All Those Missing Pieces; Niam & Larry *Completed*

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 3

Niall left the bathroom sometime around 11 am the next morning. Liam had already woken up, and leaped in his car to get breakfast. He felt silly wearing a hat and sunglasses on such a nice day, but he was, ‘under cover,’.

    Niall thought he had cleaned up all traces of his glitch last night and beside the red flushed face and slight limp in his step… Well you’d never know he’d done anything. Which was good. He’d never do it again and there was no need to alert the other boys. Slinking from his designated room and out into the hallway in only his stocking feet, he pulled the purple Jack Will’s hood farther down. Concealing his face and casting shadows. Niall had an intense craving for a beer, no screw beer, he wanted shots. Pure vodka or clear-water shots that’d burn his throat on the way down and cloud his mind. That’s exactly what he needed right now actually, was a fuzzy mind. What was the drinking age in France? He wondered, in then making up his mind he headed back to the room. Hushing the little part of his mind that told him it was too early to get wasted. He pulled on a pair of khaki tan chino’s, you know the kind that have a high waist but sag low in the crotch area? In then he slipped his head through a dark red polo and some reddish Supras before stumbling out of his room, not bothering with his hair.     He finger combed it as he waited for the elevator, and lucky him, when the metallic doors parted Liam stood there, looking good. No scratch that, fit, in his baggy basketball shorts and simple gray v neck. His eyes were an unusually bright shade of dark brown, sort of sexy and seductive and mysterious. Niall never took elevators, or he avoided them when he could, and now on the one day when he decided riding in the steel death trap would be a good idea Liam had been thinking along the same lines. The Mullingar and the Wolverhampton boys’ were cursing themselves.

Our Brunette boy had wanted to be the first thing his band mate and best-friend saw when he woke up, however odd and girly that was. A sad smirk twisted its way onto his crest fallen face. “You goin’ somewhere, eh?” Liam asks sticking out his hand to keep the elevator doors shut. His morning voice was gravelly and adorable, Niall hated himself for noticing it.

“I want to get a few pints,” In then he forced the offer past his eager lips, “Care to join me?” Actually, now that Liam did have two working kidneys, he still didn’t find himself inclined to drink. Someone had to make the decisions. And the right ones, at that. But Niall tilted/cocked his pretty face to the side, slightly to the right, stuck out what appeared to be a trembling bottom lip and widened his blue eyes… And BAM! Liam was instant putty in his hands and working him over just a bit more he stretched out his left hand, fingers splayed in an innocent-child like gesture that Liam found heartwarming.  “Pwease Wiam? For meee?” He added the Irish accent, which girls all seemed to adore, he didn’t know why, and put on that classic kicked-puppy look. Liam instantly sighed, taking the smaller boys softer, lighter hand in his own. He gave it a  reassuring squeeze.

“If it’ll make you feel better, we’ll get a few drinks. But that’s it. Okay?” And when Niall and Liam stepped into the metal cage, a certain blue eyed boy had never felt safer. He couldn’t tell you why... Or maybe he could.

