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Touring Europe is better than Niall could have imagined. He calls his mates back home when he can and tries to explain the feeling of seeing an entire city overrun by fans, what it sounds like when fifty thousand people sing along with him, but it's tough to put into words.
That's part of the reason he's so excited when Bressie rings him, tells him he has some free time for a much-needed holiday. Niall's on the bus with the boys at the time, and has to scramble to grab his phone from between the couch cushions behind Zayn while they're all playing a rousing game of Fight Night.
"I've been a complete bollix, to be honest," Bressie says, laughing that self-deprecating laugh of his. "So busy touring and training and acting the maggot, haven't seen anyone in ages. Maybe I could catch a few shows mid-way through?"
Bressie's one of Niall's favorite people, if not the favorite. It really has been forever; they hardly get a chance to talk anymore, and Bressie considering spending some of his precious downtime with Niall makes Niall twitchy and excited, like he needs to have a stupid little dance around and whoop a bit. He can't wait to see him. Bressie's the coolest: the embodiment of everything Niall wished for himself back when he was sixteen and standing on Bressie's stoop for the first time with broken guitar strings and the ache of homesickness in his chest.
"Don't even have to ask, bro," Niall says, grinning so big he figures Bressie can probably hear it down the phone. Even just talking to him loosens the tightness in Niall's lungs that builds up after being away for too long; must be the Mullingar coming through. "I'll hook you up. Just get yourself here soon as you can and we'll take care of the rest."
After he hangs up, Harry tips expansively into his lap and Liam throws a pair of balled up socks at his head. The One Direction tour situation may take a little getting used to for Bressie, being a real, functional adult who runs his own solo tours and all, but Niall's going to make sure he has a good time no matter what. It suddenly feels really important, and Niall's nothing if not determined when he knows what he wants.
* * *
Bressie joins them on a Tuesday while they're kicking around the venue, late enough that they're all awake and showered but early enough that sound check hasn't started yet. He comes in the side door, ducking under the exit sign, and Niall leaps up with a holler; there's no mistaking Bressie when he walks in. "Big Face!" Niall yells, setting off in a run. The other boys turn and look after him, clapping and calling out sporadic welcomes.
Bressie drops his duffle with a startled smile when he sees Niall barreling towards him. He's wearing a plain green t-shirt and a sick leather jacket with what looks like a brand new pair of jeans, complete with belt; always so put together, in a way Niall can't manage even with a crack team of professional stylists. Niall launches himself onto Bressie's back, kissing him with a big smacking noise on the side of the head. Bressie swats at him fondly and laughs, trying to look around at Niall without knocking him off his shoulders. "Hey, Chief."
Niall squeezes his knees into Bressie's sides and tries to catch his breath. Bressie smells like leather and stale train air and the citrus-y amber of his cologne, and he's got that clammy sheen of sweat that he always gets when he's been traveling. Niall doesn't care, likes it, even.
"Piss off, or I'll hit you such a clatter," he grumbles, mock-stern, wide brow furrowed. Niall just laughs and hugs him tighter round the neck. Bressie's thick and solid under him, warm through his jacket. Niall can see his pulse flutter at the side of his throat against the soft leather of his collar. "Won't give you the present I brought you, either," Bressie adds, and awkwardly turns round in a circle like a dog slowly chasing his tail.
"Ooh, he's not messing," Niall sing-songs, and lets go, dropping to his own feet. He wobbles for a second; it's a much farther fall than when he slides off Zayn's back. He smiles at Bressie and claps his hands together, rubbing them excitedly. "Can't believe you're here, mate. So glad to have you."
Bressie looks around at the venue, giving a low whistle. The ceilings are high, criss-crossed with the cables and runners for their show, roadies scrambling over scaffolding like it's nothing dozens of yards over their heads. The expanses of bleachers ringing the open floor seem to go on forever. "Really is the big time, huh?"
Niall shrugs, feels himself colouring a little. He's always a little self-conscious around Bressie, knows how experienced he is, how much thought he puts into his work and the industry. Bressie's opinions always mean a little bit more than anyone else's. "Guess so," he says, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. Every day feels bigger than the last.
"Go on the boys," Bressie says, smiling down at Niall, and Niall tries not to preen.
"We're about to sound check, if you want to hang out?" He gestures over his shoulder to where the band's setting up on the huge stage.
"I really just came to let you know I got here and to give you this," Bressie says, unzipping his duffle and handing Niall what must be the present: a bottle of aged Tullamore Dew with a gold gift-wrap bow on it. "Figured I ought to just pick up the room key and get out of your hair for now."
"Thanks, man," Niall manages, a little stunned, and grins up at Bressie as he takes the bottle. "We'll wreck the gaff tonight."
"Maybe you and the lads could have a drink of the good stuff for once. Just to calm the pre-show jitters, of course," Bressie says conspiratorially, and Niall chews at his lip a bit, pleased.
"I wish. We're not really supposed to bring booze to the greenroom, though. Paul gets it for us sometimes, after shows. Maybe keep it in your bag?" He offers the bottle back, glad to have a reason not to share it. He loves the guys and wants them to taste real whiskey, but Bressie brought it for Niall, and he selfishly wants to keep it to himself for once. Everything else seems to tumble into the communal pile of food and drink that inevitably forms in the bus kitchenette.
"How 'bout I go back to the hotel to drop my stuff while you guys sound check, and leave it there. I'll be back in plenty of time for doors."
Niall gives him a stern look. "You'd better."
Bressie just winks and says, "Wouldn't miss it."
* * *
Bressie's as good as his word. He shows up backstage with a VIP lanyard round his neck plenty of time before the show, showered and changed into a button-up and a waistcoat with his jeans, smelling like the fancy mint shampoo in Niall's hotel bathroom.
