Are you alone, read the text. It was from Noel. Nothing remarkable in that. Liam had gotten the same text a few hundred times over the years, and his pulse was well-trained to pick up a bit, his cock already starting to stiffen. Usually he’d text an affirmative, throw out anyone who happened to be hanging about his hotel room, and then work himself a little while he waited.
Only this time it was a wet Tuesday morning at home in London, and Noel’d walked out of the band two months ago and not been heard from since except by way of newsbites that made Liam kick some chairs over and then get drunk enough to forget him for a few hours. (Except he didn’t, according to his mates. Blind drunk and he was still cursing Noel at the top of his lungs, but at least he didn’t remember remembering him, which was nearly the same thing as forgetting.)
Why, Liam said.
The response was a few minutes in coming, and it wasn’t a text. It was a buzz at Liam’s gate.
Liam headed for the door, blood zinging with anticipation that might turn into anything. A fight? A fuck? Those things tended to happen together for him and Noel. He swung the door open, balanced on the balls of his feet, ready—
He wasn’t ready at all. There was Noel, stood on Liam’s doorstep in his shades and his jeans, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, looking cool as fuck, and all Liam could do was stare at him. After a moment of that, Noel said, “You gonna let me in or what?”
Wordlessly Liam stepped aside. Noel hadn’t often bothered to grace Liam’s house even when they were talking, and he looked as out of place in the front entryway as he had on the stoop. “Put the kettle on, will you?” Noel said, casually ordering Liam about, as if he hadn’t been telling the Sun just the other day, again, how the end of Oasis was all Liam’s fault.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Liam said. “And why the fuck would I put the kettle on for you?”
“Shit,” Noel said, low and sharp and vicious. “Shit, what am I doing here?” Aburptly he headed back towards the front door like he was going to walk right back out of it. Liam stepped in to bar the way, arms and hands loose, not punching Noel or touching him any other way, yet, but it couldn’t be long now. “Get out of my way,” Noel growled.
“Get the fuck into the kitchen so I can get your fucking cuppa, you massive cunt,” Liam said.
So that was how Liam ended up in his kitchen filling the electric kettle while Noel sat at the table, watching Liam from behind his shades and saying fucking nothing. He clearly wasn’t looking for a fuck and so far didn’t seem all that interested in a fight, and that left Liam with nish to go on. He couldn’t refill the kettle and hassle Noel at the same time, so instead he found himself explaining why the kitchen was so filthy—Nic gone for a few days, cleaning lady not due until tomorrow.
“And God forbid you clean any of it,” Noel said.
“I’ve seen the inside of your hotel rooms, man,” Liam scoffed. “I know how many of your clothes you bother hanging up in the fucking closet.” Of course mentioning clothes would probably set Noel off about Pretty Green again, and they’d get their fight after all.
But Noel kept on wrongfooting him; he just snorted now. He’d taken his shades off, and without them he looked like shit—older than when Liam had last seen him face-to-face, the lines in his face craggier than usual. He looked like he was coming down the far side of a bad trip, except he claimed he didn’t do the hard stuff anymore. “Look, what the fuck’s wrong with you?” Liam said. “You look like somebody’s died.” Then, suspiciously, “Nobody’s died, have they?”
“People die all the time, Liam,” Noel said, sounding almost like himself, from which Liam gleaned the answer was no.
Liam handed Noel his tea, stirred some sugar into his own, and cupped the mug in both hands. When Noel stared into his own mug and still didn’t say a word, Liam said, “Noel. What the fuck’re you doing here? What’s wrong?” Obviously something was very wrong, something even Noel couldn’t handle, and unless it could be punched or head-butted or dressed up in a decent parka, what good was Liam likely to be?
Noel scowled, reached into his jacket, and pulled out a lot of papers folded in half and an envelope that looked a bit familiar. Then he pulled something out of the envelope that looked very familiar and slid it across the table. It was an ultrasound; Patsy and Nic had each gotten them. By the end of Nic’s pregnancy Liam had gotten to where he could sort of understand what he was looking at. He could tell the feet from the head, anyway. “So you knocked her up again,” he said dully.
Noel cleared his throat. “It’s mine.”
