i’m only sleeping
cw: dubcon + somnophilia !!!!!!! please do not read if you’re not comfortable with those <3 ; 90s!pervy!liam; one bed trope; male masturbation; dry humping; cheating; unprotected sex; dirty talk; creampie.
𑣲 word count: 3,5k. ˊˎ-
wn: i gotta be honest for a second i don’t think ive ever been so turned on writing something like i was with this one 🌸 based on an ask i sent to @dontlookbckinangr and heavily inspired by this fic (which honestly is one of the hottest things ive ever read)
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★ 1994.
being friends with liam had always been sound, the same way it’s always been to him when it came to you.
you two had your differences, sure. liam had always been loud and so unapologetically him, while you had always been the clever one. the proper one. the one who preferred to keep it to yourself and think twice the amount necessary before you ever spoke.
but it worked, because he always knew the moments you needed to get out of your shell, tease and call you boring, pull you by the wrist into whatever mess he’d started. and you had always know when he needed to do the exact opposite and shut the fuck up.
you met when you two were still little kids, he always had a soft spot for his only decent girl mate – his words. he would never nick your toys and he’d mouth off anyone who’d dare to. while you never really cared if he came into your kitchen with mud all over his football shoes and got chocolate cake crumbs all over the counter.
it carried on until the teenage years, where you’d roll your eyes fondly every time he’d talk about which girls were wearing a bra and getting frisky behind the school patio. while he’d nudge you with his elbow, with a shit eating grin on his face, whenever you so much as blushed at a lad’s name.
it obviously wouldn’t be any different when oasis started – you’d been asserted to be their manager before even noel joined in, when they even called themselves ‘the rain’. the reason was simple: you were always the proper smart one. knew how to talk. knew how to fix things liam broke. knew how to spin chaos into serenity.
you couldn’t get rid of liam even if you wanted to. but he swears it was easier to be around you before you got tits and a heart-shaped ass. fucking circle of life.
now it’s ’94 and everything’s louder. bigger. messier. the band’s on the brink of being something massive.
but still, sometimes budgets for hotel rooms got tight. and every single time it did, the band would collectively agree on one thing:
“she’s your friend. not ours”
which was bollocks, because you were everyone’s friend. but you had always been liam’s first.
so, you ended up in his room. same as always. no big deal to you, not really. it was the same as when you were kids at sleepovers,
except it wasn’t the same for liam. because right now, you’re asleep beside him. on your side, your back to him.
and he can’t fucking sleep, can he? because you’re wearing tiny sleeping shorts that always ride up when you’re too blissfully unaware to tug them back down, and you’re wearing a loose t-shirt that has the beatles logo stamped – and not even that could’ve distracted him from the fact he can see your hardened nipples since the moment you left the shower.
now, the bedroom feels warm. way too warm. because you’re asleep – in that peaceful way you only see in old disney princesses movies – while liam is painfully hard in his trousers.
he has been staring at the back of your head for a good 20 minutes now, the way your torso moves as you breathe in and out for maybe 10. all while thinking about the way your stupid posh boyfriend doesn’t even know where to touch you right – so yes, of course he has been staring at your ass, too.
he thinks about how he’d tease you in your ear, and how prettily you’d blush even more if his cock was splitting you open. the way he’d grab your tits and keep them from bouncing every time he thrusted in you, how your pretty pussy would flutter around him and how nice your soft little mound would feel all slick against his. at that, he cursed your entire family generation at the memory of that day in the hotel pool in paris, did you really have to sit so pretty with your legs slightly open? in a way that only a fucked up perv would notice how there’s a small wet stain that doesn’t only come from the chlorine water?
jesus. that’s the worst part. you don’t even know you’re doing it. you probably don’t have a single clue that later that day he had to fuck his own hand in the shower, just because you were there. being you. doing nothing.
and now, you’re doing the same. and it’s even worse because you’re sleeping, so you’re not only unaware to his struggle, but also to everything else in the world – the soft clicking sounds of the ice machine down the hall or the few cars passing by right in front of the hotel.
so… you won’t notice if his hand drifts down to his trousers so he can just take care of himself, right?