"There's the man," Liam says, clapping Bressie genially on the back. Lou's in the middle of cutting Niall's hair, so he just waves ineffectually from under the smock. Bressie's met everyone before, albeit briefly, so he doesn't feel too bad about not making introductions.
"You should come out and play something with us," Louis says. Niall can see him in the mirror, looking up from where he appears to be funneling something blue into a spray bottle. Niall presses his lips into a line; he'd give just about anything to have Bressie play with them, but he's pretty sure Bressie wouldn't want to. It's not his style, jumping on stage in the middle of a One Direction gig. "Niall'd wet himself."
Niall glares at Louis, who just grins at him cheekily. Bressie comes over and flops down in the chair next to Niall, their eyes meeting in the mirror as Lou spritzes something in Niall's hair. "I would, though," Niall says, cracking a smile. "We could do 'Witchy Woman' and confuse everyone in the arena."
"Honestly, I think it'd be a laugh," says Bressie, and Niall's eyebrows shoot up, "but maybe next time, yeah? Don't have my guitar."
Niall's disappointed, but not too disappointed, because Zayn and Harry come over and mime beating up Bressie, who laughs and bats at them, and mostly Niall just kind of feels warm and nice and calm inside. When Louis winds up sitting in his lap and ruining the hairstyle Lou spent far too long on, Niall pokes his belly until he rolls off, grabbing weakly for Niall's nipples as he goes down.
"I feel like I should be defending your honour," Bressie says. He's smiling, but there's a bit of an edge to it. Louis moans dramatically from the floor.
"Nah," says Niall with a cheeky grin. "Don't have any of that."
Bressie just makes a noncommittal noise and gets up, looking around for a runner. "Guess I oughta go get my seat. Break a leg, boys. Or five." The lads all wave happily.
"Hope you enjoy the show," Niall says, following him out into the hallway. Something feels disjointed, somehow, and he doesn't like it.
"I know I will." Bressie's eyes are soft and his smile is sweet and real this time. Whatever it was snaps back into place, and Niall grins.
They find an usher to take Bressie to his row, and Niall makes sure to remember the section.
During the show, he runs over to stage left whenever he can, scanning the bleachers for Bressie—who luckily isn't hard to find. He's singing along and jumping during "Kiss You", and when Niall sings at him during "I Would", he's rocking out, punching the air three feet above everyone else's heads. All the girls in the surrounding rows turn to look at him when they see where Niall's attention is focused, and Bressie just shoots him an unselfconscious thumbs-up. Niall laughs, cheeks hurting from his own dumb smile, so happy that Bressie's here and having a good time he can hardly deal.
He's about to climb up on the railing at the side of the stage so he can see better when Liam grabs him around the waist and pulls him to the floor, Louis jumping on top of both of them and rolling everyone in a tangled heap to stage right. Niall's laughing so hard he can barely breathe, and when Harry starts tickling him he forgets about stage left altogether.
He's on a complete high after the show, adrenaline pumping and the cheers of tens of thousands fans ringing in his ears. All five of them are sweaty and wired backstage; Louis and Liam are rolling on the floor and Zayn is aiming playful kicks at them whenever they get too close. Niall turns, elated, to leap at Bressie as soon as he ducks in the room—and no sooner has he launched himself in the air than Louis has reached out to grab his ankle, bringing him down like a sack of potatoes. Niall grunts and Louis immediately sits on his chest. Liam joins in, tickling him mercilessly, and Niall's lungs hurt with how hard he's laughing. His face is probably beet red, and he's thrashing as best he can to get free, but Louis's too dense and he can't move. "Uncle!" he shouts, breathless.
Bressie's by his side in a second, grabbing Louis and Liam by the shoulders, pulling them off with a strangled chuckle. "That's enough of that, now," he says, and they stagger backwards. "What d'you all say we go get a drink or five? Heard about a great bar earlier when I was back at the hotel; it's just around the corner."
Harry lets out a whoop as Bressie helps Niall stand up. "Absolutely, perfect plan," he says, and he and Zayn go through the motions of dusting Niall off, tweaking at his nipples and ears as they pat him down. Bressie just shoves his hands in his pockets.
Don the driver and his big black SUV drop them off at the bar around eleven, and by two they're all a bit pissed. Louis and Zayn are being idiots on the dance floor; it's small, but they're laughing raucously and dancing like they're in a nightclub. Harry's flummoxed by the dart game he and Niall have been attempting to continue, though they're getting too deep in their cups to be able to aim all that accurately at this point. Bressie seems weirdly frustrated and quiet, sitting alone, so Niall forfeits to Harry and goes over to him. "What's up, man?" he asks, a little overloud, and slaps him on the back, rubbing what he hopes is a supportive circle between Bressie's shoulder blades.
Bressie shrugs him off and nods at the barman. "Couple of whiskies, please?"
He's had more than his fair share of pints, but he'd never turn down a good whiskey, so he slides onto the barstool next to Bressie. Bressie raises an eyebrow at him, smiling. "Oh, you want one? Make that three, then," he says. "But make his real tiny."
Niall shoves him, laughing, and Bressie grins.
Just then, Louis comes up behind them and grabs Niall around the waist. "Nialler," he sing-songs. "Order us some Jaeger, and I swear I'll love you best."
Niall kind of crumples backwards, always ticklish, Louis forever taking advantage. "Gerroff," Niall yelps, trying and failing not to laugh. "How many you need?"
He takes care of the order for Louis, and Louis gives him a big, messy kiss on the cheek, wandering away when his Jaegermeister arrives.
