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Damon opened the squeaky fridge door, looking for milk for their tea. He grabbed the bottle, checked the tiny print, and sighed. “Oh, no.”
“What happened, love?” Liam asked from the hallway, his voice muffled as he buttoned up his shirt.
”Expires tomorrow,” Damon raised the bottle, looking at it with a frown before settling it back down on the shelf. “I should probably throw it out. We won't finish the whole pint by tomorrow.”
“Oh, don't worry about it,” Liam called back, stepping into the kitchen as he adjusted his collar. “Noel taught me a trick on how to keep it fresh.”
Damon tilted his head, trying to process that piece of information, but before he could even question Liam's dubious source of domestic wisdom, the phone on the wall rang loudly.
Liam picked up the receiver with a loud, theatrical groan. “Yeah?”
He paused, and immediately a frantic sound of a voice leaked out of the earpiece. Even from a few feet away, Damon could easily recognise Graham’s distinct, stressed-out tone, muffled but sharp.
“...tell that bloody wanker that if his arse isn’t inside this studio in ten minutes, I’m—!”
Liam pulled the phone an inch away from his ear, a smug grin spreading across his face as he turned his head to look at Damon.
“I swear to God, Liam, tell him—!”
“Alright, mate, calm down,” Liam cut him off, clearly delighted by the chaos. He locked eyes with Damon, raising his eyebrows. “Graham says he's gonna kill ya if ya don't get yer arse to the studio right now.”
Liam turned back to the receiver, giving the kitchen counter a lazy tap. “Yeah, mate. He got yer message. No worries. Bye.”
He slammed the receiver down, chuckling. Damon rolled his eyes, rushing to grab his jacket. Before heading out the door, Damon stepped closer to Liam, stealing a soft kiss from his lips.
“Don't forget about the milk, yeah?” Damon murmured against his mouth with a small smile, before breaking away and running out into the London morning. In the rush of leaving for the studio, he completely forgot to ask Liam what exactly Noel's "trick" was.
Hours later, the afternoon in the recording studio bled into a chaotic London night. There was an afterparty at a dimly lit club in Camden, celebrating some indie label's anniversary. The room was a loud, sweaty blur of flashing lights, cigarette smoke, and free-flowing lager. Damon had spent most of the night dodging journalists and pretending to mingle, but his eyes kept drifting across the crowded room, tracking a familiar target.
Liam was there, surrounded by his usual entourage, looking effortlessly cool, a drink glued to his hand.
They didn't speak out loud. They couldn't. Not with half the music press watching their every move, waiting for a fight. Instead, they shared glances across the bar—an unspoken countdown.
By 2:00 AM, the alcohol had completely taken over. Damon slipped out the back door into the cold London rain, and just as they had planned, with a single look, Liam followed him into the shadows of the alleyway a minute later. They practically tore into each other against the brick wall before stumbling into the back of a black cab, hands groping under coats, teeth scraping against lips in the dark.
By the time the cab dropped them off at Liam’s building, they could barely stand straight.
“Shut up,” Liam muttered, though his drawl lacked any real conviction. Damon knew it.
“Thought you liked it when I used my mouth,” Damon countered, his tone dripping with enough confidence to make Liam’s grin widen.
Liam tightened his grip around his waist, pulling him so close there was no space left between them.
They began drifting down the narrow hallway of Liam’s flat. Their movements were clumsy and slowed down by the alcohol. Damon’s back hit the wall with a dull thud, but neither of them cared; they kept stumbling blindly in the direction of the bedroom, Liam’s heavy boots dragging against the floorboards.
Damon laughed when Liam’s stubble rubbed against his chin. “That stings.”
“Ya said ya like it,” Liam mumbled in a thick voice.
“Still...”
There was no light in the hallway, and yet Damon could feel the sheer weight of Liam's gaze on him. In the dimness, those blue eyes always had that something—the tiny crinkles at the corners, the way his lashes fluttered now and then. Damon could read him like an open book.
Liam was completely caught in the moment, and it made Damon's chest tighten with a familiar ache.
“What’s the matter?” Damon asked, tilting his head, his brow furrowing slightly.