fuck me, he thinks, jaw tightening and a frustrated huff leaving his nose. his hand slides down, undoing the lace of his sweatpants quietly. he doesn’t even fully free himself, he just slides a hand in and squeezes his throbbing cock.
fuck. me.
he takes his hand out, guiding it to his mouth and pooling a small amount of spit. and once it makes contact with his warm length, he exhales in bliss – half at the relief, and half at the thought of it being your hand doing that while your pretty mouth kisses the head of his cock.
he starts to stroke himself, slowly. his eyes go back to the swell of your ass. he’s annoyed, genuinely pissed off that he has to do this right next to you like some desperate prick, but he can’t help it.
he’s even more annoyed at the thought that your little twat of a boyfriend gets to do everything he curses himself for fantasizing about – even worse when he thinks he probably doesn’t, actually. too fucking proper for that, isn’t he?
his rhythm stutters as he thinks about it. he bets he doesn’t even get you off. he bets that posh little prick treats you like something fragile – in the wrong way. too scared to actually handle you. too boring to know the sounds you’d make if someone actually put the work in.
liam knows he’d be different. he bets he could make you cry so pretty around his cock, make you feel so good while you looked up at him with those pretty eyes and pouty lips, begging him for more instead of just settling for whatever polite, lukewarm shit you're getting now.
his hips twitch involuntarily, bucking into his hand once as he slows down the pace. since he’s fucking started it already, he can’t just… get off too fast. can he? while one of his hand is busy fisting his cock up and down, his free one reaches out, trembling slightly before they land on the curve of your ass. just brushing it, feeling the soft skin under the hem of your shorts. just the heat of you nearly sends him over the edge right then, making him swallow down a rough groan.
he’s imagining pulling those shorts down, burying his face in you and finally tasting what he’s been staring at for years. he’s being a pervert, he knows it. but he’s always been a bit of a bastard, hasn't he? his brain seems to not have caught up on the fact that he could wake you, that this is wrong. but, he shifts his head slightly until his nose is touching the back of your neck, and the second he inhales your scent – the smell of soap mixed with your perfume that lingers in the soft hairs of the nape of your neck – his mouth falls agape. eyebrows furrowing and eyes tightening shut as he keeps the nearly tortuous slick strokes on his dick.
his thumb grazes the soft skin of your lower back before his hand settles on the soft flesh of your ass, bold and hesitant all at once. fully needy and desperate. he squeezes, just a little, watching the way the flesh gives under his palm.
he pushes his waistband down, fumbling with the fabric and muttering out small curses as he frees his cock, wrapping his hand around it once more and pumping himself faster now, his hips jerking instinctively toward you as breathy and broken high-pitched moans leave his lips, pink and slick with his own spit as he licks them incessantly – like he’s trying to distract himself from how much he wants to kiss you right now.
the head of his cock, slick and leaking with pre cum, accidentally brushes against the back of your thigh. he lets out a broken, low moan into the pillow at the feeling, his eyes fluttering shut as he feels how soft you are. and instead of pulling away, he leans into the friction. rubbing his flushed and wet tip against your skin, over and over, bucking into his own hand now.
he takes in another inhale of your smell, almost as encouragement. he lets his lips brush softly against the sensitive skin on your neck, huffing a deep and warm breath against it as his fingers hook into the waistband of your tiny shorts while the other one keeps stroking his cock. he tugs the fabric down just enough, slow and agonizing, until your skin is bare to his heated stare. he misses the tiny sound you let out, too entranced as he stares at the lace of your panties.
the mattress dips under his weight as he shifts, his movements are slow and calculated. he’s got one hand clamped firm around himself, stroking with a jagged rhythm, while the other stays anchored to your ass, sliding his palm over it – god, he wishes you could see this right now. how big it looks when it’s right over your pretty ass, how nice his chubby fingers you’d always tease him about would look as they stretched your pretty pussy out. he’s too caught up on it he misses the way your breath hitches, and he swears that your back arching was just how you were positioned before.
