"You're wearing my shirt," Harry says. Everyone's left the bus to go and find somewhere more fun to be – Louis and Zayn are at a club, Niall's out with the band – but Harry isn't in the mood and Liam never goes. She's curled up in the lounge in the back with a DVD on, which isn't unusual, but – "That's my shirt," Harry repeats.
It's just a t-shirt, a little bit loose on Liam around the neck where Harry's shoulders have stretched it out, but tight over her obviously bare breasts. Liam doesn't usually wear anything tight; she hands all the looking-like-a-girl duties over to Zayn who, she insists, has the lashes to do it properly.
"You all steal my clothes," Liam says, not looking up from where she's lying on the couch.
"You're the only one who does laundry," says Harry reasonably.
"The fact that Louis fits in my jeans is the most depressing thing on earth," says Liam. "Shouldn't you be out drinking?"
"Headache," says Harry, although it's faded and he feels fine now. "Shove over."
"No," says Liam, but she moves over on the couch. Harry can't tell which movie she's watching but the television is full of explosions and helicopters and cars swerving around wildly. "Are you alright? Did you drink enough water today?"
It's actively weird having Liam try and mother him while she's wearing his t-shirt without a bra on underneath it. And actually once she shifts, Harry gets a bit incredulous. "Are those my shorts as well?"
She shrugs one shoulder, leaning on the arm of the couch.
Harry leans over and says with quiet, wicked deliberateness, "I wear those without any underwear, you know."
"Oooh, really? I hope I don't get pregnant, then," Liam says, holding back a laugh.
Harry just stares at her for a second. "You used to be so easy to shock," he says, a little admiring and a little regretful.
She dissolves into laughter, hiding her face against his shoulder. Obviously Simon picked attractive girls to be in the band, that's the way marketing works, but there's something really provocative about Liam sitting around in Harry's shorts with her long, athletic legs curled up underneath her. She smells a little like him, because he never washes his clothes. It's intoxicating.
"You're disgusting," Liam giggles. "I'm not surprised by it anymore."
"I never wear pants unless someone's taking pictures," Harry says. "Actually I don't usually wear pants then, either." He's not wearing a shirt at the moment, because he is never a fan of clothes he doesn't actively need.
Liam's voice is full of mischief when she asks, "Are you wearing pants right now?"
That makes Harry's dick twitch a little. He tells himself firmly that Liam is just kidding; she is the very definition of not that kind of girl. "Nope," he says, dragging the word out and leering at her a little.
She giggles again and bites her lip. She has a really nice mouth, soft and pink and Harry wants to be the one making those indents in it with his teeth. "Cheeky," she says approvingly. "I can't wait for naked pictures of you to show up on the internet."
Harry is pretty sure there are already pictures of him naked on the internet, but if Liam's in the mood to flirt he's not going to stop her. "You don't need to wait," he offers, putting his hand on the waistband of his jogging bottoms.
It's a joke. Liam laughs, but she also stares at him for just a second too long, and Harry doesn't miss that. The soft curve of her breast is pressing against his arm and it's confusing his dick, which can't figure out why he's got a gorgeous girl in his clothes and he isn't taking them off her.
"My shorts look really good on you," says Harry gravely. "But you know where they'd look even better?" Liam shakes her head. "On my floor in the morning."
Liam bursts out laughing and hits him on the arm. "You're awful," she says. "That's the worst line I've ever heard. Please tell me that doesn't really work, that's horrible."
He grins and shrugs. "It works sometimes," he says. "It was worth a shot." Harry's not surprised Liam isn't going for it; she's romantic and she likes dating and flowers and holding hands.
Something explodes on the television and Harry turns back to it. He stretches one arm along the back of the couch, over her shoulder, and tells himself that getting off later while he thinks about Liam in his clothes isn't going to be the weirdest thing he's done in this band. She wears boys' clothes half the time anyway, it isn't new. It's just that they're Harry's.
"Do you know," says Liam thoughtfully, "Niall showed me an article on the internet that says girls have a line that works one hundred percent of the time."
"Yeah?" Harry asks, looking back at her.
"Yeah," says Liam. Her eyes are sparkling. She drops her voice just a little bit and gives him a serious look. Then she says, "Hi."
Harry starts to laugh. "Seriously?"