Liam just shook his head, letting out a soft sigh as if he couldn't put it into words. Instead, he buried his face in the crook of Damon's shoulder, his fingers digging into the soft wool of Damon’s oversized jumper.
Damon let out a breathy laugh, the sound echoing in the cramped hallway. With a clumsy effort, Damon managed to untangle one of his arms to reach behind him, blindly groping for the bedroom doorknob.
He found it, twisting it with a click that felt incredibly loud in the quiet flat.
They practically tumbled backwards into the bedroom. Damon’s heels caught on a stray pile of clothes on the floor, and they both went down, landing heavily on the unmade bed.
Liam didn't even wince. He just used the momentum to pin Damon down as he settled between his thighs.
Damon looked up at him through Liam's messy fringe of dark hair, watching as that cocky, half-drunken smirk finally returned to his face.
“Y’alright, love?” Liam asked in a whisper.
Damon’s vision was slightly blurry, but his heart roared beneath his ribs. He reached up, his fingers sliding into the stiff collar of Liam’s jacket to pull him closer. “Brilliant,” Damon murmured. “Now shut up and kiss me again.”
Had Liam ever denied Damon anything? …Yeah. A few things over the past year they'd been together, but Damon knew a kiss was something Liam would never be able to deny him. Not in a million years.
“Needy bastard,” Liam breathed, though Damon could hear there was no real bite to it.
Liam's hand slipped right under the hem of Damon’s jumper to press against the bare skin of his waist. Those fingertips dug in, gripping him so tight that Damon felt completely anchored, as if Liam were holding onto him for dear life.
And then, Liam's lips met his almost instantly.
It was a deep, borderline violent kiss. Damon met him halfway, lost in a desperate tangle of tongues, the occasional sharp scrape of teeth, and that slick sound echoing in the dark every time their lips parted for air.
The friction wasn’t just happening between their mouths. Damon gasped into the kiss as Liam’s hips began to press down against his, their bodies grinding together.
Damon reached up, burying his fingers deep into Liam’s hair, tugging at the strands carelessly. He pulled tight enough to drag a low groan from Liam’s lips, a sound that vibrated raw against his own.
As always, Damon grew impatient with the layers of clothing between them. His hands moved blindly, pulling desperately at the stiff fabric of Liam's jacket, needing to feel the actual heat of him.
The urgency in his hands seemed to shatter the last of Liam’s restraint. Liam pulled back just enough to rid himself of his jacket and shirt, letting them drop to the floor with a forgotten thud.
When Liam leaned back down, Damon saw the shift immediately. The cocky smirk was entirely gone, replaced by a heavy intensity that made his breath hitch.
Liam’s hands found the hem of Damon’s oversized jumper again. The urgency in the air was dizzying, yet Liam seemed to want to linger, taking his time to pull the fabric up, looking down at him as if he were looking at something sacred.
Damon shivered as Liam bunched the soft wool upward slowly, his warm palms dragging against Damon’s bare ribs, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The jumper rose inch by inch until it slipped free, falling away into the darkness.
For a moment, there was only a breathless stillness between them. Liam’s skin was burning hot, flushed with alcohol and desire. He buried his face in the hollow of Damon’s throat, his lips pressing a slow path toward his jawline.
"Damon…" Liam breathed against his skin, and to his ears, his own name sounded more like a confession.
He closed his eyes, arching his back slightly into the touch, completely undone. In the dark of the bedroom, with the London rain still blurring the world outside, everything else dissolved. There were just the two of them.
His attention was entirely focused on the sensation of Liam’s hands on him. Those hands Liam always used to gesture wildly when he ranted. But pressed against his waist, they felt incredibly grounded.
A shaky sigh escaped him, bleeding into Liam's mouth as a warm hand slid slowly downward over the soft skin of his flank, a thumb tracing the curve of his hip bone. It was a tender contrast to the desperate kisses they were still sharing.
Shifting closer, he wanted more of that warmth until he felt Liam's fingers reach the waistband of his pants. Liam paused there for a heartbeat, a silent question in the dark. Damon met his gaze, offering his answer in a wordless look of total surrender.
