know.” Damon shrugs. “Just feels like something you’d do.”
“I will if you asked me to.” Liam wouldn’t, but the words already out before he even thinks about it.
Damon turns to face him, still with none of the anger that Liam should have gotten. He looks like he’s holding back a smile. “Other times, maybe.”
Liam hands him the cigarette, half-smoked, and thinks about how he wouldn’t ever want to punch Damon. About how his words vaguely alluding to another occasion of…of this. About how he wants to kiss that tender smile off his face because Liam really doesn’t need to be smitten by his own rival that he regularly trash talk on national television. “Other times?”
He sounds too hopeful for his own liking. People did say that he wears his heart on his fucking sleeve. But Damon’s grin widens around the shared cigarette and maybe Liam actually does the right thing this time.
“Other times.” He parrots. “Be nice to me for the time being.”
Liam snorts out a laughter. “Alright. I’m nice now. Happy?”
Damon scoots closer, handing the cigarette back and presses a kiss on the corner of Liam’s mouth. He’s ridiculously affectionate and maybe Liam doesn’t really mind that. “Of course.”
Chapter 3: all i know is you can take me there
Good thing that I’m a cunt, then.” He trades on dangerous water here, but Liam can’t stop running his mouth. “Else you’d be in love with me. Can’t have that happening, right?”
Damon meets his eyes again. “I don’t mind cunts.”
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
It’s way past midnight and Liam’s alone in the ever slowly moving elevator. He’s not drunk—not blackout sloshed like he had planned to, at least—but the warm and dopey kind of drunk that makes the thought of collapsing into his bed seems like a brilliant idea. It’s not that Liam hates sleeping, it’s the process of trying to sleep that he hates; when his head still wanders and his limbs still itching to do something, anything. This time, his eyes are heavy already while he stares blankly at the smooth, metallic door. With the speed this elevator is going, there would be some time before he reaches the floor his room is at. Liam leans back into the cold metallic wall and let his eyes fall closed, finding the darkness behind his eyelids comforting, for once.
He almost fell asleep on his feet when the soft ding indicates the lift has stopped, followed by the unmistakable sound of the door sliding open. That was fast, Liam thinks, cracking his eyes open. The first thing he notices is the glaring number on the small screen above the open door, still way below his floor. The second thing he notices is a familiar set of eyes and messy blonde hair that makes Liam groans internally.
Their eyes meet. Damon takes few seconds to take the sight of Liam in before making his way into the cramped space. “—ullo, Liam.”
Liam gives him a look. He’s not sure what to do in this situation. He had slept around before, but none of his one night stand partners is Damon Albarn. Damon doesn’t seem to be bothered by his prolonged silence, just gives him a smile and punches the buttons to his floor. He looks too upbeat for this kind of hour so Liam’s determined not to let him knows that he’s about to fall asleep on his ass.
Damon cocks his head, raising his eyebrows. “I told you not to call me that.”
“Well, there is ‘gobshite’ but I thought you want me to be nice.”
He snorts. “You remember, then?”
“The fuck I am. I’m not an idiot.”
Damon turns suddenly, facing him, standing too close for comfort and crowding him against the wall Liam is leaning against. Liam stands his ground, looking up a bit to keep the eye contact and distract his eyes from the soft looking lips right in front of him.
The corner of Damon’s mouth curls into a smirk and his eyebrows raises meaningfully. “Having a wank over it?”
His face burns but Liam pretends it doesn’t. If Damon wants to play this game he might as well play along. He keeps his facial expression bored, steady, doesn’t let his eyes falter. “Only when I’m fucking desperate.”
“Fucking prick.” Damon says, then he kisses him.
It’s lazy, gentle, and Liam surprises himself by actually melting into the kiss, letting his body goes lax and responding with the same gentleness Damon is giving him. It’s kind of nice, being kissed like this, especially when he’s sleepy and buzzing with alcohol. A kiss; that’s what it is, not a foreplay for sex or anything. Damon can kiss him like this until morning comes and Liam doesn’t think he’d mind.
Damon pulls away first, searching his face. Liam doesn’t show him what he wants. He makes a vague gesture to one of the corners of the cramped box. “There is camera in here, you bloody idiot.”
“And that bothers you?”
Liam makes a face. “Only if the pricks over at The Sun make mad fucking money from it. I’m not giving them a chance.”
Damon grins like Liam just said something teeth-rottenly sweet. He takes a step back and shoves his hands into his pocket. “We should go somewhere else, then.”
“Like where?” Liam challenges.
“Mine. Or yours. I don’t care.”
“Noely’s next door.” Liam says.
“Mine it is.” Damon shakes his head. He seems to have a fleeting thought and faces Liam once again. “You think your brother would kill me if he knows?”
Liam bares his teeth in a mocking imitation of a smile, raises his chin up. “That bothers you?”
“Of course it is. You can’t shag me when I’m dead. Unless you’re into that kind of stuff, which I hope not because you’ve been in—”
The ding startles them. Liam glances at the door sliding open. Nobody out’s there.
“—side me.” Damon continues cheekily. “This is my floor. You coming?”
Liam follows him through narrow corridors and similar looking doors, hands in pocket. He keeps finding himself glancing upwards at every turns, where he knows there would be CCTVs scanning his face. It feels like something he should be bothered about, only that he can’t find it in himself to give a shit. Just the same indifference he felt before he lunged at a paparazzi that shoved his camera a little too close to his face. Maybe he’d start caring later, when shits already hit the fan and everything crumble around him. Maybe Liam will regret this later, years from now. But for now he simply doesn’t want to think about it. He’d shag Damon if he wants to, and the world can go fuck itself if they try to stop him.
(He has a feeling that he will regret many, many things when it’s too late already, somewhere in the future, but he’d never tells anyone this.)
He bumps into Damon when he stops at one of the similar looking doors. Damon laughs, hold a hand to steady him and he feels…well, nice. Smells nice, sounds nice. Liam buries his face into the crook of his neck and remembers the last time he had been in the same position; the way Damon has smelt like different perfumes and different drinks, like he had belonged to everyone and no one at all. Liam didn’t mind it back then but now Damon just smells like…Damon. Like cigarette ashes and hotel soap and a faint aftershave that Liam doesn’t recognize. It’s nicer this way.
“You’re sloshed, mate?”
“Not really.” Liam closes his teeth around the single earing on Damon’s ear, giving it a slight tug. He can feel Damon’s fingers tighten around his waist. “Maybe you can change that.”
There is a click as Damon finally manages to unlock his door. The both stumble inside, and maybe Liam is drunker than he thought because he almost goes flying when Damon playfully elbows him on the ribs. He scampers his way towards the bed and plops down there, can’t help but grinning when Damon’s laughter rings on the air.
The mattress next to him shifts when Damon climbs into bed next to him, already losing his jacket. There are fading puncture marks on his arms, little dots that reminds Liam of home; of friends he made under that deserted flyover and had long ago lost contact with. Damon moves again, shifting his focus, crawling over Liam and straddling him. Then he leans close, supporting his weight with an arm next to Liam’s head, scanning his face.
