devotions - lost, charlie/liam, r
Blame anatsuno and cindyjade.
Devotions
Fandom: Lost
Pairing: Charlie/Liam
Warnings: R, incest
"You're all red," the girl tells Charlie, her hands gentle on his face. "It must get so hot under those lights. You guys were great!"
"Thanks," Charlie grins at her. This is always the hardest time for him. Post-show adrenaline has his body singing, pulled tight and tuned up, ready for anything.
"You look really good up there," she goes on, touching his shoulders now. "I kept trying to read your tattoo. I have pictures of the band from magazines, I always try to see what it says, but I can never make it out! Can I see?"
"'Course, have a look," he half-turns, offering his bicep. She bends to trace with her fingers, a tickle on his skin. Charlie shuts his eyes with only a slight pang of regret; he's not going to make it tonight, he's going to give in.
"Living is easy with eyes closed," she reads, and smiles up at him. "That's so deep! Is that Pink Floyd?"
"The Beatles," he says, confused for a moment, the ground cut from under him somehow. "Uh-- Denise, is it?" He hopes that's her name, that's what he signed on her t-shirt. She nods eagerly. "Good to meet you, Denise," he squeezes her hand, "I've got to get back to the band, we're heading out tonight, have to make the next show. Touring, eh, the in-between bits are a bit of a drag..."
"Oh, yeah, of course," she goes on smiling, doesn't look disappointed at all. "You guys are so great," and it's always you guys, isn't it, you guys are great, or Liam's great, it's never Charlie who's great. "I can't wait for your next album!"
"I'm writing fast as I can," he says, and now that he's managed to resist, it seems the least he deserves to rest his hand on the exposed curve of her hip and snog her. He writes the bloody songs, after all.
She's wide-eyed and wet-lipped as he draws away, and Charlie gives a little wave. "See you, beautiful."
He ought to be surprised to turn round and see Liam in the doorway of the green room, watching him. It's the first time in days he's seen Liam without a groupie draped over him or a drink in his hand.
He's not at all surprised, though, somehow, and it's not surprising either when Liam shakes his head and slides his arm across Charlie's sweat-sticky shoulders, laughing into his ear.
"See you, beautiful," Liam repeats, and Charlie tugs away from him, pushes through the people in the green room, past Richie, ignoring the beer Nathan tries to press into his hand, back into the dressing room with their stuff, where it's empty-- no one's drunk enough to stumble back here for a sloppy shag with a stranger just yet.
Liam follows him, another unsurprising shocker. He hasn't exactly had much use for Charlie lately, too busy being the frontman, not just the singer, too busy giving Charlie his back while he turns that pretty face out toward the world.
"Hide and seek, baby brother," Liam says, and Charlie can't tell if he's riding high from a great show, or just high. "Found you."
"Leave me alone," Charlie mutters, "not now," but then he wheels on Liam because yeah, it's now. "You couldn't even say my name, could you? Not one word."
"If you didn't want them to ask me about the songs, you shouldn't have listed me as your co-writer," Liam says, unperturbed, his lips bent up, idiotically pleased.
"I wanted to give you some credit. Too much obviously," Charlie says, pacing between the soft bags sheathing the packed instruments, the squashy suitcases full of clothes. "What did you give me, a bridge here, a rhyme there? But they ask you about the songs and you talk like it's all you, Liam, what the fuck is that?"
"You couldn't have done it without me and you know it," Liam's still smiling away, bending a little in that familiar, confidential way. "You'd still be holed up in your room, strumming away, too scared to share your stuff with anybody. You need me."
"And exactly where the fuck would you be without me?"
"Charlie, Charlie," Liam shakes his head. "What d'you want, eh? You want me to sing you a touching rendition of 'Wind Beneath My Wings'? We could cover it, what d'you say. Then at least we'd have one track ready for the next album."
"You want to talk like you're the songwriter," Charlie jabs a finger at Liam's chest, "fine, you write the songs."
"Don't be cross, Charlie-boy," Liam croons to him, "I'm your brother. They want to talk to the singer, it's just how these things work. And who knows you better than I do, eh? Who else is going to tell them what your songs mean? Isn't that what matters?"
"Don't give me this shit," Charlie halts; somehow Liam's taken over most of the room, arms spread, hands parked on two piles of luggage, and there's no room left even to walk.
"What do you want, Charlie, you want someone to see you?" Liam crowds him. "I see you, isn't that enough?" He's taller, it's not fair, they're brothers, why is he so much taller? "You want me to say your name, baby brother?" His voice is strained and harsh. "I'll say your name."
"Liam--"
"You're all red," Liam smiles, "you're blushing. It's getting easier to say no to the girls, innit. You think that's cos you're better now, you're stronger? Or is it cos you're finally figuring out that's not what you really want?"
"I'm trying, that's all. You could try as well, keep your head on straight, it helps--"
Liam laughs softly and Charlie insists, "It does, it means something, Liam, that's why I can say no, it's-- just taking some time to go to church or just to pray, even with the tour, every week, no matter where we are," Charlie answers, but he sounds uneasy and desperate even to his own ears, and when Liam's fingers hook into the waistband of his jeans he doesn't wrest his brother's hands away, he doesn't fight. It's like a plane crash, it's too big to stop, it's too huge to do anything but hold on tight.
"Charlie," Liam breathes, sliding his hand inside. "You think you're being good, Charlie. But you're just a coward."
"Shut your fucking mouth--"
"Come on, baby brother, let me be brave for you," Liam coaxes, and it's true, he knows Charlie far too fucking well, every move is perfect every stroke every flick of his fingers every hot breath against Charlie's lips, it's all over as Liam whispers, "I'm not afraid."
