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Liam closes his eyes, head falling forward to hit the tile. The sting of pain does nothing to distract him from the heat in his belly. He shudders out a breath, wrapping a hand around himself. It’s wrong—this is all kinds of wrong. He shouldn’t be doing this, not to Theo. Whether that’s because it’s Theo or because it feels… disrespectful to the chimera, he doesn’t know, but then, the minute he swipes his thumb across the head of his dick, he doesn’t really care.
“Fuck.” He digs his teeth into his lower lip, but the bite only amps him up more. Would Theo bite? Does he fuck like he hits? Would he goad Liam into it? Would it be a fight?
Liam exhales, squeezing once around the base, then he’s back to stroking, heart pounding as he imagines. Theo’s just so fucking pretty. It isn’t fair. You think a man coming back from what might as well be the grave would be gross; you think the guy who killed your alpha would be revolting. Liam just wants to get him in his bed. It’s so fucked.
But he’s got his fucking hair—it used to be so stupid, all spiky and stiff with gel. Was he a canine or a porcupine? Liam grits his teeth, grunting as he jerks himself just a little too rough. But now, now, Theo’s hair is all soft and long and almost always falls in his face by the end of the day. Theo rucks it up plenty, running his hands through his hair like he can’t help it, like some nervous tic, if Theo let himself have those, but it doesn’t matter. His hair always ends up soft and messy.
The hand he’d braced himself on the wall with slips, the humidity and condensation slicking the tile, and he curses, stumbling as he rights himself. His heart pounds heavy in his chest, and he can feel the heat that’s clawed its way across his neck, down his back and over his shoulders, all the way down his front. He takes a breath.
The minor scare isn’t enough to dispel his erection, but Liam does, albeit mostly unintentionally, spare a moment to wonder how close he was to ripping off his own dick. He blinks, staring at the wall. What the fuck—no, he shouldn’t think about that.
Theo ripping off his—nope. Still fucked up. But he starts up his rhythm again, thinking about Theo’s strong hand wrapped around his length instead. He’s good with his hands, Liam knows, careful and steady. He knows the power they hold, the force Theo could put into it, the pressure, but he’s seen them be gentle. When he’s not plotting, the world is pretty receptive to Theo actually, almost gives itself over to him. Liam still feels a twinge of irritation at the way a fucking butterfly landed all sweet on Theo’s finger. And he feels an even bigger ache at the sheer confusion on Theo’s face, like it was something unfamiliar, that something so fragile would seek him out for refuge, a quiet moment.
But Liam gets it. The Theo he’s come to know, he’s pretty good company for those moments, especially when Liam needs them. He doesn’t pressure him for words, just lets Liam sit at his side, maybe occasionally swats at his hand when Liam starts picking at the skin around his nails, gets snippy when Liam replies, “What? It’s not like it won’t immediately heal,” but Liam even likes that.
Likes that Theo’s always paying attention to him, and Liam doesn’t even have to do anything to earn it. There’s no proving himself, or proving what he’s not—he just is, and if he finds himself calmer, if not slower to anger, then at least quicker to chill out, then that’s that, and that’s a good thing.
Liam swallows, tongue working its way between his lips as he twists the head of his dick. It’s fucking good. Theo’s good.
He swears, the sound punched out of him, and he releases the hold he had taken up once more against the wall to instead drag his hand from his stomach up to his chest. The hair there, damp as it is, matted down with water, still scrapes against his palm. He huffs, hand lifting with the action. Jerking off to someone’s realigned moral compass—what the hell.
He lets his eyes fall shut once more, squeezing his pec as he thinks about that expression Theo had. Open, eyes wide and lips slack, maybe wonder shining there in the green. There was a twitch to his lips, Liam remembers, like he didn’t know whether to smile or to frown. It’d been just the two of them, out in the Geyer-Dunbars' backyard, the half-hearted garden Liam’s parents had tried to keep. They’d been pulling up the weeds. Theo had a streak of dirt across his cheek. Liam’s hands stung with a thousand microcuts. He wasn’t great at avoiding thorns.
Every once in awhile, the sun lit Theo up from behind, spinning gold into his burnished hair, illuminating the long sweep of his eyelashes, the sweet slope of his nose, the gentle curl to his lips. For a moment, Liam swore he couldn’t breathe, and then the stupid butterfly happened, and Liam knew it was over for him. He could only play as unaware for so long.
The butterfly flew away after another handful of seconds, wings batting against Theo’s hand then lifting the insect to the sky. Then, it was gone, and Theo was left staring after it. Liam was looking at Theo.
They did all that weeding, and no one ever even touched that damn garden after.