Niall looks back and Bressie's got two empty shot glasses in front of him, plus a fresh pint. Niall's whiskey is waiting for him. He raises a considering eyebrow in Bressie's direction but decides not to pester him. Yet.
"I could go for some food," Niall says absently, then, louder, over his shoulder, "Oi! Lads! Who's up for some McDonald's?"
There's a small ruckus, and then Louis appears, slings an arm over Niall's shoulder and happily smacks him on the side of the head. "Are you mad?" he says, exaggerated the way he gets when he's sloshed. "You'll be mobbed."
Niall snorts. "It's three in the morning," he says, laughing. "Don't think anyone will be mobbing us at this hour."
Louis pats him on the shoulder. "You try it then. Let us know how it goes." He sneaks an arm around Niall's waist and snags his shot, swallows it down before Niall can even protest.
"I'll come," Bressie says abruptly. Something in his tone makes Niall abandon the slap fight he'd just started with Louis.
"Now there's a true friend," Niall says, shoving his stool backwards and hopping down.
They all leave the pub together, Louis and Zayn tumbling into the waiting car while Niall sorts out his plans with Basil, the security guard who drew the short straw, who's keeping watch in the passenger seat. He and Bressie set off walking down a half-lit street, following Basil's vague directions.
It's companionable enough, gives him some time to breathe and catch up with Bressie without all of the chaos of the venue, the lads, the life in the way. He's talking a lot, more than usual, and he knows it's because he's pissed. Bressie's a good listener, asking questions whenever Niall pauses, like he wants him to keep going, and that's—well, it's certainly different to being around the others. He's not fighting to speak over anyone, for once. And the way Bressie keeps nodding and smiling makes Niall feel important, if not charming.
At least until Bressie blurts out, "Ah, bollocks." Niall looks up, and sure enough, they've found a McDonald's, but it's long closed, chairs on the tables and lights out.
"Eh," Niall shrugs, still happy because life is good. "There's crisps in the minibar." He purposefully wobbles so that his shoulder knocks against Bressie's arm. "I'm a millionaire so I can afford those now, y'know."
It's then that he remembers that Bressie's brought him a bottle of Tullamore Dew and it's back in the room. All of a sudden, that sounds like the best place to be.
* * *
Forty minutes later, Niall's wiping some sort of cheese-flavored dust onto his jeans, empty bags of crisps littering the small table in his room. Bressie's pouring another round. Niall feels generally satisfied, everything warm and fuzzy around the edges with alcohol and contentment and good company.
"So," he says, grinning at Bressie. "What do you think of the lads? Sound, right?" He knew Bressie would love the boys, now that he's had the chance to spend some time with the lot of them. "That Tommo's hilarious."
Bressie doesn't answer right away, just takes a healthy swallow of his whiskey. Niall watches his throat move. Eventually Bressie meets his eyes and shrugs. "Eh," is all he says.
Niall screws up his face. He's not sure if he should be offended or if Bressie's having him on. "What are you, crazy?"
Bressie rubs a long finger in a little puddle of whiskey that's spilled on the table. Niall kicks him. "You don't like Louis?"
Bressie sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, tilts his head to the side like he's actually thinking it over. "I don't like how he is with you."
Niall laughs, confused and still fairly convinced Bressie's making fun of him. "Like how?"
Bressie shrugs and looks a little uncomfortable. "Dunno," he says, peering up at the ceiling. "Overly familiar, I suppose."
Niall laughs loudly, slapping his knee. "Overly familiar? You're a mad man! I practically live with him, have for years!"
Bressie frowns. "Yeah, yeah," he says, but it sits badly with Niall, like a splinter in his skin. Bressie's— Bressie's the best, really, and Louis is basically Niall's brother, and it's important, suddenly, that they really like each other, since Niall loves them both.
"I get that he can be over the top," Niall starts, but Bressie waves a hand at him, stopping him before he can build up steam defending Louis.
"It's not Louis. Or, not just Louis. I dunno. Maybe I'm old fashioned or something, but I don't like it when they do that kind of stuff with you."
Niall peers at him, feeling a little too drunk for how serious Bressie sounds. "What kind of stuff?"
Bressie frowns into his glass, shrugging. "All of it, I suppose."
Niall kicks at his knee, and Bressie glances up at him, smiles a little hesitantly.
"You know," Bressie says, but Niall kicks him again because he doesn't know. Bressie looks at him then, and it's a heavy look, quiet and considering. "Teasing you," he says eventually, voice gone a bit raspy with the late hour. His cheeks are a bit flushed, maybe from the drink. "Touching you."
Something about his tone makes Niall's stomach flip, inexplicably nervous. He smiles anyway, nudges Bressie's knee again and says, "Nah, mate, it's fine! It's just the lads! It's like Eoghan and that lot. That's how we are."
Bressie gulps down the rest of his whiskey and stares morosely at the bottom of the empty glass. "Well, it feels different to me," he says, sounding stroppy. "I don't like it."
Niall's grin falters for a moment. It's just that he barely ever gets to spend time with Bressie anymore, and he'd been so happy to have all of his boys together, and he really wants Bressie to like everyone, so that maybe he'll come back again. Maybe he'll feel like he's properly part of Niall's life and they won't go months and months barely even exchanging tweets. Niall knows he's pissed, but suddenly this feels really important. "Hey," Niall says, wiggling his foot under Bressie's big thigh, poking him with his socked toes. "I'm telling you; it's fine. They don't mean anything by it—"
"That's just it," Bressie interjects, sounding unhappy and maybe even a little angry. "If I—" He clenches his jaw, looks away. "There's a reason I just watch when you and Eoghan are licking each other and all that nonsense." He takes a visible breath, and shakes his head slowly. "If I got to—do that," he says, voice tight, "Touch you like that." He doesn't look at Niall, keeps his eyes down. "I would—it would mean something. To me."
