Summary: The way Zayn plays makes Liam feel a lot of things, but mostly it just makes Liam want him.
By: Scottmcniceass.archiveofourown.org
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“This is your idea of a bachelor party?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow.
Liam shrugs. “Niall likes this place. And he likes the band that’s playing tonight, I think. He’s mentioned it, right?”
Louis shakes his head. “You are so not allowed to plan my bachelor party. This is-- this is cruel, Liam. It’s his second last night of freedom and we’re not even at a strip club.”
Liam looks around the bar. It’s not that bad. Liam knows it’s Niall’s favourite place to drink, which is why he’d decided on the place. For one, Cally had been pretty adamant that he wasn’t to take Niall to a strip club, and he wasn’t about to piss off Niall’s fiancé the day before her wedding. Secondly, they could actually afford to drink here. And third-- if Louis hates a place, it’s probably where you want to be. Louis has a terrible taste in clubs and bars.
“You could always give him a lap dance,” Liam suggests. “You’d make a good stripper.”
Louis narrows his eyes. “I wouldn’t want to split up a marriage that hasn’t even happened yet. Once he got a taste of this ass--,”
“Why is it always rimming with you?” Niall asks, coming up behind them.
Liam grins at him but Louis rolls his eyes. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, Niall.”
“I’ll pass on that,” Niall says, shaking his head. “Where are the drinks? Let’s get this thing started!”
Liam frowns. “I thought you invited someone else. Harry, or something.”
Niall nods. “Did,” he answers, nodding at the bartender coming their way. “He’s on stage tonight, though.”
Liam and Louis both turn to the stage, which is empty save for band equipment. In fact, this place is mostly empty but, then again, it was only nine.
“I’m going to get us shots,” Louis says, sliding out of the booth. “Maybe if I get wasted enough I can forget how shit this party is.”
Liam glares at him. It’s not shit. It’s just -- starting out slow. Plus, if it’s really that bad they can always duck out and go somewhere else. It’s not like they have to stay here.
“It’s not shit,” Niall tells Liam, as if he can read his mind. “I love this place. And you’ll love the band. They’re great. They come on at about eleven.”
Liam nods and, a few moments later, Louis returns with their drinks. The night begins.
--
They’re all more than a little drunk by eleven, and the bar isn’t looking so bad. It’s nearly packed now, and Louis stopped complaining an hour ago. That could be because Liam was right, and this place isn’t so bad, or it could have more to do with the seven shots he downed. Sadly, Liam is leaning towards the second one.
“Look, look,” Niall says, grabbing Liam’s arm in a tight, vice-like grip. Liam winces but looks in the direction Niall is pointing. “That’s him, that’s Harry.”
Liam watches as a group of three guys get on stage. One takes the microphone -- he’s tall, with a thick head of curly hair--, another stands to the left with a guitar, and the last one heads for the drums, twirling two drumsticks between his fingers.
“Name,” Louis says. His eyes are on stage, too. “Give me the name of the drummer Niall or I will castrate you.”
Niall blinks. “Zayn,” he answers. Liam figures he’s frowning, but Liam’s not pulling his eyes away from the stage.