“What.” Liam stares back. Suddenly he’s itching for a smoke, for something to do. He put his hands on either side of Damon’s hips, pressing his thumbs into clothed skin. Like an anchor.
“You know, you’re kind of a cunt.” Damon bites his lips, like he’s searching for words. His other hand comes to Liam’s face, caressing his cheek. “—but you’re also…
Liam grins. “What?”
“—fucking beautiful.” Damon admits. “Can’t stop thinking ‘bout that.”
The thing is, Liam also thinks that Damon is fucking beautiful. He doesn’t say it out loud, though, not now. He had said it before, although he isn’t sure whether Damon remembered it or not, and saying it now would only result in a vanity battle. You’re prettier, mate. No, you’re prettier.
“Good thing that I’m a cunt, then.” He trades on dangerous water here, but Liam can’t stop running his mouth. “Else you’d be in love with me. Can’t have that happening, right?”
Damon meets his eyes again. “I don’t mind cunts.”
Stop, stop, stop. “Yeah, but I’m not any cunts. I’m the biggest cunt in the planet. You can’t handle me.”
Damon rolls his eyes, thank god, and just leans down to kiss him. The same lazy, slow kiss that he gave Liam back in the elevator. Liam let himself being carried away in it, sneaking his hands through messy hair and feeling Damon sighs into the kiss. He almost doesn’t realize that Damon muttering something between their kisses.
“You want to try it?”
Liam frowns, feeling slow. “Try what?”
Damon pulls away. “Heroin.”
Suddenly Liam is sixteen again, huddling in some shady toilets at some shady pubs and a boy he just met handed him a syringe. “I’m barely dragging myself out the coke mountain, man.”
In fact, he’s only digging himself deeper. Liam might have been taking pills and coke since he was young, younger, but even then he knew to stay away from the opiates. He had tried it once, and it was good, bloody good, but he hates that it made him sluggish, made him slow and stupid and Noel was furious when he found out.
Don’t you fucking touch it. He had cornered Liam, when their Ma left to get something from the store. Liam hadn’t have his growth spur yet so they were roughly the same height at that time, but Noel felt like he was towering over him. The hint of fear in Noel’s voice in turn made Liam scared too. I don’t care what else you took, you bloody idiot, just get your arse away from them or I’d beat you black and blue myself.
“Have it your way, then.” Damon’s voice snaps him back to the present. He rolls off Liam, landing next to him and starts looking for his jacket. “I’m having it a bit.”
Liam’s curious, though. He rolls to his side and watches Damon pulling out a small plastic bag from his jacket. The white powder inside it is unmistakable. Liam knows fucking well it’s not coke but the tips of his fingers start to shake nevertheless. He still has some left in his pocket, leftover from a day’s use. He could just snort it up real quick, just enough to stop the tremor—
“Fuck.” Damon coughs. Liam focuses back on him as he wipes the remains of the white powder from his nose. He remembers finding Damon passed out in some random toilet; the bastard was lucky that Liam was the one who find him.
“Don’t fucking pass out on me, you bastard.” He provokes. Just because.
Damon sniffs. “I won’t.”
“Get back to the fucking bed.”
“Bossy, aren’t you?”
“You haven’t meet my brother.”
“I’m not shagging your brother.”
Damon climbs back into the bed and pushes him onto his back, crawling back over him again. He stares at Liam for a moment and says. “You’re kind of docile tonight.”
“Because I’m falling asleep over here, you junkie.”
“Mm.” Damon plays with the hem of his t-shirt. His eyes scan the length of Liam’s body, sprawls beneath him, and suddenly he has this contemplative look on his face that stays when their eyes meet again. “Take off your top.”
Liam quirks up, sleep vanishes from his eyes. “What for?”
“You’re in your twenties and still has to ask?”
“That’s not what I meant, smartass.” Liam bites back but he still put his hands up and let Damon pulls his t-shirt over his head. “What are you up to?”
Damon presses him back into the mattress, muttering against the shell of Liam’s ear. “What did I tell you about me choking on your dick?”
Liam closes his eyes, shuddering. His cock stirs in interest. “Shit.”
Damon drags his lips over his jawline, nipping at the skin there. “Can I?”
Like he needs any permission at all. Liam runs his hand through the soft strands of his hair, gentler than he would have liked to but he can’t help himself. He wants to keep Damon’s lips latches to where it is now but then he thinks about them wrapped around his cock, stretches wide and red, and warm—fuck, his mouth must have felt so good; throat constricting when Liam pushes in deeper. Maybe he’d cry too.
He pulls at Damon’s hair, almost muttering god, please but he remembers who he is, who Damon is, and settles instead with: “Go on.”
Damon kisses him hard on the mouth before slowly making a trail of kisses down Liam’s torso. Liam squirms, feeling a bit like a bird, and he recognizes the uncomfortable feeling that stirs in his stomach at the thought. Damon’s teeth scrapes the skin beneath his belly button, hot breath soothing the stinging mark and Liam yanks at Damon’s hair; half in warning half in pain-pleasure. He doesn’t mean it to hurt but Damon still let out a pained gasp nevertheless.
“Easy.” He stays still, neck bared and strained yet somehow he still sounds convincing. “Easy, Liam.”
“I’m not a—” Liam starts but suddenly he’s too embarrassed to continue.
Damon fixes his eyes on Liam’s. “Of course you’re not. None of us is.”
Liam stares at him, at the flush that starts adorning his cheek. Damon smiles, a faint trace of that mopey grin Liam saw two weeks ago. The heroin must’ve just kicked in. He’s so pretty. “Right.”
“Right.” Damon breathes out, shoulders sagging in relief. Then he pulls against Liam’s grip, hair straining in Liam’s fingers until he’s close enough to plant a kiss on the head of his belt. “Come here.”
Damon scoots until he’s kneeling right before the bed, staring at Liam expectantly. Liam takes a moment to get his stand back, slipping back into their dynamic before moves to sit on the edge of the bed. There is a stilted silence as they both stare at each other, daring the other one to move first, and Damon’s hands move towards Liam’s belt just when Liam reaches for it. They both snort out a laughter.
“Let me.” Damon offers when his laughter subsides so Liam lets him, sitting back to watch him work. He’s almost too sober for this, probably that’s why this time everything feels heavier.
Damon unbuckles his belt with practiced ease that makes Liam have bitter thoughts of who else running amok in his head. Damon looks so sure on his knees, systematically lowering Liam’s pants and spitting to his own palm. He looks like he had been in this position numerous times before and—and—not that Liam’s jealous, not at all, he’s not that possessive—but if Damon’s this open about getting to his knees for another lad he sure wished they had started shagging earlier.
He sighs when Damon starts stroking him, hand warm and rough and impossible to mistake for a bird. Damon has his other hand leaning on Liam’s thigh for support and his eyes glued to Liam’s when he shifts, leaning down like he’s about to take Liam’s cock to his mouth. He doesn’t, though, a hint of smirk forms on his slightly parted lips as he stops just a hair width away from where Liam wants him. His warm breaths ghosts over the sensitive head of his cock and Liam barely has time to come up with an insult to urge him on when Damon presses an light, open mouthed kiss to the head of his cock.
