Chapter Text
Spiced wine never tasted so bitter on Liam’s tongue.
It was said that wine only tasted sweeter on wedding nights; that it left a glossy sheen made everything seem soft, but tonight it only served to dull the slight throb of a headache starting just behind his eyes. The worst kind.
Weddings were joyous, because war and drought seemed to all but fade behind the wedding skirts and ring of citadel bells. The food was never-ending, where platters upon platters of honey-roasted venison, onion pies, sweet pork, and fresh baked bread were stacked upon the slender hands of serving girls.
These nights, no one went hungry.
No children were crying in the streets of Flea Bottom, wondering where their parents were, and wondering why they were so hungry.
And best of all, no one died. That tradition of death at weddings was only upheld by Dothraki clans, across the narrow sea and too far away for Liam to even imagine that they existed, as self-absorbed as that sounded.
He was away from all of it, and in this sweet semblance of time, he could pretend that nothing was wrong at all with the state of this city.
His father had always called him soft for not liking the diseased stench of war. Like the idea of not enjoying taking another life was somehow flawed. Liam didn’t think so. Didn’t like the way blood felt between his fingers.
Things like war, and death, and hunger were far from his mind tonight. Because tonight he was facing something far more terrifying. His father raised a glass to him from down the long, narrow table, and a million other men, intoxicated out of their wits with scantily clad women in their laps all raised their glasses in response. Next to him, Liam felt a hand drop to his thigh. A delicate, powdered hand with skin like olive. It was usually the groom who was forward, and ready to skip the feast and leap straight to their bedchambers. Out of the two though, Liam felt like the blushing bride.
It was his wedding night.
And he liked her. Illyria was beautiful in every way. She always had been, all throughout their time growing up together. Age only enhanced that beauty, he thought. And so did the rest of the male population of Westeros, it seemed.
And tonight, more than a few eyes had landed on her a little too long, trailing down the tight bodice of her corset, and the small swell of her breasts. Her hair was dark, and hung in heavy ringlets all the way down her back. Her eyes were grey, almost cerulean, something that was so startling amongst her features, but somehow the most beautiful thing about her.
He thought about her sometimes, but never in the way he ought to. Like those nights where he’d lay in his bed, with a calloused hand wrapped around himself, where he was maybe supposed to wonder what she’d feel like, and what kind of noises she’d make. But he can’t, and even now in all her effervescent beauty, he couldn’t muster anything but a feeling of firm distaste at the back of his throat.
It was nerves, or too much to drink, or maybe it was the seventh course of brined pork and savory vegetables, but something wasn’t sitting right in his stomach. The offhanded, intoxicated shouting of men he barely knew, and the shrill giggling of serving girls and highborn ladies who let a little more cleavage show on nights like these than usual, had his teeth gritting, and that slight pound of a headache only becoming more of a hinderance on his calm exterior.
“Don’t look so pained, sir.” He felt Zayn’s lips brushing the shell of his ear as he whispered, all secretive. His Dornish accent was still thick, even after all these years. “It’s your wedding. Try to enjoy it. Most folks only get one.”
“Most folks decide who and when they want to get married. I’m not one of those folks.” Liam mumbled back. He knew Zayn meant well, but tonight his honeyed tongue didn’t make things seem so easy.
“It’s for a good cause, yes? Secures a stable relationship between lands for your lineage. Less chance of your future sons being speared to death by one of my own.” The Dornishman teased, and Liam felt a hand drop down to his thigh, seeping warmth through his breeches with the little squeeze he gave.
“How about you just teach your future sons not to spear others for sport?” Liam jested, turning to look him in the eyes and down to those serene, soft looking lips that were always moulded into some kind of smirk. “It’s not really in good taste to hunt your own kind.”
“Oh, Liam. You can’t think so little of the Dornish people.” He clicked his tongue, hand scooting a little farther up Liam’s thigh. “We’re very peaceful.”
“Tell that to my father.” Liam smiled, and glanced away, leg gone cold from Zayn having finally pried his hand back.
“Pay attention to my sister. I’m not the bride tonight.” Zayn clipped him over the ear, and slouched back in his seat, looking every bit as disheveled as he appeared the first time Liam met him, even in royal garb.
He wasn’t one of them truly. His father reminded him of that from time to time. Zayn had come to King’s Landing as a boy of twelve, after a trade with the Dornish people in order to strengthen the ties against Highgarden. King’s Landing gained royalties and currency to put towards paying off debt--although Liam wondered if they were only spiralling further into debt by throwing lavish events, with the heart of the capital all invited to watch--and an army to strengthen the outer defences.
Zayn had practically grown to be a member of their family, Liam at least thought. But to the King, Liam’s father, that was not to be the case. Not ever. Even though he’d served as Liam’s page and squire, the king never deemed him fit enough to live under their roof as an equal.
And that was what the throne did. Left a permanent slouch in whomever sat on bent iron, and drained them of any semblance of humanity. His father had been a gentle man once.
Now he drank himself near to death at every meal, and when his thick fingers weren’t wrapped around a tankard, they were wrapped around the hilt of his sword, even though he could barely swing the damned thing anymore.
When Liam glanced down the table again, past various familiar faces of his family, a young, fair-haired girl with freckles sat in the king’s lap, arms draped casually over his shoulders. She’s laughing unabashedly, red lips stretched wide while his father whispers something in her ear.
Liam has to look away when he sees a glint of the king’s tongue, licking around her ear. The queen was bedridden, and better off not seeing this, Liam decided. He loved his step-mother well enough, but sometimes he wonders what she was thinking, marrying into this mess.
Why anyone would want to marry into this mess, Liam doesn’t know.
“You look lost on me tonight.” Illyria all but purrs into Liam’s ear. Her voice is soft like silk, just like her brother’s, and it sends a shiver through Liam just the same, albeit for very different reasons. Like maybe her sugary sweet voice is as deadly as the way she can wield a hunting knife.
Liam smiles politely, hands dropping down to fold in his lap. “Not at all.” He says, swallowing a deep gulp of air. “Just... people-watching, I suppose.”
“You’ve been people-watching all night, my love.” She says, laying a hand on his shoulder. “When are you going to start paying attention to me, huh? We’ve still got the bedding ceremony, or have your people stopped doing that? You call us the vulgar ones.” She smiles, glossy lips tilting up crookedly.
Liam feels himself go bright red, from the tips of his ears, all the way down to his neck. He hates that he blushes so easily. Like his body betrays him on purpose, just to get those devilishly knowing looks from Zayn or his sisters.
The whole Dornish population seemed to find him amusing.
“I don’t think that’ll be happening tonight.” He stammered out quickly. “My father, he- uh. He doesn’t believe in that kind of ceremony. Thinks it wastes time.”
“Then we can get right to it.” Illyria smiles, perfectly aligned white teeth showing behind prim, rosy lips. “I’ve been told I don’t disappoint at that part.”
Liam’s jaw goes numb when he opens his mouth to reply, and really, what can a person actually say to something like that?
“You shouldn’t say that so loud.” He mumbles, clearing his throat behind his fist. “It’s not decent when women talk like that.”
“Is it so sinful to enjoy that kind of pleasure openly?” Her eyelashes fan across her cheeks when she blinks. “I hear the men here mention their cocks about five times in one sentence, and yet for me, it is not so?” She smiles, laying a hand over Liam’s. “In Dorne, it is not so. We embrace pleasure. There’s no shame in it. People like pleasure in all forms.”
Liam glances down at their conjoined hands for a second, and slowly pries his away, clearing his throat under the guise of taking another drink.
He elects to ignore her looks, and stare straight ahead, at the ruckus and the mess of all the activity. The majority of these guests probably couldn’t care less who Liam married. The appeal of a royal wedding was call enough it seemed to attract the wealthiest in the capital, whether they were friends of the family or not. Outside, Liam knows there are thousands more, amongst the poor, and starving, or just not prestigious enough to sit in the actual dining hall. Maybe they’re protesting, maybe a riot’s being waged, and no one within the facility would be privy to it.
Beside him, he can hear Zayn snort, before turning to one of Liam’s aunts, talking jovially about the spring harvest, and from the tone of his voice, Liam can tell that he doesn’t know or care what they’re talking about.
And that’s the thing about Zayn.
He’s the closest thing Liam’s got to a friend. He trusts him almost complicitly. All those nights spent out in the warm, summer air, where Zayn would talk about home, and what he misses most about the summer’s in Dorne, where the air would smell like pomegranates, and how he hated the air from the sea, because it made him feel stiff, and, “Not in the good way”, according to him.
But there’s still so much that Liam doesn’t know about him, that sometimes he wonders if he’s too trusting. Desperate to have someone to talk to so his brain doesn’t turn to mush. Or so he doesn’t go cold, like his parents. He doesn’t remember exactly when they stopped being nurturing. He guesses it was somewhere around the time he made the transition between childhood, and what his father calls ‘manhood’.
He was never good at living up to that title.
But Zayn? Zayn fit his father’s definition almost perfectly. He held himself tall, despite being just about an inch shorter than Liam himself. He squared his shoulders out and folded his hands behind his back whenever talking to someone higher up. He never showed emotion, unless it was condescending, or cheeky, like whenever he went to chat up all the girls that gave him lingering glances. Chatted the boys up too, although Liam suspected it was more to make him uncomfortable than anything. His words were suave, and easy as they rolled off his tongue, and he had such an air of confidence surrounding him that Liam was almost tempted to ask him to take his place as heir to the throne.
Ironically, his father found all those qualities irritating and defiant on Zayn, but wished them all on Liam anyway.
A tankard was quite literally dropped on the table in front of Liam, his thoughts dripping away like the wine that sloshed over the lip of the cup, and stained the wormwood table.
“Well, buddy, you fuckin’ did it.” Louis growled obnoxiously to be heard over the live music. He leaned in close so that Liam could probably count all the pores on his face, his skin lightly dusted with perspiration, and a few marks littering his exposed neck.
He’s garbed in clean white armour, with the sigil of their house-- a man wielding chains on a violet background--stitched onto the left side of his cloak. Louis had earned himself a title as a member of the Kingsguard at the simple age of sixteen, after he’d been mad enough to take part in tourney. He’d been born with a gift, it had been said. At only thirteen, he’d started showing great promise with a melee, and by the age of fifteen, he’d already been deemed a prodigy. Lethal with any kind of blade. His personality never gave that away though, so much so that he could’ve been mistaken for a sellsword over a knight of status.
“Yeah, guess I did.” Liam said, leaning back after the thick stench of wine and something a little stronger wafted from the boy. “Aren’t you not supposed to drink when you’re on duty?” He quirked an eyebrow.
“Awww, Liam. I love you.” He fawned, leaning over the table to grab the back of Liam’s neck, giving him a clumsy little squeeze. “I always thought we’d be the ones to get married honestly. You’re all dreamy, and heroic.”
Liam can almost feel Zayn snort next to him, and feels his cheeks burn.
“But you’re also an arse.” Louis drawled. “I’m drinking in honor of your big day, so don’t spoil it.”
“And if someone comes in to slit my throat while I walk down the aisle?” Liam mused.
“Well, thank fuck you already walked the aisle.” Louis answered. “And only someone heartless would want to slit your throat. You’re fuckin’ dreamy, man.”
“There are a lot of heartless people, so I’d be on your guard.” Liam smiled, pushing a hand through Louis’ hair, before giving him a gentle nudge to push him away. In the dim glow of the lit hearth and the blazing chandeliers lining the hall, he can tell that the violet marks that only come from kisses are not only on Louis’ neck, but all along his jawline, and across his collarbones, before disappearing under his raiment.