“fucking hell”, he whispers into the quiet, his voice coming out in a rasp.
his hand slides down to your cunt. he tells himself he just wants to feel it, only brush his knuckles against it. just to feel your warmth. he tells himself he just wants to know what you smell like or if you’re as soft as he fantasizes.
but once he finds you hot and damp, a shaky exhale leaves his lips, pressing his face further into your hair while his other hand works his cock. he cups your cunt over the fabric, the heel of his palm presses against your clit and he can swear it’s swollen. god, does that prick really leave you like that? needy, aching. wet even in your sleep.
liam’s heart is hammering against his ribs like crazy, but he can’t stop. he hooks two fingers under the edge of the cotton fabric, shifting your panties to the side until you’re open to him. his breathing nearly breaks and his hand twitches the grip tighter around his cock, slowing down the pace. because he slipped a finger underneath the fabric, and he swears he could cum just at the sensation of your slick folds right at his fingertips.
your head shifts to the side, so tiny he doesn’t even notice. so pretty and delicate he swears the little heavier huff you just let out was a normal sleeping breathing rhythm.
you're so soft, so pretty. and the fact you’re getting warmer under his touch even in your sleep makes him wish he could just slide in and fix every itch he’s facing – especially now, that it seems as if you’re aching for relief, too.
but liam swears he’s not that crazy, that this? giving in fully? would just be far too much. but, he still guides himself closer. and when he rubs the head of his cock directly against your wet pussy, the feeling of his flushed leaking tip smearing his arousal against yours nearly does him in. his head rolls back in pure, unadulterated torture.
he begins to rub his cock against your pussy, up and down, mocking the friction of the real thing. his hips are shaky as he slowly bucks into you – sliding his length between your pulsing and wet folds, thinking about how easy it’d be to give in. he doesn’t though, not fully. the moment his tip pushes in just barely against your entrance, already fluttering at the tiny stimulation, he pulls away.
because he doesn’t trust himself, but he doesn’t fully stop either. his hand now shaky and warm and slick around his cock as he grinds it against you. over and over.
then, you stir.
“liam…”
you say it in such a tiny tone he could miss it if the room wasn’t so quiet, your head tipping to the side against the pillow. the sound of your voice makes his heart go to his throat immediately. he freezes, hand still over you, clammy, his breath held and his cock embarrassingly hard and slick with your wetness, throbbing between your soft folds.
he nearly chokes on his own saliva. his brain scrambles to find an excuse, his voice coming out as a panicked, pathetic rasp. “m’sorry— fuck, i’m sorry, i’m a right prick, i’ll stop, i swear—”
he thinks you’ve caught him being a right disgusting twat.
but then, you let out a soft, low moan – a sound so sweet and needy it makes his head spin. you aren't fully woken up, eyes still closed and body heavy with sleep and whatever hazy, heated dream you’re trapped in. you’re still under, but your head lolls back as you arch your back instinctively into his touch. “liam…”, you moan again.
fuck.
you’re dreaming. and from the way your body is reacting, it isn't about the boyfriend.
“liam…” you whisper again. this time it sounds more like a plea, your voice thick and syrupy. he huffs a deep breath, hand gripping your hip a little tighter and his hips slowly pushing foward once more – his cock sliding in between your folds perfectly, his tip smearing pre cum on your throbbing clit as it bumps into it in the softest, wettest way.
“fuck…”, he moans, pressing his face against the side of your neck, his lips falling agape and face scrunching in pleasure at the sound of a needy and broken gasp coming from you.
you let out a broken, tiny sob into the pillow, your fingers reaching back blindly to clutch at his arm, pulling him closer. because you’re trapped in that state where reality and dreaming blend together, and the aching between your thighs is too much to even begin to figure it out. “i’m so wet... please...”
yeah. he’s a bastard, a proper pervert. but before his brain can even talk himself out of it, the head of his cock presses against your entrance again, and your cunt practically sucks him in. another whiny broken whimper escapes your throat, soft and pleading in your sleep. you aren't waking up – you’re just falling deeper into whatever fever dream has a hold of you, your hips move up to meet his instinctively. slow and needy.
he can’t help it, he pushes himself in with a broken high pitched moan. he’s slow – agonizingly slow – and hesitant, his breath hitches as he feels your tightness around him, making his eyes roll back. you moan just as needily, legs spreading wider for him in an instinctive surrender. you babble his name dumbly, needy and breathy and borderline desperate.