Niall doesn't know how to respond, falling quiet. It sounds like—but no. "Brez," he says eventually, tentatively. "What—what are you saying?"
Bressie doesn't clarify. He just looks up, meets Niall's eyes with his own for one long, belly-clenching moment.
And then he wipes at his face, chuckles a little. "Nah, nevermind, don't listen to me," he says, standing up. "I'm drunk and talking shite."
He is drunk, and so is Niall, but it feels like a cop-out. It's not like Niall's never done or said anything odd after one too many, but this seems different somehow. Loaded. Niall watches as Bressie pulls out a t-shirt and pyjama pants, watches him as he carefully undresses and folds his clothes neatly, so that they won't wrinkle.
A few minutes too late, Niall says, "Yeah, alright," but it comes out hoarse and low, and Bressie ignores him. Niall keeps thinking about it though, can't stop even as Bressie brushes his teeth and spits in the sink.
They don't discuss it anymore, whatever it is. They don't talk at all beyond grunted g'nights, but Niall can't get it out of his head, the idea that maybe Bressie wants—something.
Bressie is still awake, facing the wall so all Niall can see is the defensive curl of his broad back. He's not sleeping, muscles tense and breathing alert. The divide between their beds seems especially far right now, and it starts to make Niall worry. He loves Bressie, doesn't want him to shut down. It's not clear exactly what's happening, but Niall feels pretty sure that whatever it is Bressie wants will be something that Niall's more than happy to give him. The thrill of it thrums in his chest, in the blood rushing in his ears, the vague feeling of need making him jittery under the covers. It's new, and exciting, and he doesn't want to be by himself.
After a few more minutes, Niall throws caution to the wind and slips out of his own bed, crosses over to Bressie's and sits next to him. It's a bit awkward at first, but Niall wiggles his bum down until his the backs of his shoulders hit the pillow. He's not—he's not trying anything. He's still tipsy and Bressie's here and Niall wants to be close to him, is all.
The night is quiet, and Bressie doesn't say anything at all, so Niall draws a shaky breath and breaks the silence. "I wouldn't mind, y'know." He keeps his eyes on the ceiling, feels his cheeks go hot. "If you wanted that."
Bressie still doesn't say anything, and it's maddening. Niall can feel the heat of him all scrunched up, big body trying to be small somehow. He reaches out, takes one of Bressie's hands, huge and heavy, and he drags it over, puts it on his own belly.
Bressie still doesn't speak, just lies there, lets his hand settle, fingers spread wide on Niall's stomach.
Neither of them move, and for a fleeting moment Niall panics, thinks maybe he got it all wrong and Bressie's just being protective or big-brotherly or something, but then he hears Bressie pull in a breath, hears how it trembles. Niall darts a glance over, sees how Bressie looks, face devastated, eyes fixed on his own hand.
It's tense and it's thrilling and it's insane but it feels right, makes Niall curl his toes against the bed. He blinks at the ceiling, crazy thoughts running through his mind. This is all just—it's fucking fantastic, is what it is, and Niall can't help but cover Bressie's hand with his own, twining their fingers together.
He hears Bressie draw a shuddery breath, then feels the tips of Bressie's fingers curling into the soft round of his belly, pressing gently, gently, always gently. His thoughts churn, but the steady weight of Bressie's hand holding him down makes him melt into the sheets. He breathes along with Bressie, unable to keep from falling asleep, feeling warm and safe and cherished.
* * *
The next morning Niall wakes up alone. He stumbles to the bathroom to clean his teeth and finds a note from Bressie stuck to the mirror over the his-and-hers sinks. Went for a run. Niall pockets it, happy and excited in a ridiculous, crush kind of way.
When Bressie goes for runs, he usually means business—no quick jogs around the block—so Niall is free to take his time in the shower. It's one of the better ones on tour so far: huge and marble with two shower heads, spectacular pressure, and a seemingly endless supply of hot water. He soaps himself up lazily, spacing out; all he can think about is Bressie.
Niall wants to kiss him, wants to know what it's like. He'd practically need to stand on a chair to do it, but the idea of it is a turn-on—Bressie bending over him, his strong hands, his hot mouth. Niall backs up, pressing himself to the slick shower wall, and tongues at his hand, imagining it. He pretends it's Bressie pushing him back, standing in front of him in the shower, solid and demanding and kissing Niall like he needs it.
That gets him hard—of course it does—dick insistent and bobbing as Niall shifts his hips, spreads his thighs wider, feet slipping a bit on the floor of the shower. He's red right down to his chest, he's sure. The water is hot as it hits his skin, but mostly he can't believe he's so ready so fast, easy at the mere idea of Bressie wanting him, kissing him. It seems ridiculous even on his own in the shower, balls tight like he could almost come just from thinking about making out.
He grips his cock with a sudsy hand, swallowing around the embarrassment, blotting it out when everything feels slippery-hot as he tugs. He goes slow, drawing it out, looking down to watch as he fucks into his own fist. He wonders if Bressie wants to see this, if he's thought about it, the pink skin of Niall's dickhead poking through the curl of his fingers, if he'd blush at the slapping sound of hand-on-dick, the squelch of the soap and water, blurts of precome dribbling over Niall's thumb.
He stutters for a moment when the next idea hits him, of watching Bressie do the same: muscles straining, mouth wet and open, thick thighs spread, big hand and long fingers working over his monster of a cock. It'd hang so heavy, Niall's sure, and Bressie would work a broad, blunt thumb over the purpled knob of it, rubbing into the slit as it oozes precome, smearing slick everywhere, palm pumping messily over the whole fat length of it.