“He flirts, yes?” Zayn asks from behind him, leaning forward on his elbows to stare down the hall where Louis’ white cloak is trailing behind him in a flurry.
Liam nods. “Yes. He does.”
“And it bothers you, yes?” Zayn asks, shooting him a sidelong glance.
“Wha- oh. No. I mean, that’s just Louis.” Liam shrugs. “Flirts with anyone who’s got a pulse.”
Zayn hums under his breath, tongue coming out to lick the splashes of wine off his lips. “He’s unprofessional.”
“Yes, and we’ve known that about him for many years.” Liam smiles, reaching over to clap Zayn on the shoulder. “Nothing to be too concerned about.”
“But he’s to be protecting you. I do not understand.” Zayn’s eyebrows raise just a touch. “You want someone like him, someone unprofessional, protecting you? Does not seem effective, do you think?”
“Well, I’m alive, so I think he’s doing an alright job.” Liam smiled, giving Zayn a curious side glance. “What’s it to you?”
“Men who speak the common tongue natively are very...common.” He smiled, leaning in a little closer. “I could probably defend you better than half the men on that Kingsguard.”
And Liam knew that was true. He’s seen Zayn with a spear, and even a bow once, and it’s enough to make him believe that, yeah, Zayn could probably do a great deal better than what was already being handed out to him.
“Are you boasting, or just pointing out facts?”
“Maybe a bit of both.” Zayn says, ever the humble one of the two. “Does it impress you?”
“I’ve seen the magicians of Bravos, not much impresses me.” Liam smirks, and sometimes he gets these little bouts of courage like this that surprise even himself.
“Cheeky.” Zayn says, matter-of-factly, before pressing his wine glass up to Liam’s lips. “Drink.”
“What are you-”
“Drink.” Zayn cooes, giving a little eyebrow lift. The glow from the hearth makes Zayn’s eyes look ablaze, glossed out in burnt orange and violent reds. It’s enough to make him almost too distracted to the feel the hand that comes up, and the cold fingers that press gently to his cheek, keeping him still.
He tilts his chin down a little, eyes on Zayn to look for any sign of foul play, but Zayn tips the tankard up with him, and hot, spiced wine touches his lips, and zips across his tongue as he takes one smooth sip. He feels drunk off the touch alone, but the alcohol in his system makes him feel more alert, like he’s attuned to Zayn’s frequency.
“Good, yes?” Zayn asks, thumb brushing over his cheekbone once, before he’s pulling away altogether.
Liam takes a second to collect his wits, because he suddenly feels very intoxicated, but not from the alcohol. He still felt very coherent, but his body felt like it was floating in water.
“Very good.” He says finally, swallowing the last taste of it that’s lingering on his tongue.
“Good.” Zayn remarks, pressing the tankard into his hand. “Have some more.”
Liam’s eyebrows crinkle together a little. He’s not quite understanding what’s behind this gesture, but whatever it is, he’s buying it, or so it would seem.
He drinks when Zayn refills his glass, and Liam thinks by the end of the reception that Zayn’s properly pissed along with him, but when he stands, he has to grip the table to keep from toppling over. His limbs feel large, and too heavy, and he typically avoids getting drunk for this reason, because he hates not feeling in control of his motor skills, but his nerves and inhibitions are definitely gone.
“Easy there, soldier.” And it’s Zayn’s voice in his ear, sliding an arm under Liam’s to keep him upright. “Time for bed, yes?”
“Yes.” Liam agrees, saluting clumsily with two fingers. “Bed time for me. And my… Uh. The wife.”
“Yes, bed for you and your wife.” Zayn chuckles.
Liam can hear the catcalls coming from across the room, at least a dozen men making obscene sexual gestures his way, and calling out things that sound dirty on Liam’s tongue, and that he wouldn’t ever repeat sober, let alone drunk.
“Is my love okay?” He hears Illyria on his right, and feels a gentle arm of hers loop around his waist while she and Zayn walk him out of the dining hall, with a grouping of brave milling out behind them to leave.
“I’m just fine.” Liam says, although his voice slurs at the end, so the last word draws on for a good three seconds, before he breaks off with a small laugh. “Maybe not. The wine was good and aplenty tonight.”
“Yes it was, my prince.” She laughs heartily in his ear.
“He might need to be put straight to bed.” Zayn says, and Liam listens to Illyria hum in agreement at his side.
Inside, he’s relieved. Wedding nights were reserved for… Well. More intimate things behind closed doors that Liam’s only heard about, but never taken part of. At least not with a second party, but alone with his right hand and his thoughts of what it could feel like.
Even when low-born girls made him the not-so-subtle to give him a hand, or the girls in the brothels shouted temptations to him, he’d never had the courage. Always shied away from any kind of intimacy like that, even though part of him craved it, and wanted to feel that connected to a human being. Wanted to feel that sheer bit of pleasure that could only be attained with someone else there.
He was a more worthy of the title ‘coward’ than ‘prince’.
But tonight, again, he was relieved.
Illyria was beautiful, there was no doubt to that fact. And she was as sweet a girl as any, with a reputation for being one of the kindest royals in the heart of the city, but Liam didn’t have any underlying desire to be so exposed to her. To let her see him, in all his inexperience.
He looked nice enough, sure. Maybe a little plain, he thought, but he had some bulk and muscle to him, and he was alright enough, face-wise. But he wasn’t confident enough to perform. Not yet.
“I’m soft in spirit.” Liam mumbled as they made their way up the stairs. “And soft in the bedroom. What a spectacle.”
He feels Illyria pause next to him, and it ruins their movements for a just a second when they almost stumble. “Gods, you did give him a lot to drink, didn’t you?”
Zayn shrugs. “He needed to relax, poor thing.”
“You’re hardly worthy of making that decision for him.” She clicked her tongue, just like Zayn always did.
Zayn smiles. Liam can see it from his peripheral vision. That secretive pull of his lips like he’s hiding something deep. “Sorry for stopping your wedding night short, sis.”
“Oh, you know me.” She sighs, leaning around Liam to give Zayn a look that he misses. “I always find a way.”
Liam feels his heart thud then, and he actually pulls back when they reach the bedroom door, shooting them both wide-eyed stares. He’s not sure if he’s asking to be rescued, or for an explanation.
“Not you, my sweet.” Illyria smiles, petting a hand down his cheek. “Don’t worry. You’ll sleep tonight.”
Liam actually feels his chest ache with relief, and stumbles forward when the bedroom door is opened, and he’s guided inside by a hand on his back. He can’t tell who it belongs to, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He barely even casts the room a real look, dimly lit in hearth fire, before collapsing on the bed, hugging one of the decorative pillows to his chest.
“Now that he’s taken care of,” Illyria sighs, running her fingers through her long black hair. “I have to take care of something else more pressing. Make sure he’s tucked in?” She says to Zayn, before disappearing out the door from which they came.
Zayn laughs discreetly behind his fist, and wonders what kind of joke he’s missed. He forgets to care when Zayn comes in closer though.
He feels the laces on his boots being tugged and pulled, and then he’s wearing no shoes at all, because Zayn’s sat on the bed, helping undress him.
His dark hair is hanging limp in his face, along with the careful layer of scruff on his jaw. Liam wishes he could pull off the unshaven look like that, but he looks too much like his father when he doesn’t shave, and that thought sits unpleasant in his stomach.
“You were looking forward to tonight, yes or no?” Zayn asks, eyes lifting to Liam’s as he moves, hands brushing up Liam’s legs, enough that it has his heart crawling into his throat when Zayn’s nimble fingers reach the laces on his breeches.
“What are you doing?” Liam asks. He feels alarmed then, enough so that he sits straight up, hands moving down to hold Zayn’s wrists, keeping him from moving any further.
Zayn’s eyelashes flutter when he blinks, and he tilts his head, giving Liam a timid smile. “I’m your squire, yes? I help you undress and dress all the time. Will you let me do my job now?”
Liam hesitates, and oh. Right. He slowly lets go of Zayn’s wrists, and folds his arms across his chest.
“Good.” Zayn smiles, pulling the laces until they’re loose, and he can pull the breeches down Liam’s legs, leaving him in his undergarments. Zayn’s seen him like this a thousand times before. “So, you were looking forward to this night, yes or no? You never answered, Liam.”
Liam shrugged, giving Zayn a tentative smile as he moved to sit up, leaning forward so that Zayn could undo the laces and buttons on his shirt. Too many buttons. “Would you begrudge me for saying that I’m kind of relieved?”
“Relieved that you can’t perform?” Zayn mused, pushing Liam’s shirt off his broad shoulders, eyes skating down his chest once. “Most men would not say such things.”
“I guess you’re right.” He mumbled, leaning back against the backboard when Zayn moved to grab his evening clothes. “Guess I’m not a very good man. Just like I’m not a very good prince.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Zayn hummed, sitting impossibly close to help get Liam’s arms into his shirt. Normally he had no issue changing on his own, and needed less assistance, but tonight, his arms just weren’t going where he wanted them to. He was thankful for Zayn picking up the slack. “Men have all different tastes. Sadly so few get to learn of those tastes. Do you see?”
Liam frowns a little, looking down to watch Zayn’s fingers work the lacings on his shirt. “Not really. What do you mean?”
Zayn shrugged. “Nothing really. Men like many things. You learn as you go along.” He spoke, eyes looking up to give him a smile, although they’re close enough that Zayn’s face looks a little blurred, so he has to stare longer, eyes lingering on his lips, to catch it.
“You’re not offended that I haven’t...haven’t…” He mumbled, “...had your sister, are you? I meant no offense.”
“You worry too much.” Zayn smiled, reaching up to squeeze one of his cheeks. “I take no offense to the fact that you haven’t slept with my sister.” He snorted, “And neither does she. Trust me on this.”
“Are you sure?” Liam asked, grabbing one of Zayn’s wrists again, but mainly because he could fit all his fingers around it, and he felt like it. “It’s her wedding night, I didn’t want to upset her.”
Zayn smiled, pulling his wrist from Liam’s grip. “She’s fine, trust me. She’s a girl of many tastes. And she won’t hold it against you, you know.”
“Okay.” Liam sighed, lifting his hips so Zayn could pull his pants on. “Zayn.”
“Yes, Liam?” Zayn asked, finishing up the last knot on his pants, before letting his hands rest on Liam’s knees.
Liam paused, licking his lips. “I, uh. You got me drunk.”
Zayn grinned a little, scrunching one shoulder up in a defeated shrug. “I’ve been caught, I see.”
“Do I act like my father when I’m drunk?” he asked after a moment, eyebrows drawing down.
Zayn’s expression softened, knowing well enough what he was asking. Zayn had never had a soft spot for the king, Liam knew. “Nothing like him, deary. You’re perfectly charming.”
“You think so?”
“Yes.” Zayn chuckled, pushing on the center of Liam’s chest to get him to lay down. “You must sleep this off, yes? Tomorrow will be better.”
Liam knew he got handsy when he was drunk, and he reached out to grab for one of Zayn’s wrists, testing the weight of the limb in his own. “I don’t think I’m ready to be married.”
Zayn smiled, “You’re almost twenty, you’re well at the age to be married, sir. Some might even consider you past the age of marriage.”
“You calling me old, Zayn?” Liam smirked, clicking his tongue like Zayn often did. “Not any way to treat your prince.”
“I didn’t say it, you did.” Zayn poked, looking as pleased with himself as usual as he pulled the blankets of fur and linen up Liam’s body to cover him. “Goodnight, my prince.”
Zayn looked at him a few seconds longer, just staring, and Liam could do not much more but stare back, eyebrows drawn together just slightly.
