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Liam hadn’t been expecting to see Noel.
Honest to God. As much as he ever didn’t expect to see Noel, which didn’t mean a whole lot because Liam was nothing if not hopeful to a fault. But he hadn’t.
Not because he didn’t know where Noel was. On the contrary – he made it his business to know where his brother was at any time, if he could, just ‘cos. Just in case. It wasn’t even something he was embarrassed by – he’d have Noel chipped like one of them tiny dogs if he could get away with it; one of those dumb mangy things birds kept in their handbags and put little outfits on, like they were people.
And so, no, he hadn’t expected to see Noel here, because Liam knew he should be at that awards do he’d gone to earlier. Liam hadn’t been invited, of course, now that Oasis was dead and buried and rotting with a bullet through the back of its’ head, and his brother didn’t want nowt to do with him anymore. Which was fine. Dandy. He’d had better things to do today than watch Noel rub shoulders with a bunch of posh has-beens when he hadn’t even fucking won anything. Let him have it. Liam could entertain himself.
He'd been sitting at the hotel bar for a while now, getting drunker and feeling like pure shit about himself and that. Maybe sulking a little, if he was honest, but no more than was his right, everything considered. He’d been having a great time earlier at his local, doing said self-entertainment and not thinking about much at all, until some ponce had brought up Noel’s new little group, and Liam had decided he’d had enough of the fucking place. Hadn’t even felt like kicking off, that’s how out of it he’d been, just got up and left after some choice words to the ponce, and drifted along until he’d stranded here. Like a dead whale or summat, Liam thought wistfully, and had another sip of his Stella.
He'd been wearing a hat at the beginning of the night, which he’d managed to keep with him. He’d also been with Nicole, who he hadn’t managed to keep with him. She’d gone home hours ago, probably while they were still at their local, sad and angry and dejected in a way that made Liam feel completely powerless.
The bar was quiet and dim, and the hotel sufficiently posh to not make a big deal out of a famous face blatantly hiding behind some tinted glasses and a parka. It was the kind of place that was normally more Noel’s scene than his. Just not right now, when Noel ought to be at an afterparty, sipping champagne with, fucking, Simon Cowell or someone, the kind of wank Noel loved. Seeing and being seen. So Liam couldn’t, to the best of his current, limited abilities, explain why Noel was pushing through the revolving doors into a Mayfair hotel lobby.
Or why Paul Weller was walking with him.
Though Liam had a sinking feeling that the pieces were falling into place in front of him, and he just hadn’t worked out what they spelled yet…
It had been a while since he’d seen Noel now, in the flesh and that, and Liam thought he’d had time to get used to it by now. The whole ‘not having Noel around anymore’. The anger wasn’t as red hot as it’d been – instead, it mostly buzzed in the background of his consciousness like static, like when he’d sneak down to the kitchen as a kid and his Da had passed out with the telly still on, but no channel running. Sometimes, the static would buzz louder and louder, flicking back to the channel again on its own, and he’d have to get it out of him some way or other, or it’d fill him up until there wasn’t room for anything else.
‘Course, the anger was just one part of it. Grief was the other. Two halves of a whole – Cain and Abel. Buzzing in the background like the anger did, it felt less like he was missing a vital part of him these days, and more like a dead leg he had to drag along with him. Then the knob would turn, the TV would flicker onto a new channel, and it would be just as bad as the anger was, filling him to the brim.
He'd expected one or the other to turn on when he saw Noel – for the grief or the anger or both to make him slide right off the bar stool and run over to them so he could rip Weller’s arm off Noel’s shoulders and cause a proper scene – but instead the sight only generated a dull kind of hurt. He was too tired and drunk and confused to do much of anything, besides freeze and hope they couldn’t see him.
He slouched down in his seat, pulling the collar of his parka further up.
The entrance was pretty far away from the bar. Far enough that it really could be any two geezers in expensive jackets, if Liam hadn’t spent a lifetime staring at his brother. He could spot Noel from a mile away just by the way he walked or the tilt of his head. And he could tell Noel had had a few drinks – not enough to be properly pissed, but enough to make him loose and happy. A friendly drunk, his big brother way, except for when he wasn’t. Liam took another sip of his pint and watched them from behind his shades. Weller… well, there was only one cunt with that haircut. No real mystery there.