Niall was dangerously drunk and Liam was just a little tipsy, meaning he was sort of unstable but sober enough to walk in a straight line…. Sort of. If you didn’t like the blond boy drink free, meaning obnoxious and breezy you’d have a sincere love hate relationship with his drunken side. He was sultry and seductive, trailing his finger along the certain parts of someone’s arm or back to cause shivers, he knew just were to blow air to case quaking in ones boots. In then he was really clingy, kissing on you and wanting to hug and hold your hand and smiling at you. It’s like he couldn’t decide if he wore the pants in the relationship or if he was just there to sit back and enjoy the rollercoaster that is life, as Zayn might put it. SO that’s how our innocent, or seemingly innocent, One Direction boy found himself pinned to the wall in some dark corner. His back was hurting, the person on him, he thinks vaguely that it’s a male but he’s too drunk to care, or maybe he’s just drunk enough to want to put some other male out of his mind, is kissing his neck so roughly the back of his head is slamming against the wall. He doesn’t really mind it at first; he finds it nice, comforting, that someone finds him attractive enough in this well-to-do club that they’d choose him over the rest of the gyrating bodies. It felt good, to know that this kid was kissing him and not Zayn, or Louis, or Harry, or some other long legged, water melon boobed girl. It felt nice to be chosen over all the other options, like he was the ALL-OF-THE-ABOVE      answer on the, what-guy-to-pick-up-and-have-a-degrading-one-night-stand-with quiz. He didn’t care that the boy was increasing in intensity until his little tweedy fingers starting to slowly slip into the waistband of his pants. In then his boxers.  He jerked away from his cold touch, feeling slightly weirded out. What did he take him for? He wondered, slightly flushing. He was only male and he did have a certain male part that was screaming with the pressure of the hormones. Niall shifted on his feet embarrassedly, trying to skedaddle and find that cute boy he’d come with-Liam- and go home and cuddle. Maybe watch Bambi, or if it was his choice, watch Nemo. His favorite kiddie movie. But the boy obviously had other plans, wrapping his strong fingers around Niall’s protruding hip-bone he pushed the much smaller and weaker lad back against the wall. Niall only began to scream when the boy started to inch his pants down, clamping a seemingly steel hand over his mouth. Niall’s eyes widen in realization, this was happening. This boy was going to take him right there in the corner of some grubby, rich person club where all the girls had boobs the size of 2-liters and legs as long as the highway Rascal Flats sang about. This was it. This would be the end of Innocent Nialler.

~LIAM~

I’d been searching for Niall for what felt like hours, a cold beer in my hand, the neck glistening with a sheen layer of condensation and my fingers were numb. That was, until I heard the scream, a very high pitched, thick, guttural, Irish scream. And only one person in the whole club could let a noise like that issue from his mouth. Niall. Niall James Horan. My Niall James Horan and he was in trouble. My brain was sluggish, trying to figure out where the scream came from at extremely low paces. C’mon Liam! Think! For God’s sake Niall needs you! Daddy Direction, that’s what they called me, and I couldn’t even save Niall!

Shut up, I command myself, Focus. I try to block out the pounding base, so loud my teeth ache and the back of my head seems to pound with the rhythm. I think I reach some type of Zen zone, because I can almost like-sense him. Or maybe I’m just really drunk. Ahahaha. Yeah.., Carrots… FOUCS LIAM. NOW! In then I hear it, the sound of a type of muffled shout and my body is reacting before my swirling head does. I strain forward, pushing my body to the limits as I push through bodies. Someone touches me there and I almost laugh at how absurd that is.

“Hey I just met you! And this is a crazy club! But I’ll feel you u-up!”  I almost fall over giggling at the intellectuality of my new song. In then I slap myself, literally, bring my palm up to my face and slap my face so hard I get dizzy. The first think I see is the dullish yellow that is Niall’s died brown hair. I notice there’s  a boy standing in front of my mate, and I grip his black jacketed shoulder and tear him away from Niall. I think he might’ve screamed. I did the only thing I could think to do, I threw the boy on the ground, slumping on top of him and raising my fist. No one touched Niall like that! Everything seemed to blur and the next thing I knew I was carrying a sobbing Niall, bridal style, through the crowd of bodies. I was shushing him, trying to make him feel safe again in my arms. I wanted to cry with him, as I flagged down a taxi and pretty much fell into it.

~…~

When I reached the hotel I was tired, and my arms felt like lead but Niall had fallen asleep with his head on my lap but I refused to wake him up. Instead I gripped him tightly, feeling like the only way he was protected was in my arms and carried him up the stairs. I took off his shoes, and stripped out of my shirt, and laid beside Niall in his bed. Niall curled up defensively, sobbing even in his sleep, and I wrapped both arms around his waist. One of my legs was tucked in between Niall’s, and the other was on top of his as I ran my fingers through his hair. I whispered nothings in his ear as I slightly rocked him to sleep.

~.~

Liam didn’t sleep well that night. As only to be expected. He watched Niall all night, who at one point, turned to face Liam. The older lad pulled the blond boy up, so his head was resting on his chest, their legs still weaved, as he kissed the top of his friends hair... In then Liam, sometime around 4 a.m. stumbled out of the bed and into the bathroom to relieve himself. The first thing he saw was the few, brilliant red, splotches of blood that flaked Niall’s bathtub. In then, our strong man, began to cry. Hysterically.