Finally Zayn stood, and left the room without so much as a glance as he closed the door. And for the first time that evening, Liam was left alone with the crackling from the fireplace, and the hum and steady flow of his thoughts.
*****************************
When Liam woke the next morning, he startled when a body next to him shifted.
His eyes opened wide then, coming to land on a very naked woman wide awake next to him. The furs did little to hide the parts of her that were normally covered, and Liam rolled away, shielding a hand over his eyes.
“I’m sorry, my lady, I didn’t realize- we….we didn’t…” he paused, swallowing heavily. “We didn’t do anything...did we?” He asked, a sense of dread filling his lungs, and making it hard to breathe.
Illyria sat up, the furs falling to expose her breasts completely, and Liam averted his eyes. “Do you normally sleep this way then, or…?”
“Sometimes.” She smiled, laying a hand on Liam’s forearm. “I’m sorry, my love, I should have gotten dressed. I hadn’t realized you were still afraid of the female form.” She said, voice quiet as she chuckled. She sounded teasing, like Zayn, but Liam felt more mocked in this instance.
“I’m not-...I’m not afraid, I-”
“Shh.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “Say no more, it’s okay. Most men aren’t virginal when they marry, but I guess I found one of the lucky ones.” She smiled.
How was that luck, exactly? Inexperienced didn’t seem like a fun thing to be, especially not right now.
She crawled out of bed then, leaving Liam to contemplate his life, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he was going to have to go to bed, and wake up with her every day for the rest of his life. And eventually, they were to produce an heir.
How that was even going to happen, Liam didn’t know.
A pretty girl, and he couldn’t even do what he was supposed to do in order to secure his future, and hold to the throne.
Some days, he didn’t really want it like he used to. Like when he was little, and wide-eyed, and all he ever dreamed was to sit the Iron Throne, and mould his fingers over the singed blades of a thousand men, all brought down in the name of dragon fire. Let someone else swoop in, and occupy the seat. It was a bloody uncomfortable seat, as it was.
His headache was back full-force this time, and Liam actually wanted to die when he finally stood. The change in altitude had him groaning, and clutching two fists to his head.
The memories from last night were garbled, he knew, but for some reason he had the sneaking suspicion that something had taken place in this bedroom last night. He glanced around, down at the crumpled sheets and furs, and around at the freshly lit hearth and the rosary beads hung off the door. They were for looks, but he knew he aunt was a superstitious woman, and hung them to ward off bad spirits.
Although it hadn’t seemed to help any. Liam’s wedding night wasn’t at all what he’d expected it to be.
It was all so...easy. Somehow.
Illyria let him take his time, without ever pushing him too far. He’d known Zayn longer, since she’d only taken a ship to Westeros about a year before the wedding itself, but he knew her well enough. They might’ve even been considered friends, but now he wondered whether or not he should be wary, and proceed cautiously.
“You look ill, my love. Rest for an hour more.” She said, voice sweet and soft, but too showy. He knew what her voice sounded like on any other occasion, biting and crass, but playful all at once. And this was her putting on a show for him. Easing him into it.
“Can’t.” He mumbled, struggling to find a pair of breaches appropriate for today’s work, which involved a whole lot of sitting around, so he figured it wouldn’t be too taxing. He’d have to wear something a little nicer. “I’ve got council today. My fath- the King is having me attend council meetings now. Says I’ll have to learn how to handle the locals, and such.”
Despite how much he wanted to say screw it, and curl back up into the warmth of his bed, where he can pretend that everything is the way it should be, back to normal, but he can’t.
He laced his clothes, glaring curiously at the door.
Zayn hadn’t shown up at all this morning. As far as he was aware, anyway.
He finished dressing himself in relative silence while Illyria pulled her hair back into a decadent white net, adorned with small rubies.
He left without so much as a goodbye, sucking in deep gulps of air as his legs numbly carried him through the castle courtyards, passing women in peachy day dresses, while they spattered gossip behind the palms of their hands. Sometimes he really hated the public.
He pushed through the heavy oaken doors that led into the council room. The Throne stood ahead, blunt and ugly like a scab, yet somehow so cherished and lusted after. It was a hunk of metal in front of him, but in the dim silence, it seemed like a whole other entity with thoughts and feelings of its own.
His father sat below, crowned not only by the crown that sat atop his head, but also by the fan of blades pointed skyward that acted as a back to the throne. He’s slouched, and looking weary of everything, just as he always did.
He slowed as he approached the council chamber, the one used at the feast last night for close friends and family only, and took his seat next to the king.
“Father.” He said, nodding his head curtly at the man.
His father eyed him carefully, the rosiness of his cheeks from last night completely gone, replaced with pale and unfeeling. “Son.” He grunted, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “After this session, I must have a few words with you.” He spoke, lips pulling down every so slightly. Distaste.
Liam nodded, and dried his palms on his nice breeches, ignoring the sense of foreboding that fell over him.
A few other council members joined them later, one much younger than the rest, but still older than Liam by a year. Fair-haired, and nice enough, it seemed.
“So, married life. Stick it in her, already?” Niall jested, one corner of his lips pulling back into a grin. “My sources tell me no. And your face tells me no. Couldn’t get it up? ‘S okay, man. Happens to the best of us. I mean, not me. But sometimes when a man loves a women very mu-”
“Shut up.” Liam snapped, face going stark red as he held a hand up to Niall’s mouth. “‘S none of your business.”
And that was the thing about Niall too.
He knew fucking everything.
Whether it was common knowledge, or your deepest, darkest secret, Niall probably knew it. So maybe Liam shouldn’t have been too surprised to discover that yeah. Him not sleeping with his own wife might catch the council member’s attention.
“You’re right. I’ve got the foot-in-mouth syndrome, you know?” Niall bumped his elbow leaning over to grab a sealed document from beside the king. “Real hinderance, although it’s surprisingly amazing on my sex life, I tell ya.”
“Please. Don’t.” Liam groaned, nose wrinkling up in disgust. If his father weren’t here, he’d be banging his head on the table until he could see stars, but his father was here, and he could hear the chatter of city members gathered outside the hall. Miniscule little voices, all lined up single file to see the king, angry about one issue or another.
Liam didn’t blame them. This capital, and heart of Westeros was in shambles. Where Liam was privileged enough to eat well every day, as much as he wanted, many were not so fortunate. Disease, crime, and poverty were of the utmost concerns, and yet somehow getting the least amount of attention.
City member after city member came in, each more disheveled and weary than the last, and each vocalized complaint ended in promises that were so empty that Liam began to see why no uprisings had taken place.
The council gave the impression that they cared, and they played their parts well, Liam thought, but nothing would be done, and these people would go back to the their shambled homes, and their hungry children, and wait for the king to spread his generosity.
Maybe providing hope was relief enough in some sense. It left something bitter on Liam’s tongue though, and maybe this was the first time he was wishing for sweet wine to wash that taste down, and shackle that feeling of guilt before it got too out of control.
It wasn’t until the last visit that Liam actually tuned in a little more.
A man, stout and bald, waddled to stand in front of them all and present himself, hands folded neatly in front of him.
“State your name and business for the court.” The king spoke, temple resting against his fist as he shifted to find a comfortable position where the metal didn’t bite flesh.
“Yes, sorry. I am Roman Pious.” He spoke, voice soft and delicate. “I’ve come to discuss the coming Autumn.”
“Autumn.” Greyson repeated on the other side of the king. He was a middle-aged widow, his children having been burned alive in a siege against the Vale. His face was dripping with a scowl. “We don’t sit to discuss the changing colors of the leaves. While that’s all very exciting, we ask that you ponder that sort of thing alone.”
“I believe I’ve given the wrong impression.” Roman chuckled, arms folding across his chest. “It’s not so much an issue with leaves, as it is with the harvest.”
“Highgarden. Yes.” The king spoke, waving a hand. “With limited time, you need to get to the point a little faster.”
“Of course, your grace.” He cleared his throat, all delicate and summer soft. “You are aware the billions accumulated in debt, I’m sure. Kind of hard to miss that. The point is, is that with the summer ending much sooner than anticipated, and your debts never having been paid, ironically, Highgarden is threatening to cut your supply of food. This is not only devastating since our markets will crash, but our people will starve. Supplies are all but dwindling, and my daughters are getting colder. I-”
“We don’t need a sob story.” Greyson sniffed, eyebrow raised defiantly. “Relations with other cities are being dealt with. However, we cannot disclose when and how we’ll go about dealing with that sort of issue, as it does not concern you.”
“I argue that it does. I run a produce market, one of many, and-”
“Do not interrupt.” The king held his hand up, and the bald man quieted like he’d been struck. “This is not news. It’s an issue we’ve been dealing with for quite some time, and you must trust that we’ll deal with it when and how we see fit. Anything else?”
Pious kneaded his hands together, and stared him down, head cocked over to one side. “I suppose not.” He spoke finally, fingers trembling. “Thank you for your time, your grace.”
They watched him hobble down the archway, until he was out of sight, before Liam stretched his legs, and Niall clapped him on the arm. “That’s what happens when you don’t find somewhere to put it. You start worrying about the fucking plants.”
“Which is a concern if you ever want to eat again, Mr. Horan.” The king spoke up, eyes narrowed as he stood from the throne, looking wearier than when he’d sat upon it three hours before. “You may leave us. Liam, sit.”
Liam watched Niall leave, wishing for all the world in that moment that he could be him, and waltz around like he fucking owned the place.
He took his spot once again, and cleared his throat before meeting his father’s eyes. “Sir.” He acknowledged.
“Enough.” The king waved a hand. “You think I don’t know what happened last night? I know what happened.”
Liam felt his face go hot suddenly. “Dad, I-”
“You will call me Your Grace, or you call me nothing, do you understand me?” His voice boomed down the empty archways, but Liam felt like there were a million sets of eyes on him anyway. “Answer. Now. You’re not eleven anymore, Liam. You’re a man, so fucking act like one.”
“Yes. Your Grace.” Liam answered automatically, voice and brain going on autopilot. “I didn’t mean to-”
“I don’t care what you meant.” He hissed, poking his index finger hard into Liam’s chest. “This whole goddamn city is talking up a storm about you. How you can’t get it up. Can’t fuck your wife right. It’s fucking sick, do you get that? That you’re not even really a man yet? You’ve embarrassed me.”
Liam feels his heart drop into his stomach. He hadn’t found it to be all that big of a deal, but in the eyes of a king, it looked different apparently.
“You’re a spectacle. And worse, you’ve made me a spectacle. I’ve got councilmen asking me if you suffered an accident, or were born impotent.” He snorted, slamming his palm down on the table. “Along with a shit list of other theories they’ve come up with. Do you like embarrassing me? Is this fun for you?”
“No, your grace.”
“I suspect not, but you’ve got so many other shortcomings that I wonder if it’s not your goal to make our lineage look like a joke. Your mother only became bedridden after she gave birth to you, so maybe you’re the bad seed. Your sisters are off and married, with children and loved ones, and here you are.”
“I’m sorry, I-” Liam paused, swallowing back the tears he can feel back there, just on the brim and about to spill over. But crying would only make things worse, he knew. He didn’t cry too often, but something in his dad just opened the floodgates. “I know I shouldn’t have let you down, and I’ll work to try and not let that happen.”
“That’s right. You’re going to work every goddamn day. Bed your wife, for starters. Plant a son in her belly, keep the line going so we don’t look like fucking idiots, you got me?”
“I understand, your grace.”
“Good.” The king seemed to relax a little, but Liam still feels like he’s been struck, and beaten down. His ears are ringing, and maybe he shouldn’t have gotten out of bed. Reported in ill. Something.
