Work Text:
“Harry, please go change your shorts.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Liam can see his lover standing in front of the full length mirror right next to the hall. He’s wearing a gauzy pale yellow blouse with a shell necklace, big sunglasses, a beige oversized straw hat and the tiniest pair of white shorts. The shorts look amazing - showcasing his long, fit legs and the pert, subtle curve of his arse.
Pretending not to hear him, Harry flicks the sunglasses down his nose, pouting, “Are the sunglasses too much with the hat? I’m just a bit hungover and my eyes are so puffy this morning.”
Focusing entirely back to the screen of his iPad to scroll through a few work emails, Liam reiterates, “Harry, the shorts.” He doesn’t have to look at the younger man to know he’s most likely pouting even further now, complete with an eye roll.
“These shorts are Amiri, Liam,” Harry replies poshly, running his fingers through the ends of his curls, mussing them a bit, “they cost €500.”
“It doesn’t matter the price,” Liam says, and means it in more ways than one. He locks his phone screen finally and rises from the armchair, smoothing down his button up and pocketing his phone as he walks up behind his lover. “They aren’t appropriate for our date.”
“It’s brunch,” he argues, spinning around to face the older man, hands on his hips, “and it’s hot out. Shorts are perfectly appropriate.”
Raising both his eyebrows, Liam curves one large palm around Harry’s ass cheek, squeezing playfully. Over Harry’s shoulder, Liam can see their reflection and despite being almost the same height his boyfriend seems so slight compared to him. Soft in all the right places, and so lithe and tight in the rest. Liam's hand covers his arse cheek almost completely, fingertips pressed nearly on the inside of his thigh, between the almost girlish thigh gap.
“Brunch,” he emphasizes, “with my boss and his wife.”
Giving another, rougher squeeze, Harry bounces a little on his toes, his own hands coming up to press against the broad expanse of his chest, rubbing absently.
“If you make me change these shorts, I’m going to wear a dress,” he threatens, taking a step back.
Following the movement, Liam gives a chaste kiss to his temple and pats his bum one last time, “As long as it’s just above knee length.”
- - - -
Harry does change the shorts and keeps good on his word of wearing a simple, flowy sundress that reaches about mid thigh but they’re going to be late as is and Liam only has so much power he can exude before Harry starts defying him entirely.
Not that there is any reason to worry, either. The brunch is merely a matter of being in the same vacation spot at the same time, no business about it. Twenty minutes into sitting down and though his earlier claims of a hangover, Harry and his boss’s wife are sharing an impressive pitcher of mimosas, laughing and scrolling through mutual social media profiles while their significant others chat idly.
About an hour in, a second pitcher is almost finished and Harry is beginning to lean more heavily into his laughter, big eyes glassy, pupils blown. He has a bit of a goofy smile on his face and he’s touching Liam any time he turns to speak to him, flirting obviously.
“Ah, to be that young again,” his boss comments jovially, appearing a little tipsy himself after four whiskies, neat.
They have been rather lucky, him and Harry, since the start of their relationship. Whether it’s his money and his status, the two haven’t been subjected to much criticism due to their age difference. Being rich and a long time bachelor it’s pretty much expected for Liam to brandish a younger lover on his arm. Harry would adore the attention either way, most likely - negative or not. It’s part of the reason Liam even noticed him in the first place; he’s met plenty of young, upcoming models that would have been more than happy to warm his bed, but Harry exceeded all his usual expectations. He didn’t need to try for Liam's attention, he already knew he had it.
Underneath the table, Harry is now hooking his ankle around Liam’s, barely bothering to place his wine glass down before it’s being topped off again and again. Tomorrow Harry will be especially more whiny, after two days of getting plastered in a row. If this were a working week, Liam probably would have flagged him after the first pitcher and put up with any lip he received for it. As it is, there’s still a week left of their time off and if he has to spend a day pampering his baby in bed and while they nap on the beach, well. Liam supposes he will survive. Provided Harry will feel poorly enough about his two day partying to want to thank Liam for being so thoughtful and caring.
As if he isn’t every moment of everyday already.
“Oh, this one will be complaining about how old he’s getting tomorrow,” Liam murmurs, reaching out to tuck a curl behind Harry’s ear before steadying his glass as he goes to put it down on the table.
Another thirty minutes and a third pitcher pass before Liam decides to call for the check for all of them. Even his boss is starting to cross into the more intoxicated territory and the dark, gorgeous bedroom eyes Harry is giving him are getting less and less subtle by the minute.