Liam hisses, tensing up, and makes a grab at Damon’s hair to yank him back. The older man makes a sound; half groaning and half laughing. He leans forward again but Liam keeps him still with his grip on Damon’s hair.
“Don’t tease.” He growls, punctuating his words with another yank on Damon’s hair. The other man visibly shudders but he looks up at Liam with defiance in his eyes.
“Desperate, aren’t you?”
“Says the one who wants to gag on my—fuck!”
Damon chooses this time to take Liam to his mouth, pulling against the grip on his hair and slowly making his way through the length of his shaft. He’s a little past halfway when Liam feels his throat convulsing, sending waves of pleasure all the way to the tip of his fingers. Damon makes a choking noise but he doesn’t pull away, nails digging into Liam’s skin and Liam’s digging into the root of his hair. When he eventually pulls away, Damon’s eyes are watering and he breaks into a fit of coughs, gasping for air in between.
“Changing your mind?” Liam pants, and thinks about how fucking sad it would be to jerk himself off after that glimpse of how fucking good this blowjob could be.
“Nah.” Damon wipes his mouth with the back of his mouth. “Just out of practice.”
Liam raises his eyebrows. “Practice?”
Damon fucking winks at him and then he gets back to work. Liam’s fingers clenches around his hair again; he can’t help it. Damon doesn’t seem to mind, lips sliding wet and hot over and over again. The pace is different now; quick, relentless, no more teasing. Liam throws his head back, trying to swallow back the noises of pleasure that crawling from the coiling heat in his belly. Then suddenly Damon takes him whole, burying his nose to the dark hair at the base of his cock. Liam’s hips stutter, jerking into the constricting heat that is Damon’s throat. He looks down to see Damon staring up at him, tears leaking from his eyes. He still doesn’t pull away but Liam keeps his grip tight on those locks; an illusion of choking him with force. Damon’s eyes flutter shut and his hands scramble to his own belt, shakily unbuckle it before palming himself through his boxer.
Holy shit. He gets off of this. Liam trembles; he can’t shake the intuition that maybe, just maybe, Damon likes being on his knees. Maybe he likes being the one who get shoved into the mattress, who get pinned down and fucked like a bird. Or maybe he just likes Liam, likes being on his knees because he thinks Liam likes him that way.
“I’m fucking close—” He manages to get out just as Damon pulls away for air. Damon tries to take him into his mouth again and Liam comes when his cock is partially inside. He watches Damon tries to swallow it but he’s still out of breath and some of it trickle down the side of his mouth. Liam watches him, dazed, trying to burn the image to his brain for future wanking session.
Then Damon wipes his mouth, standing up, and suddenly Liam’s on his back again with a very feverish Damon above him. They fumbled with each other; Damon’s mouth on his neck and his hands in Damon’s pants. He’s fully hard from sucking Liam off alone, and if Liam hadn’t just come the thought might make him hard again.
“Fuck, c’mon.” Damon whimpers when Liam’s hand stop moving. He’s close; eyes closed and brows furrowed. “Make me come, you prick.”
Liam’s wrist aches, not used to the awkward angle. Damon pants above him, shaking all over. He’s more than willing to just give him what he wants but Liam has always been a little bit of a cunt. He tightens his grip, feeling Damon’s body goes taut. “Ask me nice.”
Damon whines like a kicked dog. “Liam—”
He strokes him once, and Damon let out a high-pitched whimper. “Fuck, fuck, please, you bastard, make me come.”
That’s good enough. Liam starts stroking him again, hands slick with precome. Damon buries his face on the pillow next to Liam’s head, muffling his moans. Liam can’t have that. “Kiss me.” He says, turning his head to meet Damon’s mouth.
Damon comes like that, groaning into the kiss. Liam feels him spill into his hand, to his stomach, to Damon’s own t-shirt. Damon shudders then collapsing right on top Liam, crushing the air out of his lungs.
“Fuck.” Liam tries pushing him but his limbs feels like jelly. “Roll over.”
Damon groans and does just that, landing on his back next to Liam. For a moment, only their labored breathing fills the now silent room. Liam tries to imagine what they look like; laying next to each other with their pants undone and their sweat cooling off their skin and Damon’s come still splattered on his hand and stomach. Fucking hell. He elbows the body next to him.
“Get me some tissues.”
Damon reaches blindly to the table next to him, grabbing a box of tissue and handing it Liam. He looks almost asleep, but then changes his mind and takes off his stained t-shirt. “Can you stay?”
His voice sounds wrecked. Liam throws the balled up tissue to the bin and missed. When he really thinks about it, he doesn’t really want to go back to his empty room. “Why?”
Damon’s face reddens and he avoids Liam’s eyes, throwing his t-shirt somewhere. “Nothing. Just—it’d be nice to… you know, talk to each other. I don’t care what you said about me on the fucking tabloid. We’re not enemies.”
“We’re not mates either.”
“Well, don’t you want to be?”
“It’s a little too late for that, isn’t it?” Damon turns to look at him with a frown, but it disappears when Liam runs his hand through his hair—just where he had clench his fingers around the soft strands just minutes ago. “You just had my cock in your mouth, mates don’t do that.”
Damon cracks a smile. “We’re this then—what they’re called—friends with benefits?”
Liam returns his smile with a shaky one. It’s dangerously easy to fall in love with Damon when he’s like this. “That’s too far. Rivals with benefits. The Sun would’ve liked that.”
Damon rolls his eyes. “So you’ll stay?”
“Couldn’t let my number one fan down, can I?”
“Fuck off.” Damon closes his eyes, looking pleased with himself.
Liam still has his hand buried in Damon’s hair, lightly scratching his scalp the way Noel used to do when Liam couldn’t sleep. They could have gone to sleep without bringing that up but Liam doesn’t want to. He hesitates a bit before forcing himself to spill the words out. “Look, sorry ‘bout that.”
Damon doesn’t open his eyes. “About what?”
“About—” Liam swallows. “—fuck, you really want me to say it?”
The blue eyes open, staring at him questioningly. Damon seems to put two and two together, from Liam’s hand on his hair to whatever it is that he read on Liam’s face because he looks like he understands. “Oh.” He smiles, lazy like a cat. “Don’t worry about that.”
“Yeah. Been there, done that.” Damon closes his eyes again, ready to drift into sleep.
Liam wants to pry, wants to ask questions but he doesn’t feel like he has any place to be nosey. He mutters under his breath, feeling shy and stupid. “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Who said you hurt me?” Damon takes his hand from his hair and brings it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “I said don’t worry about it. Now let me sleep, you brat.”
Liam watches him; the relaxed lines of his face and the slight pull on the corner of his lips like he had been laughing. It’s unfair, he thinks, that someone could be born with a face like that and be as sweet as Damon. He should at least be a bit of a cunt to compensate with that.
He can’t end the night with something like that, so he smacks Damon’s face with a pillow, laughing at the muffled curses and flailing limbs. “Don’t call me brat, you fucking wanker.”
at this point i don't even know where this is going. i just like writing them secretly wanting each other i guess.