Getting this kind of talk from your father at nineteen, almost twenty, felt like a slap on the wrist with a barbed ruler. With all his shortcomings, his shoulders felt extremely heavy with the weight of the guilt. Letting his father down, not being a better man. His sisters were more fit to rule than he was, and they were miles and miles away.
“This issue with Highgarden is something we’ve been tinkering over for a while. It’s nothing knew.” The king spoke, eyes glazed over, scratching his fingers through the thinning beard on his chin. “We’re in the stages of addressing it now.”
Liam nodded, head bowed with his hands held calmly at his sides. “What does that mean for us?”
“Means we’ve got to kiss the arses of those highborn fruits.” The king spat wetly on the floor, and Liam looked away, nose wrinkling up just the slightest. “The hussies down in Flea Bottom have been coming to council for weeks, and it seems that summer is actually ending. We’ll be starved out before the end of winter, it’s sure.”
Liam swallowed. He’d seen the devastating effects of hunger. Couldn’t imagine suffering it himself. “I don’t understand.”
“We’re to travel Highgarden.” The king spoke, meeting Liam’s eyes to give him a cold stare. “And play nice. Secure our future so we don’t die starving in our beds, understand?”
“Yes.” Liam nodded at once. “Your grace.”
“Good.” The king lifted the crown from his head, dropping it heavily onto the table where it clattered before stilling. “I’ve had your squire-”
“-Zayn-”
“-Malik,” A look of irritation crossed over his weathered, pale face, “-gather some of your things together. The cooks, a handful of smiths, as well as a small fleet have already started the trek up. They’re to have everything prepared for us upon arrival. Your mother, unfortunately, too sick to travel, will remain here. Your Uncle Marren will accompany the Malik girl, myself, and you on our journey up.”
Liam bit his tongue this time, stoutly avoiding the fact that “the Malik girl” happened to be the future queen and his wife, much to his father’s dismay. He knew his father’s grudge with Dorne natives, but it was petty to hold such prejudices, Liam thought.
He would die bitter.
“We leave tonight, while the city sleeps.” The king voiced, breaking Liam out of his head. “Or fucks.”
“Why tonight? So soon.” Liam asked, voice quiet and hesitant, but curious above all means.
“Summer’s not getting longer, have you gone deaf too?” His father spat, weight shifting from leg to leg.
He’s nervous.
“The sooner things are patched up, the easier we can sleep.” He explained, cheeks rosy from the labor of standing for so long. “I’ll send for you when I need you. Leave me be.”
Liam nodded curtly, turning on his heel. He had no desire to stay a moment longer.
The word “fuck” didn’t roll off the King’s tongue like it rolled off of Zayn’s. When his father said it, it sounded dirty in just the wrong way. Like an oily layer of grime that refused to wash away, but off of Zayn’s tongue, it sounded sultry. Like he was the only person who could make that vulgarity sound appealing in the slightest.
And of course there was Louis, where the word fell off his lips smooth like butter without sounding the slightest bit awkward. It was just in his normal vocabulary.
He gave one last sweeping look around the sun-bleached courtyard, seeing a flurry of eyes of strange women and younger men, still gangly and training in combat, look to him as he took careful steps back to his chambers. Like they were being discreet.
I’m a spectacle.
He kept his chin tilted up a little bit higher, jaw clenched as his mind tried to wrap around the fact that he’d spend the better part of a week on the road. With his father. Alone with his wife.
Alone without Zayn.
It’s a scenario that has his gut twisting, and while the Kingsguard stood by, waiting to give their lives for the King-to-be, Zayn kept him safe in other ways. Without him, like the shield he was, Liam felt exposed. Maybe it was melodramatic to miss his best friend this much. Liam was full of mixed emotions today.
The sky was in streaks of candy pink, and soft orange, and Liam stopped under one of the archways to fold his arms around himself, head resting against stone. It wouldn’t be long now.
****************************
The further their riding party ventured, the more evident it became that the roads were becoming far less safe than they’d been only a handful of years before.
No immediate threats to the king’s life, to the relief of all, and the entirety of the realm, according to Liam’s uncle, but by the time they’d reached the pastures and plots that stretched for miles beyond the walls of Highgarden, they’d lost about a quarter of their party. Some people got lost along the way, as it always seemed to happen, but others had met more gruesome ends to rogue wolves as big as men, or small, minisicule bands of raiders that snagged one or two of their men before being shot down with arrows.
The sun shone a bit warmer here, Liam noticed, and even the pastures seemed to reach towards the rays of warmth and deep blue of the sky above.
The vineyards to their right were practically illuminated, with flushed violet grapes catching the light from above, and the air smelt sweet like squash and every kind of sweet, summer fruit, rich and fragrant, and almost dizzying.
“It’s beautiful here.” Illyria whispered next to him, turning to Liam with a fond smile. “I’ve never been so far from your home.”
“It’s your home too now.” Liam shrugged, staring straight ahead. Days without a proper shower, and an actual bed to sleep on had left his mood soured, and the closer they got to tall, stone city in front of him, the more anxious he felt about getting some actual alone time.
Illyria wrapped the reins of her horse around her wrist, giving careful tugs as their party slowed the closer they got. Foot traffic always slowed things down. “Not a home to me like it is to you. It lacks culture. Hides behind brothels and savage soldiers.”
“Uh huh.” Liam mumbled. He sounds crass and rude, but he’s had about as much as he can take. The way her comments are just on the wrong side of mockery, and meant to embarrass him in just the slightest way. It rubs him wrong, and he can’t stand anyone else’s company right then either.
His uncle’s too sunny all the time, with quick punches to Liam’s shoulders, and smiles that are too big and sticky to be real.
His father’s the same as always. Cold as the iron that makes his throne.
Louis’ just a miserable, riding beside him on a horse that’s near death itself, and when Louis gets irritated, it’s best to stay away.
“Something wrong, my love?” He hears her voice next to him over the clicking of horse hooves, and turns to give her a dull look. “You look absolutely worn. Getting you in bed early tonight.” She mumbles, reaching out to brush a hand over his cheek.
He takes it for a second or two, before ducking out of the way of her hand. She’s sweet, but it’s so obviously put on. Does she think he’s that daft that he doesn’t notice?
If Zayn goes through life pretending like she does, then he’s a better actor by far.
He stiffens, and licks moisture into his lips. “I’m fine. Sore from riding.”
“That’s not always a bad problem to have.” She cooes, and he can tell what she’s insinuating, but he’s just not in the mood for that kind of talk. Now, or ever really.
He’s silent for the rest of the ride, as is most of their caravan, because Highgarden is as beautiful as Liam’s heard. The stone of the looming city, built up on an incline angled towards the castle that’s the heart of the city, is soft grey like rain clouds before a drizzle, but it’s luminescent in the sun. He can see the traffic of people moving in and out of the fields, arms laden with citrus and squashes ripe to bursting, all in a manner of undress, or leisure.
The gates are opening already to welcome them in, and Liam can hear the guards from atop the wall shouting commands to one another, before standing by on watch while the King’s party files into the city. They all ache for the relief of civilization, Liam can tell, and he’s one of them.
Children run, playing and laughing shrilly along the roads, or playing knights and castles, while couples walk arm in arm, gazes fond. Poverty hasn’t seemed to touch this land quite like it had the capital, and there’s hardly a soul in sight who looks as if they hadn’t fed that day.
And that’s how it ought to be. A city providing that kind of relief and safe haven for the people barricaded inside, although no one looked in a great rush to leave.
Doors of copper and steel radiate brightly in the summer heat, engraved and etched with lilies and roses, and garbs of lavender silk wrap around women's bodies in the fashion of summer dresses.
“They’re said to be very kind.” Illyria whispered from his side, eyes darting every which way at once. “It’s the center of prosperity and youth. They grow food and life. And it is not the capital?”
“No.” Liam shook his head. “It’s not.” Although with the state of things, Liam wondered the same. Why a place that was so well put together could not serve as the center city, he didn’t quite understand.
King’s Landing was probably the most disorganized in the whole of this side of the world, and yet somehow so revered and envied. They held more power than they knew what to do with.
A guard ahead called for them to halt, and the horses and people on foot all slowly condensed while the people traffic beside them continued on like nothing. He watched his father dismount, and disappear somewhere ahead.
“What’s happening?” He turned to Louis then, who was cramped behind him on his own palfrey, eyes ridden with dark circles.
“How should I know? I’m back here with you, aren’t I?” He snapped, hands tightening around the reins. “Probably talking to uptight flowery fuck who remains the warden here.”
Liam smiled faintly, before turning his eyes back front.
“This is ridiculous.” Louis went on, whether or not anyone was listening, although Liam happened to be within earshot. “You’re probably going to get a bed made of naked women and fucking pansies, and I get to sleep--you guessed it--outside. In a tent. Not even in the castle walls. And I get to share my tent with a hedge knight named Cronkle who likes to piss only about five feet away from where we sleep. Isn’t that lovely?” He spat, lips curled up in distaste.
“If you stop throwing a hissy fit long enough, you’ll find that you do in fact have your own room.” Illyria commented, eyes narrowed as she stared back at Louis’ pointed features. “Kingsguard doesn’t sleep outside, and you’re lucky you’ve got the armor to prove your merit. You might just be mistaken for a sellsword otherwise.”
“So Liam here still hasn’t bedded you yet, has he?” Louis blinked, lips curling into a smile that’s meant to mock. “You’re both right pricks when you’re frustrated.”
Liam smiled, and he wasn’t entirely sure if it was because her usually smiling face twisted up into something less fabricated, or because Louis just as himself amused him to no end. This kind of talk wasn’t tolerated by anyone but him, and Louis was smart enough to know that.
Liam’s steed jerked forward once when the throng of people began to move again, and when Liam looked back up, his father was back on his horse, looking only a little self-righteous with grin pricked on his face, cheeks rosy from the lambskin of wine he’d been drinking from all morning.
He could hear the civilians behind him being sectioned off, and assigned rooming arrangements, whether they were to stay in an inn, or with the rest of their fleet outside the walls.
Liam followed his father’s lead, while a singular knight escorted them deeper into the city, past markets and brothels that seemed to coexist in one singular space.
“We’re very fortunate to have you as our guests.” The knight spoke, turning back to shoot the king a smile, eyes landing on Liam at the last second. His eyes were bright blue, hair long and fair, and pulled back into a tight ponytail to keep it out of his face. A chunk of his ear was missing, the flesh scarred and mottled like it had been burned, but the rest of him seemed untouched, and even a little handsome. “It has been a while since we’ve gotten to treat a group such as yourself to what we have to offer, but we hope you’ll find it to your liking.”
“We’re here for business.” The king spoke, “But we appreciate your hospitality.”
“Well, when you wrote us that letter a fortnight ago, our lord protector was so eager to make the best accommodations for you. He’s very pleased you’ve arrived.”
“Not pleased enough to greet us, though.” The king eyed the knight for a moment.
“You will have to forgive him.” He answered. “Family matters take up the best of our time. He looks forward to you joining us at dinner, however.”
“And are you family, or just his messenger?”
“Oh, just the messenger. He raised me as his own, though. His son Harry and I have played together since we were children.” He boasted, giving Liam an offsetting smile. “He’s grown into a fine young man.”
The king grunted, tying his cloak tighter around his thick neck. “And where are we to be set up for the evening?”
“There’s a tower just inside the castle walls. Big enough to house all of you comfortably, I hope.”
The king grunted again, coughing wetly into a handkerchief. Liam wrinkled his nose and looked away.