“I know it’s fucking yours, I’m not—I apologized for that, all right?” He’d been pissed off, that was all. Also drunk, in fairness. Even at the time he hadn’t really thought Anais had been anyone’s daughter but Noel’s. “Congrats and all that. Now get out of me fucking house, you fucking cunt.” All this fuss, just so Noel could flaunt that he was shagging someone else full-time these days.
“No,” Noel said, as if he hadn’t heard that last bit. “It’s mine. It’s of me.”
“It’s—what?” Liam gave the ultrasound a closer look. It was mostly a blur, but he could at least see what every white-coat type he’d ever met called a string of pearls, when what they meant was here are the knobs of your unfinished baby’s unfinished spine. “It’s a baby,” he said slowly, in case Noel was going to disagree with him.
“Yeah.”
It stole over Liam at last, what Noel was trying to say. “Are you—you’re fucking joking.”
Noel pinched the bridge of his nose and didn’t say a word. He gave the strong impression of a man who very much wished he were joking.
It wasn’t like it was impossible. Their mam’s uncle back in Ireland had personally had a kid, or so the family story went, though their mam had never met the man; her parents hadn’t approved of the kind of shagging a man had to do in order to get himself knocked up, nor the gender of the person he’d have had to do the shagging with. But the Sweeneys had the gene, and now apparently Noel had the gene. All very orderly and above-board. Only—
“Whose is it?” Liam asked.
The look Noel gave him was so witheringly familiar, Liam thought he might have missed it a bit. “There’s exactly one man on this earth I’ve ever let do me up the arse. Take a guess.”
In a daze, Liam turned back to that blurry, black-and-white picture. He traced the string of pearls with his finger. “It’s mine?”
Noel heaved a sigh and didn’t say anything, which meant it was. It was Liam’s. Noel was pregnant, and the baby was Liam’s. Something was happening in Liam’s chest, like maybe a sunrise. “You’re having my kid,” he said. He felt like his grin might split his face apart.
“I’m not having it, Liam,” Noel said. “Are you mental?”
“You’re not—what do you mean you’re not having it?”
There was that withering look again, which Liam was now freshly tired of. “I’m not fucking over my marriage and my career and every other good thing in my life so I can have my brother’s incestuous baby.”
“Why not?” Liam said, which even he could tell was a stupid question, but—it was right there. The spine, and a blob that was maybe a foot, and another bigger blob that was probably a head. It was his kid that Noel was carrying, and Noel was just going to—to—
“Why the fuck are you here?” Liam demanded. “If you were just going to—you could have just done that and not told me and not told Sara, and nobody’d fucking know, and you wouldn’t even have had to come here.” Noel was sliding the picture back in its envelope. He was collecting his things, and he was going to go. He’d come here to flaunt something in Liam’s face after all, just not what Liam had thought the first time. It was all mind games with Noel, and more fool Liam for forgetting. “You wouldn’t have had to deal with your fucking violent brother from your violent rock band who got you up the duff.”
“I reckon I just wanted to remember what a mistake it was, ever shagging you,” Noel said, pushing to his feet. It was all tucked neatly into his jacket, all the evidence of this thing he’d come here just to dangle in front of Liam and then snatch away again.
Liam stalked after Noel into the hall as he walked out of Liam’s life yet again, pretending he really meant it this time, even though he never really meant it. (Except this last time, Liam really had started to think he meant it.) Something broke. Liam grabbed Noel’s arm and spun him around, half-expecting a blow to the jaw. Noel just stood there looking up at Liam like he was shit under Noel’s shoe.
When Liam cupped the back of Noel’s skull and jammed his mouth against Noel’s, Noel stood still for that, too. “Fuck you,” Liam mumbled. He tongued at Noel’s lips until Noel opened to him. Noel tasted the same, of mouthwash and the faint aftertaste of an old cigarette. He was the same old Noel Liam had been shagging for years, then thought he might not ever again, and now wasn’t sure he even wanted to except this was the only way he’d ever gotten Noel to listen to a single fucking thing he said, other than singing it—and those had mostly been Noel’s words anyway.
He tangled his fingers in Noel’s shaggy hair and mouthed at Noel’s open mouth, and he heard Noel’s words from that press conference and thought of that kid Noel wasn’t having, their own kid, and then he found he’d backed Noel up against the wall and Noel was kissing back. He was gripping Liam’s hips with both hands and arching up against him. Liam slid a hand between them and found Noel bulging in his jeans. He gave Noel a squeeze just to feel the breath of Noel’s moan in his mouth.