“fuck… want your liam, don't you love?”, he whispers in your ear as he starts to thrust in you. you whimper in response, nodding dumbly and moaning every time his cock presses that spongy place inside.
he’s shaking, because he can’t fucking believe this is happening. your sweet moans mixing with the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you pull borderline pathetic jagged moans out of his lips. he’s spooning you so tight it’s like he’s trying to crawl right under your skin, one of his hand firm and nearly bruising on your hip while the other arm slides underneath your torso – that hand holding your face as he fucks you.
“fuck... fuck, love... ah, fuck”, he mutters, his eyes blown wide as they stare down at where he's slicking himself against you. every time he pulls back and pushes back in, the sound is a sickeningly wet, gushy, obscene noise that makes his head spin. the way your soft ass cheeks press against his crotch with every messy thrust as you squeeze him so tight makes him think he might just die before oasis properly makes it.
he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath coming in hot, jagged hitches as he starts to ramble, “look how you take it. perfect fucking cunt. fucking squeezing me. j-jesus, fuck... so wet for me, so fucking wet f’me”. his voice is a thick, manchester rasp that’s dirty and low. he moans, teeth grazing your ear.
his pace is messy, desperate. his hand reaches down until it finds your breast, squeezing it through the thin beatles tee, his thumb catching on your nipple as he bucks his hips. “knew it, love. fucking knew you’d feel like this. knew i’d make you moan like that”
you moaned in response, eyes rolling back despite not even fully opening them. because he’s got his fingers digging into your tits, kneading them while he fucks you. his movements are sloppy and desperate, sure. but god, his cock feels so fucking good. “yeah? you like that? like your liam doin’ this to ya?”, he grits out, making you moan his name in that sleepy, broken way.
you let out a long, shuddering sob of a moan, your head lolling back onto his shoulder as you nod dumbly, your eyes still hazy and half-closed as you tilt your pelvis back into him, begging as you mumble “yes, yes, yes” over and over.
at your pleas, he starts to fuck you even harder. deeper, if it’s even possible. holding you even tighter as he moans in your ear, “gonna fuckin' cum, 'm gonna cum all over you, love... you're so fucking tight. such… a sweet f-fucking pussy. fucking perfect”. his hand slides down to your thigh, hooking it and pulling it higher to get even deeper.
his hand finds your clit before he can even pull away, and he can’t help but rub sloppily your throbbing bundle of nerves. he’s gone, completely. the thrill of having you like this – vulnerable and his and so fucking responsive – is already sending him over the edge. but you sound so pretty, and you’re so close to cumming in his cock. how could he not give you the same amount of pleasure as you’re giving to him?
“cum f’me … please love. please cum f’me. please, love. fuck”, he begs. he’s not even trying to be quiet anymore, his own moans coming out high-pitched and broken.
and as he leans down and mouth find yours in a sloppy kiss, you come undone. you don't really kiss him back, not really. your head is too dumbed down with the pleasure and the sleepiness all together.
your tongue is too relaxed to chase his back – just sliding against his messily as your body moves with every stroke, allowing him to swallow down every single moan that escapes from you as your orgasm washes through. you feel the corners of your mouth getting slick, as well as your chin and your lips. you have the impression that he tastes like toothpaste, but the feeling of him inside you is too distracting to pay attention to anything else. so you just let out these long, broken moans, his name falling from your lips over and over like a mantra.
he lets out a choked, gutteral sound inside your mouth as he hits your sweet spot, his hips pressing in tight against your ass and his whole body shaking as he spills inside you. his mouth is agape and his brows furrowed in a way it’s nearly a crime you don’t get to see it, since your eyes are closed tightly shut just like his – both glassy and droopy with pleasure, becoming heavier from the exhaustion already creeping in.
he stays buried there, shaking. tiny needy breaths escaping his lips as his heart hammers against your back while you drift back into an even deeper sleep.
yeah. not gonna be any easier from now on. that’s for fucking sure.
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part two here !
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