Chapter 4: maybe in time you'll want to be mine
Damon is on him on seconds, eyes blazing and finger jabbing at Liam’s chest so hard that he wonders if it’d leave a bruise. “If you want someone to shag because you’re fucking upset then finds someone on the street, arsehole. Don’t fucking bang at my door and act fucking offended when I want to know what the fuck is going on.”
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Damon has five seconds to comprehend Liam standing on his doorway; looking straight out of a drunken brawl with bruised eye and split lips. “What hap—”
Liam cut him off by smashing their lips together, registering searing pain and tangy taste of blood before using his weight to push Damon back into his flat. The other man makes a protesting noise, undoubtedly making a face at the metallic taste but he still kisses back. The door closes behind them with a loud thud, sending waves of pain to Liam’s head, like it hasn’t pounding with headache already. Noel does have a deadly aim when he wants to, that massive cunt, and the fact that Liam was already drunk by the time they started swinging fists is probably why he was the one crashing into the goddamn wall.
“Ah, fuck.” Damon groans when Liam turns them around and slams him against the door. “What’s going on?”
He gets blood on his lips. Liam stumbles back a bit, taking the sight of him. Damon’s in faded t-shirt and well-worn pajama pants but he doesn’t look like he had been asleep before Liam pounded on his door. It’s kind of weird seeing him at the comfort of his own home, almost too personal, but that’s the thought for a sober mind. Liam wipes the blood off his lips, only half noticing the bruises that already started forming on his knuckles. “Let’s fuck.”
“Yeah, but what the fuck happened to your face?”
“Does it matter?”
“You’re shoving blood down my fucking throat at three in the morning so yeah, it does.”
He’s asking too much question, and not particularly the one Liam wants to answer. He kisses him again; a silent plea of just fucking drop it. Damon recoils again but keep kissing back, like a bird pulling a hot and cold with him back in high school. His hand sneaks its way to the front of Liam’s trouser and palms him there, firm and unmoving. Liam pushes his hips towards it, panting against the corner of Damon’s mouth. It’s not enough and he knows Damon wouldn’t give him more unless he does what he wants. He can’t do this.
“Not now.” He manages to grit out, but even the thought of telling it word-by-word later makes something crumbles inside his chest. “Please.”
“I can't.” Liam mutters into his skin, feeling his face twisting like he's going to cry so he buries his face into the crook of Damon's neck, breathing in his scent. “I can't.”
Damon is quiet for a while, just standing there, rigid, with his hand over Liam’s crotch and Liam pressing hot kisses over the exposed skin of his shoulders. Then he takes his hand off, voice sharp. “Nobody ever fucking told me anything.”
Liam needs a couple of seconds to comprehend the sudden loss of pressure, the sudden change of wind. “What?”
“Get off me.” Damon shoves him but Liam only sways on his spot. “Get the fuck off me, Liam.”
He does and Damon pushes his way past him. His face is closed off, angry, and Liam has this fleeting moment where his brain freezes, can’t think of anything but a chorus of you’re fucked, you’re fucked, you’re fucked chanting in his head. Old habit; had been there ever since he knew what you’re fucked meant sometime in his childhood. He’s older now, quicker to react to that fucking chant, even when it means channelling supposed fear into anger.
H steels himself, get ready for yet another fight. “For fuck’s sake, who put a fucking stick up your arse? What is it to you, anyway?”
Damon is on him on seconds, eyes blazing and finger jabbing at Liam’s chest so hard that he wonders if it’d leave a bruise. “If you want someone to shag because you’re fucking upset then finds someone on the street, arsehole. Don’t fucking bang at my door and act fucking offended when I want to know what the fuck is going on.”
“I don’t want to fucking tell you. If you don’t want to shag just kick me out your flat, no need to throw a massive tantrum over it, tough guy.”
Damon throws his hands out in frustration, like Liam just said something mind-numbingly dense. “I didn’t say—christ, I just want a fucking explanation, Liam, I never said I didn’t want you around.”
Liam laughs, the one he uses when he wants to piss people off. He registers the sound of phone ringing from somewhere in the room but Damon doesn’t seem to acknowledge it. “You don’t want an explanation. You want the whole goddamn story so you can feel fucking sorry for me, that’s what you want.”
“That’s not true.”
“That’s fucking true.”
“You know what? You’re right. I want the whole goddamn story so I don’t feel like a fucking used up slag when you’re done and walking out that door and I still have no fucking idea what’s just fucking hit me.”
“What, you want to be my bloody therapist?”
Liam almost explodes at that. “Don’t you fucking dare telling me to watch it.”
Damon grabs him by the collar of his jacket, shoving him against the wall. It’s not rough enough to make him feels the impact battering his skull but Liam had never seen Damon fight before and he welcomes the sudden show of aggression with open arms. The corners of his mouth pulled into a sneer. “Yeah? Want to try knocking me out, sweetheart?”
The hands on his neck drop immediately. Damon steps away like touching Liam had burnt the skin of his fingers off, jittery with unspent adrenaline.
“I’m your—” Damon starts, but trailing off. The anger is still there but there is something else too, shaky and uncertain. In between the pounding headache and fast rush of blood deafening his eardrums, Liam realizes that he’s holding his breath. Waiting.
“What?” He demands.
Damon forces himself to meet his eyes. “I’m your friend. At least I think so.”
That’s a big load of bullshit coming from his mouth and Liam had listen to lots of bullshit tonight. He doesn’t exactly know what they are, apart from that stupid rivals with benefit thing he invented weeks ago that he wasn’t even sure still applied. From the way Damon grimaces and turns his eyes away he knows the other man also thinks it’s bullshit.
“Friends.” He parrots, rolling the words in his tongue like poison. “Fuck that. We’re not friends. I don’t know what we are but we’re not that.”
We’re more than that, aren’t we. He almost adds.
Damon shakes his head, still avoiding Liam’s eyes. The fight has left his body and now he just look sad, wounded. “I should’ve told you that I’m—”
“No.” Liam spits out, although not quite out of malice. “Don’t go there.”
“You don’t know what I’m going to say.”
“And I don’t want to know. Cut it off, Albarn.”
“Don’t call me—” The phone rings again, splitting the scattering tension among them. Damon whips his head towards a small table in his living room, jaws tense. “Oh, fucking hell.”
He makes his way towards the offending object, ripping the handout with more force than it needs to. Liam hears him snap into it. “What?”
Tuning out the conversation Damon is having with whoever it is on the other side, Liam turns to eye the door. He should leave, find a pub, get wasted. It’s not going to make him feel any better in the long run but it sure will at this exact moment. Wakes up the next afternoon or evening—depending on how hangover he is—then crawls back to the studio with his tail between his legs. If Noel gets over it already, or at least acts like he gets over it already, he would just bitch about how Liam shot his voice to smithereens. If he doesn’t—fuck, Liam doesn’t even want to think about it.
It would have been easier to deal with a pissed off Noel, but Noel wasn't even pissed off. Liam wishes he was, that would justify the beatings and they would be back on even ground. Noel's hurt, he can see that much from his eyes, and no amount of punches would ever make up for that. Liam could still make out his own words, echoing in his head like someone else had been saying that and not him. Go on, Noely. Taking after Da, aren’t you?