Noel was leaning into Weller a little as they walked, cheeks flushed with drink and the cold outside, both of them touchy in a way that wouldn’t draw any attention unless you knew what to look for.
Liam knew what to look for. And he’d had his eyes on Weller for a long time. Didn’t like the way the older man looked at Noel – or how Noel looked at him, neither on stage or off. It felt too familiar.
The pair stopped in the middle of the lobby for a spell. Noel was grabbing at Weller’s sleeve while saying something, and Liam felt a delayed surge of panic that they might be heading to the bar for a nightcap. He was almost sure they couldn’t spot him from where they were standing, with the lights low, but he slumped down a bit further into his parka, just in case. Inconspicuous and all that. Moments ticked by – Weller was saying something back to Noel, who still had his hands on the man’s sleeve – then they were walking away from the bar, towards the lifts. Liam breathed a hot sigh of relief, and then immediately felt the panic surge back.
Shit.
Liam was on his feet before his brain had fully caught up, and had to take a breather, hand clutching the bar, to make sure his balance was fully functional before he moved. How long had he been here? A while, going by how wobbly the room felt. Not that it mattered. He’d made half a career out of walking funny. If he could do full gigs off his tits, he could manage whatever it was he was about to do without falling over.
“Thanks, mate”, Liam said in the general direction of the bartender. He gave a longing look to his half-finished pint, pulled on his hat and strode towards the lobby with purpose, aware through the fog of Stella that he was about to make a terrible decision.
-
Thing is, Liam was good at making terrible decisions.
And for all the knew that this would only hurt him, he needed to know. To really know.
‘Cos Liam knew better than most that there were only a couple of legitimate reasons to head into a hotel in a city you lived in. Had it been somewhere else, he could’ve written it off as two mates staying at the same place after a gig, but Noel could have gone home. Weren’t far from his house, really. Weller too.
Which left the age-old question: why, then, does a man go to a hotel room with his childhood hero, instead of getting pissed at the free bar at an awards afterparty?
Liam gave it a bit of the old swagger as he strutted past the reception. The staff had clearly been trained not to react to anything out of the ordinary, but there was always less chance of anyone bothering you if you looked like you knew where you were going. Just beyond the counters was a recess for the lifts, next to the stairs and out of sight, providing a pocket of privacy as you waited.
Liam approached the area carefully and, he hoped, casually and at a safe distance from the two men he was now trailing.
In the relative seclusion by the lifts, Weller’s arm had migrated from Noel’s shoulder to his waist. His grip was firm and easy, fingers digging into Noel’s coat just above his hip. Worse than that, though – Noel was doing that…thing. The one he’d do with men he admired. Lean in on himself a bit. Tilt his body towards them, so he had to peer up to meet their eyes. Make himself smaller.
Coy, Liam thought with a sneer. Fuckin’ cute.
Noel had always been cute. Not like a bird, ‘course, no one in their right mind would accuse Noel Gallagher of looking like a bird - not with those eyebrows or the wiry hair covering his knuckles and poking through the open collar of his shirts. But there was something cute, almost bird-like, about him. Liam had got knocked about more than a few times for saying so, when it was just the truth. Noel had something – Liam didn’t know the right word for it, something special. Appealing? Alluring? About him. And Noel was aware of it too. The way he looked – his little body and bright, blue eyes and soft, pouty mouth – and the effect he had on certain men. Older men, in particular. When they were younger, Noel had fought tooth and nail to be seen as a hard man, but as he got older, he’d kind of relaxed into it. Or maybe what had happened was that he’d realised he could use it, his whatever it was, to his advantage.