Niall groans, can't help it, his hand working faster on his own cock when he thinks about it, the size and weight of Bressie's dick, Bressie's hunched shoulders and the water sluicing over his chest, over the working muscles of his arms.
He bites his lip and shoots, making a pained noise as ropes of come spurt down his fist. It feels brilliant, his cock twitching as he rides it out, eyes closed and toes curled. He leans against the wall of the shower, hand cupped loosely over his softening dick, trying to catch his breath as he watches the swirls of jizz wash down the drain.
* * *
They've got some press mid-morning, so he doesn't see Bressie until they meet up for a late lunch back at the hotel. Niall spots him straight away as the five of them tumble into the restaurant, broad shoulders, clean-damp hair, somehow making jeans and a t-shirt seem dapper as usual.
Bressie looks up, and when their eyes meet Niall gets a jolt, this little buzz like lightning sizzling through him. He grins, certain he looks like an idiot, but not really caring.
Bressie sprawls in his seat, long arm flung across the top of the booth. The slow grin he gives Niall makes something hot curl in his gut. "How'd it go?"
Niall doesn't even realize that he's frozen in place until Liam bumps into his back. "Oh you know, Louis wants Zayn with him if he's ever stranded on a desert island, a girl once hid in a bin to meet us, Harry told a pointless story that never actually ended and Niall is the cute one. Just the usual."
Harry's arm snakes around Niall's waist, mouth right by his ear. "Niall's totally the cute one," he says, nipping lightly at Niall's neck. It tickles, makes Niall squinch up his shoulder and tuck his chin, but Harry isn't deterred, just pokes a finger in the curve of Niall's dimple. "Look at that smile," Harry teases, squeezing him enthusiastically.
Niall laughs as he looks up again, but trails off when he sees Bressie. He's scowling, is the thing, glaring at his iPhone and decidedly not looking in Niall's direction. Harry and Liam are great, but Niall can mess about with them anytime. He's only got one more day with Bressie, and he doesn't intend to let him spend it with that look on his face.
The restaurant pulled together several tables in the roped-off area for them, which the lads all crowd around. Niall heads over to Bressie's booth instead and slides in on the same side that Bressie's sitting on, nudging him over. Bressie looks uncomfortable. He doesn't look up at Niall right away, just keeps fiddling with his water glass.
"Eh? So?" Niall says, shoving at him. "What about you? Like my smile?" he teases, grinning, because Bressie has to realise he's got nothing to worry about at all. "D'you think I'm the cute one?"
Bressie gives him a soft smile then, crooked in a way that makes Niall feel all warm and fluttery in his belly. He seems to forget himself for a moment, runs a knuckle down Niall's cheek and then slides his hand right back around his glass so fast Niall thinks maybe he imagined it. He looks away, nods. "Yeah, yeah. You know you're gorgeous," he says. He looks pink under his stubble, and the way he ducks his head lets Niall knows that he means it.
Niall can't help but grin wider, bursting with it. He leans into Bressie's side, cuddling up against him, feeling bold and particularly affectionate. "I just like to hear you say it, mate," he says.
* * *
The show that night is even better than the last. Niall can feel Bressie's eyes on him from the side of the stage, can't stop himself from smiling like an idiot every time he chances a look in his direction.
When the concert's over and they're all back in the greenroom, changed and ready to head out, Niall tucks his fingers in Bressie's belt. He doesn't let go for the rest of the night, tugging him insistently towards their room when Louis, Liam, and Zayn announce they're going out for a curry. Bressie shoots him a shaky smile; Niall chalks it up to excitement.
"When have you ever in your life turned down a curry?" Zayn asks, complete confusion on his face. Niall waves him off, still towing Bressie down the hall to the bank of lifts.
"Loads of times," he calls. "You lot are lethal with a curry down you, I'm not subjecting myself to that." He laughs brightly, and Bressie snorts. Zayn flips him off with a smile.
"We're getting room service, though," Niall says, just to Bressie. "I could eat a horse."
They end up having a couple burgers instead, the posh gourmet kind with glistening, fluffy buns and rocket instead of lettuce; they're beyond delicious. Niall's got two fingers of Tullamore Dew, Bressie's lounging next to him on the couch, The Fast and the Furious is on the the telly, and as soon as it's over they're going to bed. Together.
His life has never been more perfect.
When the credits start rolling, Bressie's tense, but Niall can't blame him; he's strung tightly himself, hyper-aware of every sound and movement. He lets himself look at Bressie as long as he wants, drinking him in. His jeans are tight across his thighs, and he's started sweating through his shirt, the cotton darkening under his arms. Niall has the overwhelming desire to smell him, to press his face to the soft creases of Bressie's pits. "Bedtime," he says cheerfully instead, and hops to his feet on the couch cushion. He bounces up and down on it a bit, like jumping on a bed, jostling Bressie.
Bressie looks up at him, eyes wide like he's startled. "Right. I'll just," Bressie tries, but trails off, gesturing awkwardly towards the bathroom.
"Go on, Big Face," Niall says, kicking at his stomach playfully. Bressie gives him a tight smile and gets up, grabbing the t-shirt and pyjama pants he slept in last night on the way to the bathroom.
Niall goes over to his suitcase and strips down to his underwear, the sounds of Bressie brushing his teeth and gargling coming through the door. His heart kicks up in his chest. He folds his clothes with slightly shaky hands, puts them on top of the haphazard pile in his bag.
He whirls around when Bressie clears his throat. "Your turn," he says, eyes fixed somewhere on the ground, cheeks pink. Niall's never brushed his teeth faster. He leaves his retainer in its case with a smug smile at himself in the mirror. He looks so pale and skinny in the bathroom light, eyes wide, nipples already embarrassingly peaked. He's self-conscious, suddenly, wishing he'd put on a vest.
