“I think I’d like to bend you over this couch some night,” Louis says to Harry. “In front of everybody, all the fans watching, the boys watching. How’d you feel about that?”
Niall keeps his eyes straight forward, focused on the crowd in front of him. He tries not to even blink.
“I feel good,” Harry says, after taking a moment to really consider it. He’s got a hand resting on the back of the couch, and Niall watches as his fingers clench in it, like he wishes the leather were Louis’ skin. “Want to show everyone you own me, do you?”
“I show everyone that every day,” Louis says easily. Niall wants to lick his lips, licks his teeth instead, liking the wet scrape of it. It’s a bit rough, like he thinks Harry and Louis must be with each other. It sounds like they give it to each other pretty roughly anyway, from what Niall’s overheard. And Niall’s overheard a lot, they just don’t give a fuck, either of them. Niall’d be more bitter about it, but it’s been awhile since he’s had anything, a shag, a kiss even, and he needs something to think about while he’s wanking, even if it’s his bandmates. Niall’s not picky.
Harry takes the opportunity to come round to their side of the couch, bending down close so he can whisper in Louis’ ear. Only he doesn’t whisper, not really, because if it were a whisper then Niall wouldn’t be able to hear it so fucking clearly. “What d’you think about Niall, then? You think he’d like to watch as much as he likes listening?” He doesn’t even glance up at Niall, neither of them do. Niall stares into the crowd, trying to focus on what Liam is saying, something about how grateful they are to the fans, and the world, and - something. Who cares. It isn’t working.
“You want him to watch while I fuck you?” Louis asks. He tilts his head up, resting his fingertips against Harry’s cheek as he whispers. Niall’s too fucking hot in this cardigan. He wants to take the damn thing off. “You think he could handle it? We might have to bind him up in the corner. He’s too eager, he’d probably want in.”
Niall breaks then, just for a second. His fingers tremble, and the microphone wavers in his hand before he steadies it, trying not to drop it. He glances at them, helpless not to, but they’re not even looking at him. Of course they’re not. It’s like he’s not even there, though they obviously fucking know he is. Obviously. It’s cruel, is what it is, them knowing how long it’s been since he’s had a shag and still trying to fuck with him.
“He could come in,” Harry says. “I bet he’d let you fuck him, I bet he’d take it. From both of us, even. I think he’d look just lovely with your cock down his throat, don’t you?”
“I think I’d like to pull his hair,” Louis muses. Niall bites his lip. “Really fuck his mouth, you know? Choke him on it.”
Niall stands abruptly, takes over reading the tweets onscreen and drags Zayn into a totally pointless discussion regarding the question about what they had for dinner. If the pictures afterward show that he’s hard, well, whatever.
-
And of course Harry and Louis don’t even say anything about it afterward. Assholes.
-
Next show Niall tries to get between them a bit, show them they can’t fuck around with him. He takes any opportunity he can to sling an arm around Harry and even kisses Louis on the cheek, a nice show that sends the fans screaming. It just makes Louis get that look on his face, the one like he knows every vulnerable spot in Niall’s armour and he’s well ready to pierce him through with a lance, and it’s just as Niall’s picturing Louis as some sort of medieval knight that Louis leans in and says, “You’re just dying for it, aren’t you, sweetheart?” and then it’s an effort for Niall not to buckle under the force of that, sharper than anything Louis could ever wield, and meaner too.