There had been plenty of men in the early days of the band who’d felt the effect of Noel’s whatever-ness aimed at them. Usually agents and bookers and the like. People thought Liam was silly, but he could spot them straight away, the look in their eyes – geezers who wanted to get their hands on the laddish lost boy with the massive chip on his shoulder. Pretty little Noely with his sharp tongue and angry eyebrows and the big clothes he wore to hide his scrawny body, like he didn’t want anyone to see, but maybe he was just waiting for someone to discover it. That look in his eyes when he wasn’t thinking about it, the one that hinted at something horribly tender beneath the carefully brash outside.
And the geezers were willing to do what Noel wanted to have him – not to have him, Christ, Liam never let himself think that thought for too long, he felt ill at just the possibility that Noel actually had let them take- - but to have him, like, give them his attention. Make him smile and that. Noel made them feel like they’d found something no one else had found.
Liam had just about tolerated it, ‘cos there wasn’t really an alternative. Noel did what Noel did, whatever the reason. Means to an end.
It was just so much worse when it was aimed at men Noel wanted.
Men like Weller.
Liam had often thought that if Noel had been a bird – present Liam nearly tripped over his own feet as his mind swam with the possibilities– he’d be the kind that would sit on your lap at parties even if there was space next to you and giggle when you put your hand up her skirt. A slag, but one that pretended she wasn’t. Instead, Noel played the wee everyman rockstar to perfection. Getting a little too drunk and laughing too loudly at all their jokes, hanging off geezer’s arms, letting himself be touched like it was nothing. Letting them put their arms around him, make him look small, like he was letting Weller do right now. And Noel would be pleased as punch, lapping up the attention.
Weller was saying something Liam was being too inconspicuous to hear, but it had clearly been meant as a joke by the way Noel reacted. Liam clenched his jaw as he watched his brother grin up at the older man. It was a proper, full-on Noely G smile – the one where he’d cock his head to the side and his eyes went all squinty. Liam had seen far too few of them in the past years, but they seemed to be ready at the drop of a hat for Mr. Weller, apparently.
Cunt probably hadn’t even said anything funny. Noel was just being a tart for him.
Liam didn’t have to see Weller’s face to know exactly how he looked at Noel. He knew because it was the same way he looked at Noel when Noel used to laugh at his jokes.
Smug as fuck, and more than a little bit in love.
-
There was a ding from the lifts, and Liam realised belatedly that he had no idea of knowing where Noel and Weller were going. It wasn’t like he could get in the lift with them, now could he - hullo Noel, fancy seeing you here, you don’t mind if I tag along on your affair, d’you? So he waited until the doors were sliding closed behind them and once he thought it was safe, ran off, taking the stairs two at a time until he could hear familiar voices down a hallway.
He followed the sound, almost drowned out by his own heart thundering in his ears, stalking down the corridor like a fucking spy. There weren’t anyone else around, thank fuck – even drunk, Liam had the presence of mind to be careful, or at least faintly aware of the feast the tabloids would make out of any of this, if they were seen. You never knew, some cunt from the Sun might be camped out behind a potted fern, telelense ready to catch him making a tit of himself in glorious detail. He could see the headlines. Washed-up ex-rockstar Liam Gallagher spotted stalking brother in Mayfair hotel. Full scoop inside on Noel Gallagher and Paul Weller’s illicit gay romance. Glossy colour photos of him hovering behind them with his sunglasses and hat on inside like the world’s shittest spy. They’d all be done for.
Liam kept after the voices like a bloodhound, peering around a corner to see them walking together. The two hadn’t spotted him yet, too caught up in their own little world to notice, heads bent gently towards each other now that they were away from prying eyes. Weller hadn’t let go of Noel’s waist since before the lift.
Liam breathed hard through his nose, in and out, winded from the stairs and the drink and the buzzing anger that was threatening to build as he glared at Weller’s arm.
And somehow, Liam was most upset about Noel’s hair.
See, Liam had always been a bit obsessed with Noel’s hair, if he was honest. And he was trying to be, now. Not to the degree he preened over his own hair, that was a different matter – that was between him and his hairdresser and the big man upstairs. But Noel was as vain a bastard as him, and Liam had a mental catalogue of every single haircut his brother had had, because he never, ever stopped watching Noel. Everything from the buzzcut to the minging pageboy Noel had come home with when he began roadie-ing, to look more like that gangly twat who was on Liam’s shit list for the same reasons Weller was on it. Liam remembered how they’d all felt under his fingers, always with the safe, familiar smell and feel of his big brother’s thick, dark hair.
