"We're not finished, Tommo!" Liam shouts over the noise when they finish the concert and bound off stage.
"What?" Liam sees more than hears Louis shout back, grinning, and then they're swept up into post-show madness, especially as they have to get into the bus and on the road pretty quickly. Adrenaline is jittering through him, hot and relentless, and it doesn't feel like he's winding up for a crash any time soon, like he usually does when they get off stage. He just feels like he could go, go, go, go for something he doesn't even know what.
They're herded onto the bus; Zayn disappears into his bunk and Harry and Niall sprawl in the front lounge, demanding beer, but Liam doesn't want a drink, doesn't want to sit, doesn't really know what he wants, so bounds past the bunks through to the back lounge where the telly is. He paces aimlessly, wondering if he wants to watch something to calm his restlessness, wondering where Tommo got to, until that question's answered for him when he hears pounding footsteps, and before he can ready himself a solid weight thumps into his back.
Liam goes down hard, catching his weight on one elbow with his other arm caught painfully under him. The thin carpet of the lounge floor scrapes at his skin, and he's winded, but he gathers himself quickly, because he can hear Louis's breathless laughter against his ear, taunting him. "Gotcha," he says, and Liam's blood is up, no way Louis's gonna think he's won with a dirty trick like chucking himself at someone's back.
"I don't," he gasps, grin tugging helplessly at his mouth, "don't fucking think so." He squirms under Louis, trying to get enough traction to flip them over, but Louis's got his legs tangled in with Liam's, pinning them apart so he can't shove up, and is using all his weight to keep Liam's arm trapped uselessly underneath him.
"Oh! Wash - wash that mouth out with soap, naughty boy," says Louis, but Liam can hear the strain in his voice as he holds down against the way Liam's shoving up, and Liam finally gets enough leverage with his free arm against the side of the sofa to shove them over.
They roll, but there's not enough space for Liam to fall back onto Louis's chest and wind him like he wanted, so he uses the reprieve to squirm around so he's facing Louis and dives back in, going for Louis's wrists, because they're slender and grabbable and usually once Liam's got them trapped he has the upper hand.
Louis's like an eel, though, squirming around and breath coming in gusts that are half laughs, eyes wild and determined as he shoves at Liam's shoulders and avoids letting Liam get a grip, legs parting around Liam's hips and hooking over his knees to try and flip them over again.
Liam gets one wrist, gripping hard enough to feel the tendons and slender bones shift under Louis's skin, but Louis skilfully avoids the other, and uses the strength in his thighs to roll them. Liam uses the momentum to keep them going, though, til Louis ends up underneath again, and it's harder and fiercer than on stage, because no-one's watching, because they don't need to sing in a moment, because this time it's not about entertainment, it's about winning.
Their knees and elbows knock hard on the floor, bare still-sweaty skin scraping in bright grazing flashes of pain on the unforgiving carpet, knocking into each other in bruising merciless shoves as they strain and shove in the small space, and it's everything Liam's wound-tight body was wanting, sheer physical relief; knowing he can give anything to Louis and he'll take it, give it right back, because that's what it's always been like with them, no holds barred.
Liam's breath is tearing in his throat and his heart is pounding hard; Louis wraps both his legs around one of Liam's and rolls them again, but Liam drags them back, slamming Louis onto the floor underneath him, and neither of them are smiling now, or laughing. It's only when momentum and Liam's body weight shoves him down into Louis from chest to thighs that he realised what - what it's meant, this all over good feeling in his body, the way the physical exertion and grappling warm bodies and tingling rush of adrenaline has had an effect, and he can't, can't hold in the shaky gasp when his half hard dick rubs against Louis's hip.
He freezes, and glances at Louis, whose face is so close he can feel the warm gust of Louis's breath over his own mouth, which just sets his heart galloping off harder. Louis doesn't do anything, even though he must, he must know, have felt; he just narrows his eyes, and then, with a whirl, uses Liam's distraction to flip them, pin him. He braces himself above Liam for a moment, then, keeping deliberate eye contact, lets his thighs slip apart over Liam's hips. His eyelashes flutter and his mouth parts as they slot together, and, and, that's Louis's dick, the hot stiff ridge of it shoved against Liam's, and Liam can't help but moan, body lighting up.
"Lo--" he says, anyway, can't help it, but Louis just drops his head into Liam's neck, hips rolling.
"Just - don't worry, Li, just let it - just let it--aah," he says, breath hot on Liam's neck, as he grinds into Liam, his dick catching against Liam's, sweet wonderful pressure making Liam fatten up all the way, full blown stiffy trapped in his jeans.
Liam breathes in fast and shuddery, then - god, his body doesn't know why he's stopped moving, doesn't know why the squirming and straining and shoving and touching that was settling all the too-hot places inside him has gone, and it's the easiest, easiest thing in the world to get back into it; shove against Louis, arch his hips up brutally like they're still fighting. And then they are, again, shoving against each hard and squirming, but this time overlaid with the grinding rolling rhythm of their hips. Liam's hands abandon the search for Louis's wrists and latch onto his arse instead, shameless in a way he couldn't have imagined for himself, but Louis is so warm and heavy on top of him, and his arse, god, it feels so good to grab a double handful and pull Louis down hard into him.