The next thing he knew he was crashing into a wall. Bonehead hauled his brother away from him but Noel was still yelling. Take that back, you fucking cunt. You fucking take it back. Liam waited until his vision stopped spinning before looking back at his brother. They stared at each other and Liam felt his hurt, his rage, his fear, feeling them rattled into his bones and that was where he ran off.
Bile rises to the back of his mouth. He needs to sit down. Well, he needs to dig a hole and bury himself alive in it but firstly sitting down feels like a good idea. He follows Damon’s footsteps into the living room, finding him still speaking into the telephone and sinks down into one of the couches there like a petulant child.
Suddenly he realizes that Damon is looking at him, in a way that suggests that he’s talking about Liam to the gentleman or woman on the other side of the line. Liam shoots him a questioning look when Damon lowers the telephone, looking as confused as he could possibly do.
“It’s your brother.” He says, covering the speaker with his hand.
Liam snorts. “Ha. Funny.”
“No, you dumbass.” Damon insists. “This is Noel Gallagher.”
It feels like someone dunks him into a barrel full of ice. Liam stands up abruptly. “Shit.”
“Did you tell him about…”
“Never. How the fuck did he know where I am? Tell him I’m not here.”
Damon shakes his head. “I already told him. Talk to him, for god’s sake.”
Liam considers taking the phone and slams it shut but decides it wouldn’t be a good idea. He takes the telephone from Damon’s hand and presses it against his ear. He means to say I’m here or what is it but he can’t quite make his tongue works.
Noel eventually speaks first. That's his voice, alright, Liam had known him his whole life and he’d always know Noel’s voice. Sometimes it brings him joy, as pure and innocent as snow. Other times it awaken a fire inside him, hot and destructive, manifesting in loud insults and broken knuckles.
“You need to stop running off like that. You’re not fifteen anymore.”
He doesn’t sound angry. He sounds tired and somehow it feels worse. Liam licks his lips, tasting blood, suddenly feels like he just swallows a sack of burning coal. He doesn’t know what to say so he just asks the first thing that comes out in his head. “How did you know where I am?”
Noel makes a sound, a half scoff half laughter he likes to do when he feels Liam is being particularly thick. “I’m your brother. Of course I know.”
Liam wants to ask how much did he knows, since when, but he doesn’t think he wants to know the answer. “Alright. Fair enough.”
Silence stretches as neither of them speak again. Liam becomes painstakingly aware of Damon still standing around in the room, not particularly eavesdropping but still too close to comfort. He wonders from where Noel is calling, in the studio with Bonehead hovering around or alone in his hotel room because he doesn’t want anyone to know that he’s the one reaching out first.
“Well.” Noel says, the crackle his voice comes through makes him impossible to read but it feels like he’s going to hang up. “I was just wondering where you are.”
Something crashes inside him and suddenly Liam can talk again. “Listen, Noel—” His voice cracks. “—I didn’t mean it. You’re nothing like him, I was just being stupid, yeah? You know how it is.”
“You didn’t mean a lot of things.” His brother sighs on the other side.
Liam rubs his temple. “I guess. I’m sor—”
“No, no, you’re right.” Noel cut him off, like he can’t bear to hear Liam apologizing. “I’m not, god knows I’d never lay a hand on Meg but…it’s just, it’s just you, when I’m with you. I don’t fucking get it.”
That stings. “Why?”
“I don’t know, Liam. Maybe because—” Noel trails off, just the way Damon had trailed off just minutes ago, the way they know what they are about to say but couldn’t throw it out for the world to see. Liam waits, but unlike Damon, Noel never tries saying anything. “—I don’t know.”
It’s done. Noel has this finality in his voice that means he’d never talk about it again, at least until Liam fucks up again or by some miracle they manage to sit together and talk things through.
“For fuck’s sake, Noel, talk to me.”
“I deserve to know, no? I’m a shit brother, I know, but—”
“Liam!” Noel snaps. “That’s enough.”
“Fine.” Liam spits through gritted teeth. “Don’t fucking talk then.”
He’s about to slam the wretched plastic phone into the receiver, he really does, but Noel makes a sound like he’s going to speak again. So he waits, like a goddamn dog. “What?”
“Are you high?”
“Don’t fuck with the needles.”
“Fuck off, I won’t.”
“Alright. I’d see you tomorrow.”
That’s a clue for skipping recording session tomorrow, then. “Right.”
“Hey, I love you, you know that?.”
It could be a trick to get his ass down the studio by tomorrow morning, or maybe Noel really did mean it. You’d never know. Whatever it is, he’s not usually one to confess it so Liam lets the words wash over him; a forgotten reminder that fuck, he really does love his brother.
“Yeah. I know. Love you too.”
The line goes dead.
Liam put down the telephone, then turns around only to see Damon leaning on the farthest wall on the room, nursing a bottle of beer and trying to look nonchalant but only ending up like a dog who just pissed all over the new carpet. Liam can’t really blame him, he guesses, since this is his place anyway and Liam wasn’t exactly being quiet. That doesn’t mean he’s not going to try putting him on a corner and making him squirm, though.
He sneers. “Enjoying the show?”
Damon grimaces. “You were fucking loud.”
“There, you got your story.” Liam sits on the seat he previously occupied, patting his pockets for cigarette. “Do you feel sorry for me now?”
Damon looks away and doesn’t answer. Liam feels like a cunt straight away. He pretends to struggle with his lighter and only adds after the first inhale of smoke already left his lungs. “I was just joking.”
Neither of them laugh. Damon eventually disappears into his kitchen and comes back with another bottle. He puts the unopened bottle on the table in front of Liam and sits next to him. “Graham doesn’t really speak to me anymore.”
“Graham.” Liam rubs his temple, willing the headache to go away. “Oh, right. The bloke.”
“I just—got sick of it, I guess. People keeping me out of the loop and expecting me to do shit about it. Anyway I shouldn’t have yell at you, sorry about that.”
“I’m sorry, too.” Liam bumps his knee against Damon's, then it strikes him how easy it is to apologize to the other man, to admit his fault without building a fort out of excuses. “I was being a real cunt about it.”
Damon leans into the couch and turns to at him. “What did Noel say?”
“Nothing.” It’s the truth. Fucking nothing.
“He’s not going to kill me, then.”
“He’d probably slag you off more often starting from tomorrow. And I’m going to back him up.”
“Oh.” Damon shrugs. “So just the same old.”
He asks for his cig. Liam wants to point out that he literally has his own pack laying around on the table in front of them but he hands it to him. They stare at each other as Damon takes a long drag, so close to each other that Liam can feel the heat from the burning end over his lips. He doesn’t want to name the emotion he feels in his chest so he waits until Damon lowers the cigarette and leans closer to plant a kiss on his lips.
Sometimes he wishes things were easier. To sit Noel down and talks, just talks, the two of them. To be bigger and stronger when their Dad beat the shit out of everyone except for him, so he could stand up to him and tell him to fuck off. To just let Damon says it, out loud, then accepts it and says it back to him. Yet the lump in his throat wouldn’t let him, and Liam is left with the thought of later; an imaginary moment in the future that he’s afraid would never come.