When he goes back to his suitcase to get one, Bressie's already in bed, turned on his side like last night, and has all the lights off except the reading light over Niall's side of the nightstand. Niall pads over to the empty side of Bressie's bed once he's pulled on his shirt and knees up onto it. "Gonna have to scootch a bit if we're sharing," he says, eyeing the lack of space. His pulse is pounding in his ears and he can hardly keep still, everything narrowing down to this one moment.
"Right," Bressie says, strained. He turns over, looking at Niall like he's completely exhausted. "I'll take the other bed then."
Niall frowns at him, confused, as he gets up and goes to the other bed. Everything feels off-kilter. "Why?"
Bressie scrubs at his face before answering. "I can't just—" he starts, sounding anguished. "I can't just lie here again like last night."
"Oh," Niall says. "I thought—" he tries, but trails off weakly. He thought they were gonna give this thing a go, was excited about it all day. He could feel it in his chest, in his belly. But maybe he had it all wrong. It's hard to know when they don't talk about it. "I just," Niall says, deciding to be honest, "I liked it last night." He shrugs a bit, feeling exposed and unsure. "I like that, I guess. When you touch me."
Bressie's face crumples. "Christ, don't say that."
Niall swallows thickly. He's not going to apologize for how he feels. He pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them, tucking himself up. "I thought you liked it, too," he murmurs.
Bressie huffs out a laugh, incredulous. Niall looks over at him when he hears the creak of the other bed. Bressie's leant over, elbows on his knees, head hanging. "This isn't just some nice, sweet mates thing to me," he says, voice low and wavering. Niall holds his breath. "It was torture for me last night, touching you, but not—" He pushes a hand through his hair, and he looks so unhappy, and Niall doesn't understand. They should be on the same page, here.
"Hey," Niall says softly.
Bressie lifts his head and stares right at him. "Look, this isn't like your band. I want—I want so much more than that." He clenches his jaw, looks down at his hands. "And I know I shouldn't. You're so young, and I'm—not. I'm supposed to be looking out for you, and not—feeling like this."
The thing is, none of it is any different from what Niall had thought, hoped for. But hearing Bressie actually say it, hearing how rough he sounds, like he's—god, like he wants it so bad, it makes Niall feel crazy. He fists his hands in the sheets, takes a deep, steadying breath. "Well come on then, eejit."
Bressie snorts, like he doesn't think Niall means it, so Niall pulls off his shirt and tosses it on the floor. Bressie doesn't laugh anymore. His eyes flit down Niall's chest, making Niall flush and feel scrawny and young and nervous. He wants this, though—so much. It's like he's never been more sure of anything. He pats the mattress and looks over at Bressie, expectant, mustering up the bravado to say, "Dunno what you're waiting for—"
Before he even gets the full sentence out, Bressie's on him. He hauls Niall in, lifting him like he's nothing, pulling him underneath his body, hovering over him on the bed. It makes Niall's heart pound in his chest, but it feels good, so he wraps himself around Bressie, arms around his neck, legs around his hips, and lifts his chin up, hoping for a kiss.
Bressie looks down at him, breathing shakily, meets his eyes for a few beats that feel like forever, and then finally, finally dips down and kisses Niall for the first time.
His mouth is soft but his face is rough with stubble. He kisses Niall sweetly, tentatively. It makes Niall tingle all the way down to the arches of his feet. He tastes like toothpaste, cool and smooth, and he smells like whiskey and sweat and clean cotton. Bressie's hand is gentle on the side of Niall's face, thumb brushing along his cheek, nothing less than wondrous. He's so big, body blocking out everything else, but somehow he's still holding back, hips tilted away.
Niall catches his tongue, sucks it with quick, relentless pulls until Bressie is groaning against his lips. "C'mon," he mutters, tugging desperately at Bressie's broad shoulders. It's useless, of course. Bressie's a wall of muscle, not moving unless he decides to.
Niall wants him, though, so badly his chest aches, everything in him straining to be closer, to get more. He wants all sorts of things, but most immediately he wants to feel Bressie's weight pressing him down into the bed. He wants to rub his cock into Bressie's solid belly, wants to rut into his hip. Most of all, he wants to know what Bressie's dick feels like, hard and heavy and fuck he needs it.
He kisses Bressie, shameless and dirty, licking into his mouth and thrusting up against him, desperately canting his hips. "Jesus Christ," Bressie gasps.
Niall nips his bottom lip and suckles at it. "C'mon," he mewls, breathless and needy. "Please, Bressie, please, want you. Need you t—"
Something in Bressie snaps, and he drops his full weight down onto Niall. He's massive, arms thickly muscled, holding Niall down as if Niall would ever want to be anywhere else. "Shit, yeah," Niall whispers hungrily, voice catching in this throat when Bressie jars his body, rutting against him. He's clutching at the backs of Bressie's shoulders, fingers digging in as Bressie rocks his hips down, his thick, hard cock rubbing ceaselessly against Niall's through his pants, over and over. Niall's chubbed up too, achingly hard now. His dick twitches with need, the head slippery with precome, soaking through his underwear, making the relentless friction hot and damp.
Bressie kisses him deep, his tongue slicking in and out of Niall's mouth like a plush, hot fuck. It feels like Niall can’t breathe; he's dizzy with it, and he doesn’t want Bressie to stop kissing him, ever. He plucks at Bressie's shirt, wants it off so he can really feel him, see him, but he still whines when Bressie has to pull away to chuck it. Niall can't stay in his own head, his thoughts only a blur of jaw, arms, back, cock, all jumbled up and re-ordered—he needs, feels reckless with wanting more and more and more.