With a quiet kind of reverence, Liam unzipped them.
Even though the room was nearly swallowed by darkness, Damon could feel how intently Liam was looking at him. Under that heavy stare, he felt exposed, utterly breathless and soft beneath him.
Liam's hand slipped lower, his fingers tracing over the fabric right where Damon needed it most. A faint gasp escaped Damon's lips, his eyes closing for a second as the sudden wave of pleasure pulled him under.
He forced his eyes open again, heavy-lidded, locking his gaze back onto Liam with quiet intensity.
“I need you, Liam,” his voice broke slightly, low and unsteady.
Carelessly, Liam slid the boxers down, his right hand finally wrapping around Damon’s cock. His thumb began to circle the tip slowly, a soft, wet friction catching in the absolute stillness of the room.
Damon gasped, his hips jerking upward against his will.
“Fuck, Damon,” Liam growled low in his throat, his breath hitching as his thumb caught a bead of moisture at the tip, smearing it slowly. “Look at ya. All mine.”
Damon choked on a breath, his fingers digging into the mattress. “Liam... don't talk. Just...”
“Just what?” Liam provoked, a dangerous, dark edge returning to his voice. He didn't speed up; instead, his hand moved in an agonisingly slow stroke all the way down to the base, making Damon’s toes curl. “Tell me what ya want.”
“Please,” Damon whispered, his head rolling back, his eyes half-closed as the pleasure began to blur his mind.
Liam leaned down, his lips brushing against Damon’s earlobe, and in his raspy, Mancunian purr, he whispered straight to his core: “Say it. Say 'Please, Liam, make me cum.'”
Damon’s teeth clamped down on his bottom lip. Usually, his pride would never allow it, but right now, with Liam’s heat crushing him into the mattress and that hand driving him mad, he was entirely undone. He unlocked his gaze, looking straight into Liam's burning blue eyes.
“Please, Liam... make me cum,” Damon breathed, his voice breaking on the last word.
Liam let out a shaky, triumphant breath, and the sudden shift in his restraint was dizzying. His hand picked up a sudden, possessive speed, his grip tightening just enough, pumping with a slick, tight friction that destroyed Damon's ability to think.
He lost his footing entirely. He threw his head back, his back arching off the bed as Liam’s thumb kept mercilessly grinding against the tip with every frantic stroke. The wet, rhythmic sound of Liam’s hand against him filled the dark room, mixing with his own ragged, helpless whimpers.
“That’s it... right there for me,” Liam muttered urgently, his own breathing turning chaotic as he watched Damon unravel beneath him.
Every stroke felt like gasoline on a fire, pushing Damon closer and closer to his edge. His hands flew up, blindly grabbing Liam’s bare shoulders, pulling him down because the pleasure was becoming too intense to bear alone. The tension in his core snapped.
Damon choked out Liam’s name. It was more like a breathless cry.
“Not yet,” Liam growled against his skin, his voice thick and commanding.
Before Damon could even process the words, the sudden absence of Liam's hand felt like a physical blow, leaving him stranded on the very brink of release.
A broken whimper left Damon’s lips, his hips jerking upward in an involuntary plea as his eyes snapped open, looking at Liam with absolute desperation.
But Liam didn't pull away. Instead, he shifted his weight, sliding down the mattress until he was kneeling right between Damon’s spread thighs.
Damon’s breath hitched in his throat as he watched Liam through the darkness. There was no hesitation in Liam’s movements. He leaned down, his hands gripping Damon's hips to anchor him, and then, he took him completely into his mouth.
Damon threw his head back, a loud gasp echoing in the quiet room as his eyes rolled shut. The sensation was immediate and overwhelming—the contrast of the cool bedroom air and the intense, sliding wet warmth of Liam’s throat.
Liam was clumsy but incredibly thorough, his tongue swirling around the tip, sucking him in deep until Damon’s fingers flew down to bury themselves in Liam’s dark hair, his knuckles turning white. Damon’s hips moved instinctively, rolling into the heat of Liam's mouth, completely helpless.