As they stand to leave, Liam shaking his boss’ hand and waving off his insistence of reimbursement for the meal, he notices some onlookers attempting to discreetly take their photos. Liam himself isn’t recognized too often on his own; he’s not quite a proper celebrity in the same respect as Harry. Sure he’s been in a handful of articles and top 50’s lists of attractive men over thirty five, but his line of work isn’t the generally followed kind.
Harry, however, has been turning heads everywhere he goes before the two even officially met. Swaying slightly on his feet, Harry presses himself all along Liams side, blowing a parting kiss as they leave. He’s stumbling marginally as he walks, but he went with the French toast despite his badgering for Liam to tell him not to, so he’s well carbed for his impromptu day drinking.
“I feel much better,” he tells Liam as they settle in the back of the car returning them to their hotel, “so much better.”
His wandering hands are all over his boyfriends waist line, skinny wrists brushing against his crotch every so often. Lazy afternoon sex is appearing more and more promising, and Liam considers fixing himself his own drink when they get back to their penthouse.
“We should go to the beach,” Harry’s babbling, tangling their fingers together as they climb out of the backseat, “we barely spent any time by the ocean yesterday and if I don’t go back to work with a halfway decent tan I’ll be properly shunned.”
Humming absently, Liam punches the code for the lock in and gets them through the door, “perhaps later, love,” he bargains, brushing the back of his hand against Harry’s damp forehead, “you’re looking a little flushed.”
Rolling his eyes, his boyfriend swats his hands away, taking a clumsy step backwards toward the kitchen, “that would make a bit of sense, considering I’m drunk again.”
Giving an indulgent smile, the older man begins unbuttoning his shirt, “why don’t you fix me a drink while I change and grab yourself a bottle of water? I’ll get changed and pack a bag for us to go in a bit.”
“I’m making margaritas!” Harry cheers, and Liam should have known his boyfriend stopped listening after ‘fix me a drink.’ It isn’t often he indulges in drinking at all, let alone to party with Harry and his younger peers. Harry insists that the few times they’ve had sex while intoxicated have been the best, wildest sex he’s ever had, but Harry also said that the other week after Liam made him finish four times in a row from just a prostate massager. The sleekest, newest, most expensive model, mind you.
Point is, Harry is a little bit of a slag and is rather easy to please.
Keeping his promise, Liam does pack them a beach bag for later, but strips down to only his boxer briefs before returning to the kitchen. Harry wasn’t lying about the margaritas, either, it seems. There’s two salt rimmed glasses set up on the counter while the curly haired man is shaking a cocktail mixer, a bottle of tequila next to the sink. Sparing a glance at the archway of the kitchen, green eyes light up delightedly at the sight of Liam in just his kit.
“Ooh,” Harry says, hastily setting the mixer down, “is it that kind of party?” He’s even quicker to grasp at the bottom of his sundress and pull it over his head, leaving him in nothing but a pair of peach, seamless panties. His feet are bare and his hair tousled from pulling his clothes off and for some inexplicable reason, Liams throat feels tight.
Chuckling, Liam moves further into the kitchen, admiring the way the summer sun shines through the floor to ceiling windowed doors that lead into the well hidden backyard. Personally, he would have no problem staying within the confines of their private getaway home and keeping Harry practically naked for their entire trip, but business is business and he knows part of his lovers agreement in getting this time off means a certain requirement of publicity as an executives hot, model arm candy.
It’s only been four days, but Harry’s skin is already a little bronzer then when they first arrived. His nose and cheeks are tinged a little pink; it’s likely more from the champagne but Liam reminds himself to check he’s packed the expensive face suntan lotion Harry was gifted with from Clinique.
Resuming his previous task of mixing margaritas now that they’re both stripped down to their underwear, Harry hums to himself as he shimmies about the kitchen. He swears by shaking margaritas longer than most cocktails, insisting that if not done properly each individual ingredient can over power any of the others, and he absolutely refuses to mix them frozen because - ‘it ruins the tequila, Liam! And I am an avid supporter of tequila.’
In his personal opinion, margaritas are a little too sweet for his taste, but it only takes about one drink to Harry’s two before they forego making mixed drinks completely and Harry is holding the bottle of tequila in one hand and a bowl of lime slices in the other. Giving what he probably thinks is a sultry, suggestive look he beckons Liam toward their bedroom.
“C’mon, stud,” he purrs, slurring slightly.
“Did you drink another bottle of water?” Liam inquires, but follows obediently regardless.
“Pft,” Harry snorts, not entirely attractively, but the way he settles back onto the king sized mattress absolutely is, “yes, dad.”