"Fuck," Niall gasps, eyes roving hungrily over thick muscle and neat chest hair that reminds him this is wildly different from tossing off with one of his mates back home. His eyes catch on the tented leg of Bressie's pants, fat with his erection. He has to force himself to look away, drag his eyes back up to the impossible bulge of Bressie's bicep. He's never felt so desperate and so safe at the same time. "You're huge."
Bressie presses him down into the bed again, radiating heat from his bare skin, powerful hips pushing up into Niall's. Niall can't help but touch him, hands running over Bressie's pecs, his shoulders, the muscles shifting under his fingers."You're perfect," Bressie groans, biting lightly at Niall's chest and then kissing the pink marks he leaves behind. "Better than I ever imagined."
Niall arches up, pushing towards Bressie, and tugs his head down. Niall's nipples are sensitive, tight, and he wants to feel Bressie's mouth there. Bressie's smart, goes right for it, using lips and the barest hint of teeth. He sucks, swirling his tongue and scraping Niall's skin with his stubbly chin. Niall gasps.
"You've thought about it?" he manages, every word an effort not to keen.
"You have no idea," Bressie murmurs, kissing him deep enough to steal his breath. He slides his mouth, wet and open, down Niall's neck, to his chest again, lower after that.
Niall can't help but whimper when Bressie tugs his underwear off, presses soft kisses to Niall's hips, down the crease of his thighs. Nothing exists beyond his dick, wet and needy and bobbing in the air, so fucking close to Bressie's mouth. When Bressie sucks a kiss onto the head, tonguing all around it, Niall cries out, embarrassingly desperate.
Bressie suckles at him like he tastes delicious, endlessly hungry, soft tongue swirling and firm hand stroking until Niall kicks at the bed, flailing with how good it feels. "Shh," Bressie whispers into the base of his cock, and the feel of his breath makes Niall arch, arousal like an electric shock. "I've got you," he breathes, and then presses a wet kiss down low, to the thin skin just behind Niall's balls.
The kiss is followed by a curious finger, knuckle pressing and kneading along sensitive skin. Niall shakes, thighs parting, so easy for Bressie. He fists a hand in the sheets as Bressie bobs down on his cock, hot mouth sucking him like he can't get enough, like he's never had anything sweeter. Niall moans and pulls his knees up, spreading himself open, arching at the small of his back, trying to get more. He gasps when he feels that finger pushing inside, slick with spit, relentless.
It's better than he ever thought it would be, having something warm and thick prying him open, stretching him, making him feel full. His twitches against Bressie's lips, flexing towards his mouth as Bressie fucks in and out shallowly at first, working Niall up. His pulse throbs where his hole is spread around Bressie's finger, too tight.
Niall drops his head back, hips jolting when Bressie sucks him down again, hot tongue tracing under the sensitive crown of Niall's cock. Everything narrows down to the feeling of Bressie’s big finger moving inside him, balls aching and pulling up when Bressie goes a little faster. He screws in, pushing deeper, rougher. It makes Niall cry out, too loud, dick fat and bubbling precome, ready to shoot.
"Brez, oh. Oh, fuck, I'm gonna come—" Niall garbles out, eyes squinting shut at the feeling of his dick swelling impossibly thick, so hard it feels tight.
Bressie doesn't pull away, just pets at him, gets his finger in deep and presses. His warm mouth bobs on his dick one last time, hot and wet, and Niall can't stop it from happening. He sobs with it, shoots all over the inside of Bressie's mouth, wads of jizz slick against Bressie's tongue. He feels the hot, tugging pull as Bressie swallows it all down with low, pleased sounds.
Niall floats, thinking of his come filling Bressie's belly and he groans, teeth clenched, pleasure making his body flush like a fever. "Shit," he manages, barely more than a rasp.
"Taste so good," Bressie breathes out after, shuddery, forehead to Niall's hip, hidden there. Niall can feel how the bed shakes with his body, can feel how Bressie's wanking furiously, mouth rubbing into his skin. "Took me so sweet," he says. "Opened right up for me. Fuck."
It's a challenge for Niall to control his limbs, but he manages to tug weakly on Bressie's ear. "C'mon," he murmurs. "I wanna see."
Bressie lets out a ragged breath, moaning into Niall's hip, but he pulls himself up, legs bracketing Niall's, kneeling over him as he strokes himself.
"Jesus Christ, Bressie," Niall says, staring. Bressie's dick is massive, desperate red and shiny-wet in his fist.
Bressie makes a hurt sound and speeds up his strokes, knee-walking up the bed so that he's straddling Niall's hips, biceps and thighs straining. He looks shattered, brow creased and lips parted like he's completely overwhelmed. Niall is stunned that this is all because of him, that he has this man—this fucking brilliant, gorgeous man—wanting him so much.
Niall reaches out a trembling hand, wanting to touch, but he doesn't get a chance to before he sees the telltale cock-flex, hears Bressie groaning, and then stripes of hot come splatter up Niall's body, clinging to his belly and chest.
Niall watches him, fascinated, as he comes down. His lax mouth, the way his eyes can't seem to stay open, eyelashes all spiky with wet, like it felt so good to cream all over Niall that he cried with it.
Bressie presses his sticky hand into Niall's belly, steadying himself as he collapses onto the mattress. He's lying on his stomach but his face is turned towards Niall, eyes slitted and skin damp with sweat. Niall presses a few kisses to his slack lips until Bressie responds properly, tilting his head and sliding his tongue in deep.
They kiss until their mouths go numb, all the while Bressie rubbing come into Niall's skin, marking him with it. They smell like sex and sweat. After a moment, Niall knocks his forehead into Bressie's and sighs heavily.