The rest of the ride was spent listening to the fair-haired knight boast about his time growing up, surrounded by wealth and opportunity, although Liam stopped listening after mentions of sorcerers, and stories that only the best bullshitter could fabricate.
If the city itself was beautiful, although Liam missed much of it, eyes glossed over with exhaustion and trepidation. The climb up the mountainous pillar to his chambers took more out of him than he’d have liked, and what he wanted more than anything was five minutes to himself. With Illyria right on his heels, he doubted he’d get such refuge.
The room itself was lovely. Open airspaces, lavish furnishings done in beiges and reds. A living space was set up to his right, a flagon of wine and nourishment set out for his leisure. The bed was draped in canopy, the sheets so red, they were almost black, big enough for two and more.
“They really go all out for company.” She smiled, knocking her hip against Liam’s trunk that had already been brought up for him. “Fancy a walk with me, deary? We can talk.”
Liam opened his mouth to speak, faltering when he spotted the copper basin for bathing in the far corner. It was concealed by a screen, but the lip was peeking out enough that Liam could spot the water that filled it, still steaming madly.
“I’m staying in for the day.” He explained, turning back to her. “You go ahead without me.”
“Are you sure?” She arched an eyebrow. “I don’t mind staying in with you.”
He swallowed his guilt back and shook his head. “No, please. I don’t mind. It’s...it’s a beautiful day. You shouldn’t have to stay inside.”
Her rose red lips pulled up into a startling smile, “Thank you. I’ll be back before the sunset.” She spoke, tugging her shawl off, and setting it on the bedspread, before setting off.
Liam sighed when she was out of sight, and he could no longer hear her steps down the hall. His shoulders slumped forward, and he loosened the laces on his shirt, all the while venturing slowly towards the basin.
Around the screen, the water was as it was, clouds of steam floating from the surface of the ripples. Petals from hydrangea flowers sprinkled the surface here and there, and when he leaned forward, he caught scents of lemon and lavender. Oils.
His eyes flickered to the pile of clothes set aside, and folded neatly and crisp, ready for wear.
He frowned, and folded his arms across his chest.
He didn’t suppose that any palace official would have prepared something like this just out of the kindness of their heart. He sucked on his bottom lip, and glanced around towards the balcony. Searching.
“About damn time.”
Liam spun around, eyes going towards the source of that voice. He found Zayn leaning up against the doorway, exposed forearms crossed over his chest.
He was wearing a button shirt, the first few undone and leaving the top part of his chest exposed. His breeches were simple, casual, and clung to his legs loosely. And he looked overall ready for a night in, just like being back home.
“I can only go as fast as the caravan allows me, you know.” He smiled, wryly. Too happy to be in his company again. “I’m guessing this is your work.” He added, head tilting towards the tub once.
Zayn’s eyebrows drew together some when he smiled, all too teasing, but never meant to slight him. “Just didn’t want to have to smell you after your long journey, your highness.”
“Don’t call me that.” He looked down, quirking a smile when he scratched the back of his neck. “And please, I can’t be that bad.”
“Relax. I only tease because I care.” He quirked a smile, venturing in further, but not before shutting the door behind him. “Let me help you get in. I know you’re weary from riding.”
Liam raised an eyebrow, before nodding contemplatively. “I suppose so. I’m more wearier of other people right now, than I am riding.”
“Oh?” Zayn arched an eyebrow, stepping in close so that they were face to face, stood only a couple inches apart. “Want me to leave you alone then?” He asked, eyes holding Liam’s while he undid the laces on his shirt that extended only about a third of the way down the fabric.
“No.” Liam shook his head. “You’re about the only person I’m actually pleased to see right now.”
“I’m flattered, Liam.” He spoke, lips twitching into a smirk. “Did my sister fare well on the trip?”
Liam sighed, lifting his arms a few inches when Zayn pulled the hem of his shirt up. He shifted back a little when Zayn’s fingers slipped, and brushed across his lower stomach instead. It happened again, just a careful brush of cold fingers over warm skin, before Zayn went back to the task at hand, pulling Liam’s shirt up and off.
That couldn’t have been accidental. His stomach muscles tightened a little, because he could still feel the cold glow of his fingers there.
“She was fine.” Liam spoke, taking a careful breath when he looked back up to meet his gaze. “Surprisingly chipper the whole time.”
“She’s strong-willed. Nothing gets to her too much.” Zayn smiled, pulling Liam in closer by the waistline of his pants to the point where their hips were almost touching.
Liam swallowed again, feeling the material hugging his waist get looser and looser the more Zayn unlaced, and soon enough they were in a pool at his feet. He stepped out of them, and took a couple steps toward the bath.
“Still having an issue getting it up for her? So to speak.”
Liam couldn’t see him, as he had his back turned, but he knew he was smiling, entirely pleased with himself.
“Kind of.” he admitted, frowning.
He felt hands slide over his hips, before cold fingertips slid underneath his undergarments just a centimeter or so. He whirled around, taking a step away from the Dornishman.
“Relax, queenie. I was just helping you with your undergarments.” Zayn laughed, hands reaching out again.
Liam caught him by the wrists, keeping them from moving any farther. “I’ve got it.” He spoke, eyes gazing unwaveringly against Zayn’s, dark like raw honey.
“As you wish.” Zayn answered, but Liam’s hands wouldn’t let go. His fingers dug tightly into Zayn’s wrists, before his wits caught up to him and he let go.
He turned away, face hot, before undressing that last bit of clothing concealing him, dropping it off to the side.
Zayn came up behind him to pick them up while Liam stuck a foot in the water, and then the other, wincing at the extreme warmth that crawled up his skin.
“So, is it her, or is it you? Just nervous because you haven’t done anything like that, before.” Zayn explained, sitting on the lip of the tub while he began to fold Liam’s clothes, and set them in a bundle on the floor.
Liam groaned, slow and sweet the farther he submerged himself. The tension left his shoulders almost at once, followed by the rest, burning out of him. He couldn’t be embarrassed now. Not with the hot water dragging it out of him to float along the surface like the assorted oils.
“Not sure.” He mumbled, giving Zayn a sheepish look. “She’s lovely. It can’t be her.”
From where Zayn sat above him, he could smile down at the man in the water. His eyes skimmed the stretches of bare chest, which was all nicely defined muscle. Zayn cupped his hands in the water, and sprinkled it over Liam’s head, watching it dribble down his face, and hang off his lips.
“I won’t be upset if it is her. You can tell me Liam.” He chuckled, pouring more water down his scalp. “She’s my sister, and I love her, but I’ve lived with her all my life. I’m aware of some of the challenges that come with it.” he smiled.
“Yeah, but you don’t have to sleep with her, and have her children.”
Zayn scrunched his nose up, and shook his head from side to side. “Don’t even plant that little idea into the universe. I’m aware that I don’t have to sleep with my sister, and nor do I have any desire to.” He laughed wryly, thumb brushing over a shiny droplet of water left on his lips.
Liam stared, chest lifting up and down with his elevated breaths. The touch was small, but it made him feel like he’d caught fire. It had been such a short moment that a part of him wonders if maybe it hadn’t happened at all.
They’re not affectionate with each other. The idea was out of the realm of imagination. Men just didn’t treat other men with that kind of attention. At least not where Liam came from.
“You’ve never been with anyone? Physically, like that?” Zayn blinked, dipping his fingers into the water for a brief moment.
Liam shook his head, something in his groin stirring a little. He shifted, and crossed his legs. “No. I guess that’s what I should have been doing, right? Can’t say I’ve gotten much of an opportunity, though.” He murmured, blinking up at Zayn.
“You’re lovely to look at, I find that hard to believe, Liam.” Zayn smiled, flicking water droplets in Liam’s face.
He flinched, and licked the droplets when they rushed down his lips. They usually bounced insults and jokes off each other all the time, but Liam couldn’t even find the right words. Zayn’s comments had his head going fuzzy, and he shifted again, clearing his throat.
“Well. Believe it.” He smiled wryly, dropping his head to stare at his reflection in the surface. “Besides, I mean. Yeah, I hear about sex all the damn time. Know enough about it, I suppose. Still feel like I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”
“It’s easy once you get the rhythm down. Find what the other person likes to keep them pleased.” Zayn smiled, brushing his hand up Liam’s chest, dragging water over the skin that was above the water level.
Liam stared down at that hand, and the way those fingers dragged nimbly across the expanse of pectoral muscle, and coarse hairs. And the way his chest rose and fell the more Zayn touched him.
He looked back up into his eyes, and cocked his head over to one side. He didn’t deny those small touches. Not when they had his stomach fluttering, and sending heat traveling all the way down his midsection. It created a slow burn in his chest, like any more contact from him was somehow only good.
“When was your first time then?” Liam asked, leaning his head back against the lip of the basin. “You’re too cocky about all this, so I’m assuming you’ve had a first time.”
“I have.” Zayn smiled, fingers dragging up to brush the underside of Liam’s jaw. “And I had my first time when I was fifteen.”
Liam’s eyebrows arched up. “You were in King’s Landing with us. Who was it?” He asked, suddenly pressing to know.
Zayn’s eyes flicked towards the ceiling, and he shrugged. “Some sellsword that came with the northernmen. Handsome bloke. Only okay in bed, sadly.” He clicked his tongue, thumbing across Liam’s chin then.
Liam’s too relaxed to protest, but also too curious to know whether the burn in his chest will start to fade the longer Zayn keeps doing this, or if his body will only react more.
And then he actually rewinds Zayn’s words in his head.
“A man.” He stammered out, staring at him incredulously. “You’ve slept with a man.”
Zayn’s eyebrows crinkled in the center, but he nodded, scrutinizing Liam’s facial expressions carefully. “Yes. I have. Many times.” It’s said with such an air of ease, that Liam actually feels kind of ignorant for asking such a thing.
“A man.” Liam repeats, pulling away just a touch.
Zayn’s hand falters on his skin, just beneath his ear, and he rolls his eyes. “You can’t tell me you’re shocked, Liam.” He smiled, giving his cheek a playful, only slightly condescending pat. “You’re so sweet still.”
Liam brushed his hand away to fix him with a colder stare. “I am shocked. I think it’s my right to know when my page goes off, and invites strange men into his bed.”
“If it is my bed, as you say, why do you care?” Zayn arched an eyebrow, letting his hand drop. “It’s not as if it affects you.”
“But you’re just...you’re just okay with that. Touching a man like that, being that intimate. You don’t have any desire for women?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t have a desire for women. To me, there are just as many appealing qualities about the opposite sex as there are in members of our own sex.” Zayn shrugged. “Why deny myself one piece of the spectrum? And are you really one to point fingers when you yourself are unable to get hard for your brand new bride?” Zayn’s lips quirked up slightly.
Liam flushed red, embarrassed. He sat up, a scowl setting over his face. “You’ve got no place to say that to me. I’m your-”
“You’re my friend, don’t say anything you’ll regret.” Zayn cautioned, eyes taking on a darker glint as he stared him down. “And don’t look so sad, Liam. My words weren’t meant to hurt.”
“But they did.” Liam pointed out. “Insinuating that there’s something wrong with me like that? You’re my friend. Act like it.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” Zayn said, voice a touch calmer. He reached out to hook a couple fingers under Liam’s chin, tipping his head up as he leaned in. “That frown has no place on a beautiful face.”
Liam pulled out of his grip, and slid down so he could sink his head under the water. He needed to disappear into his own head for a minute.
The gentle throb in his lungs from the lack of oxygen began to take toll, and he broke the surface seconds later, taking a few heavy gulps of air. There’s water dripping from his hair, and clumping his eyelashes together, and Zayn’s still watching him, expression indecipherably blank.
