Bloody show-off, Liam thinks, grimacing as he turns around and leans forward against the bar. He finishes off his ginger ale and looks up at the bartender; she's wearing a vinyl halter top and black jeans, and she's looking across the room. Of course she is. Pierce is trying to be seen.
"Another one?" Liam asks, lifting his glass. He doesn't resort to straightening up and physically blocking her view of Pierce. She jumps a little and smiles sheepishly at Liam, and in a couple of seconds he's got another ginger ale to sip on.
He glances over his shoulder to see if Pierce is still over there with the boy he's been playing with tonight. He is. He's still reading one of those damn poetry books of his--Liam can't see the cover, but from the size and shape of it he's guessing it's the Frost collection--and the boy's still on the ground, still working over Pierce's left boot. Pierce still has a hand on the boy's back, and as Liam watches, Pierce bends down to get his hand into the hair at the nape of the boy's neck, pressing his face down against Pierce's boot and holding the boy steady.
Liam feels his gut twist. He can't help thinking about it--the one time they tried that, the one time it was Liam on the ground and slick cold leather under Liam's cheek. Hope you're not expecting any aftercare, he thinks.
As he's thinking it, Pierce pulls the boy up to kneeling. "Enough," he says. "We're done here."
Thought so. Liam watches the boy try to yank himself out of headspace, and after a couple of seconds, he's on his feet. He seems shaky, but he leaves the bar and doesn't look back at Pierce.
Liam takes his ginger ale over to Pierce's table, grabs one of the chairs, turns it around and straddles it. "So what was wrong with him, then?"
Pierce doesn't look up from his book. This close, Liam can see he was right -- it's Frost. "Evening, Liam," he says calmly. Too damn calm. Liam can't match that.
"Are you trying to break them? Who do you think's going to put them back together when you're finished with them?" Liam leans forward. "Or is it that you don't give a damn, so long as it doesn't have to be you?"
Pierce does look up from his book, then, one eyebrow raised, blue eyes drilling into Liam's. Liam sets his jaw. No. No, we're not doing this again. Get up. Get up, you stupid bastard--
But he doesn't. He thinks he might have started to move back--he thinks the message actually made it from his brain to his body--but it isn't fast enough, and when Pierce wraps a hand around the back of his neck, Liam goes still. Pierce is on him instantly, lips crushed so hard against Liam's that Pierce's teeth scrape across Liam's lips, but Liam's kissing him back, goddamnit, which is not what he came over for. That's not how this is supposed to go.
Pierce drags him out into the back hallway, book and drink left behind. The light back here is red, music from the dance floor next door muted and throbbing. They aren't the only ones in the hall; there are two other couples here in various stages of fucking.
Liam finds his nerve again when Pierce gets his hands on Liam's arms; he shoves back, gets Pierce's back against the wall instead of his own, for once. Pierce can almost look Liam into the eyes, but not quite, and Liam draws himself up to his full height--he needs the advantage right now.
"Turn around," he tells Pierce.
"Do you want this to happen or not?"
Pierce's lips flatten into a thin line, and he exhales sharply through his nose. "No," he says again. "You want to fuck me, we do it like this."
"Fine." Liam backs off. "Get your clothes off."
One push after another after another; Liam works on Pierce's shirt while Pierce kicks his shoes off, his socks, and finally unbuckles his belt. His shirt's undone to the waist now, and Liam steps back so Pierce has room to get his jeans off. Liam digs into a pocket for condoms and lube, and he unbuttons his fly, which is as much as he bothers to undress. Cock out, condom on, he waits for Pierce to finish stripping, and when Pierce is finally naked, he kicks Pierce's legs apart further and pops open one of the lube packets. If anything, Pierce is harder than he is.
He smirks down at Pierce. He gets his fingers between Pierce's legs and works them into his ass, pushing hard enough to make Pierce grimace. "Oh, I'm sorry," he says, pinning Pierce's shoulder to the wall with his free hand. "Been a while?"
"Not terribly," Pierce says, looking up at Liam again. He doesn't look like he's lying about that. Damn it. Who's he been bending over for? "You could use a manicure."
"Is that an invitation?" Liam asks, pushing a third finger in. Pierce jerks back against the wall; Liam comes in close and drives his fingers in nice and hard while he licks around the curve of Pierce's ear. "Remember how it felt having my hand up your arse?"
"Fuck off," Pierce growls under his breath.
"'Fuck me'," Liam corrects.
"Going to talk until you go soft?"
"Oh, let's find out."
Up against the wall has never been the easiest position--Pierce is goddamned heavy--but Liam pins him and holds him and Pierce gets a leg around Liam's waist, and--damn, my back is going to hate me for this--finally Liam's got the angle, and he drives in as hard as he can, as far as he can, until Pierce groans and slams his head back against the wall.
Liam adjusts his grip on Pierce, straightens his legs, and drives in again, just as hard. He slides in further this time, and Pierce scrambles for a grip on his shoulders. Liam feels Pierce's fingernails biting into him, even through his t-shirt, but it feels so good to be in Pierce he really doesn't give a damn.
"Come on," Pierce pants. "Come on. Harder."
He's trying to prove something. Liam can tell. It doesn't matter. What he's asking for is exactly what Liam wants to give him, and he does just that, driving into Pierce hard and rough. Pierce lets go of Liam's shoulders and gets his hands into Liam's hair, dragging his face back, and he kisses Liam. It's hot and openmouthed and awkward, and Liam's teeth cut into Pierce's lip, but he doesn't break his rhythm. He thrusts in again, and again, and just when he thinks his back's about to give out on him, Pierce lets out a yell--which had damn well better mean he's coming, because Liam's not going to hold back now. He pins Pierce to the wall and goes in deep and solid, dropping his head to Pierce's shoulder when he comes, pinning him there with his body weight.
Pierce's breath is rough and uneven in his ear. Liam pulls back carefully, trying not to drop Pierce onto the floor; he doubts Pierce would do the same for him.
Once he's free, Pierce immediately grabs his clothes and starts getting dressed. He's still sweating and breathing hard, but he gets his breath under control fast, and by the time Liam's got the condom off and has his pants buttoned again, Pierce has his jeans on again, shirt on but not buttoned, and he's tying his shoes.
"I guess that probably wasn't what you were looking for," Liam says.
Pierce stands up and buttons his cuffs, then starts on his shirt. "You're good at that," he says mildly.
He can't mean that. There's no way Pierce would just give him a compliment like that, not after this, not with the way Liam's been sniping at him. Liam frowns. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Pierce looks up at him. He pauses for a moment. If they weren't in the hallway, if there were any light to speak of, Liam might have a shot at figuring out what exactly his expression means. But his eyes crinkle up at the corners and he smirks, and the expression's gone, just like that.
"Giving me everything except what I'm looking for," Pierce says. "You're good at that."
And he's gone before Liam can say so much as Fuck you.