Liam has to remind him to breathe, every time. A few careful strokes, Harry closes his eyes, Liam presses his lips to the base of his neck, hums slowly until Harry’s chest stops rising.
“Babe,” Liam mumbles, chuckles low in his throat, “Babe, breathe.”
One shallow inhale, just enough to make Liam’s fingers caress him again, rut close to the head then back down so gently it might be the light tease of the thin fabric from his boxers before. But so warm and rough, Liam’s hand coaxes him forward and he laughs when Harry groans, but his own erection is pressed against Harry’s leg, slick already with his own want like always just from getting Harry this close.
“Liam, do you-” he starts, attempting a whisper, but it sounds like he’s shouting in the suddenly cavernous living room.
Liam reaches up and covers Harry’s mouth with his left hand, his right hand never stops.
“Shhh,” he quips, the barest smile on his lips, “Do you want them to hear?”
I don’t care, he wants to say, but Liam teases him with his thumb, sliding up and over him in one quick swipe, pressing in for just a moment. He eases down again slowly, trails his fingers over Harry’s balls with the faintest touch that leaves him breathless again, before kissing the corner of his mouth.
“Do you really want to do this?” he asks, as if Harry’s desperate keens are any objection. He stares back at Liam hoping he can read the need there in his eyes. The deepest green, almost engulfing, even in the dark room against the ridged black spread of the sofa beneath them.
Liam laughs, barely above a whisper, and shakes his head, nudging Harry’s thighs apart more with his knee.
“You’re making it really difficult to be decent,” he says, moving his hand from Harry’s mouth to his neck. He stills with his hand on Harry’s cock for the briefest moment.
“They’re going to know,” he says, “Eventually.”
All Harry says is, “Niall” because he’d nearly caught them a few weeks ago. It’d been almost impossible to explain it away.
Liam nods, drops his forehead to Harry’s chest. Breathes with him so slow he starts to feel weightless. He grinds his hips down, rutting his cock against Harry’s and his hand, so close to what he really wants but even in this he is so damningly patient.
“Do you still want to?” he asks.
Harry’s breath hitches. He ruts up into Liam’s grip.
“Do you?” Liam repeats, but he never stops. If anything, his grip tightens, bordering on what he knows must be becoming painful but Harry moans and shakes his head in jerky nods.
He nips at his nipple, tugging it between his teeth until Harry’s chest stills beneath him.
“Breathe,” he reminds him, pressing his nose into Harry’s neck. Even through the sweat, he smells dark and unkempt. His chest rises once, then twice, again faster and he jerks into Liam’s palm now, his hips grinding, back arched, so eager.
And when Liam presses into him finally, gently inch by inch, he fills him until Harry moans, spreading his legs wider- silently begging for more.
When he’s fully seated, he holds Harry’s face with one hand, his other is to the side, just by his spread of brown curls.
They kiss so gently it seems like the first time. When Liam had pulled back, uncertain, and Harry had tugged him forward. When everything had fallen away until he let his eyes slip shut and taste, like a man dying of thirst, Harry’s tongue caressing his own. An oasis in the desert.
He pulls back just to take a ragged breath, and Harry tugs him down again, clenches around him when he parts his lips. With Harry’s hands on the back of his neck, he eases back a little, then presses forward until he’s in fully again. Harry gasps as he graces that spot inside him and it’s so easy; it’s so easy to forget that this is a secret.
“Tomorrow,” he says, and Harry groans.
“But now,” he mutters, and Harry’s nails dig into his skin, his cock slides against Liam’s stomach, smearing a line of precum there.
“Yeah,” Harry shudders, his eyes slipping shut.
Liam thrusts so slowly that each time he slips close, each time he skirts just there, Harry trembles for so long it starts to drive him crazy. And just when he thinks he’ll explode, Liam eases back again. His face a stoic mask, like always he chases Harry’s before his own.
And maybe because they’re both a little anxious, or maybe because it’s just been so long, Liam holds him close and whispers, “I love you, you know?” into Harry’s ear.
Harry kisses whatever parts of him he can reach and whispers back, “I love you more,” while Liam slips away from him and he feels so terribly empty for a moment. Then Liam’s face is between his legs and he pulls his knees up, fists his hands into Liam’s hair when his tongue presses gently to his entrance.
He doesn’t even bother with fingers, just eases into Harry with slow, lapping strokes so agonizingly tentative he has to bite down on his lip not to cry out.
He pulls on Liams’ hair, tugs really, every time Liam sucks at him with his lips, sucks until he feels empty, then coats him with it again, mixed with more of his saliva, and presses into him with a pace that’s almost sickeningly self-indulgent.
“Breathe,” Liam says, gasping like he’s coming up for air. And Harry makes the mistake of looking down, at the way Liam’s eyes bear into him, his mouth coated in a mixture of their juices- all it takes is another second before Harry is muttering curses, hips jerking up in over-eager ruts as he comes, still gripping at Liam’s hair.