Damon runs his fingers gently over the bruised skin. It stings a bit but swatting them away feels like it would ruining the moment. When Liam pulls away, Damon is still staring at him, like he’s transfixed. He then scoots closer, whispering under his breath even though there are only the two of them in his flat.
“Do you still want to do it?”
It’s a crime how he still looks gorgeous at three in the morning but Liam feels drained, like he just scream his throat raw during a day long recording session. “Well, do you want to?”
“I’m not really—” Damon has an apologetic grin on his face. “But I can suck you off, if you want.”
He moves like he’s going to get on his knees. Liam stops him. “Not today, mate. Kind of tired, after all.”
“If it’s because what I said earlier—”
“Alright.” Damon scratches his head. “I was just making sure.”
Oh, man. Liam really doesn’t deserve him. He’s a greedy bastard, though, so he’d take and take as long as Damon keeps on giving. Liam sucks on the last of his cigarette, letting the nicotine dancing in his chest before letting them out. “Can I crash on your couch?”
Damon actually perks up at that. Liam tries not to let it get into him. “Yeah. Gladly, man.”
“And I’m going to rob your ibuprofen tablets.”
“But if Noel called you tomorrow and you told him I was hiding in here, I would kick your arse out of your own goddamn flat.”
It’s always a good feeling, making Damon laughs. Especially when he’s sober because it lights up his whole face instead of the slow, dazed one he does when he’s out of it. And the fact that it was all Liam, not the heroin making him thinking it’s funny while it’s actually not.
“Alright.” Damon pushes himself to his feet, a hint of smile still gracing his lips. “Fuck the couch, though. You fucking know we’ve been in bed together.”
The part with noel calling is more or less true according to one of their photographers (?). Noel basically had a book full of phone numbers that he would call one by one asking if they had seen Liam. Now that's the big sibling energy that i aspire to have.
Chapter 5: is this real love or is this madness (that keeping us afloat)
Now, Liam doesn’t think of himself as someone who’s overly possessive, but he sure feels like one at the moment; with Damon’s lips pressed against his own and his pulses thundering beneath Liam’s hand, beneath the mark he left behind.
Bonehead nudges him with his shoulder and points vaguely towards a random direction. “Look at the two lovebirds over there.”
Liam lowers his can of beer, following Bonehead’s eyes. He has a hunch on who the two lovebirds are and his gut feeling isn’t mistaken. He recognizes Damon’s dirty blond locks first, sticking messily towards every directions possible. The other lovebird has short dark hair and black framed glasses that glint beneath the near blinding light. The party just started—that’s why Liam hasn’t drunk yet—but he can tell from a mile away that Graham has, swaying and pointing wildly right on Damon’s face. Damon doesn’t fare any better; from the way he just stares blankly at Graham, Liam can tell he already sneaked a dose before coming in.
“Hah.” He takes a sip from his can. “Romantic.”
They look like an old married couple having a lover’s spat. Suddenly Liam is seized by the sudden fright that Noel and him came off exactly like that when they decide to argue in public. He averts his gaze, suddenly feeling uncomfortable staring at the unfolding argument. Unfortunately, Bonehead doesn’t feel the same way.
“Isn’t that the bloke that snog you on the cover of—of—what’s the name again—”
“Yeah. That’s the one.” Liam hopes he sounds uninterested. The truth is he feels like he had known Graham for years from how often Damon talked about him. “Graham or something like that.”
Bonehead grins and elbows him by the ribs, motherfucker knows Liam’s weak there. “Why don’t you go over there and give him a kiss? Look at them; Albarn’s on the verge of tears already.”
Liam clutches at his side, gritting his teeth. “Fuck you.” He straightens himself and brings his hand up to jab at Bonehead’s chest; the one he’s holding his drink with. “I’d rather eat dirt than—”
Some twat bumps into Bonehead, which makes him bump into Liam, which in turns makes Liam spill his drink all over the front of his jacket. Or Bonehead’s jacket. Bonehead’s brand new, beloved, long awaited jacket that Liam nicked just before they set off. The one he made Liam swear on his life not to ruin even the thinnest, most unimportant thread.
It only takes one glance at Bonehead’s murderous expression to make Liam scurrying as fast as possible towards the nearest bathroom.
So that’s how Graham finds him; frantically dabbing wet tissue over the sticky stain on Bonehead’s stupid jacket. Liam looks up when he enters, meeting his eyes through the mirror. Graham looks—man, he doesn’t look too well. Liam waits for him to say something but he just stands there, leaning against the wall with this blank look on his face. Liam shrugs and focuses back on the more urgent task at hands.
But if there is one thing he had learnt from multiple brawls at the pub, is to keep an eye—or ear—to your back. Liam listens carefully until he hears Graham moves briskly across the room, closing on him until Liam can smell the booze radiates from him. “Oi.” He frowns like he’s thinking really, really hard. “Gallagher.”
Liam almost cringes at the way he butchered his name. “—’sup.”
Graham stops just few feet away from him. Liam watches him through the mirror. “Damo has his head so far up your bloody arse.”
Cute nickname. Liam bares his teeth in a mock attempt of a smile. “Could say the same to you.”
“Yeah, but that’s fucking normal, no?” Graham runs a hand through his face, dirtying his glasses on the process but he seems hardly care. “I’m his best mate, but you just, you just—I don’t know—some kid in a band that he’s interested in for a while. Like, like a side chick, you get it? A bloody mistress or something.”
Here’s the thing; Liam knows Graham didn’t mean to provoke him. He said it all with a straight face like he’s stating facts, like he’s genuinely curious. Like a child asking a beggar why they are begging for money. But as people say; drunken words, sober thought and it stings just the same.
He turns around, drops the wet tissue onto the floor and closes in on Graham. If he were any drunker, he would have knocked him off his feet. But he weren’t and perhaps Liam feels bits of pity at the state of the other man. God knows he’d been there.
“Listen.” He spits through gritted teeth. “Don’t you ever fucking dictate what I am. I don’t fucking care what Albarn thought of me anyway. He gags for my dick just the same.”
Graham’s frown deepens. “Don’t fucking talk about him like—”
“Like what?” Liam sneers, cocky. “That’s the truth.”
Graham stumbles closer and takes hold of the collar of his jacket, grip tight. Liam’s first thought is fuck, Bonehead’s gonna kill me. He waits for the punch but it never comes. Graham just look at him, like he’s confused and christ, he’s such a fucking mess. At this point Liam is just one drunken stumble away from sitting him down and telling him to go home, to drink lots of water and takes his painkillers.
But Graham’s luck must have ran out because the door opens and Damon steps in, clearly looking for him. Liam glances at Damon’s face, seeing his eyes widen at the sight of them and just like that he’s angry again. A fucking side chick, really? Fuck that. Damon’s his fucking side chick.
“If you touch me.” He turns to Graham again, saying it loud enough for Damon to hear. “I’ll fucking bash your head in.”
Damon crosses the room faster than Liam had ever seen him moving. He stops just by Graham, carefully taking a hold of his elbow. “Gra, stop it.”