When he was a babe, he’d pull at it all the time. His mam had told him how he’d never sleep as deeply as he did curled up with Noel, tufts of his brother’s then-honey hair clenched in his little fists. He hadn’t really stopped pulling it as they got older, when they were scrapping or later on when… well, that was different. And Noel had put up with it, even though he’d been a fussy child who didn’t like anyone touching his hair – until Liam came along and wore him down. Then he’d grown to love it, even though he’d pretend that he was just going along with Liam’s fixation. He’d tease Liam, and Liam would argue back, embarrassed, and they’d fight like they’d fight about anything else, but he couldn’t really blame his brother. How could he understand what it felt like to bury his nose in the back of Noel’s head while he was rubbing up against him on stage, Liam’s hands on his skinny hips, the heat of the lights around them and the heat of his little big brother radiating through the baggy layers he had on. That was home, that was.
This cut was new. Which meant that it was a cut that Liam hadn’t been allowed to touch. And in a way, that stung more than Weller’s hand around his brother’s waist did. Liam glared angrily at the back of Noel’s head as he watched them turn another corner, shuffling after as quietly as he could, knees bent like he was on a boat. It could hardly count as a haircut if it hadn’t had Liam’s hands in it to christen it, could it? There was a streak of grey in his fringe that Liam wanted to wind around his fingers and yank on.
The two finally stopped outside a room. Liam hovered nearby, partially hidden by a housekeeping trolley. Weller let the arm that had been around Noel’s waist drop, brushing over his arse casual as anything. Not like he was touching him up, but suggestive, like he might as well be.
The older man had a quick look around, before leaning down to give Noel a peck on the lips.
It was nothing major. Just a soft press of mouth against mouth, neither short nor long, and Liam was horrified at how normal it looked. Noel had tilted his head that little bit to meet Weller, ready for the older man before he reached him. It looked like they’d done it a hundred times before.
And like he hadn’t just upturned Liam’s entire world, his brother took a step aside to lean on the wall, loose and relaxed while Weller rummaged for the keys. They were talking again, too softly for Liam to hear anything, only that it sounded intimate. It was the tone of lovers.
Noel said something, voice going up at the end like it was a question.
Weller looked at Liam’s brother fondly, left the keys in the now open door to come closer and put a hand on Noel’s cheek, all soft like. Easy, Liam’s brain supplied. Weller made it look easy, because it probably was. Because Noel probably allowed the man to touch him all the time. And Noel looked back at the older man with the same fondness, arms folded across his chest while he let Weller touch him. Easy, easy, easy – like nothing had been for Liam for ages. Especially not for Liam & Noel. Noel, who’d been such hard work in the last years, always needing to be plied and sweet-talked and worked over before he gave in, always boo-hooing about oh we can’t, Liam, who would do this with their brother, I’ve ruined you, oh god what if mam finds out, Liam we’re married, we can’t do this. All that bollocks which didn’t matter, not as long as Liam had Noel, and Noel had Liam. And one day Liam’s love fell on deaf ears, and Noel was gone. Cut off his own tail to save himself.
And here he was, Liam’s beautiful big brother, giving it away so easily to someone else.
Weller was rubbing his thumb against Noel’s cheek, looking really fucking pleased with himself, before sliding his big palm to the back of Noel’s neck. He dug his fingers into the long-ish strands at the nape of Noel’s new, un-christened haircut and pulled, in that way Liam knew made Noel’s knees go weak.
Except, when Liam used to do it, there was a coin-flip chance that Noel would blush angrily and slap Liam’s hand away, like he was angry with them both somehow. The Noel standing metres away just let his mouth fall open and braced himself against the wall.
“Depends,” Paul murmured, just loud enough for Liam’s ears to perk up. “You gonna be a good lad or not?”
Weller tugged again, a little harder, so Noel’s head was pulled back, the sharp jut of his adam’s apple on display. Noel gasped, nodded as much as the hand in his hair allowed.