“Liam... fuck, Liam,” Damon groaned, his voice cracking, entirely ruined by the sheer worship of Liam's mouth.
Liam didn't slow down. He plunged deeper, his cheeks hollowing out as he sucked him in with a bruising rhythm.
But what completely undid Damon was Liam’s eyes. Even in the shadows of the bedroom, Liam never once stopped looking at him. Those sharp blue eyes were locked onto Damon’s face.
Damon felt Liam’s slick tongue swirl lazily around the rim, flattening against the sensitive skin before he took him deep again. The visual of Liam kneeling there, completely submissive yet entirely in control, combined with the heavy friction in his mouth… He couldn't hold it back anymore.
Without any warning, Damon’s hips bucked forward into Liam's throat as a cry came from his chest. He came hard, spilling into the burning warmth of Liam's mouth.
Liam didn't pull away. He took every drop, his eyes still locked onto Damon’s dazed expression. He lingered there for a heartbeat, his tongue licking him clean with a possessive stroke that made Damon’s spent body shiver.
When Liam finally slid his mouth off him, he didn't waste a single second.
Liam dragged himself back up Damon's body, his chest heaving. He coated his fingers in the thick slick of Damon's cum and his own saliva, and before Damon could even recover his breath, he felt those wet fingers press against his entrance.
Damon gasped, his eyes snapping open as Liam’s thumb rubbed the sensitive stretch, coating it in their combined fluids. The slick heat of the lubrication against his skin made Damon’s thighs tremble. It spread wider, his body instinctively yielding.
“Look at me, Damon,” Liam rasped, his voice rough as his wet fingers slid slowly inside, preparing him. “All yours, yeah? Fuckin’ look at me.”
Damon could barely nod, his mind completely hazy. He watched through heavy eyelids as Liam withdrew his fingers, replacing the warmth with something much larger, thick and unyielding, pressing hard against him. Damon’s fingers instinctively bunched into the bedsheets.
He expected Liam to hesitate, to slide in slowly, but Liam was completely out of patience, driven by a desperate need to be close. With a low growl, Liam drove himself inside in one single, deep thrust.
A shattered cry tore from Damon’s throat as his back arched off the mattress. The sudden fullness caught his breath in his chest, stretching him to his limit. His knees shook against Liam’s flanks.
“Shh, I’ve got ya. Everything’s alright,” Liam whispered urgently, his voice dropping into a soft purr right against Damon's ear. “Relax for me,” Liam said, staying completely still for a heartbeat, crushing Damon into the mattress, letting his tight heat adapt to him. His hands slid under Damon's hips, lifting him slightly. “That’s it.”
And then, Liam began to move.
He didn't hold back. Liam started building a hard rhythm, embedding himself deep with every unrelenting stride. He shifted his angle slightly, his hands anchoring Damon’s hips, and then he hit it—deep and heavy, striking directly against Damon's sweetest spot.
A high gasp broke from Damon’s lips, his back arching violently as his eyes rolled back. His fingers clawed desperately at Liam’s bare shoulders, his whole body trembling under the sudden rush of pure pleasure.
Liam let out a low, breathless growl at the reaction, grinding his hips firmly against Damon's to hold him there. “Yeah? Found it, didn’t I?” Liam rasped, rough and dripping with a dark triumph. “Look at ya... fuckin’ ruined for me, Damon. Right there.”
To prove his point, Liam hit the same spot again, sharper this time, a perfect angle that made the bed groan beneath them.
Damon completely surrendered to the sensation. New, breathless whimpers spilt from his lips with every deep movement. He was entirely consumed by Liam, undone by the friction, the raw power, and the bruising depth of how completely Liam was claiming him.
Needing an anchor, needing to hold onto the man behind the pleasure before it consumed him entirely, Damon reached up. His trembling hands found Liam’s jaw, pulling him down, desperately seeking his mouth.
Liam met him halfway, crashing their lips together in a messy kiss.
Damon gasped into the kiss, swallowing Liam’s groans as they blurred together. As their tongues tangled, Damon tasted it—the unmistakable tang of his own cum, still lingering on Liam’s lips. It was intoxicating, a dirty reminder of how completely they belonged to each other.