“Yeah, stop it, Gra.” Liam mocks him. Damon’s eyes jump to his face, just for a flash of second before shifting back to Graham. He looks tired and weary, with a hint of fear hidden underneath all of those. He’s probably sick of dealing with his guitarist’s antics. It’s not far from the way Noel looks at him sometimes, when Liam is at his absolute worst.
“You’re going to bash my head in?” Graham asks and Liam can be mistaken but he sees a hint of smile on his face.
“If you want me to.” He shrugs but he wishes he doesn’t have to. Unfortunately for him, Damon doesn’t know that.
“Gra, please.” He whispers, fingers tighten around Graham’s elbow. “Let’s go.”
“Fuck off, Damon.”
“It’s not fucking worth it, yeah? C’mon, let’s just go home.”
By some miracles, Graham agrees. He lets go of Liam and lets Damon drags him back towards the door. Liam watches Damon; the way his jaw tensed and lips pressed into a thin line. Not even once he ever looks at him again.
“Go on, fucking babysit him, Albarn.” He shouts after them just as the door swings shut, fists itching for a fight. “Don’t fucking forget to change his diaper, you prick!”
The door slams shut completely and the only thing answering Liam is the muffled music from outside and the drips of water from a loose tap. He cusses them out nevertheless.
He looks for Bonehead after that, trying to convince him that it’s not his fault that his jacket is ruined but he couldn’t find him. Great, he’s being ditched. So Liam starts going through the bar, planning get sloshed and kicked out, but then he feels bad again. About Bonehead, about Graham, about Damon, about Noel. There is no twat to provoke so he goes back to the bathroom again, alternating between doing lines and trying to clean the goddamn jacket.
Like a sick joke, Damon finds him there. Again. What is it with public bathroom and Damon Albarn. If they ever get married, maybe they’d do it in the bathroom. The honeymoon too. Then when they have a lover’s spat he’d dunk Damon’s face into the toilet. Flushes his fucking pretty face down.
Liam doesn’t realizes how angry he is until Damon touches his arm, gingerly, like he were a rabid dog. “Liam—”
He turns around and set his eyes on Damon’s. Damon drops his hand instantly, trying to back away but Liam’s faster. He shoves him against the wall, hard enough that Damon actually whimpers at the impact. That’s not Liam, that’s the coke. Or maybe both of them, they are the same thing after all. Liam can feel the powder so far up his nostrils, up to the back of his eyes.
Damon cowers a bit when Liam closes in on him. “Please,” He brings his hands up, trying to keep some distance between them. “Liam, calm down.”
“A fucking side chick.” Liam spits. “Is that what I am to you? That’s what you told Graham what I am?”
“No.” Damon licks his lips, eyes darting between Liam’s face and his hands like he’s expecting a fight. “I’d never—he’s drunk, Liam. He didn’t mean it.”
“Fuck you.” Liam throws his tissues at him. It bounces off Damon’s coat miserably.
“Please, I don’t want to fight.”
“Well I don’t want to fucking fight, either, Albarn. Look where it got me.”
Liam steps back and Damon lowers his hands slowly. He looks smaller like this, or maybe he just got thinner. Maybe if he isn’t so high Liam would realize how fucking ridiculous this is.
“I never said something like that, Liam. Graham was just—just—he didn’t understand, all right? He didn’t know what he was saying.” Damon tries to reason. Liam hates how tired he’s sounding. “He’s going through some rough times; he hates my fucking guts, he hates this, this whole thing we do with the band. But he’s working on it. When he’s not like this, he’s lovely. Please.”
Liam scoffs but he knows Damon is right.
“Whatever.” He shakes his head, turning away to make more lines in one of the stalls. There is hurt brewing in his chest, lodges between his ribs and grates on his heart with every breaths he take. He’s no Justine Frischmann—fuck, he’s not even a bird—he’s not Damon’s bandmates either so of course he’s always going to be the side chick. Or the side bloke. Whatever. And even to be the side bloke there need to be something official between them, an agreement. Liam and Damon don’t have even that.
They are not exclusive. They are each other’s nothing.
Liam isn’t supposed to feel sad about that. After all he’s always the one who made Damon swallowed the words back. He’s a fucking hypocrite, that what he is. How the fuck Damon hasn’t got sick of him yet.
“Hey.” Damon reaches for him again, pulling him out of the stall. “That’s enough, don’t you think?”
Liam shrugs him off. “The party’s shite anyway. What else is there to do?”
Damon tries again. He just wouldn’t give in, would he. “Come with me.”
“Where?” Liam let him intertwines their fingers together, feeling the rough skin against his own and takes comfort in it. Damon’s still here.
“Does it matter? I miss you.”
Damon closes in on him, like he wants to hug him but isn’t quite sure if he would be welcomed. Liam stares at the empty space in the stall where he would be on his knees, rolling up a bill, snorting the last of his stash and waiting for Bonehead to pick him up. Sometimes he has nightmares about how someday it wouldn’t be enough and he’d give in to something stronger. From there it wouldn’t long before he’d end up overdosing in a stall just like this one. User, not abuser his arse.
He grounds himself back to reality. “I miss you too.”
Damon is silent for a while, probably taken aback with his answer. Even Liam’s taken aback himself. He’s shameless when he’s drunk, though, so he just squeezes Damon’s hand. The other man squeezes back and sags against him, tension leaving his body. There is a relieved kiss to the back of his neck. “Okay.”
“Out like a light.”
“Thought you’d be pissed at me, for threatening him and stuff.”
“What difference would it make?” Damon says dryly. “Graham got on people’s face when he’s sloshed, so of course he’d get a bloke pushing back at him at some point. It’s just I can’t always be there to stop it.”
Liam stares at the wall across him. “I didn’t actually want to knock him off.”
“I know.” Damon’s reply surprises him. “But you will if he swung first.”
“Who knows.” Damon rests his chin over Liam’s shoulder, exhaling tired, hot breath onto the sensitive skin of Liam’s neck. “When he’s like that.”
They sneak off some corridors that lead to a back alley. Damon hails a cab and the driver stares at them like they have two heads each. Liam really isn’t in the mood so he glares back at the poor driver until he turns his eyes away. They don’t talk the whole journey; Liam shaking his legs and trying not to steal glances at Damon next to him. I miss you too.
Liam doesn’t know why but the first thing he does when they’re safely inside is to make a beeline to the sink, still worrying over the spilled drink. Damon watches him struggling with the damn stuck zipper and unopened roll of toilet paper, cursing the whole way. Then he asks. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Cleaning this, this fucking bloody thing. Bonehead would kill me. Fucking fuck.”
The first sign of smile appears on Damon’s face. “Just put it in the fucking laundry, will you?”
Liam stops, staring at his hands and to the mirror, straight to his stupidity. “Fuck.”
Damon laughs at him, stepping into the cramped bathroom along with him. “I’ll help you.” He says, reaching for the stuck zipper. There is a glint on his eyes so of course the poor jacket never seen the laundry basket as promised. It stuck on the bathroom’s floor for the night and Liam forget about it as soon as Damon drags him down to bed with him. Their bodies fit each other just as easily as their fingers intertwines.