"What?" Liam asks, trying not to giggle. "That wouldn't work on you?"
"If you were wearing my clothes? It would definitely work," Harry says. "I can barely keep my hands off you." He's kidding-not-really-kidding, which he hopes Liam doesn't notice.
"You… You don't have to," Liam says. She's still smiling but it's flickering a little bit around the edges.
Harry's a smart guy but it takes him half a second. "Really?" he says, more doubtful than he meant to sound.
She smiles and shrugs and bites her lip. She's looking at him through her lashes. Zayn must have taught her that; Harry would swear Liam didn't know how to do that last time he checked. But it's enough to make Harry's heart stutter, and then she swings one long, lovely leg over his and puts her hand on his bare chest, over his heart.
"Liam, really?" Harry asks, because he doesn't want to be the jerk who missed that she was just kidding and makes her cry over it later. Louis and Zayn and Niall would kill him. He puts his hand on top of hers and slides it down his chest, across his stomach. His muscles are fluttering there a little because he really wants her already. Her soft, girly hands brush over the little bit of hair that's above his waistband.
"Why not?" Liam says. She tugs on his waistband with both hands, starting to pull his jogging bottoms down. Harry's half-hard just from teasing and playing around with her; that makes him take a long, shuddering breath and then he knocks her backwards on to the couch, climbing on top of her, between her legs and careful of where his knees are. He holds himself up over her for a second. His t-shirt has ridden up over her flat, soft stomach and she's breathing a little harder, breasts straining against his t-shirt.
"Liam," says Harry again, forcing himself not to move yet. It's really difficult.
She wiggles underneath him and he has to close his eyes for a second and count to three, thinking hard about the football match they watched earlier. "Why do you think I'm lying around wearing your clothes?" Liam asks. She bites her lip and places one of his hands on her stomach and starts sliding it down underneath her shorts. His shorts. Harry knows this isn't how she normally behaves but he's willing to overlook it because her stomach is a thing of beauty and his fingers are brushing over the soft curls underneath her knickers. She tugs her shorts and her underwear down a little and he turns his hand so he can rub his finger very, very gently over the little nub where her clit is.
She gasps and pushes her hips up against his hand. Harry's dick is starting to throb. "Is that—" he says, gritting his teeth. "Is this okay?"
Liam closes her eyes and tilts her head back and makes a soft little whimpering noise that Harry is going to remember every time he's jerking off for months. "Can you — Harry, harder," she says, tilting her hips up, against his fingers. "Please."
She's even polite while she's having sex. Harry presses harder, moving a couple of fingers around in little circles until her breath hitches. She's wet and he'd like to pull the shorts down and see what she tastes like but that might be a little forward. He can't believe she's even letting him do this. He nudges a finger carefully inside her and she groans. Harry leans down and kisses her neck and the groan turns into a breathy little, "ah, ah, ah," stuttering out of her.
Everything about her is sweet. Harry brushes his mouth across her throat, down to one of her breasts, breathing hard on his t-shirt where it's stretched across her. He can see her nipple hardening underneath it and he mouths at it for a second, making the cloth damp. Liam squeaks and arches her back. Harry laughs. He very gently uses his teeth, just a little nip, and then tries to get his tongue on her breast and his fingers inside her and rubbing against her all moving at the same rhythm.
Liam is rocking up against him, making breathy, broken little noises. He never imagined she'd be so vocal; she's normally so tightly wound up and careful about what she says and does. It's fantastic. "I've never seen you like this," Harry says. He moves his fingers faster, rubbing her clit a little harder, because that makes her shudder all over. She brings her hands up to hold on to his arms. Harry's so hard he's seeing stars. He has to bite his own lip, really digging his teeth in, so he has something to concentrate on besides how soft and responsive Liam is underneath him.
"Sorry," Liam says. "Harry – Harry -- oh!" He can feel her clenching around his fingers as a desperate little cry spills out of her. He keeps rubbing, gently, until she opens her eyes again. Her mouth is a little open, her chest is heaving, her cheeks are pink. Her fingers are leaving bruises on his arms.
"You didn't even kiss me," Liam says, and giggles. "Oh my god, I'm a whore."