Noel started to fidget, so Liam dropped to his knees there in the hallway. Noel stared down at him, eyes huge and dark in the dimness, like Liam was some drug he was high on. But then Noel’d given up drugs, so maybe Liam didn’t want to be one. He only wanted Noel to keep looking at him like that, his hunger and arousal and need all focused on Liam, and Liam knew of exactly one way to do it.
Liam fumbled with Noel’s belt. His hands were shaking, which made him feel stupid. He’d gotten Noel out of his jeans a hundred times, but now his fingers kept slipping. “Idiot,” Noel said, but there was no bite to it. He got his belt loose of the buckle, and then Liam unzipped him and pulled his cock out, hot to the touch and already mostly hard.
Liam didn’t know if he really liked the taste of cock. He’d never been able to decide, and it wasn’t like he’d sampled a variety of cocks for comparison. He only knew he liked how Noel liked it, how he groaned when Liam first closed his lips around him. He liked Noel’s hand in his hair—there, just like that—and how it meant Noel couldn’t ever forget who it was sucking him off. He liked Noel’s whole-body shiver when Liam tongued over his slit. He didn’t much care for the ache that built in his jaw, and he definitely didn’t like the drooling, but Noel did, and that made it almost worth it.
“Liam,” Noel said at last, half-strangled. Liam pulled off, sat back on his heels, and watched Noel bring himself off with one twist of his wrist. Noel leaned back against the wall for a few moments. At last he peeled his eyes open and looked down at Liam, still knelt there on the carpet. “Well?” Noel said, impatient.
So Liam got himself out and got off in a few strokes. It was fine.
That was it. They’d both gotten theirs, they both had come drying on their fingers, and everything else was still the same. “Right,” Noel said, awkwardly zipping himself back up. “I’m not going out with my hands like this.” And with that, he disappeared back towards the kitchen. A moment later, Liam heard the faucet come on.
Liam washed his hands in the bathroom. When he came out, Noel was sat at the kitchen table cradling his mug of tea, like none of the sex in the hallway had happened—certainly not as if coming in his fist five minutes ago had done him any good. He had a scowl on, but underneath it he looked ragged, worn thin.
Liam tasted his tea. It was cold now. He dumped it out and started fresh hot water, and this time while he waited for the kettle to heat, he didn’t try to fill Noel’s silences. When he had new tea in his hands, he sat down at the table and said, “You don’t look pregnant.”
Noel shifted, like maybe he’d dozed off there for a moment with his eyes open. “Only three months. Nothing to see.”
Three months. That’d have to be practically the last time they’d fucked. In fact—“You fucking twat,” Liam said, half-awed, as he put together a couple of facts he maybe should have considered sooner. “When you let me go without a condom.” Barring a few times when they’d been too coked up to remember or too impatient to find one, Noel usually insisted on condoms, no matter that they were brothers. Even God doesn’t know all the places that’s been, he’d say, eyeing Liam’s cock; he was singularly unconvinced by the wedding ring Liam brandished in his face. Well, fair enough.
But a month before the final bust-up, he’d waved Liam off when Liam reached for the usual foil wrapper. What’s one time, right? he’d asked, like Liam hadn’t been trying exactly that line on him for the better part of two decades. Just that once, he’d given Liam exactly what he wanted. It’d taken Liam a couple of weeks after Paris to realize that it’d been as close as Noel would ever come to saying goodbye. It was an apology shag, pre-emptive, because everyone knew Noel Gallagher planned ahead.
And it’d come back to bite him in the fucking arse. “You old geezer,” Liam said, delighted, though he wasn’t sure by what. Noel missing a step for once. The vagaries of fate.
“Christ,” Noel said, cupping his hand over his eyes. “I’m forty-two years old. Even if I had the gene, there was no chance in hell.”
Except there had been, and here Noel was.
Noel met Liam’s eyes at last. “I can’t have a baby, Liam. I can’t have my brother’s baby. What if it’s got seven toes on each foot? What if it’s got a tail like some kind of monkey? And pregnancy is riskier at my age anyway. Higher risk of developmental problems—”
He said it like he was reading a line off a brochure. “What if it hasn’t?” Liam demanded. “What if he’s got my looks and can write songs like you?”
“What if it’s a girl?” Noel countered.