Liam himself doesn’t personally have his own social media accounts to post photos on, but his hands twitch in desire to go retrieve his phone for wherever he left it to take some anyway, and perhaps let Harry sift through them later in order to post one on his own profile.
“That’s daddy to you,” Liam reprimands, clucking his tongue. He climbs onto the bed though, only mildly wincing as Harry takes a swing from the bottle before biting down on a lime immediately after. Honestly, Liam is above swigging shots like a frat boy, but his boyfriend didn’t bring any glasses and at least it’s top shelf.
“yes daddy,” Harry repeats, tongue peaking out between his teeth. His legs are spread a bit obscenely, the bottle of liquor poised in between them while his half hard cock bulges slightly in his panties.
Reaching out to take the bottle from his boyfriends hands, Liam takes his own generous two or three swigs, waggling his eyebrows at the shudder it receives.
“Damn you are old,” Harry sniffs, pretending to glance away but Liam grabs him by the thick of his thighs and drags him down the mattress, earning an indignant squeal. Trying to escape, Harry flips onto his hands and knees to scramble away, but Liam yanks his legs out from under him again, giving a playful growl.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
The panties Harry is wearing cut high on his ass cheeks, and he gives an adorable little twerk, arms folded underneath his sternum while he peers over his shoulder.
“Nowhere now, daddy.”
- - - -
“yes, yes, yes, fuck -“
Back pressed against the headboard, Liam cradles his hands around the curve of Harry’s love handles, grip sure and guiding as his boyfriend rides him eagerly.
“Fuck me, yeah,” Harry whimpers against his mouth, hot and humid, rolling his hips fluidly. He’s got one hand curled on Liam's shoulder, the other braced against the headboard even as it knocks crudely against the wall.
“Yeah,” Liam echoes, tilting his head back briefly while he grits his teeth, “that fucking ass.”
Above him Harry looks fucking amazing; flushed and pulling at his own hair, jaw open helplessly while he bounces himself in Liams lap.
“Daddy, Daddy,” he pants, nodding frantically when his boyfriend stills his movements to roll his own pelvis up, deep and hard and fucking perfect, “ohhhh, fuck yeah, fuck yeah.”
“That it, baby?” Liam inquires, smug because he knows it is; can tell in the way Harry’s thighs quake. Liam fucking loves that in boys getting their prostate stimulated. When it’s so much their legs are shaking so fucking helplessly, unable to control how good they’re feeling. How good Liam is making them feel.
“That’s it, uhn, uh - that’s fucking it daddy,” Harry gasps, following with the sexiest little squeal as Liam manhandles him onto his hands and knees, hand in between his shoulder blades.
Chuckling, Liam grinds his hips ruthlessly, barely pulling out as he stimulates the whole length of his fat cock while he dicks into his boyfriend's ass.
“Such a tight pussy,” Liam praises, nearly devastated by the way Harry’s entire body shivers at that, “takes cock so fucking well.”
Again Harry is gasping his agreement, tongue lolling out of his mouth a little stupidly while Liams cockhead rolls against his prostate. Liam knows it hasn’t always been like this for Harry, this good, as conceited as it sounds and as terrible as it is. Liam knows Harry’s slept with his fair share of unsavory and downright disgusting people to maybe pull some strings, gain some favors. Harry’s told him - both mid sex and in the quietness of their sheets while they got to know each other - that Liams the best he has ever had. That he’s never been with a man quite like Liam. Never a successful, older, openly homosexual man who knows and just loves what he’s doing, who has -
“Such a big dick,” Harry moans beneath him, shoving back as much as he can under the weight of Liams arms, “hits it so good, fuck.”
Eyes rolling, the older man slides his hand from the middle of Harry’s back to the back of his head, yanking on long curls before shoving his face further into the mattress.
“Got some cum for you, baby,” Liam grunts, leaning forward to place one hand against the headboard himself, “you want it inside?”
Harry’s desperate response is muffled by the sheets and pillows he’s nearly gagging on, and it makes Liam nearly laugh as his boyfriend trembles, very clearly orgasming untouched, back arching obscenely.
Something ugly and proud settled in Liams stomach as he watches, continuing to fuck Harry even as he writhes, scrambling weakly to crawl further up the mattress to get away from the onslaught over his lovers cock.
“Shh,”’ he soothes, dragging Harry to just his knees while he drills him, “it’s just for you, fuck.”
“Just for me?” Harry whined back, body attempting to curl in on itself from overstimulation.
“What do we say,” Liam goads, through a harsh exhale as he dumps his load in Harry’s ass, smirking at the way he drags his polished nails up his own thighs, giving a happy moan.
“Thank you, Daddy.”