Liam groans, thumb swiping across a pebbled nipple. He’s so fucking close; Theo’s stupid face, and his stupid hands, and his stupid docket of expressions he seems to only get out around Liam. Fuck him—Liam gasps, precome blurting out and quickly mixing with the rest that he’s been jerking himself with. God, literally, fuck him; Theo wouldn’t know what to do with himself, Liam knows it.
He’d be so fucking good, would look so fucking good. He’d look at Liam with those eyes, the ones he wears when he’s left completely adrift, and Liam knows this would leave him fucking reeling. Has anyone ever been gentle with Theo? Shown him all that he could have—really have? Liam wants to give it to him. He wants to give it to him so bad.
He could do that. Liam chokes on a sob, hand speeding up, pressure increasing. He could totally do that. Theo would look so pretty. He doesn’t cry, not how he did before, bastardization of vulnerability, a sham in the name of cruelty, but Liam is always able to tell when he wants to. He’ll go real still, like he’s got every muscle tensed, but his nose’ll twitch as he sniffles once, maybe twice, and he’ll blink, Liam’s always able to hear the whisper of his eyelashes, and Liam is pretty sure he’s not as good at keeping the red from his eyes as he thinks he is.
When Liam’s got him under him, he won’t be able to go still. He’ll have to endure, and he’ll sniffle and stutter, and he might cover his face or push Liam away or bare his teeth, but Liam wants to see it all. He’ll just pull those hands away, offer a better option with his own, lace their fingers together, make Theo want to never let go. And those teeth are less daunting when you want them in your neck—god, Liam wants them in his neck. Wishes the indents, the marks left behind, would last longer than a heartbeat. Wishes the same for his own. He’d mark Theo up so good, and he’d hope later, when Theo’s all alone, that he’d dig his fingers into them, press down hard, remember who caused them and why they happened.
It’d be so good.
Liam’s stomach ripples as he takes a stuttered breath. He’s close; he’s so fucking close. He just—he wants—he needs—
Maybe Theo would realize this isn’t teenage hormones or proximity or, him and his damn complexes, some late-set trauma bonding. Maybe Theo would realize he could have this, he could have Liam, and he’d bring him closer, tell Liam to fuck him harder, that he needs it deeper. God, yeah. Liam could do that for him. And maybe the doubt wouldn’t disappear completely, and he’d start begging for it rougher, but Liam would draw the line there. He’d keep it nice and slow, keep grinding in hard and deep, like Theo’d originally asked.
For sure, Theo wouldn’t know what to do. His tree-trunk fucking thighs wrapped tight around Liam’s waist, his nails digging into Liam’s shoulders, scratching down his back, his lips slack, spit-slick and numb because lord knows Liam’s not letting that silver-tongued mouth go unkissed. He’d render that silver tongue useless.
And Theo would enjoy it.
He knows Theo would enjoy it. From the sounds he makes, the gasping shouts, the stuttered pleas, the embarrassed groans; from the way that wet, hot hole would clench around him, squeeze him tight like Theo can’t stand to have them separated, even for a second; from the way his cock would twitch and bounce against his flexing stomach, dark red and needy, a steady stream of precome leaving pearlescent trails across those delicious fucking abs.
“God,” Liam gasps, then he swallows. “Theo.”
“That’s it,” Theo would say. “Fuck, Liam, just like that.” And Liam would do whatever Theo asks in those moments; he totally fucking would. And Theo would finally find that last bit of courage to open his eyes, lock them with Liam’s, and he’d be so fucking perfect when he requests, “Inside. Please, Liam, inside me.”
And Liam would fucking deliver. He’d mark Theo up the best way he possibly can, letting everyone know Theo’s his, that Theo’s fucking worthy and good and not the past everyone seems to be waiting—hoping—to catch up with him. He’d be Liam’s, and Liam would be his.
It’d be so good.
Liam chokes as he comes at long last, painting the tile wall in strips of white, cock pulsing hot and heavy in his hand. His chest is tight, and he can feel the pinprick of tears at the corner of his eyes, though whether it’s from how hard he squeezed them shut or because of actual, serious emotion, he doesn’t know.
He catches his breath as the last dribble of come leaks from the tip, and then he’s grabbing the showerhead, directing it at the wall, cleaning the mess he made. He leans against the wall after, letting the cool tiles calm his racing heart.
