Hail Mary

Niall

Payne and I have spent almost every night together over the past few weeks, and it's been absolutely amazing. Sometimes we had legit reasons, like when I was trying to prepare him for another test in his psychology class, and then help him figure out the topic of his term paper. Other times we were just hanging out, playing video games or watching football or whatever. But most of the time we ended up fooling around before the night was through, and I can't say I wasn't always thinking about it in one way or another. I'm twenty-one years old. My cock perks up at the slightest mention of Payne. So when I have access to him, it's hard to keep my hands off. Fortunately, he doesn't seem to mind. We spend hours on his bed, kissing and touching like we're both in our teens again and we've never done this before. I know it's mostly true for him, but for me it's pretty mind-blowing. It's not like I don't know my way around a man's body. But with Payne, everything feels new. I want to commit every line, every little dip, every inch of skin to memory so I can play back the images in my mind when we're apart and feel him on my fingertips, taste him on my lips again. It's... intense. More intense than I expected, but I can't seem to take a step back to catch my breath. I don't really want to. Payne—Liam—gave me his trust. He's asking me to guide him, and I have to jump in head first. It's more than just the physical, though. Sure, I remember the heat of his body and the way it feels against mine. I remember just how he shudders as he climaxes in my hand or my mouth. I remember the way he looks up at me when he's pleasing me. But I also remember his sometimes shy smiles. The way he laughs at my stupid jokes. Our not-very-heated arguments about NFL players. How he licks his lips when he's concentrating on homework. He's my friend, first and foremost. My best friend. It's easy to admit that now. But it's starting to become almost painful not to see him. On the nights when we each have too much shit going on to get together—even just to hang out—I don't feel right. I wake up feeling disoriented and less certain about the world around me. It's like Payne is my anchor, and without him, I'm just sort of drifting. I don't really know how to tell him that, or if I even should. The season is ramping up fast, and we're racking up enough wins to actually start really thinking about post-season. I know Payne wants to be the top seed and get to the Citrus Bowl, and we're actually on track for it. Ranked #4 in the country, #2 in our division, we're the team that, according to all the sportscasters, "Came out of nowhere and may have a real chance at a national title." A lot of it hinges on our next game against Tennessee. They're sitting high at the top spot in the SEC right now, but not by a huge margin. If we bump them off in this game, we've got a real shot of pulling ahead. So I can't really think about what I may or may not feel for Payne, or what he may or may not feel for me. I have to focus on the game, and I know he feels the same. He's been laser-focused at practice, settling back into the groove he was in when I first met him. Only this time, he seems a little more willing to compromise. He's examining his own play just as much as always, but not analyzing everybody else's. For once, he's actually leaving that to Coach Garvey. Meanwhile, I'm trying to step it up. When Coach tells me I'll be starting the game, I'm equal parts pumped and fucking terrified, because I know letting the guys down this time is going to count for a lot more than it would have in my first starting game. On Friday night, we fly up to Knoxville. The airport is only a little bigger than the one back home, and it takes a puddle-jumper from Charlotte to get there. By the time we drag ourselves to the hotel, everybody's pretty much ready to fall into bed. We've been practicing all week, it seems like, and Coach had us reviewing footage of the Vols while we were on the plane, so none of us got any shut-eye. I'm rooming with Payne, by some miracle, and it's a blessing and a curse because as soon as we set down our bags and I look at him across the room, my dick—who never seems to get tired—reminds me that we're alone here. Mostly. Sure, the walls are paper thin, but how often are we going to have this chance on the road? I can tell he's thinking the same thing, but when he flops onto the bed, my whole body seems to tell me that's exactly what we need. I change into clothes that don't smell like an airport and climb into bed with him. It's just a twin, so we barely fit. My ass is hanging off the side and I'm pretty sure parts of him are hanging off the other side. But he doesn't tell me to move. In fact, he seems to relax more, pulling me closer. A now-familiar tightness fills my chest, and I rest my head against him. "You nervous about the game?" I ask. "Hell yes." His voice is a soft rumble that I can almost feel vibrate through him. I smile as the sensation tickles my cheek. "Coach had me watching hours of footage of the Vols' defensive line grinding QBs into dust." I laugh. "Yeah, he had me watching receivers making friends with the ground. Motivating." It was, in a way. I know better than to let myself get outmatched, for one. One of their guys is especially handsy, and will likely try to grab the ball from me. In this game, I know it's going to be better to focus on fundamentals and not try any of the fancy shit we got away with in the past. But I'm still nervous, and hearing that Payne is, too, makes me feel a little better. As it turns out, Coach Garvey's scare tactics are really fucking effective. Either that, or everybody else on the team can taste the chance for an amazing season as much as Payne and I. Everybody's on point, and while it isn't the world's most exciting game in terms of trick plays or turnovers or really putting up big points, we manage to outplay Tennessee. It's good, by the numbers ball-playing. I didn't even manage to score, but I don't care. When we go back to the locker room after the final whistle blows, I feel like that tentative sense of excitement has grown into confident energy. All the guys around me aren't just wondering if we have a shot now. They're sure we do. So is the press, apparently, because it takes hours