Harry is never going to be able to wear these shorts again, not without hearing Liam's voice and her breathy, sexy giggles. He leans up and kisses her just as she's starting to say something else. Harry doesn't really need anymore talking. His erection is pressed between them where her legs have fallen open.
Liam makes a surprised, pleased noise. She puts one of her hands on his head, tangled in his curls, and tugs. "What do you want?" she asks. He groans, pushing down against her. It's too much to think about. Harry kisses her again, hard, not really the way he'd like to be kissing her, but he doesn't have time to be sweet, since he doesn't especially want to come all over himself just from friction, either. Then he sits back on his heels, shoving his shorts down so he can get a hand around himself.
"I can do that," says Liam, in her most helpful voice. Harry has to bite his lip again; this time he can taste blood. Liam wiggles out from underneath him, hair wrecked and shorts slipping down her hips. His shirt is still plastered against her breasts and slipping down around her neck, showing collar bone and throat and places Harry hasn't got his mouth on enough yet.
"What I want," says Harry, gritting his teeth, "is to push you down into this couch and fuck you. But – But I’m a gentleman, so."
Liam laughs like she can't believe he said that. "Wow. Well. Okay, but we haven't got a condom, so maybe for right now…" She pushes herself up on her knees, too, between his legs, so she can put her hand on his cock. She's got long, slender fingers that are incredibly soft, and the calluses from playing guitar tug and slip a little as she slides her hand up and down. She's too gentle and a little too slow. Harry puts his hand on top of hers and shows her how to go faster, how to twist a little. She's got her adorable concentrating face on, like Harry's a new instrument she's learning, and he should have known Liam would be the same in sex as she is at everything else; determined to do it well.
"Jesus, Harry," she says, and she sounds breathy and impressed and he has to brace himself with one hand on the back of the couch because he can't think about anything except how her fingers feel on him, and the building, desperate feeling in his balls.
He comes with what he thinks is a very manly shout, almost a grunt, and for a second there's just nothing except hot and cold and tingles and stars all over. When he blinks again Liam's leaning against him, holding him up. She wrinkles up her nose looking at both of them and wipes her hand off on his t-shirt. She cleans the couch off with the hem of it, too.
"It's a good thing this wasn't mine," she says. "You'll need to wash it."
Harry bites back something soppy and silly about never washing it again because the sentiment is nice but she's right; it's sticky and dirty now. "Liam, you are so sexy," he says instead. She giggles and he leans in to kiss her. He manages to be gentle this time, mapping her mouth with his tongue, enjoying the way she tastes and the way she sighs happily into his mouth.
"Zayn's the sexy one, though," says Liam eventually. Harry wishes they weren't on the couch; there's no way to have a proper cuddle here. Also, the rest of the band will come back eventually and if the lounge smells like sex and Liam looks like that, well. It won't be hard for them to work out what happened.
"We've got two sexy ones now, then," says Harry. "I can't believe we did that."
Liam laughs uncertainly. "It was okay, though, wasn't it?"
"If it was just okay then I did a shit job and I want another go," says Harry, and she giggles. He pushes her back into the couch and kisses her again, because he's not sure she's going to let him do this ever again. "What came over you tonight?"
"Oh, I just…" Liam starts, and looks down at her hands. "I thought I'd try something new. Maybe not be the uptight good girl all the time. And… And I knew you wouldn't make fun of me."
"Never," says Harry gallantly, and then, with a lot less gallantry and a lot more self-interest, "and if you're ever feeling a bit stressed again and you want a hand…" He gives her a silly, suggestive leer.
She laughs, but he meant her to. He would also really, really like to be the person she comes to when she feels like a casual fuck. That isn't a thing he ever thought he'd think about Liam Payne. "Maybe I will," she says, cheeky but obviously really pleased.
"Do," says Harry, leaning in for another kiss.
She lets him, for a minute, and then she moves back. "Well, now I have to find something else to sleep in, I suppose." She pulls a bit of a face at how the t-shirt's damp and the shorts have ended up all rucked up and twisted.
"I suppose," Harry says. She smiles and gets up off the couch to go and search out clean clothes, as if she has any left that Zayn or Louis or Niall haven't stolen. Harry wants to offer that she can have any of his clothes, any time she'd like, but he thinks if he did that it might be too obvious what he wants. So he pretends to go back to watching whatever film she'd put on, and says good night instead.