“Please.”
Liam’s stomach turned and his mouth watered in such perfect sync he thought he was about to throw up.
Please.
Please.
Liam could feel the static buzzing, the channel flickering on. Something like jealousy crackled in his belly, so hot it felt like he was actually on fire.
“Please”. Like, Liam wasn’t a fairy, right? He didn’t need Noel to be soft for him all the time, like a bird. More the opposite. He used to love it when they’d fight before, when he got the double feature of a scrap and a shag, the thrill of bending Noel over while he was still angry, but in a way that was bleeding over into being horny as well.
And there had been lots of times where Noel had been kind and warm and good to him, even if there’d been fewer in recent years, before Oasis died and he’d buggered off forever.
But he was pretty sure he could count on two hands how many times Noel had pleaded, all sweet like he was being now. Sometimes, Liam had had to fuck the fight out of him first, so he simply didn’t have the energy to be a cunt or put up his defences again, but that only lasted as long as it took for Noel to unscramble his brains. There didn’t seem to be any limit to how sweet he could be to Paul fucking Weller.
Fucking Weller, Liam thought sourly. With his smug weasely face and all the dumb haircuts that Liam had tried to copy. Paul Weller, the Modfather, Noel’s childhood hero.
Liam could remember standing in HMV with Noel, some unspecified time when his brother had been told by their mam in no uncertain terms that he was only allowed to go out if he took Liam with him as well. There had been a row of TVs near the tills with Top of the Pops running in endless loops, and Noel’s eyes had been fixed on them, his little brother long forgotten as he watched the young, skinny figure of Paul Weller singing, until Liam had kicked him in the shin. He could recall clear as day how it had made him feel, even that young – how old could Noel have been, 15? 16? – looking at Noel looking at Weller, and the way it sat awkwardly in his gut even after they’d left the shop; the shapeless anger he’d felt towards Weller without understanding why. Noel had put up a poster of the Jam on their bedroom wall the next week, and Liam had given him shit for it until he didn’t even know what they were fighting about anymore.
He thought about the face on the poster, and watched the same man kiss his big brother, properly this time, deep. Watched him smile down at Noely and disappear into the room with him.
There was no question of what Liam would do next. He’d never been one for self-preservation anyway.
-
Providence had left the room next to theirs open – or perhaps it was divine punishment. Either way, Liam didn’t hesitate to slip inside. He’d take what he was given. Once he’d closed the door behind him as softly as he could, he dashed straight to the bathroom, pulled off his hat and pressed his ear to the wall separating his room and Noel and Weller’s room. He could hear too much and not enough all at once, even with his whole face smushed against the cool tile – faint, muffled sounds and something that might be steps and his own heavy breathing.
There were glasses next to the sink – real ones, not plastic, ‘cos it was a proper posh hotel – and Liam grabbed one, holding it between his ear and the wall like he remembered seeing spies doing in old films. Either it wasn’t a real thing or the spies in the films were as shit as Liam was – it just made everything sound windy and far away, and his arm was already tired from holding the glass up – but somewhere beyond that he could hear feet shuffling, low voices and the odd word and -
Noel’s laughter.
Tinkling through the tiles and into the glass. Liam’s heart lurched at the utterly familiar sound, then lurched again at how long it had been since he’d heard it. It filed into his brain so readily, like he was restocking shelves or summat. Liam wanted to cry. He clenched his jaw until he was sure he wouldn’t.
On the other side, the sounds were moving on into the next room, and Liam followed, pawing his way along the wall like a fucking cockroach. The rest of the room was a bog-standard hotel room in a nice to very nice hotel, just the single space with a double bed and not much else going on, clean and bland. Liam felt both at home and like a stranger. There was a clatter, like something falling over, two sets of light giggles. Liam pressed harder against the glass. The giggles bloomed, giving way to low, pleased sounds – were they kissing again? Fumbling their way from the door to the bed without pulling apart? Was Weller running his hands over Noel, groping his arse, his thighs?
