your whispers are voiceless

Half a Heart

Half a Heart ( d r a b b l e ) 

Moans and groans bounce off the walls, the bed beneath the two boys squeaking with every thrust. Every second a flurry of emotions. Liam’s hands find their way to Niall’s, locking their fingers in a tight grip. He leans down, catching Niall’s lips in his as their bodies mold together, gulping down moan after breathy moan from the younger lad. It’s not even a kiss anymore, just a battle of teeth and tounges, of moans and grunts that swirl with the smell of sex in the air.

Niall wrenches his lips away, violently, as ripples of pleasure skirt down his spine, floods his veins in a race of adrenaline. The feel of Niall’s walls crumbling around him does it for Liam as he realeases as well.

They stay frozen for a moment, legs tangled beneath the ravished sheets, their high wearing off. Beads of sweat drizzle their bodies, their breaths coming together as they tear out their heaving lungs.

Heartbeats like a single desperate rhythm in their chests.

With shaky fingers, Niall reaches out to wipe the brown fringe that sticks to Liam’s forehead, damp with sweat. “Can’t you stay for even just a week?” His voice is wrecked, sounding painful and it twists Liam’s guts.

“You know I can’t, Ni,” Liam hates the words that slip past his lips. He hates it how they coil in his throat like barbed wires; hates it how they leave him feeling hopeless, seeing the desperation in Niall’s eyes.

“Please?” Niall pleads, voice broken and dry. They’ve had this conversation before, over and over like a continuous drag of a dull knife over their hearts. His eyes sparkle under the pearly moonlight that flutters through the window, helplessness seeping past his irises as he stares up at Liam. “Ares has got a dozen more generals other than you. Maybe he can let you go even just for a week? Please.”

“I’m more than his general, Niall, and you know that. I’m his right hand. I’m his  son. He needs me.”

“I need you as well though.” Niall whispers, his eyes fluttering to where their bare chests are joined. And again the dullest knife saws across Liam’s heart, a slow, painful movement as he watches the hurt curl his lover’s lips and flash over his eyes. It’s these moments that make him realize just how fragile Niall’s heart is, even for the son of the god of Love himself. 

He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like seeing Niall look so broken and hanging by a thread. He tucks his face in the crook of Niall’s chest, placing a small, lingering kiss there as the younger lad’s fingers creep through his hair. He could feel Niall’s shuddering breaths. 

Liam’s thoughts are strained over his mind  even before he answers, and when he does his voice sounds as if a sheet of ice had draped over his vocal chords. “I know, Niall, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."