It’s just… he wants it, all of it, so bad. It’s not some misdirected feeling; it’s intent. He’d choose him. He chooses Theo already, actually. And he knows Theo knows it too, knows the disapproval Liam still sometimes garners from members of the McCall pack, every time he blows off an outing to kick it with Theo, every time he picks Theo as his partner-in-crime over Mason, who probably only doesn’t mind because it means Theo isn’t his problem and he and Corey can sneak off to do whatever Liam doesn’t want to think about them doing. He’s walking a knife’s edge, but he’d do it happily, if it means Theo stays. If it keeps Theo looking at him the way he does.
Liam kicks at the water faucet till the shower shuts off. He’s done absolutely nothing to actually clean himself, and he feels nauseous from the heat, but he feels good. Oddly assured, maybe something like self-confident.
He pushes himself from the wall, tugs down his towel, dries himself off.
When his hair plops wetly back onto his head, he guesses he’s in worse shape than Theo when it comes to hair in the face. But sometimes, if he comes up behind Liam, Theo’ll reach up and tug at the strands, and it’s like electricity shooting down Liam’s spine. Or sometimes, very rarely so each time is just as significant as the last, he’ll run his fingers through Liam’s hair, like his own isn’t enough. Most damning thing is how Liam lets him, leans into it even, sometimes tries to get his head in Theo’s lap, gives him his best puppy eyes, but that’s a line Theo hasn’t been ready to erase. Liam hasn’t stopped trying, though.
He tugs on his sleep pants, forgoing a t-shirt. He wonders what Theo’s up to now, if he’ll get lucky and Theo’ll be waiting for him, sneaking in effortlessly through the window, teenage spy skills still on lock, even without the need to be a teenage spy.
His bedroom is empty. Liam tries not to be disappointed. On the bed, his phone lights up with a text.
Did u get the tix already? It’s from Theo, at least, about the movie Liam’s goaded him into going and seeing together.
He hesitates, types out a reply, then changes his mind, calling the other.
“What,” Theo says in greeting.
“Did you see the trailer already?” Liam asks.
“You literally showed it to me.”
Liam rolls his eyes, falling back onto his bed, wincing at the squeak of coils and creak of wood. His mom will not be happy if he breaks this thing. He inhales. “The new trailer, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Theo echoes. “Yeah, obviously not.”
“Okay.” Liam rolls over, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Well, when are you going to see it?”
“Following your rules, never,” Theo answers. “I don’t own a TV.”
“You can watch it on your phone!” Liam swears. “It just won’t be as good.”
He hears Theo scoffs, and he thinks about it for a moment, hesitating, and his mouth goes dry, and he rarely picks up on his own scent, but he’s sure if Theo walked in right now, he’d smell the fading scent of sex.
Still, his lips part, and he hears himself say, “You could come over.”
Theo’s quiet for a moment. Liam holds his breath. “Now?” he finally asks.
Liam nods, then remembers Theo can’t see him. “Yeah. If you want.”
He hears rustling, the scrape and shift of fabric. Theo sitting up, maybe. He waits, heart pounding in his chest. Another second, and then, “Okay. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll come over.”
The breath rushes out of Liam all at once. He collapses face-first into his pillow, lifting his head only so Theo can really hear him. “Good. Should I leave the door unlocked? You always seem to break your way in.”
Theo doesn’t even dignify that with a response.
Liam sighs, cheek pressed against the cool fabric of his pillow. “Well. The front door is an option. If you want it.”
He hears the slam of car doors, the rumble of the truck’s engine.
“Okay,” Theo says. And then, “You’re not falling asleep, are you?”
Liam blinks himself awake. “Uh. No.”
“I swear to God, Liam—”
“Self-proclaimed atheist saying this.”
“—shut up—if you’re asleep when I get there, so help me,” Theo doesn’t finish his threat, probably thinking Liam will fill it in for him, properly chastised, but actually, Liam’s biting back a smile, thinking about Theo attempting to intimidate him while leaving his entire soft belly exposed.
“I promise I will be awake and ready to watch the trailer when you get here,” Liam says.
Theo huffs. “… Good.”
“See you, Theo.”
He hears the click of Theo’s throat, even through the phone. “I’ll see you, Liam.”
Just for the record, Liam is awake when Theo arrives, and the trailer is already pulled up on his Xbox. Theo comes in, head tilted curiously, but he doesn’t say anything as he takes off his jacket, lets it drape carelessly over Liam’s chair. He takes a seat next to Liam on the bed, shoes toed off so he can draw his knees up to his chest.
“Do I really need to see this if we’re already going to watch the movie?” he asks.
Liam shushes him, pressing play, and he makes it a whole minute in before he’s slipping, mind drifting and eyes closing, slumped into Theo’s side. He’s still just awake enough to feel Theo worm his arm around until he can get his fingers tangled in Liam’s hair, and then that’s it—Liam falls fully into sleep.