Reaching down absentmindedly, Liam gave himself a squeeze. He’d been half chubbed up ever since he’d heard Noel say that cursed word – really, ever since he’d seen Noel in the flesh, like one of them dogs with the fucking bell, salivating and ready to go. The fear and anticipation had only egged him on. He felt a strange sense of doom as he trailed the sounds towards the bed, mirror image of the one in his room, before they stopped.
Liam swallowed, hearing only the blood in his ears and the strange whooshing of the glass.
Thump.
There was a thud against the wall by the nightstand, and Liam honed in on it like a heat-seeking missile. The glass slid smoothly around – they were speaking, voices close, about head height - and there.
Liam couldn’t make out the words, but he recognised the pitch of Noel’s voice, Weller’s soothing rasp beneath it. His brain tried to fill in the blanks as he listened, unhelpfully, joining the sounds into words that may or may not have been real.
Lovely lad. Special. Good. Been waiting. Thinking about. Me. For you. Always. Love.
Noel’s voice was breaking up into little stuttering noises, with Weller’s pleased murmurings continuing. There was another thump, softer this time, then a slowly building, tell-tale rhythm.
Liam was close to drooling, hand already cupping himself.
Weller had his brother up against the wall, just on the other side from Liam. Might even have Noel’s skinny thighs wrapped around his waist. Liam knew, with some bitterness, that Weller could do it. He might be old (and washed up, and shrivelled, and ancient), but Liam had seen his arms, the muscles straining the sleeves of his tight t-shirts. And he’d seen Noel staring at them. Weller could lift Noel, no problem – had in the past, got his brother off the ground with a single arm around his slim waist.
Not that there was much to Noel to begin with, mind. Liam knew the slight weight of him by heart, and he looked even smaller now that he’d started wearing clothes that actually fit him. Like a wet cat, or summat. Liam could remember days when he seemed like the only man who was allowed to peek at Noel beneath the oversized sports branded armour – crawling on top of Noel in their old room at their mam’s, back when Noel had found it easier to love his little brother like Liam loved him. Noel warm and high and giddy, laid on his single bed, records playing while Liam rooted up under his jumper like a dog, making Noel laugh, nosing at his ribs, licking at his skinny chest, his nipples, until it felt like they’d both boil over.
The rhythm was picking up. Fuck, he needed… Liam abandoned the glass on the bedside table, sent his glasses clattering to the floor and pressed his bare ear, his whole body, to the wall, starving for it. He needed to get as close as he could, hear everything without the distance of the glass.
He could hear Noel moaning more clearly now. His face had to be close to the wall to be this loud, throaty uh-uh-uhs that went straight to Liam’s cock. Slags, the both of them, Liam thought to himself, grinding the heel of his hand into his erection, breath shuddering against the wallpaper. He felt electric with it, and squeezed his eyes shut so he could focus on listening and feeling. What if someone else had been in the room, eh? There was no doubting what Noel and Weller were up to – they were fucking lucky it was Liam on the other side, with walls as thin as these.
His hips bucked into his palm as Noel keened, pressing his hand into the wall – and maybe it was just Liam’s horny imagination, but he thought he could feel the thrusts rippling through the wall from the other side. He humped his palm like an unfixed dog, knowing Noel was braced against the same surface as him, just the plaster and wood between them.
Suddenly, the rhythm went quiet. Liam held his breath, waiting and listening, hand still between his cock and the wall. The unnerving stillness stretched on – then the sound of springs creaking.
Liam shuffled over onto the bed as smoothly as a man could while drunk and painfully erect, and pressed his ear to the wall again. The solid thud of bodies was gone, but he could hear a mattress creak, the headboard occasionally smacking against the wall.
He turned his head, brushing his lips against the wallpaper for a second, stupid with it. He kept his head there, a mock kiss, fumbling blindly for his fly until he managed to free his erection, hands almost trembling with need. He couldn’t see them, but it was fine. It was fine. Liam didn’t need to see, he could imagine in technicolour detail what his brother looked like. His memory bank was filled to the brim with images of Noel in every conceivable position. Like now, he thought, listening to Noel whine sharply. How was he taking it? Was he bending over the bed like a good boy for Weller? Was he on top, or face down in the pillows? No, Liam thought, just a touch bitter. Noel would be on his back. The little slag would let Weller spread him out on the bed so he could writhe all pretty like and gaze up into the older man’s eyes, let himself be kissed and bent in half.