Devotions
Fandom: Lost
Pairing: Charlie/Liam
Warnings: R, incest
"You're all red," the girl tells Charlie, her hands gentle on his face. "It must get so hot under those lights. You guys were great!"
"Thanks," Charlie grins at her. This is always the hardest time for him. Post-show adrenaline has his body singing, pulled tight and tuned up, ready for anything.
"You look really good up there," she goes on, touching his shoulders now. "I kept trying to read your tattoo. I have pictures of the band from magazines, I always try to see what it says, but I can never make it out! Can I see?"
"'Course, have a look," he half-turns, offering his bicep. She bends to trace with her fingers, a tickle on his skin. Charlie shuts his eyes with only a slight pang of regret; he's not going to make it tonight, he's going to give in.
"Living is easy with eyes closed," she reads, and smiles up at him. "That's so deep! Is that Pink Floyd?"
"The Beatles," he says, confused for a moment, the ground cut from under him somehow. "Uh-- Denise, is it?" He hopes that's her name, that's what he signed on her t-shirt. She nods eagerly. "Good to meet you, Denise," he squeezes her hand, "I've got to get back to the band, we're heading out tonight, have to make the next show. Touring, eh, the in-between bits are a bit of a drag..."
"Oh, yeah, of course," she goes on smiling, doesn't look disappointed at all. "You guys are so great," and it's always you guys, isn't it, you guys are great, or Liam's great, it's never Charlie who's great. "I can't wait for your next album!"
"I'm writing fast as I can," he says, and now that he's managed to resist, it seems the least he deserves to rest his hand on the exposed curve of her hip and snog her. He writes the bloody songs, after all.
She's wide-eyed and wet-lipped as he draws away, and Charlie gives a little wave. "See you, beautiful."
He ought to be surprised to turn round and see Liam in the doorway of the green room, watching him. It's the first time in days he's seen Liam without a groupie draped over him or a drink in his hand.
He's not at all surprised, though, somehow, and it's not surprising either when Liam shakes his head and slides his arm across Charlie's sweat-sticky shoulders, laughing into his ear.
"See you, beautiful," Liam repeats, and Charlie tugs away from him, pushes through the people in the green room, past Richie, ignoring the beer Nathan tries to press into his hand, back into the dressing room with their stuff, where it's empty-- no one's drunk enough to stumble back here for a sloppy shag with a stranger just yet.
Liam follows him, another unsurprising shocker. He hasn't exactly had much use for Charlie lately, too busy being the frontman, not just the singer, too busy giving Charlie his back while he turns that pretty face out toward the world.
"Hide and seek, baby brother," Liam says, and Charlie can't tell if he's riding high from a great show, or just high. "Found you."
"Leave me alone," Charlie mutters, "not now," but then he wheels on Liam because yeah, it's now. "You couldn't even say my name, could you? Not one word."
"If you didn't want them to ask me about the songs, you shouldn't have listed me as your co-writer," Liam says, unperturbed, his lips bent up, idiotically pleased.
"I wanted to give you some credit. Too much obviously," Charlie says, pacing between the soft bags sheathing the packed instruments, the squashy suitcases full of clothes. "What did you give me, a bridge here, a rhyme there? But they ask you about the songs and you talk like it's all you, Liam, what the fuck is that?"
"You couldn't have done it without me and you know it," Liam's still smiling away, bending a little in that familiar, confidential way. "You'd still be holed up in your room, strumming away, too scared to share your stuff with anybody. You need me."
"And exactly where the fuck would you be without me?"
"Charlie, Charlie," Liam shakes his head. "What d'you want, eh? You want me to sing you a touching rendition of 'Wind Beneath My Wings'? We could cover it, what d'you say. Then at least we'd have one track ready for the next album."
"You want to talk like you're the songwriter," Charlie jabs a finger at Liam's chest, "fine, you write the songs."
"Don't be cross, Charlie-boy," Liam croons to him, "I'm your brother. They want to talk to the singer, it's just how these things work. And who knows you better than I do, eh? Who else is going to tell them what your songs mean? Isn't that what matters?"
"Don't give me this shit," Charlie halts; somehow Liam's taken over most of the room, arms spread, hands parked on two piles of luggage, and there's no room left even to walk.
"What do you want, Charlie, you want someone to see you?" Liam crowds him. "I see you, isn't that enough?" He's taller, it's not fair, they're brothers, why is he so much taller? "You want me to say your name, baby brother?" His voice is strained and harsh. "I'll say your name."
"Liam--"
"You're all red," Liam smiles, "you're blushing. It's getting easier to say no to the girls, innit. You think that's cos you're better now, you're stronger? Or is it cos you're finally figuring out that's not what you really want?"
"I'm trying, that's all. You could try as well, keep your head on straight, it helps--"
Liam laughs softly and Charlie insists, "It does, it means something, Liam, that's why I can say no, it's-- just taking some time to go to church or just to pray, even with the tour, every week, no matter where we are," Charlie answers, but he sounds uneasy and desperate even to his own ears, and when Liam's fingers hook into the waistband of his jeans he doesn't wrest his brother's hands away, he doesn't fight. It's like a plane crash, it's too big to stop, it's too huge to do anything but hold on tight.
"Charlie," Liam breathes, sliding his hand inside. "You think you're being good, Charlie. But you're just a coward."
"Shut your fucking mouth--"
"Come on, baby brother, let me be brave for you," Liam coaxes, and it's true, he knows Charlie far too fucking well, every move is perfect every stroke every flick of his fingers every hot breath against Charlie's lips, it's all over as Liam whispers, "I'm not afraid."