“Feel a little better?”
“No.” Liam scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I just...I don’t think I understand. Why do you do that?”
“Sleep around, or sleep with people that also happen to have cocks?” Zayn mused.
Liam’s eyes screwed shut, and he shook his head. “The second one.”
“I already explained. There’s beauty in everyone, and I don’t see the value in ignoring all of my options.” He smiled. “Growing up in Dorne, my mother had always taught me the value of knowing myself. My kind, they don’t feel shame when it comes to sex, or sexuality. It’s simply not an issue.”
Liam listened. Zayn had only talked about his parents when he was drunk, which was rare and far between, so Liam soaked it up whenever he got the chance.
“Yes, but-” He cut off, blinking the water drops from his eyes. “I mean...how does that work. Two guys.”
Zayn only had to give him a look, one that asked if Liam was actually that fucking stupid, or just clueless.
“Nevermind, I think I’ve got it.” Liam waved the question off. “Does it hurt?”
Zayn’s lips lifted thoughtfully. “If it’s not done right, yes. It can be painful. First times also tend to be painful, since it’s a new sensation.”
“And it was painful for you then.” Liam pointed out.
Zayn shrugged. “I’ve given and received. I tend to enjoy both very much.” He smiled.
Liam wrinkled his nose up. “No, I don’t need to know that.”
“Yet you’re inquiring about my bedtime activities with other men isn’t too much for you?”
Liam shrugged. “I don’t know.” It all sounded so odd in his ears. “Guess I’m just…intrigued. I’ve only ever heard of that sort of thing happening. I guess I never imagined.”
“That I’d be into it. Why?”
Liam shrugged again, resolutely staring down at his hands, and the way they furled and unfurled in the water. “You just seem so normal, is all.”
“Oh, and I suppose you mean to tell me that you’ve never looked at a man that way.” Zayn cocked an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe, Liam, even for you.”
“That I’ve never looked at another man, and felt anything sexual towards him.” He laughed derisively. “Not everyone’s the same.”
“That may be true.” Zayn shrugged. “And maybe I’m misjudging. Aren’t you even a little curious though? What it feels like?”
Liam stared up at him, startled. “Hand me my towel, please. I think I’m done.”
Zayn quirked an eyebrow, before standing and walking over to the screen divider. He pulled a towel from where it hung over the top of it, and walked back over, holding it out at an arm’s length.
Liam got out warily, his legs a little unsteady. His head is a jumble of thoughts that have his groin stirring, and his blood traveling down between his legs. He grabbed the towel, wrapping it around his waist in one quick swoop.
He tensed, not having to turn to know that Zayn was closing in from behind, standing close enough that Liam could feel his body heat, but not close enough to touch. Liam wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, or not.
“Just know-” Zayn spoke, lips close to his ear, enough that he can feel warmth breaths against his skin. “-that if you ever need a hand, so to speak, I’m here for you. As your squire, it is kind of my job to take care of you.” He breathed, voice crooked. “It’d be purely to help, yes?”
Liam shivered, and stepped away, turning to plant a hand flat on Zayn’s chest. He held it for a moment, eyes locked on where their skin made contact, before giving him a nudge. Pushing him away.
“Leave while I dress. Please.” He mumbled.
Zayn peeled Liam’s hand from his chest, bringing it up to his lips to kiss the back of it. His eyes held Liam’s the whole time, eyelashes fanning across his skin.
“If that’s your wish.” He let go finally, and stepped out of Liam’s space, turning and leaving as he was told.
Liam was thankful when the door clicked shut behind him.
Down lower, he could feel his cock filling up, sitting half hard between his legs. He pushed it down, and closed his eyes, wishing it away.
It was wrong to let his mind wander with that proposal. Hard not to imagine what that would feel like, with Zayn’s words heavy in his ear, and not so many clothes between them.
He let his towel drop, and resumed getting dressed, lying to himself that it wasn’t Zayn who’d gotten him hard, or at least halfway there.
And it definitely wasn’t the memory of Zayn’s hands on him that had his cheeks burning.
*****************************
This feast was as loud as any other that Liam had attended. Something about royal gatherings, or guests apparently made everyone lose all inhibitions, and drink themselves into a stupor.
The people here were lovely, Liam thought. They dressed in the finer things, and looked as if they actually enjoyed everyday life. But right now, they blended in almost too well with the citizens of the capital. Rosy red cheeks, lips parted and mouths gaped into a permanent grin, laughing boisterously at one another. The wine flowed like water.
Liam was on his fourth glass almost, hardly having enough time to pay to his flagon with all the food filing from the kitchen.
Honeyed ham, heirloom tomatoes dipped in oils and seasonings, peach and rosemary turnovers, any kind of squash prepared in every kind of way.
The king himself was sat up at the table reserved for family and close relations, as well as family friends. Everyone important, really, which Liam definitely was not. The Lord Protector sat beside his father, head inclined as they conversed. With the noise level being so high, Liam could only see their lips moving, but couldn’t catch much else.
Liam was sat across from Louis at the second of four long narrow tables arranged in the dining all. Zayn was on his left, and thankfully, quiet as he picked at the salad on his plate.
Illyria hadn’t come back from her shopping excursion, it seemed, although Liam wasn’t complaining. Her sweet demeanor was too much for him right now. One more off-kiltered smile from her, and he might just fling himself from the tower balcony.
“We’re not rabbits. Why are there so many vegetables.” Louis mumbled, throwing a lettuce leaf onto Liam’s plate.
“They’re good for you. Stop being such a child.” Liam mumbled, scooting the lettuce leaf to the side.
“Fuck off, mum.” He grumbled, kicking Liam under the table.
He felt Zayn stiffen next to him, and turned to find him staring across at Louis with an unreadable expression.
“I think I upset your guard dog.” Louis mock-whispered, giving Zayn a wry smile. “Don’t worry, darling, I’m keeping him safe.”
Zayn continued to stare, before giving Liam a look that was equally as blank. It reminded him so much of when Zayn was first sent to King’s Landing, not knowing an ounce of the common tongue. Twelve-year-old Liam had never understood why every comment he’d made towards Zayn went unanswered. He’d gotten a lot of blank stares like that before the little boy from Dorne was actually made to learn their language.
Liam swallowed, and went back to his plate.
“Do you see that nasty-arse fuck up there?” Louis asked, jutting his thumb over towards the King’s table.
Liam followed his direction to a boy, now obviously a man but not by much. Face still a little soft, but creased with a slight wrinkle on his forehead. He’s got a girl at his side who’s whispering into his ear, which must be something of amusement, because he laughs heartily every few seconds.
“Fucker talks with his mouth full. It’s disgusting.” Louis rolled his eyes, giving Liam a look. “Stay away from him.”
Liam blinked at the assertion. “So...you’ve met him then, or is this just something you’re judging based on where we’re sat?”
“Oh, no. I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting Highgarden’s most cherished son. He’s gross.” Louis stabbed at a tomato.
“I’ve heard he’s quite charming, actually.” Zayn spoke up from beside Liam, causing him to tense inadvertently. “Quite generous as well. Helps out at the orphanage, shares his wealth, helps children train in melee and archery. Hot, too, by the looks of it.”
“Control your boy-servant, Liam. He’s forgetting his place.” Louis leaned across, eyes flicking over to Zayn at the last second.
Liam’s hands curled into fists on the table, nails digging in the fleshy parts of his palms. “He’s not a servant by any means. Not only do you have the audacity to disrespect him by saying that, but you’re also disrespecting me. Watch your mouth.” His face portrayed the severity of his words well enough.
Louis ducked his head, eyes on his plate. Knows he’s done wrong.
Louis doesn’t apologize, Liam knows. But he also knows that the pouty, childish grimace on his face conveys enough of an apology that he lets it drop.
Zayn and Louis had never quite seen eye to eye. It’s just about keeping them away from each other's’ throats at this point.
“Why do you concern yourself with him anyway? It’s not like you’ll have to interact with him in the near future.” Liam asked, sitting back, away from his plate.
“Because. I ran into him on the way back from escorting your little wife off on her shopping excursion. And you know what he said to me?” Louis blinked, leaning across to jab his index finger on the table. “After ogling, mind you. He actually had the balls to ask if I’d ever considered brothel work with an arse like mine. He’s a fucking prick.”
Zayn laughed, loud and boisterously next to Liam, jostling the tankard in his hands. Liam let a smile slip behind the lip of his cup, because the sound of his laughter actually has his stomach swooping like that sound is the best thing he’s heard all year. Zayn doesn’t emote much, and when he does, Liam’s always there to catch it.
“Sounds like an alright guy.” Zayn grinned, head cocking to the side. “Got your undies all in a bunch, didn’t he?”
“That’s extremely inappropriate. I’m a knight in the Kingsguard, you don’t just let shit like that spew from your mouth. I don’t care what he looks like.”
“So you admit that he’s got a pretty face.” Zayn deadpanned, blinking innocently.
“Yeah, he’s stupidly pretty. Emphasis on stupid.” Louis wrinkling his nose up when his eyes flicked towards the ceiling.
“So you saw her today?” Liam asked curiously.
Louis’ eyebrows shot up. “Saw who?”
“My wife.” Liam emphasized. “She went out hours ago, I thought she’d be back for dinner.”
Louis shrugged. “And I’m supposed to know where she is? She said she wanted privacy, so I gave it to her. I was tired of carrying her possessions anyway.”
Liam blinked. “So no one has any idea where she is, then. No one.”
Louis shrugged again, shoulders scrunching up. “One of the other guards is probably with her. We work in shifts so we don’t fizzle out before we’re old and grey.”
Liam jolted when he felt a hand drop down to his thigh. It was under the table, concealed so that is was unlikely that anyone else would’ve seen, but Liam felt exposed, like he was calling for attention on him this way.
“She’s fine.” Zayn murmured, giving his thigh a little squeeze. It’s a gentle gesture, something that Zayn does often enough that it’s not meant to be significant, but it feels like there’s meaning behind it. Maybe he’s delusional enough to convince himself of that now. Liam’s weak-willed enough that it’s not entirely unimaginable.
“How do you know? It already looks bad that she’s not here.” Liam spoke, hushed, and close to Zayn’s ear.
“Is it her you care about, or your image?” Zayn frowned slightly. He waved a hand in front of Liam’s face, eyelids sweeping shut for a moment. “Nevermind. But I know she’s okay. She’s strong, and she’s also curious. Westeros is new to her, it’s her opportunity to explore. Let her.”
Liam nodded, and Zayn nodded back, hand moving up on his thigh, and squeezing again. Liam swallowed, because the air felt sticky when Zayn got this close, and his skin burned, even through the stiff material of his breeches. Those hands were warm tonight; warm from a few drinks, Liam realized.
“Have you two mastered silent communication, or do you just find each other’s faces really interesting? Zayn’s not that pretty.”
Zayn, facing Liam fully still, smirked, and pulled away to lean back in his seat, although his hand remained where it was, fingers digging into skin like he needed something still.
The blaze from three separate hearths lit the room in a dim glow while the sun set outside. Smoky incense gave the atmosphere a thick, sickly sweet fragrance, and the noise escalated from a dull roar, to something a little shriller. The music had long since stopped while voices took their place, and Zayn’s hands still burned on his leg.
Maybe he should have pulled away, because the intent that was there felt a little less innocent with everything that had unfolded. His thumb was drawing circles over and over, before turning to figure eights, and dangerously close to slipping closer to his inner thigh. The area was sensitive when another touched him there.
His body gave a noticeable shiver when lips brushed over the shell of his ear, the way Zayn liked to get his attention so often.