As the creaking of the bed sped up, so did Liam’s hand. Noel’s moans were rising in pitch too – he was close. Liam knew, recognised the sound of his brother being nailed just right, when he’d be grabbing at the sheets, eyebrows drawn together.
Liam panted. He felt like he was going off his head. The hand on his cock was uncomfortably dry, but he was too out of it to stop or think about spitting in his palm, even when he was almost drooling against the wallpaper. His whole body felt tense and ready, itching with the need to come, but it just wasn’t enough.
Fuck. Weller had been his hero too. He’d been Liam’s hero because he was Noel’s hero, and the only thing Liam had ever wanted was anything and everything Noel had. Though that all felt very far away now, with said hero busy fucking his brother through the mattress. Liam’s treacherous mind was too drunk, too full of Noel, and he shut his eyes, focusing on Noel’s broken moans, easily conjuring up his brother’s face, his body.
Liam was lying on the bed, Noel on top of him, his hairy thighs spread over Liam’s hips – rare, but not unheard of, for the little pillow princess. He was beautiful, hair damp with sweat, gasping as he fucked himself on Liam’s cock in short, jerky motions.
Liam tightened the hand on himself, rubbing his thumb over the wet head until his toes curled.
He could see Weller too, standing near them. But it wasn’t the Weller he’d just followed down endless hotel corridors – it was the one that had hung over Noel’s bed, the one that had watched a teenaged Noel sleep. He was watching the two of them now, but he didn’t look angry or upset, the way Liam definitely would have been if their places had been reversed. Just smirked at them with that cool, amused look of his while Liam put his hands on Noel’s hips, thrusting up into his brother’s slick, tight heat like he was trying to prove something.
Weller stepped closer, casual and inscrutable as always. He put a heavy palm on the back of Noel’s neck and leant in to kiss him, half looking at Liam as their lips met. Noel opened prettily for him, and Liam stared dazedly at the wet shine of their tongues moving against each other, Noel still bouncing on top of him. He swallowed. Noel was whimpering desperately into Weller’s mouth, and Liam had missed this so much, his brother and his tight body around him and his gorgeous noises, had missed it so fucking much, and Weller couldn’t even leave him alone in his own head.
There was an abrupt sound from next door, pulling Liam out of the half-dream – Noel’s voice, sharp and urgent, breaking off on a desperate ah. And Liam hadn’t heard the sound before it, too deep into his vision, but his brain was charging full steam ahead, adding the all-important lee before it, so clear it was as if he’d actually heard it, so close to what he needed to hear, and Liam was coming hard into his hand, wet mouth dragging on the wallpaper, listening to Noel’s almost pained moans after the initial wail, like he was still coming too, and the unwelcome sound of Weller groaning.
-
Liam laid panting on top of the covers like a sweaty starfish and stared up at the ceiling.
He was still fully dressed, there was come cooling on his hand, and he could hear the soft sounds of his big brother laughing on the other side of the wall. There was no chance he was about to move, wrung out by his orgasm and everything else, but at least he could fix one of those things. He wiped his hand on the covers. A problem for someone else.
It felt like he was outside himself. His mind drifted, marooned from his body, swaddled in the quiet, happy noises from the other side. And because Liam’s mind lived a life of its own, mostly independent of its owner and not always with his best interests in mind, the unbidden, unavoidable image of Noel curled up in Paul’s arms, flushed and sated, appeared.
The bed in the other room creaked gently - maybe they were pulling the duvet over themselves, getting comfortable. Liam could mostly hear Paul’s voice now, a low rumble.
The image faded into the next – this one real; Noel leaning against the wall in the hallway, smiling up at Weller before the older man had leant down to kiss him. It played like a reel in Liam’s mind, rewinding at the moment their lips met, over and over again until he could see Paul’s eyes looking around the corridor, and meeting his for a fraction of a second.
