Chapter 5. Liam #2
"God, you're perfect," he mutters, and the words vibrate through my whole body.
All I see is him, his face inches above, lips curled in concentration, sweat beading at his hairline.
He's so beautiful it's violent. His hand is gripping my thigh so tight I know I'll have bruises tomorrow, the other pressed over my mouth, smothering every gasp and cry.
I grind back against him, desperate for more, for deeper.
He fucks harder. I can hear him gritting his teeth.
The bedframe bangs against the cinderblock.
He pulls me up, so that I'm sitting in his lap, his cock still buried inside, and his mouth crashes into mine.
Every kiss is a bite, every breath a dare. We're devouring each other.
The door clatters somewhere down the hall again. He pulls back, just enough to look at me, eyes hungry.
"I love you," he growls, almost angry. He says it like he's mad at himself for needing me this much, which I don't doubt, and it's the best thing; it almost makes me fucking CRY.
I want to say it back, but his hand is over my mouth again, my jaw slack against his palm, drooling a little, my eyes barely open, so I just nod, fast, over and over, until he smashes our mouths together and fucks me so hard I nearly black out.
The edge comes fast. I don't want it to end, but I can't stop it. I'm so close, so fucking close, and he knows it because he jerks my head back by the hair and whispers, "Come for me, baby. Now."
And I do. I come hard, untouched, white-hot and blinding, my whole body seizing up under him. He doesn't stop, doesn't let up, and a few seconds later I feel him go rigid, his hands gripping my hips so tight it hurts, cock pulsing inside me as he buries himself as deep as possible.
We collapse. He lands half on top of me, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat. My legs are jelly. My arms are shaking. I can barely see straight.
We breathe in silence.
He kisses my forehead. Then my nose. Then my mouth, soft and slow, and this kiss is nothing like the ones before. This one is gentle, apologetic, so full of love I could drown in it.
"You okay?" he asks.
"Yeah," I say. "Fuck yeah, I can't even… fuck, yes."
I'm sore as fuck. It hurts, and I love that I'll be feeling him every second of the day for days.
We lie there for a second, our bodies tangled. I'm distantly aware that we need to move. That someone could walk in at any second and catch us, and that would be the end of everything. But for now, I don't care. I close my eyes. I'll remember this forever.
Then we scramble to pull on clothes, laughing, breathless, still a little high on adrenaline and terror. I tug my shorts up with shaking hands, wincing at the rawness but grinning anyway. Our hair is a mess. There's a wet spot on the mattress, and a hickey starting to bloom on my collarbone.
I look at him, and he's glowing. There's no other word for it. His eyes are alive, his mouth soft, his posture relaxed.
We hear footsteps in the hall again, this time closer, and we freeze. I'm sitting on my bunk, shirtless, pretending to read a textbook. He drops onto his bed, pretending to write something.
The door opens. Everybody is coming back at the same time, even though it's too early for the rec room to have ended.
"I can't believe they put us on lockdown…" Jack is complaining, but as soon as he sees us, he screams. "HOLY SHIT, IS THAT CAKE? Oh my God, it IS cake. Where did you get cake? Is this real? Am I hallucinating? Harry, pinch me."
"Pinch yourself," Harry says, but he turns to me and winks. "Well, the kitchen boy delivers."
“I thought my night would be ruined after those idiots started fighting in front of the guards, but now we have CAKE!" Jack screams again. I giggle. Ethan already looks like he's about to tell him to shut up.
Miles offers a small smile before climbing up to his bunk.
Ethan cuts four pieces—one for Jack, who receives it with both hands and reverence. One for Miles, who takes it with a quiet "thank you". One for Harry, who says "not bad" in a tone that means "I am experiencing an emotion and I'd rather die than name it." And one for himself.
We sit on the floor between the bunks. The five of us, arranged in a loose circle, napkins on our knees, eating chocolate cake with our fingers because the plastic knife is too dull for clean slices and nobody cares.
The cake is dense and sweet and slightly too much cocoa, which makes it bitter at the back of the tongue before the sugar catches up, and it's really good.
Ethan's face relaxes, and he's a boy eating cake his boyfriend made him, surrounded by people who are his real family, not the fuckers who abandoned their son.
Jack makes a moaning sound. "Oh my GOD," he says, mouth full, crumbs on his chin. "This is the best thing I've ever eaten. I'm serious. Fuck, Liam, you're good. Now I know why Ethan is obsessed with you."
Ethan chuckles, eyeing him.
"You have chocolate on your nose," Miles says.
Jack doesn't wipe it.
"Happy late Valentine's, by the way," Jack says.
“Ew," Harry says. I roll my eyes, eating more.
"What? Valentine's is for the celebration of love in general, and I love you guys," Jack says. I'm always envious of how clearly he can just say what he feels.
"Awww, touching," Harry says. "It's actually decent, Liam." He turns to me, adjusting his glasses with his clean hand. "The frosting situation needs work, but the crumb is good. Seven out of ten."
"Seven?" I say. "I put my heart and soul into that cake."
"Heart and soul are worth one bonus point. Eight out of ten. Final offer."
"Fucker," I say, but Ethan chuckles again. He's so amused, and it's so wholesome I want to die.
I lean my shoulder against Ethan's. He leans back. His hand finds mine between us.
"Happy birthday, Daddy," I whisper.
His fingers tighten around mine. He doesn't say anything. Lu was right. It's not just a cake.