Bressie opens one eye curiously. "What?"
Niall smiles at him, brings his own come-slick fingers up to press against Bressie's mouth, sucking in a breath when Bressie's tongue darts out to taste.
"S'matter," Bressie mumbles, nudging Niall with his nose.
"Hmm?" Niall can't stop staring at Bressie's mouth. His entire face. "Oh, I just—that was—different."
Bressie tenses, expression blank. "Different? That's the word you're using?"
"No, no, not bad-different," he says quickly, grabbing Bressie's hand and shooting him a reassuring smile. Bressie just raises his eyebrows, still looking a little concerned.
"So, then what was different?" He squeezes Niall's fingers.
"Um, well first there was the whole thing where there were two dicks," Niall says, flushing all over again, so small and young and ridiculous next to Bressie. "But also, I was," he bites his lip, self-conscious, "I was really hot for it? Like, I can't even imagine being like that with a girl. Begging and all that, like I was. Feeling—everything I was feeling. Don't think I could."
Niall had been wholly consumed; he couldn't think about anything, only enough room in his body to feel how badly he wanted Bressie. He couldn't be cool about it, couldn't plan what to say or do. He was whining, grinding, completely undone in a way he would never be with a girl. It was thrilling, freeing.
Bressie relaxes again, pulling Niall in close. His eyes are serious, and he doesn't blink when he says, "You won't. Not with anyone else."
Niall nods, stomach swooping. It feels huge and important when he says, "Yeah, 'course not. No one else."
Bressie knocks his chin and leans in for a lingering kiss. "Damn straight," he says.
* * *
He wakes up to the muted grey of watery pre-dawn light, his skin come-sticky and smelling like Bressie. It feels good, even the twinge in his arse when he stretches makes him flush, proud. He squirms out from under Bressie's arm and shuffles off to the toilet to have a wee.
He can see the dried streaks of come on his belly when the bathroom lights flicker on, and he pauses, considers wiping himself off or taking a quick shower. After a long moment he rubs a damp flannel haphazardly down his chest, just enough to clear up the crusted bits and still leave him smelling like sex. He'll shower in the morning.
He pushes down the tiny ache, the sinking feeling that comes with the realization that Bressie's headed back to Dublin tomorrow.
He flips the light off and heads back to the bedroom, pausing in the doorway when he finds Bressie awake, propped up on the pillows, watching him. Niall's skin heats as Bressie's eyes slide down, drinking him in. He wishes he'd left the dried come for Bressie to see.
"Didn't mean to wake you," Niall says, voice seeming over-loud in the half-light before sunrise.
"Didn't mean to fall asleep," Bressie answers, no more than a low rumble.
They watch each other from across the room until Bressie beckons him over with a nod. Niall flushes, feels a bit like a pup coming to heel when he pads over to Bressie's side of the bed. He lets Bressie pull him onto his lap as if he weighs nothing. Bressie kisses him, gently and thoroughly, like he's something precious, like Bressie's afraid he'll never get another chance. Niall takes it, breathless with how good it is. They both taste like sleep but he doesn't care, limbs heavy with contentment and a sated warmth in his chest.
Bressie lies back, tucking Niall under his chin, arms wrapped around him. Niall curls up, feeling small but protected, pleasantly worn out. He drifts back to sleep to the steady rise and fall of Bressie's chest, his heartbeat under Niall's cheek.
When Niall wakes up, it's to an empty bed and the smell of bacon. He rubs at his eyes blearily, looking around for Bressie; the shower's not running, and it looks like his suitcase is gone. Niall scrambles out of bed, about to run down to the lobby to see if he could still catch him, when he sees the plates on the table by the TV. There's an envelope propped against a glass of orange juice that has Nialler written on it in neat print.
Thought you could use a good breakfast after last night, so I ordered you a fry. Hate that I'm not there to share it with you, but I had to go or I'd miss my flight. I thought about waking you up to get my goodbye kiss, but you looked too perfect and I just couldn't. Part of me thought it might all be a dream, too good to be true, and I didn't want to ruin it.
Have a good trip today, and break a leg at the show tonight. I'll be thinking of you.
—Brez xx
Niall feels too big for his body, his stomach fluttering and heart kick-starting in his chest. He grabs his phone from the arm of the couch, clenching it in a white-knuckled fist while he tries to decide what he should text Bressie in response.
He drinks some juice and manages some bacon, but he's too wired to eat much else. He showers and gets dressed in a daze, winding up back in the chair by the table, staring at the note, phone in hand. Suddenly there's a rapping at the door, and Niall trips over his own feet in his haste to get to it, certain it must be Bressie.
It's Basil. "You're late for bus call," he says, concerned rather than stern. "Feeling okay?"
"Yeah," Niall says, blinking at Basil, nonplussed. It was supposed to be Bressie. "Just got a late start. Be right there."
He has to shove all his things in his suitcase higgledy-piggledy, but he finally makes it down to the bus and into his bunk without any more fuss. Luckily, Zayn is even later.
Niall climbs into his bunk and pulls the curtain to, lying on his back and staring at the blank text screen on his phone. He drafts about twenty different texts before he finally decides on a light-hearted one, some little joke because this is still Bressie, that hasn't changed, and Niall wants him to feel good and comfortable and make sure he knows Niall's okay.
Got your note,never woulda pegged u for such a romantic ! Least you know the way to a mans heart is thru his stomach !
Niall waits a good forty-five minutes into the drive for Bressie to reply, but he's probably getting on his plane soon, and Niall just can't keep his eyes open anymore. He drifts asleep with his phone in his hand, lulled by the motion of the bus, pretending it's the steady rise and fall of Bressie's chest underneath him.