“What.” He asked, pulling away some to look at him, his face hazy in the glow.
“Can I be bold-” Zayn spoke, pushing Liam’s chin to the side so he could whisper in his ear again. “And say something?”
Liam has a feeling that what he wants to say isn’t something that can be voiced out loud in a room full of people, but something in him has him dying to know. Wants to know what his words will make him feel this time, so he leans in closer, and nods. “You may.”
Zayn didn’t say anything for several minutes, just hovering, hand moving up and down his thigh in slow brushes, stopping just a little higher than he’d ever dared to broach. It had Liam shifting, pulling his chair a little in to the table.
“I’ve wanted to put my hands on you all night.” Zayn whispered finally, and the tip of his nose touches Liam’s cheek bone. “Alone. I want to get you alone.”
Liam’s face goes hot, but it’s hard to tell, because his blood his rushing downwards, pooling low in his groin, and making his prick twitch uncomfortably in his trousers. He thinks how long it’s been since he’s gotten a hand around himself. It’s been ages.
He takes a slow, shallow breath, and inclines his head a few degrees. “You shouldn’t say that.”
“But you think about it sometimes, yes?” Zayn says, and his breath tickles Zayn’s cheek. “Or am I the only one? I don’t dub you a liar often, but…”
He chuckles against Liam’s ear, and Liam’s eyes shut, stinging just slightly from the amount of smoke in the air.
He opens them seconds later, and goes to reply, but Zayn’s already pushing away from the table, returning to a standing position. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll go to bed if you trust me.” He hums, lips curling like fog in the corners, before he’s leaving the dining hall, chair still pushed out.
When Liam looks across, Louis’ gone as well, and he’s alone. Again. He stares off over at his father again, head ducked in conversation, and Liam can tell he’s drunk again, because his cheeks are bright red, just like Liam’s when he’s had a few too many.
He wouldn’t be missed, he thinks. And he wants to catch up to Zayn. Demand an explanation, or something. He wants to do something.
He pushes away from the table as well, with courtesy enough to push his own chair in, dropping his napkin on the table. He drops his head when he walks, and narrowly avoids a grape that’s flying towards him, but he can’t exactly locate who threw it.
As soon as the cool outside air touches his face, he feels sobered up and relaxed almost immediately. He made sure to school his drinking, only having had a few cups, but he wanted to be clear-headed more than anything right now.
He made a quick trip of making his way back to the tower, shoulder his way past the guards outside, and took the winding steps two at a time. He was a little out of breath when he finally reached the landing to his room.
The door was already slightly ajar when he got there, and he knew it wasn’t Illyria’s doing. Wherever she was, anyway.
He pushed it open, and it turned his back to the figure on the bed when he closed, and latched the door shut behind him.
“You’re not kicking me out?” Zayn quipped from the bed, leaning back on his hands, while his legs crossed. “I figured you’d want sleep.”
“Then why are you here?” Liam asked, turning finally. He ran a hand through his hair, wincing slightly when his fingers caught a tangle. He didn’t usually let his hair get long enough to be curly, and time seemed to get away from him often.
“Do you want me to leave?” Zayn arched an eyebrow, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I’ll leave if you want, just give me the word.”
Liam scrubbed a hand over his eyes, and shook his head. “No.” He huffed. “I don’t know. Stay. Go. Do what you want.”
Zayn was quiet for a few seconds, eyes blinking wide and sweet. “Liam.” He spoke, voice so soft that Liam’s head pulled up to look at him.
“What, Zayn.” Liam snapped, eyebrows raising expectantly. “What.”
“Come here.” Zayn whispered, eyes glinting when he smiled, patting the empty spot next to him.
“And do what?” Liam stammered, exasperated. “What do you want from me?”
“Are you afraid?” Zayn asked. “Is that it?”
Liam made a derisive snorting noise, arms folding across his chest. “No. I’m not afraid.”
“Then come. Here.” Zayn said, voice taking on a lower, raspier drawl. “And if you don’t want me here, I’ll go. You’re a fit lad. Could probably drag me out of here if you wanted to get rough.”
Liam stared at him, eyes flickering down to the spot where Zayn’s hand laid, beckoning him closer, and gods, Liam did. He wanted to.
He kept his arms drawn around his chest as he stepped forward, taking a curved path in slow, easy steps towards the bed. One foot in front of the other. It was easy when thought of in simpler terms.
Zayn smiled, and watched, letting Liam take his time, however much he needed. When Liam got within reaching distance, Zayn reached an arm out, palm pressing flat to Liam’s stomach, the muscles there jumping on instinct.
“You’re nervous.” Zayn smiled, eyes lifting up to Liam’s as his fingers curled into the material of Liam’s shirt, tugging him forward at the pace Liam allowed. “Don’t be.”
“Easier said than done.” Liam breathed, watching Zayn take one of Liam’s wrists to kiss the back of his hand. He swallowed, the tension from his shoulders releasing a little when Zayn rubbed figure eights into his wrist with a press of a thumb.
“I’m always good to you.” Zayn remarked, leaning down to press cool, chapped lips to his pulse point, and the veins that spiderwebbed under his skin. “And I’ll be good to you now. You don’t have to worry. And if-” Zayn’s lips dragged up his forearm, and into the crook of his elbow. “-I go to fast-” another kiss, “-or do something you don’t like-” he added, moving into a standing position so he’s trapped between Liam and the edge of the bed, “-stop me.”
They’re impossibly close, enough so that Liam can feel all of Zayn’s edges. The bones of his shoulders, the jut of his hip when it brushes swiftly over his own, the gentle compress of cold knuckles on his skin.
He lets out a weak noise, surprised more than anything, when he feels Zayn’s nose traveling along the underside of his jaw, and the scruff that crawls across his skin when Zayn finally kisses him there too.
“You have no idea-” Zayn mumbled, tongue and teeth dragging across the column of his throat when he talks, “-how long I’ve wanted to get you like this.”
Liam’s hands crawl up to grab Zayn, just above his elbows, and he digs his fingers in, finding leverage in his body. “You think about this often?”
“Mm.” Zayn’s voice is scratchy, and rumbly enough that every syllable sends blood straight to his cock. “Is it inappropriate to tell that? I think about it all the time.”
“We’re already crossing a line.” Liam speaks, surprised at how breathy his own voice sounds in his ears. “Harm’s already been done. Say what you want.”
Zayn pulls away from giving his neck attention, and lifts up to fix Liam with his stare, lips shiny and wet. “So I can say that I think about you when I get myself off?” His lips quirked up, amused. His eyes take on a darker glint, however, when his hands sneak down to yank at the fastenings on his shirt, pulling them loose in one pull. “And how much I want to get my lips around that thick cock of yours, and have you fuck my mouth.”
Liam keens low in his throat, his prick full and aching in his trousers. He’s embarrassingly hard off words alone, and it shouldn’t be Zayn that turns him on so much. And he knows it.
“Pay attention, Liam.” Zayn speaks, hands bunching up the material of Liam’s shirt, pushing it up his chest, until Liam lifts his arms up. He tugs it off, and tosses it away. “I want you to look at me when I suck you off.”
Liam actually shudders, body inclining towards Zayn’s like a magnetic pulse. Zayn plants his hands on Liam’s waist, thumbing over where the indents of his stomach muscles start. He turns them around slowly, and kneels down, eyes holding Liam’s. “Sit on the bed please.”
Liam wants to say and do so many things, but all that comes out of his mouth is weak sigh. He knows his erection is obvious through his trousers, and normally he’d be embarrassed about being so exposed in front the man he’d called his friend for years. He’s not sure what crossing this line would make them.
He sits down on the edge of the bed, licking his chapped lips until they’re shiny wet. Zayn rests both hands on Liam’s knees, and pushes them apart, scooting in to the space between them. “It’s not too late to back out, you know.” Zayn teases his bottom lip with his tongue while he tugs at the lacings on Liam’s breeches, until the waistline is loose on him.
Liam nods, reaching down to push a hand through Zayn’s hair. Testing. “I know.”
“And you don’t want to?” Zayn teases, reaching a hand inside Liam’s breeches to press his palm against the firm outline of his cock, swathed in his undergarments too.
Liam archs forward, letting out a soft breath of, “Oh fuck.” to no one in particular. He ducks his head, feeling Zayn lean in close.
“Look at me, Liam.” Zayn stops his hand movements. When Liam complies, he takes the opportunity to close the distance between them, nose brushing Liam’s when he presses their lips together.
It catches Liam off guard, and knocks the air from his lungs entirely. He’d never slept with a woman, but he had kissed one once in his youth. This was nothing like it. Zayn’s lips were slick, and soft, and the patches of scruff scratched his cheeks, but it was so, so good.
“Open your mouth for me, deary.” Zayn moans against his lips, surely putting on a show. It makes Liam feel less awkward, much to his appreciation, even though he knows he’s probably severely lacking at this. Zayn sucks Liam’s bottom lip into his mouth, teeth biting down gently in a way that has Liam weak. He secures a hand around the back of Zayn’s neck, holding him there with just a little more force than necessary when he feels a warm tongue sweep between his lips. He opens his mouth wider, shivering when Zayn’s tongue slips inside, licking and curling around his tongue. It has more affect on him than any amount of liquor.
His cheeks go hot, and he’s sure he’s red from the tips of ears, all the way down to his neck. And it’s only when Zayn breaks the kiss, lips red and puffy, that Liam remembers to breathe, pulling in a large gulp of air.
“You look absolutely smashing like this.” Zayn breathes, leaning down to press his lips to Liam’s stomach, feeling his stomach clench under his kiss. “Bet you’re going to look even prettier when I swallow you, huh? If I can even fit all of you.” He scoffs. “You’re kind of impressively big.”
Liam’s whole face burns at the comment, and has to stare at the ceiling when Zayn tugs down his undergarments, and his cock springs free, slapping against his stomach, leaving a shiny smear of precum on his skin.
“And you’re so hard.” Zayn smiles, leaning down to kiss Liam’s hip, and Zayn is so, so close to where Liam needs him to be. Feels his shaft brush against Zayn’s cheek. “I did that to you.”
“You did. Just-” Liam breaths, mind caught up in wordiness when he’s unable to vocalize what he wants.
“Use your words, Liam.” Zayn says after a moment, noticing Liam’s struggle. “I want you to tell me what you want me to do to you.”
Liam groans low in his throat, heading rolling down to press his forehead to Zayn’s. He needs to be kissed again to be assured that, yes. This is happening. And it feels so blindingly good.
Zayn reads into it, and tilts his head up, lips pushing insistently against his. It’s slow, and dirty, and Liam wonders whether or not he’d rather just spend a couple hours trying to memorize how this makes him feel.
Zayn’s pulling away though, licking the sheen off his lips, before spreading Liam’s legs apart just a little further so he can slither between them. “I want to hear you say it.” He spoke. And it’s really unfair that his voice is so calm through all of this. Like this happens every day for them.
Liam huffs, chest sinking in when warmth blooms over his cheeks. He’s hard to the point where it’s nearly uncomfortable, and he knows Zayn knows what he wants. But he can tell that this part is for Zayn’s benefit. “I want… I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” Zayn smiles, and Liam watches, wide-eyed, when Zayn wraps a slender hand around the base of his cock, giving him a slow tug. Liam sounds desperate when he moans, loud and pitchy, and his legs jerk.
“Fuck.” He groans, head rolling back so that the ceiling is all that clouds his vision. “I can’t talk, let alone think, when you do that.” He mumbles.
“Best get it out quick then. Don’t want to finish before I get my lips around you.” He chuckled, head cocking. “Come on, Liam. You can say it.”