It's not enough, not for the surging roar of Liam's blood, the throb of his dick and the giddy pounding of his heart. He moves suddenly, uses his legs to flip them so hard they lift off the floor and both thump back down, Louis' eyes flying open and mouth parting, then the both of them groaning as it wedges Liam's hips into the opened cup of Louis's, his thighs spreading wider to hook around Liam's knees. Liam's hands are still clamped on Louis's arse, knuckles scraping over the carpet, but he doesn't let go, just buries his face in Louis's neck and uses the hold to tug Louis up in the rhythm he wants. Liam - he can go for it, then, and does, rabbiting his hips down into Louis's like - they're - like they're-- god. He's never even, never thought like this, thought of this; it makes his face burn hot, sweat prickle under his arms and between his shouderblades, hips surge dirty and fast into the blazing heat of Louis's fat cock grinding against his. It must be hurting Louis a bit, it's hurting Liam, the friction and catch of his jeans on his swollen dick, even with the slick of precome starting to ease the way a bit; but it feels good, feels what his body was craving, overstimulation cresting and shuddering into his chest and blanking everything out.
He drags one hand out from under Louis to prop himself up on one elbow, just - just to check, and Louis's eyes are closed and his cheeks flushed a hectic pink, mouth red and wet from his spit.
Louis opens his eyes, licks his lips. "Li," he says, then moans as Liam grinds in closer. "Li, come on - come on, then," and he keeps eye contact then drops his gaze to Liam's mouth. And that hits Liam in the tummy, a soft warm rush separate from the building ball of heat promising that he's gonna come, soon. So he does what he didn't realise he's been wanting, drops his head and kisses Louis, head spinning at the softness of Louis's lips against his, the reality of it, the wet inside of Louis's mouth as they snog sloppily and frantically with the rhythm of their hips rubbing together. Louis rubs his tongue brazenly over Liam's bottom lip and into his mouth, and Liam gives as good as he gets, like always, taking Louis's tongue between his lips and sucking on it obscenely, making Louis's hips twitch hard up into his own. His thrusts are smaller now, more like tight hard grinds with their hips wedged so close together, and Liam can feel it coming, feel his cock twitch and stiffen up further, his balls draw up tight.
He can't help making noises, a breathy "Unh, unnhg," with each tight circling grind, hoping that Louis's mouth is swallowing the sounds so that the others won't hear from further down the bus, god, none of them that far away, could walk in any second, and it's not like it looks like wrestling any more, not at all, not with the blatant grind of their hips.
He pulls away from the kiss, mouth feeling used and hot and wet, and stares down almost panicked at Louis. "Louis," he says, "I - I'm gonna--"
Louis knows what Liam is asking for before Liam even does, because he yanks his hand away from where it's clinging to Liam's back and crams his palm over Liam's mouth. Liams yell as he comes, voice catching and ripping at his throat, sound collecting warm and damp against Louis's gripping palm; his cock kicks hard as he goes off, losing his load in tight spurts, messing all over the inside of his pants, everything going slippery and hot as he grinds the last of it out against the stiff twitching ridge of Louis's cock.
"Bloody hell," spits out Louis, and he screws his whole face up, white teeth digging into his pink bottom lip, fingers still digging into Liam's face as he comes silently, and Liam can feel it, feel the jerk of it, Louis coming, making a mess in his own pants, twitching against Liam's sensitive still fat cock.
"Gnnh," Liam says, dizzy, muffled against Louis' palm, and falls half on top of him, rolling awkwardly to the side as Louis shoves at him.
"Let a man breathe, Payne," he says, and his voice sounds rough, breathless and weak and too-loud in the sudden silence. Liam lies still, face half pressed into the carpet, getting his breath back, legs still splayed over Louis's. His body aches from the orgasm and the wrestling and the scrapes of carpet on his elbows and hands. He can hear laughter and music from the front lounge, now, and tries not to wonder how loud they'd been, how close they'd been. He sucks in a breath and manages to roll off Louis completely, lies next to him, feeling his body settle into the warmth of post-orgasm lassitude. The air conditioner in the bus kicks on with a hum and the rush of cool air raises goosebumps on the back of his neck, and he tries not to let the cold seep down into his stomach, but he can't help it. That was-- maybe that was--
Louis shocks him completely by sighing and flopping a hand over to Liam until he can find Liam's hand and tangle their fingers together. "That was a terrible idea," says Louis mournfully.
"Um," says Liam, his fretting stopped in its tracks by these somewhat mixed signals. "Sorry?"
"We can never do that during Teenage Kicks ever again, now," Louis continues. "Unless you want to get me arrested for publicly indecency. Certain of our fans might enjoy that, but I don't think the rest of the world would be too impressed if I rubbed one off on you in front of thousands of people."
"Well," says Liam after a moment, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth in a helpless way he's come to associate with Louis. "That was just irresponsible of us, wasn't it. What were we thinking?"
"Definitely not of the fans," says Louis, and in his peripheral vision Liam sees him turn his head on the floor, so Liam does too, catches Louis's eye, sparkling like everything is okay, like everything's brilliant even. Maybe it is.
"I should hope not," says Liam. Then, because he was born to worry, however much Louis has tried to tease it out of him, he says, "Are we - you know - are we--?" He leaves the okay? hanging, but he knows Louis knows what he means. Louis always does.
"'Course we are, Payno," says Louis, confidently, squeezing the grip he still has on Liam's hand. "What's a playfighting orgasm or two between mates, eh?"
"I don't know," says Liam truthfully, "I've never had one before." Then, because he's learned to be honest to a fault with Louis, because that's how they work best, he adds, tentatively, "Does it have to be just one or two?"
Louis's eyebrows rise up nearly into his wilted fringe at that, and the slow smile he gives is the proudest Liam thinks he's ever seen anyone look. "I dunno," he says. "Let's find out."