The pace became frantic, a breathless race. Liam’s breathing turned into ragged gasps against Damon’s mouth, his movements losing all restraint as he buried himself inside Damon over and over, faster and harder, as if trying to get beneath his very skin.
“Fuck, Damon... I’m gonna—,” Liam choked out, his fingers gripping Damon’s hips tightly to anchor them both as his entire body went rigid.
“Liam... please, now,” Damon pleaded, his voice a breathless sob against Liam's mouth, anchoring his legs around Liam's waist.
With a low, unravelled shout that vibrated deep inside Damon's chest, Liam came, his cock pulsing hard as he flooded Damon with a burning warmth.
“Ah, god, Damon...” Liam groaned, burying his face in the crook of Damon’s neck, holding him as if he were the only solid thing left in the world.
The sheer friction of Liam’s final, desperate thrusts and the overwhelming heat filling him were too much for Damon's overstimulated body to bear. Without Liam even touching his cock, Damon's hips twitched involuntarily, a soft gasp tearing from his throat as a small, helpless spurt of cum leaked from him, spilling warmly over the tight space between their bellies.
Damon let out one last, broken whine, his eyes rolling shut as his muscles clamped tightly around Liam’s fading release.
For a long time, there was only the quiet afterglow, their heartbeats settling into a slow, shared rhythm. Liam shifted slowly, collapsing onto his side, completely spent, but his arm remained heavily draped over Damon's waist, pulling him flush against his bare, sweaty chest.
“Y’alright, love?” Liam muttered into the dark. His voice was incredibly raspy, thick with sleep and the residual smoke from the pub.
Damon let out an exhausted chuckle, the sound vibrating against the hollow of Liam's neck where his face was still buried. He pulled back just an inch, his heavy eyelids fluttering open to seek Liam’s face in the shadows.
“Yeah,” Damon murmured against his jaw.
Liam didn't answer with words. Instead, he tilted his chin just enough to catch Damon’s mouth in a slow kiss. There was no urgency left, no friction or teeth. Just the warm pressure of their lips sliding together.
Damon let out a faint sigh into Liam’s mouth, his hands resting weakly on Liam's chest. Neither of them had the energy to break it away. The kiss slowed down until it stopped moving altogether, turning into a lingering touch of skin against skin.
With their lips still softly pressed together, breathing each other’s air, the exhaustion finally pulled them both under.
For a peaceful stretch, the only sound in the flat was the rhythmic pattern of their breathing and the distant splash of traffic on wet tarmac outside.
The transition from the dark, quiet haze of the night to the bright light of the next morning was brutally sudden.
For a brief, blissful second, everything felt perfectly suspended in time.
Until the quiet of the flat was brutally shattered.
The front door flew open, banging loudly against the hallway wall.
“Liam! Where the fuck is he? I know he's in here!”
Noel’s loud, irritated Mancunian voice echoed down the corridor, followed by heavy, hurried footsteps.
To Damon’s surprise, the shouting actually woke Liam first. His eyes snapped open, panicking instantly as he looked at Damon. “Hide,” Liam hissed, grabbing Damon’s arm. “Damon, please, just hide!”
On any other day, Damon would have stayed right there in bed, completely naked, just for the sheer pleasure of smugly ruining Noel’s morning and starting a massive row. But today, looking at the genuine terror in Liam’s face, Damon chose survival.
He scrambled out of the sheets, dashed across the room, and threw himself into the wardrobe, pulling the slatted door shut just as the bedroom door burst open.
Damon pressed himself into the dark corner of the wardrobe. The wooden hangers poked uncomfortably against his bare ribs, and the smell of Liam’s leather jackets and stale cigarettes surrounded him. Through the narrow crack of the half-open door, he had a perfect view of the room.
Liam was sitting up in bed, pretending to rub the sleep from his eyes, though his chest was heaving. “What the bloody hell is yer problem? What are ya screaming for? ”
Noel marched into the room, looking like a thundercloud. "Don't play daft with me, Liam. I know the bastard is somewhere in this flat!" Noel snapped, jabbing a finger at the clothes scattered across the floor.