“I just-” Liam huffed, scrubbing a hand over his face, before leaning back, all the weight resting back on his hands. “I want-...Just, like. Get-...your mouth. On me. Please.” He stammered, eyes screwed shut.
He opened his eyes in time to see Zayn grin, and rolled his eyes. “We’ll work on it, babe.” Zayn gave his thigh a squeeze.
Liam didn’t want to think of the future implications of this, because he wasn’t entirely sure that he wouldn’t regret this tomorrow, but he also wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t be opposed to doing something like this again.
Without so much as a warning though, Liam was choking back a sob when Zayn licked his lips, and opened wide, lips stretching around the head of his cock, tonguing along the slit and the fluid gathered there. It was enough that Liam almost came right then and there, shooting hot and messy down Zayn’s pretty lips.
“Fuck, Zayn.” he hiccuped, stomach clenching when Zayn slid down an inch or two more. He bobs back up, leaving Liam’s skin shiny and slick, little blurts of precum spilling from the tip.
He reaches down to grab the back of Zayn’s neck, fingers pulling at the hairs there, but he makes sure not to pull too hard. He doesn’t want to hurt him.
Zayn pulls back up, lips slick with spit and Liam. “Don’t think I can get all of you in my mouth, babe. You’re kind of big.” He actually sighs at that, pushing Liam’s cock up to lick the vein on the underside. Liam involuntarily shudders, abs clenching, and presses the heel of his palm to his mouth to hide his noises.
“Don’t think it’ll make much of a difference.” Liam grumbles, eyes screwing shut. “I won’t last long.” He admits sheepishly.
Zayn gives him a sultry grin, before moving back in, lips folding around the head and foreskin. He bobs his head up and down, practically choking on Zayn’s cock when he swallows down just a little more than he’s ready for, but it has Liam keening low in his throat, trying his best to keep his hips from pushing up. He so badly wants to fuck his mouth with reckless abandon, and finish down his throat, but he doesn’t. He’s patient.
He watches pink lips stretch to fit around him while Zayn builds up a rhythm, head bouncing along a steady tempo. The noises of Zayn sucking him off sound wet, and dirty, and just enough to send Liam’s eyes rolling back into his head.
He only looks back down when he feels fingers cupping his jaw, and pulling his face back down so Zayn could look up at him, eyelashes fanned out across his skin. He looks kind of radiant like this, Liam thinks. Full and stretched around him.
Zayn guides one of Liam’s hands to his hair when he slides back to suck on the tip, tonguing at the slit, while his hand helps guide Liam’s push and pull at Zayn’s hair. He takes the hint, and weaves his other hand around the base of Zayn’s skull, and both of Zayn’s hands drop to Liam’s thighs, relinquishing all control.
Liam still feels like the ball is in Zayn’s court, because Liam would probably do just about anything right now. Just to get the kind of pleasure that came from Zayn’s mouth. He pulled Zayn’s head back and forth, watching himself disappear down Zayn’s throat every time he pulled him closer.
“Fucking hell, I’m so close.” He moaned, eyes closing tight as he fucked faster, hips canting up to meet his tiny movements. He forgets to be gentle for a second, and rocks his hips sharply forwards, feeling himself nearly hit the back of Zayn’s throat.
Zayn digs his nails into Liam’s thighs, eyes watering at the corners a little, but Liam doesn’t see, because he’s so completely unraveled.
“Zayn, I can’t-- I won’t--”
Zayn pulls back, and starts bobbing his head even faster, eyes holding Liam’s in a piercing stare. His cheeks hollow out, and it’s so much just then. His skin feels like it’s burning all over, like his whole life has boiled down to this point, and now he’s burning.
The look in Zayn’s eyes is giving him permission. Practically hungry for it.
And all it takes is one last pull when Zayn’s lips tighten around him, and slide back to swirl his tongue over the head, before Liam’s whole body jerks, hips lifting off the bed.
“Oh fuck, Zayn.” He moans, feeling his cum slide hotly down Zayn’s tongue when he shoots his release. Zayn’s midway to pulling off, so streaks of pale white decorate his lips and chin when Liam shoots the last few spurts of it across his face.
It’s a sight that has Liam wanting to get hard all over again, Zayn all messy and completely wrecked.
His lips are cherry red and bitten, his cheeks have some color, and his eyes glint wildly from the light of the fire and the adrenaline. There are noisy breaths slipping in and out while he catches his breath, but Liam suspects that it’s partly from the situation in his pants, which Liam can see from where he’s sitting.
He whimpers quietly when Zayn’s tongue flickers out to lick Liam off of his lips, feeling his stomach flutter. “God damn, Zayn. You can’t do that.”
“Do what?” Zayn smiles innocently. His voice is rough and scratchy. “Just cleaning myself off. It’s your mess, after all.”
He wipes the rest of Liam off with the back of his hand, and proceeds to wipe it on one of the sheets, shooting Liam a wry smile. Like he’s fucking rubbing it in, so to speak.
Liam hesitates, and scrambles to cover himself, eyes averted downwards. He feels boneless, like he could float, or sleep for a couple days. The tense line to his shoulder that’s normally ever-present is gone, and he feels spent in the best way.
“I don’t know how, or even if-...” Liam pauses, sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth. “Like...if you wanted me to return the favor.”
Zayn smiles from where he’s knelt, hands smoothing up and down Liam’s thighs. He’s still only half undressed, his trousers only undone enough to expose his undergarments, and his upper half completely bare.
“I’d like that. If you’re up to the task, your highness.” He smirks, swooping up to kiss Liam deeply, tongue brushing past Liam’s lips into his mouth, and Liam can taste himself a little, slightly bitter on Zayn’s tongue. “You don’t have to use your mouth. Could just use your hand.”
Liam frowns, “Don’t call me that,” and shakes his head. “But no, I’d, uh...like to try what you just did.” He says, taking a deep breath. “If that’s okay.”
“Fuck. Don’t even have to ask, Liam.” Zayn keens, moving to stand, slotted between Liam’s open thighs.
In this position, Liam was eye-level with Zayn’s crotch, eyeing the firm outline of his cock that tents his breeches.
When he looks up, Zayn is staring right back, eyeing him in a way that one would observe anything else. Face cool and collected, but there’s something hungry pulling at his expression. Like the way the corner of his mouth twitches while he bites at his lower lip.
He swallowed past the lump in his throat, and reached out to unlace Zayn’s pants, pulling them down until they’re pooled at Zayn’s ankles. Zayn does the rest, snaking his hands down to push his underwear down his hips, stepping out of them when they land in a heap on the floor.
And then there’s Zayn’s bare cock, springing free and standing straight out. There’s patches of dark hair around the base, and the foreskin is pulled back over the head, precum glistening on the tip.
He licks his lips, and glances back up to Zayn, taking a shaky breath. “You’re really hard.” He notes, reaching both hands out to secure them around Zayn’s hips, fingers digging in once.
He’s anxious. Kind of anxious that he won’t like it, kind of anxious that Zayn won’t like it. It’s new, and he’s unconfident in himself, but he’s sure he wants this right now. Wants to have Zayn unraveled and messy above him. Wonders what it will be like to see him lose control of himself. Zayn, who’s always in control and always in power.
“You don’t have to, you know. Can get myself off.” Zayn breathes, snaking his fingers through Liam’s curly hair.
Liam tugs Zayn in by his hips until the head of Zayn’s cock is pressed to the seam of his lips, smearing precum in shiny trails across his skin. Just to shut him up and show him that he can do this.
He closes his eyes when he finally opens his mouth, accepting the tip inside. It’s warm, and the taste of precum is slightly bitter on his tongue, but not awful in the slightest. He gives the head little kitten licks, testing the waters, and with the sudden intake of breath he hears from above him, he figures that it’s acceptable.
“God, you look so fucking good, Liam.” Zayn growls, and when Liam’s eyes open up to meet his, Zayn’s eyes are dark and glimmering. “Should’ve gotten on my knees for you years ago.”
Liam disagrees. Something about this moment feels electrically charged. Part of him thinks it’s because there’s the danger of getting caught. Something so taboo that’s transgressing between them.
He moans keenly around the head, licking the precum off the tip until his tongue his slick with it. The more he teases him with his tongue, the more precum drips from the slit.
“Keep going, baby, just like that.” Zayn drawls, accent heavy and sweet in Liam’s ears. “Come on, take a little more of me. Know you can do it.”
Liam does as is requested of him, and sinks down a little lower, feeling a couple more inches of his length slide further into his mouth and brush along the inside of one of his cheeks. His hands have a firm, steady grip on Zayn’s hipbones, and he guides him forward to take even more of him.
It’s then that he feels Zayn’s nails against his scalp, scraping gently when he gives a fistful of Liam’s hair a good tug. His lips are stretched around Zayn’s girth, and soon he’s bobbing his head, trying to mimic Zayn’s process from earlier.
“Yeah, just like that. Take it, babe.” Zayn groans, helping guide Liam’s mouth down onto his dick with every pulse of Zayn’s hips. He can feel Zayn throbbing against his tongue. Knows he’s close, just how Liam gets when he’s about to release.
It’s not even minutes later, of Liam sucking wetly and hollowing his cheeks while his thumb teases the vein on the underside of his shaft, that he feels Zayn’s hips jut sharply against his face. He starts fucking Liam’s mouth, but it’s a little gentler. Not as likely to keep Liam from breathing.
“So close, baby. Take a little more for me.”
Liam does as he told, eyes watering around the corners when he sinks down further, swallowing every inch that he can, while one of his hands wrap around what he can’t reach, giving the base a good squeeze.
He moans around his cock, feeling Zayn jerk suddenly, whole body arching as he gets closer and closer.
It catches Liam by surprise when Zayn lets out a sharp groan, low and growly, and buries his cock down Liam’s throat. It’s almost too much, and Liam feels his lungs protest from the lack of air, but it’s worth it when he feels Zayn shooting down his throat, moans sounding like music in Liam’s ears.
Zayn releases his hold on Liam immediately, and Liam can slide off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he collapses back on the bed. He can still taste Zayn, heavy on his tongue, and he’s very aware of movement around the room.
His eyes are trained on the ceiling though, and he doesn’t quite have the energy to look up.
Zayn appears in his vision a moment later, hovering above him with both arms planted on the bedspread. He smiles wryly, leaning down to mouth along Liam’s lips.
Liam wants to hold him there. Kiss him until his lips physically can’t work anymore. But things aren’t as simplistic as that.
“That was really lovely, Liam.” Zayn purrs, and Liam inwardly groans. Part of him wants to get worked up again, but his cock is still sensitive, hanging out of his trousers.
He can’t think of a reply though, instead choosing to let Zayn do the talking.
“You look prettiest after you orgasm.” Zayn smirks. “All sweaty and lithe.” He sighs, sitting up just a few inches more.
Liam reaches out to drag a hand down Zayn’s forearm, before his fingers circle his wrist, squeezing softly.
Zayn looks down, smiling fondly at the contact. “I’ve got to go, deary, yeah? Can’t tuck you in tonight. But I’ll find you tomorrow. I expect some words out of you by then.” he snorts.
He hesitates, eyes tracing the contour of Liam’s jaw and the brush of his eyelashes, before he leans back in, his kiss chaste against Liam’s lips.
“Goodnight, Liam.”
Liam listens to footsteps leave the room, the door shutting tight behind them.
He knows he looks wrecked. His prick is soft, and hanging out of his trousers. There’s a mark from Zayn’s teeth on his collar bone. His hair is sweaty and all in a disarray.
It’s at least an hour before he can finally find the will to undress fully, and pull himself under the covers, drifting off into a dreamless sleep.