for us to be released back to our hotel. The game was an upset in our conference, and the sportscasters are all over it. So much so that Coach Garvey ends up calling a press conference in one of the hotel's larger rooms, and a bunch of us have to sit through an hour and a half of questions about our season, our past, and our potential future. By the time Payne and I get back to our room, the adrenaline high of winning the game is pretty much tapped out and replaced by fatigue. We showered in the locker room, so we both just sort of slump into our own beds and fall into a deep sleep. When I wake up, it's to a slight weight on top of me, and something soft and wet and warm against my jaw. My eyes open and my vision focuses enough to see Payne. I can feel his breath, the pressure of his lips, and finally realize he's kissing me. Marking a trail along my jaw. I make a soft sound of pleasure, still half-asleep, and he stops for a moment. Not exactly what I wanted that sound to encourage. "Couldn't sleep," he says before he goes back to it, kissing my neck. His hand moves down my body, and the rest of me starts to wake up before my mind really gets with the program. "What time is it?" I ask groggily. Because I'm an idiot, apparently. What does it matter what time it is? Payne is on top of me. "Around three." I groan, and not in pleasure. We barely conked out an hour ago. No wonder I'm dragging. Or at least, my brain is dragging. My dick is already starting to respond to the indirect attention. "Been thinking about it all week," he says, and he runs his teeth over my earlobe in that way he knows drives me crazy. I shudder predictably, helpless to do anything but let him have his way with me. Not that it's a terrible way to go. "' Bout what," I murmur, my English skills not so great when I'm half asleep, apparently. "Molesting me in my sleep?" I'm lucky I manage to crack an eye open long enough to catch his grin. It makes me smile. "How do you know I haven't already done that?" I laugh softly. "Good point. Knock it off, though. I want to be awake for the good stuff." "That's what I'm trying to do now." His lips skim down my bare chest, and I gasp when his tongue flicks over my nipple. Damn him. I'm stuck between that painful place of really wanting to go back to sleep, and really wanting to get off, and it only gets worse when his hand starts to move down my thigh. I'm only wearing boxers, so he has an unfair amount of access. He uses it fully, slipping his hand under the loose leg and palming me skin to skin. "Jesus," I manage, lifting my hips against him. "Okay, you made your point." I get my hand in his hair and tug him up to meet me, waking up a little more when we kiss. It's still a little slow and languid, and I feel like I'm stumbling a little, but as my body starts to heat up, my mind starts to work right, too. "Niall," he says after breaking the kiss. He's started using my first name more now, but it still sends a little thrill through me every time, "I want you to fuck me." Holy shit. That wakes me up. For a long minute I just stare at him, and he stares back at me. He's waiting for me to say something. Do something. And like an idiot I'm not doing either of those things. "Are you sure?" I manage to croak out, my throat suddenly scratchy. Jesus. I'm going to make him not want me before I even get the chance to suit up. "Been sure for a while," he says, then kisses me again. Holy shit. Liam Payne wants me to fuck him. When we started this—and even when I fantasized about it—I always imagined he'd top. I've only bottomed a couple times in my life. Mostly because the guys I've met always seemed to prefer the role, and since I enjoy either, I just ended up topping more often than not. But I never figured Payne would be the kind of guy who would be into getting fucked, or even curious about it. He's huge. Bigger than me, built with endless muscle and definitely not what someone would imagine the stereotypical bottom to look like. Then again, there's nothing stereotypical about either of us, and if Liam really wants to be fucked—even just once to know what it's like—I'm definitely not going to deny him. He kisses a path down my body, and I know exactly what he's going for before he gets there. My breath still catches in my throat when he takes my cock in his mouth and sucks me hard, though, and my fingers tighten in his hair. There's nothing slow or experimental about it this time. He has a goal in mind, and that's getting me hard and ready to roll as quickly as possible. He does a good job of it, too. Between his expert sucking and my own thoughts, I firm up quickly. As if realizing that, Liam pushes himself up. He's straddling my hips, and I run my hands over his thighs as he pulls his shirt off. I watch his muscles flex in the dim light, and groan when he gets off of me to pull down his boxer briefs, too. By the time I lose my own boxers, he's on top of me again, and his dick rubs against mine. I moan wantonly, dropping my head back. He covers my lips with his, and we grind together until my dick is aching and my mind is filled with the intense desire to be inside of him. Liam must feel it, too, because as he moves his hips against mine again he asks, breathlessly, "Got any condoms with you?" "In my bag," I manage, and the words trail right into a pained groan as he gets up to grab them. Fuck me for dropping my bag right by the door instead of within reaching distance. But it does give me a chance to clear my head just a little bit. Instead of being totally consumed by lust and playing by the whims of my dick, I'm able to think about what we're doing here. "Grab the lube in there, too." When he comes back, I can see a little bit of apprehension in his eyes. That beautiful chocolate is still glazed over by lust, but he can't hide his nerves from me, and I'm glad for it. I sit up, then gesture for him to sit beside me. He hands me the lube and a condom he tore off from a strip, but I just hold them both in my hand. "You ever used any toys or anything? Or just your finger?" "Finger once, yeah, just to see what it would feel like." I grin a little. "What did it feel like?" "Like I didn't know what the fuck I was doing." I laugh, then give him a quick kiss. "Lie back." If we're going to do this, we're going to do it right.