Liam didn't even flinch, pulling the duvet higher up his chest. “Yeah, well, he left early, didn't he? Went back to his own posh side of London.” He paused, his expression turning sharp and defensive. “Anyway, what do ya want with Damon? Why are ya lookin’ for him?”
Noel threw his hands up in the air, pacing the room. “Because the twat just moved the release date of his single! They're releasing it the same bloody day as ours!”
Through the gap in the wardrobe door, Damon could see Liam’s face perfectly. Liam just stared back at his brother, blinking blankly.
“... So?” Liam muttered, genuinely not giving a toss about the charts while his boyfriend was currently shivering naked behind his trousers.
“What do ya mean 'so'?!” Noel snapped (again). “It’s war, Liam! He’s doing it to humiliate us! It's a bloody carnage, and yer here sleeping in!”
“Look, it wasn’t his choice,” Liam muttered, faking indifference, but his tone completely gave him away.
“What do ya mean ‘it wasn’t his cho—” Noel’s expression changed in a fraction of a second. “Ya, bastard. Ya knew it!”
Liam just groaned, running a hand over his face, completely unbothered by his brother's rant.
Completely exasperated by his brother’s useless attitude, Noel let out a loud sigh. “Right. I’m getting a proper drink before I fuckin’ kill ya,” he muttered, turning on his heel and marching out of the bedroom toward the kitchen.
As soon as Noel’s footsteps moved away, Liam shot up in bed, frantically waving his hands to signal Damon. Get out. Now.
Damon carefully pushed the wardrobe door open, stepping out from between the clothes. His ribs still smarted from the hangers, but he didn't waste a second. Moving as quietly as a cat, he scrambled around the floor, grabbing his scattered clothes and pulling them on in a frantic, silent rush while listening to the distant noise in the flat.
From the kitchen, Noel was already shouting complaints. “Ya have absolutely nothin’ in here, Liam! It's a bloody wasteland!”
Then came the unmistakable, heavy screech of Liam’s old fridge door being yanked open.
Damon quietly zipped his pants and slipped into the hallway, pressing his back against the wall. He tiptoed down the narrow corridor, stopping just at the corner where the hallway met the kitchen. From there, well-hidden by the shadows, he could see them perfectly without being seen.
Noel’s complaining had stopped entirely. He was staring into the open fridge, his brow heavily furrowed. He reached inside, violently grabbing something.
“What the hell is this, Liam?” Noel asked, holding the object up with pure bewilderment.
Liam, who had followed his brother into the kitchen and was now leaning against the counter in his boxers, blinked. “What thing?”
Damon squinted from the hallway, and then he saw it. Noel was holding the pint of milk. And sticking straight out of the open top of the carton was a metal dinner fork.
“It’s a pint of milk, innit?” Liam replied defensively.
“I know it's a bloody pint of milk, ya knobhead!” Noel snapped, shaking the bottle violently. “Why is there a fork in it?!”
“To keep it fresh,” Liam answered calmly, crossing his arms as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Noel froze, looking at his brother with a face that held far more questions than answers. It was a mix of pure incredulity, deep concern for Liam's mental health, and a violent urge to slap him across the face.
Liam, feeling the weight of the stare, scoffed. “What? Ya told me yerself! Ya said, a fork keeps the drinks fresh!”
For a second, the kitchen was dead silent. Noel stared at Liam, his eye twitching. And then, the severe expression completely cracked. Noel threw his head back and burst into a booming roar of laughter. He laughed so hard he had to lean against the kitchen counter, holding his stomach.
“Ya absolute genius!” Noel gasped for air, tears literally forming in his eyes. “It keeps champagne fresh, Liam! It keeps the bloody champagne bubbling! Not a pint of milk, ya thick bastard!”
The morning rush, Liam’s smug confidence, the mysterious "domestic wisdom"—it all unravelled in a single, devastating second. That was the absolute limit for Damon.