He pins Damon’s hands above his head and fucks him open, hard and fast enough to make Damon weak and shuddering under him. His fists clench and unclench in Liam’s grip, in tandem with the snapping of his hips. It’s not that he actually needs to hold Damon down since he’s pliant beneath him, spreading his legs and moaning shamelessly, loud even among the slapping sound of skin meets skin. He needs the reassurance that Damon’s here, with him, even when he doesn’t need to. Even when he can choose to spend the night with better companions.
Liam shifts, pinning Damon deeper into the mattress. He changes his pace; pulling out almost completely and then fucks into him hard enough to make pain and pleasure undistinguishable. Damon’s face twists with pleasure, eyes scrunches shut and he starts trashing in Liam’s grip. He arches his back, gasping harshly. “Liam—”
“You’re mine.” Liam licks at the shell of his ear, feeling Damon jerks helplessly, toes curling. His grip now probably tight enough to leave a bruise. “Say it.”
Damon ignores him, or maybe he just doesn’t hear him. He buries his face into the pillow, biting hard into his already swollen lips to force his whimpers back down. Liam let him has his moment before slamming himself in and rutting shamelessly into Damon, dead on against his prostate. Damon falls apart at that, neck bared as he throws his head back, sobbing into the bare ceiling.
“Liam! Fuck—yours, fucking yours, fuck—”
He doesn’t relent until Damon comes with a shout, untouched, almost knocking himself off. Liam fucks him through it and closes his teeth over the tender skin on Damon’s neck, biting and sucking hard enough to leave a mark. He comes not long after, knees shaking so hard that he almost falls down and stabs his eye into Damon’s picture-perfect nose.
Liam rolls over him, collapsing face first into the mattress. He’s still too coked up to pass out so he watches Damon panting next to him, eyes closed and lips parted. There are tear tracks on the corner of his eyes. Liam reaches out and wipes them away.
“The things I let you do to me—” Damon groans hoarsely and rolls his head aside to look at Liam, blinking his eyes open. His eyelashes are wet from tears. “—not even my own girlfriend can get away with them.”
Liam flushes with pride. He leans closer to press his lips against Damon’s, pushing his tongue inside. His hand wanders unconsciously until it rests on Damon’s neck, over the very bitemark he just given him. Liam presses his thumb carefully over it, feeling the tender skin hot and fragile beneath his roughened fingertip. Damon hisses at the contact but he doesn’t flinch away. Now, Liam doesn’t think of himself as someone who’s overly possessive, but he sure feels like one at the moment; with Damon’s lips pressed against his own and his pulses thundering beneath Liam’s hand, beneath the mark he left behind.
“If you wanna go again,” Damon offers as Liam pulls away. Maybe he senses something with the way Liam wraps his hand around his neck, the way he licks into his mouth. “Let me rest a bit. I can’t feel my damn legs.”
He should have said something romantic or understanding but what Liam said is. “This is why you stay away from smack.”
“God, you’re such a little shit.”
Liam lets go of his neck and sits on the bed, hugging his knees to his torso. He lights a cigarette and automatically hands it to Damon after taking a puff. “Nah, we don’t have to.”
Damon accepts his cigarette and presses a hand to his neck. “Now you’re playing a gentleman.”
He sucks on the cigarette and makes a ring out of the dancing smoke. Liam stares at him and thinks about Patsy, about how the mere thought of her creates waves of warmness that swept every inches of his skin; a suffocating fondness that sometimes leaving him lightheaded. Liam might not be the best partner around but he’s sure madly, helplessly in love with her. Looking at Damon, Liam’s pretty sure he feels the same way. He’s fucking in love with him. There is no denying that, no tip-toeing around the words and trying to make it matter less. God help him.
Damon catches him staring and smiles around the butt of Liam’s cigarette. “What?”
“Nothing.” Liam says quickly, averting his gaze. He can feel his face heating up.
Damon pushes himself up and wraps a hand around Liam’s shoulder, resting his chin on his shoulder just the way he did few hours ago, kissing the sweaty skin on Liam’s neck. “What is it?”
Liam glances at him before taking the cigarette from Damon’s fingers. His hand shakes a bit as he takes a hurried, deep inhale. It would be oh so easy to give in so he does. “I’m scared.”
The words tumble clumsily through his lips, barely louder than a whisper. Damon doesn’t react at all, his breath steady and he rubs comforting circles on Liam’s shoulder. The only sign that he’s taken aback is the prolonged silence before he manages to respond. “Of what?”
“I don’t know.” Liam runs a nervous hand through his hair. “Of you. Of me self.”
He regrets it as soon it left his mouth.
“Of me?” Damon’s hand stops moving and Liam tenses a bit at that. He doesn’t sound angry, though, just confused. “But why would you—wait, is this about…”
How do you even address something that couldn’t be spoken? Damon trails off, probably unsure himself how to say it. The last time he tried to bring it up Liam told him to shut up. Maybe after he had spent hours mulling over it, laying awake on his bed. Maybe after it was right on the tip of his tongue, the closest thing they ever got to a proper realization. Then Liam told him right on his face; cut it off, Albarn.
“Doesn’t feel fucking fair, innit?” Liam grumbles. “You pulling all the weight.”
“Oh, Liam, that’s—” Damon holds him tighter, burying his face into the crook of Liam’s neck. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t mind.”
“Bullshit. I saw your face.”
“Yeah. When I told you off.” Liam tries to find the right words. “You look…you look…”
“Well.” Damon interjects before awkward silence can slip into the small space between them. “I can live with that, right? Wouldn’t kill me. I’m not like, some poor bloke in a Shakespearean play.”
Liam frowns, turns his head aside to see Damon tries to suppress a smile. “Huh?’
“What, you never read one?”
“Why would I want to?”
“Well, the underline is, I don’t mind. I can live with that.”
“Yeah, but I feel bad.” Liam tries not to sound like a sulking brat but he still feels like one. “What if…what if I never got around to it?”
“Told you it doesn’t matter. Come on, take it easy.”
Liam wants to argue but Damon kisses him to silence. That always seems to shut him up just fine and in a way it’s easier to kiss than talk so he gives in. Damon hums in contentment.
“It’ll work out in the end.” He whispers between the wet kisses to the corner of Liam’s mouth. “You’ll be alright.”
Liam trusts him because he doesn’t see any other option. He takes Damon’s jaw in his hand so he’d stop playing around and kisses him hard in the mouth. Damon melts instantly into him.
“You’re knackered.” He says when they pull away, even though Liam should be the one to say it judging from the dark lines beneath Damon’s eyes. “Go to sleep.”
“I can’t.” Liam sniffs. “Too coked up.”
Damon rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath something that sounds like I fucking knew it. He shifts, and Liam is shoved to his back before he can comprehend what’s going on. He jerks when he feels a hand around his cock, wincing a bit at the last trace of oversensitivity from his last orgasm. Damon hovers above him, looking just as exhausted as Liam feels if it isn’t for the playful grin on his lips. He wants to protest—oi, you don’t have to— but the grip tightens and all he could say is a low, choked moan.
Damon kisses him again, lips swollen and tender. “I’ll help you coming down.”