Realisation washed over him in waves so calm he didn’t even feel shocked.
Weller had seen him.
In hindsight, it probably hadn’t been difficult, with him stumbling half-pissed down an empty hallway. How Noel hadn’t seen him was a better question.
But Weller had. And Weller had pretended he hadn’t.
He’d still led Noel into the hotel room.
He’d made sure Liam could hear them through the walls.
Gentle wave upon gentle wave. It was almost soothing. If Liam tried, he could feel tomorrow’s anger simmering somewhere deep inside, too wrung out for it to really go anywhere yet. But here, beached on top of the scratchy covers, Liam got it.
Weller might not love Noel as much as Liam did – because no one could ever love Noel as much as Liam did – but he was just as possessive of him as Liam. He’d been pretty clear in his opinion of the youngest Gallagher, and what he thought of Noel going back to his brother - like there was a danger of that happening any minute, Liam thought sourly, before letting the calm wash the feeling away. Wave upon wave.
On some level, Liam couldn’t be upset with Weller. Like respects like. If anything, he pitied Weller, how he didn’t even realise that he couldn’t love Noel as much as Liam, but still tried.
He closed his eyes, listening to the tender murmurings from next door slowly die down. It felt warm and homely as a well-loved blanket. As good as it always had been to have Noel squirming beneath him – or folded in half, or face down, or pinned against the closest stable surface, or on his knees, or – Liam was pretty sure that was his actual favourite part. Getting to have Noel close to him, everything calm and quiet (except for when it hadn’t been), his brother soft and shagged out in his arms.
Sometimes they’d talk, like properly talk, quietly, just the two of them. And he’d get to touch Noel all soft like, everywhere, without his brother fussing and complaining. Other times, Noel would fall asleep right after and Liam would keep himself awake for just that little longer so he could watch him, like a big bloody fairy, because he couldn’t get enough of looking at his big brother. That was the real deal, all of it. True bliss. It was like he was being allowed past the gates of the impenetrable walls that Noel had put up around himself, around the old, real Noel – the ones Noel had been building and adding to for years and years, maybe forever, constantly reinforcing them like he was expecting a flood any minute. Liam had been allowed inside the walls, once, with Noel, and then suddenly he’d been staring at the gates, locked out like a kicked dog.
If he focused, kept his eyes closed, he could almost feel the familiar weight of him on his chest, the feel and smell of his hair against his cheek. The two of them breathing in time, in and out.
Liam’s fingers twitched.
His eyes were open again. He touched his face, expecting tears, but found nothing. He stared at the ceiling, waiting for the channel to switch to the inevitable rage – the one that Noel had said made him leave – and the grief that came out just as violent. But nothing came. The waves were receding, leaving only slow, unexpected resolve.
Liam could be patient. He could be generous, too, when it came to Noel, no matter what Noel himself might think. He could wait.
The thought filled him, settling in his chest as warm certainty. Liam knew, simple as that, that he’d have his brother back. Knew it in his bones. Let Weller have him for now – he’d keep his brother safe while Noel figured things out. Sooner or later, Noel would be back where he belonged, ‘cos there was simply no other option for them, and Liam’s soul would feel complete again, and he’d have his big brother and his band and Paul Weller could go fuck himself.
The rooms were quiet, still mirror images of each other. On the other side of the wall, Liam’s brother was sleeping in another man’s arms, safe and happy. And Liam was fine with it. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t the way things were supposed to be, and he could tell how much it would hurt in the morning. But it was the way they had to be for now.
Liam understood that now. Plugged into the universe, he was, vibrating on a celestial level, and he knew. There was no space left in him for doubt anymore. They were heading somewhere. He was changing, just like Noel was changing.
He couldn’t risk falling asleep here, but Liam closed his eyes anyway and allowed himself a moment to let his mind wander where it wanted, out of his body and away to better times – not back, this time. Forwards. His hands in Noel’s hair again, on the familiar and unfamiliar landscape of his body. The roar of the world in their ears. Two halves of a whole, back where they were meant to be.
He didn’t need to sleep to dream.