Behind the wall, Damon’s composure shattered. He clapped both hands over his mouth, but a loud, breathless wheeze escaped him anyway. He began laughing so hard his shoulders shook, hot tears pricking his eyes as he pictured Liam carefully balancing a dinner fork inside the bottle.
In the kitchen, Liam’s face flushed bright red. “Well, how the fuck was I supposed to know it only works with champagne? It’s a liquid, innit? Liquid is liquid!”
Noel couldn't even stand up straight anymore, his laughter echoing loudly through the flat. He shook his head, wiping a tear from his eye, and began walking toward the front door. As he passed the hallway corner, Noel didn't even look over, but it was clear as day that he had known Damon was hiding there the entire time.
Noel stopped at the front door, turning back to point a finger at his brother before aiming it at the dark corner where Damon was hiding.
"Ya two," Noel choked out, still laughing, shaking his head in utter amusement. "Yer a pair of perfect idiots for each other."
The front door clicked shut behind him, his laughter echoing down the hallway.
Damon slowly stepped out of the shadows, his hands finally dropping from his face, though his chest still ached from laughing so hard. He walked into the kitchen to find Liam still standing by the counter, red-faced and scowling in nothing but his boxers, which somehow only made his furious expression more silly.
Damon leaned his back against the fridge, a helpless smile tugging at his lips. “A fork, Liam? Seriously?” Damon couldn't hold it in anymore and burst out laughing right in front of him.
“Ya can catch Noel down the hall if ya want to have a good laugh together, then,” Liam muttered, turning on his heel. He picked up the pint of milk and began dumping the definitely-not-fresh liquid down the sink with an annoyed splash.
Seeing Liam’s ears turn pink with genuine embarrassment struck a tiny chord of guilt in Damon’s chest. He hadn't meant to make him feel like that. But as he watched Liam stubbornly take his frustration out on the sink, looking so defensive and small in his boxers, Damon found it physically impossible to wipe the lingering smile off his own face.
Biting his lip to suppress another laugh, he pulled himself together and walked over to the counter. He slid his arms around Liam's bare waist from behind, pressing his chest right against Liam’s rigid back to melt the distance.
“I’m sorry, love,” Damon murmured, his voice still thick with affection as he nuzzled the warm skin of Liam's neck, right before pressing a soft kiss there to make up for it.
Liam rolled his eyes, though Damon could feel the rigid tension already draining from his body, replaced by that quiet vulnerability Liam only ever showed when they were completely alone. “Shut up.”
“Was that a Gallagher blessing?” Damon asked, a note of mischief in his voice. He rested his chin on Liam's shoulder, looking at their reflection in the window. “'Yer a pair of perfect idiots for each other,'” he quoted, putting on his best, most dramatic Mancunian impression.
Liam let out a soft snort, shaking his head as he rinsed the sink. “Yer a miserable git, Damon.”
“But I’m your git,” Damon countered softly, tightening his grip around Liam's waist.
Liam finally turned around in his arms, a genuine smile breaking through his grumpy facade. He looked down at Damon, his blue eyes warm and soft. “Go sit down in the lounge. I’ll make ya some breakfast before I have to go deal with Noel.”
Damon smiled down at him, stealing one last sweet kiss from his lips. “Brilliant. Just... whatever you make, as long as it doesn't involve a fork in the milk, it’s perfect for me.”
Liam swatted his hip playfully, a soft playful smack that made Damon laugh out loud as he finally stepped back.
He began walking backwards out of the kitchen, his eyes lingering on Liam, who was already leaning against the counter with a sleepy smile. Damon caught the edge of the doorframe, offering one last exaggerated, ridiculous salute before turning on his heel.
As he settled onto the worn sofa in the lounge, the distant, steady patter of London rain continued against the windowpanes. He found himself thinking about how incredibly innocent Liam could be beneath all that heavy, protective bravado. He was utterly, painfully adorable.
It made Damon’s chest ache with a familiar warmth.
The flat around him was still a chaotic blur of scattered clothes and a ruined kitchen—but in the quiet warmth of the morning, with the smell of breakfast drifting down the hall and the steady rain outside, the world felt softly, unmistakably right.