“Two blokes together don’t throw girls,” Liam scoffed. Everyone knew that.
“They have done. It’s rare, but.” Noel shrugged. “What about it? If it was a girl, would you still want it?”
Liam tried to imagine that. For the girl’s sake, he still hoped she took after him in the face. “She could still be a songwriter. There are women songwriters.”
“Very forward-thinking of you,” Noel said, giving Liam a look that Liam chose not to interpret.
“Either way, man,” Liam said. “I’d want it whatever it was.”
Noel didn’t say anything to that. He hid his eyes behind his hand again, which meant Liam could look at him as long as he wanted without Noel getting squirrely about it. There just wasn’t much to see, other than the obvious: Noel sat in Liam’s kitchen for some fucking reason, listing off all the reasons he couldn’t have a baby and looking exhausted by every one.
A realization came over Liam, slowly and very belatedly. “You want to keep it.” Noel looked up, startled, indignant, but that only made Liam all the more certain that he’d found his footing now. Finally, Liam could read the play. “Else you’d not be here. You’d have gotten it taken care of in some clinic and I’d never have been the wiser.”
“You’re barking,” Noel said. “You’re fucking insane.” Liam ignored that. The angle was awkward, leaning over the corner of the table, but Liam did it anyway: he cupped the back of Noel’s neck and kissed him. It wasn’t a furious kiss this time. It was a coaxing one, like Liam had tried out on dozens of birds but only perfected on Noel, because Noel needed more convincing than anyone. Liam stroked Noel’s neck with his thumb and mouthed gently at his mouth until Noel sighed against him. “Fuck,” Noel breathed: a surrender.
Liam was getting a cramp in his neck. He shoved the table aside and straddled Noel, sinking onto his lap. “God, what do you weigh?” Noel groused. “Twelve stone at least.”
Liam ignored that, too. He took Noel’s face in his hands—gently, still—and kissed him properly. Remember us? the kiss was meant to say. Remember this? Yeah, they’d got into a lot of fights, had a lot of sex while high on coke and a good gig, but they’d had a lot of moments like this, too: sweet moments. Evenings on the road when Noel’d send Liam one of those texts, and they’d shag and then Noel’d end up fucking around on Liam’s guitar, laughing and shying away as Liam groped him and kissed his ear and nibbled at that tender spot just behind it.
“You’re not going to seduce me into staying pregnant,” Noel said, when Liam came up for air.
“Yeah, I am.” Liam turned his attention to mouthing along Noel’s neck. He nibbled at that same old place behind his ear, and Noel shuddered beneath him, even though there was no chance of Liam getting him off again anytime soon. Finally, when he thought he’d softened Noel up enough, Liam slipped his hand under Noel’s shirt and pressed it flat against his belly.
He felt the same as always: basically flat, a little bit soft. It made Liam’s breath catch all the same, touching Noel and thinking of that tiny wonderful alien-looking thing from the ultrasound curled up inside him. He thought of it growing until Noel was heavy and round, until there was hardly a place on his knee to rest his guitar anymore and he was cranky as shit about it. Liam wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off him, and Noel would be cranky as shit about that, too. And then in a bit there’d be a kid, all bruised-looking and wrinkled and theirs.
“Noel,” Liam said, breathless with wanting, wordless with it. “Noel.”
“Christ,” Noel said. He squeezed his eyes shut. “You couldn't tell anyone it was yours.”
“But—”
“It’d ruin the kid’s life, Liam. I’m not negotiating this.”
But he was negotiating. Liam felt the heat of his brother’s skin under his palm, and he said, “Yeah, okay.”
“Oh, right. Like you won’t be telling the green grocer and the tramp on the corner by this time tomorrow.”
“I won’t!”
Noel just scoffed, but Liam’s mind was already wandering. He smoothed his palm against Noel’s belly. It didn’t seem like enough. He slid off Noel and settled on the floor between his knees just so he could ruck Noel’s shirt up his chest and get a look at him. That wasn’t enough either, not until Liam had undone Noel’s jeans again. And then there was nothing to see but pale skin he’d looked at plenty of times, but it was different now that Liam knew what was happening underneath. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the trail of dark hair just below Noel’s navel.
“Christ,” Noel repeated. His fingers tangled in Liam’s hair, and Liam kissed that soft vulnerable spot again, and again, and again.
[end]