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Liam corners him just outside the dressing room right after the show.
"You're still wearing my hat," he says, breathless, grinning. He looks like he's barely resisting the urge to bounce on his toes, and Louis feels it, too, the bubbling energy fizzing through his veins, that rush of months of touring culminating, hundreds of thousands of people screaming for you, wanting you to show off.
"I think you'll find it's mine now, Payne," Louis says. "Finders keepers."
"You didn't find it!" says Liam, outraged and beaming. "You stole it right off my head!"
"And you let me," Louis points out, then dodges as Liam swipes for it; it's a let's-play grab, not a please-actually-give-me-that-back one, because Liam doesn't stop grinning and doesn't use anything like his full reach, and Louis can read Liam very well these days; smugly thinks to himself he wrote half of Liam's language.
And if Liam really wanted the hat back, Louis is sadly aware he could get it very easily.
But Louis is more than happy enough to play. He ducks down, tries to dart past Liam, yelps when Liam spins and grabs him round the middle with both arms.
Liam is still drenched, and Louis can feel him pressed up against Louis's back, two layers of thin sopping wet material. "You're bloody soaked," he says, like it's a protest, and Liam laughs. Louis can feel Liam's chest shake with it against his back.
"So are you! And you're the one got me wet!"
Louis giggles, can't help it. "Yeah, I'm good at that, me," he says, lilting his voice suggestively, and Liam groans at the dirty joke like he's ashamed to know Louis. Louis can feel that even more, a rumble passing right from Liam's chest into Louis's body where Liam is pulling him back even snugger against him, and Louis shivers a bit in response, hairs pricking up on his arms. He wriggles and struggles a bit, but Liam's hold on him is tight, arms wrapped snugly around him from behind and fingers digging into his waist on each side.
He squirms a bit more, staggering them down the nearly empty hallway in ungainly steps. "Hat's up here, Liam," he says, starting to feel a bit breathless himself, and tips his head from side to side. Liam just laughs, but doesn't loosen his hold, and Louis scrabbles at Liam's forearms, then pokes deviously at the reddened skin around Liam's newest tatt; Liam yelps and lets go, and when Louis turns around, his eyebrows are drawn in all betrayed.
"Ow," he says. "Off limits, man." His mouth pulls down and he holds his forearm, and Louis bites his lip, wonders if this is one of the times he's got carried away. Liam's just so fun to play with.
"Sorry, mate," he says, then sighs when Liam keeps looking at him, and picks up Liam's arm. He brings it to his mouth and drops a light kiss to the new tatt. "Better?"
In a flash Liam's face goes from betrayed to mischievous and triumphant, and he grabs snake-fast at Louis, one arm going around his waist to tug him in close and the other darting for the hat.
"OI!" squawks Louis, and stumbles against Liam, but manages to grab Liam around the wrist just before he can snatch the hat. "Dirty move!"
"Learned - from the - best," says Liam, grinning again as they grapple, still trying to go for the hat and nearly succeeding even when Louis puts all his - considerable, thank you - strength behind trying to push Liam's hand away.
Their chests are pressed together, and Louis's heart is pounding fast and strong in his chest, and he's breathing hard as he and Liam lock eyes. They're both pushing against each other, wet t-shirts rubbing against each other, and Louis can feel the definition of Liam's chest up against his own as if they were both topless: the scratch of his hair, the little hard nubs of his nipples, and -- then their hands, still pushing against each other like a mid-air arm wrestle, knock hard on the brim of Louis's hat, and it falls backwards onto the floor.
"Shit," Liam breathes, and his face is so close Louis can feel his hot breath on his mouth, and something twists deep and warm in his belly. Liam doesn't break their eye contact, but relaxes his strength a bit, just enough that Louis's suddenly pushing forwards, taking them two big steps until Louis's pushing Liam up against the scratchy breezeblock wall of the backstage hallway, now deserted, and his hand on Liam's wrist pins it up next to his head.
"Hat's on the floor now, Li," he says. "S'fair game."
"Yeah," says Liam.
"You gonna get it?"
"Nah," says Liam. "I'm ha--" His breath hitches. "--happy where I am, I reckon." He finally breaks the eye contact, only for his gaze to slide obviously to Louis's mouth.
Louis's belly gives another tug, sharp and hot. "Shit," he says quietly, because now he's looking at Liam's mouth, too, and it's so red, open and soft, and out of what feels like fucking nowhere he wants it fiercely.
Louis doesn't know who moves in first; it feels like both of them go in at the same time, heads dipping in and tilting, and there's - there's no fucking hesitation, no soft, tentative touch of lips. It's immediate, proper snogging, open-mouthed and wet, rhythmic and a bit dirty; Liam kisses with confidence edged with desperation, and it's dizzyingly good, satisfying the restless places inside Louis and also stoking up a fire for more.
Liam strokes his tongue into Louis's mouth, hotly insistent, and it makes Louis press in closer, push his own tongue along Liam's in a slick slide, feeling lightheaded and giddy and struggling to really understand that that's Liam's tongue. In his mouth.
Liam's arm around Louis's waist tightens, dragging him in close, and he makes a noise into Liam's mouth. Liam's making sounds too, tiny little almost whimpers into the kiss, and his hand is shifting in the grip Louis has on his wrist but not breaking out of it.
Louis's free hand has settled rather primly on Liam's shoulder - he drags it up to cup Liam's jaw, feeling the flexing movement of it as they snog, and makes himself pull away, sucking in a breath.
"What," he manages, then swallows. "The fuck are we doing?" He sort of meant to pull away and demand it, but his hand is still cupped around Liam's jaw and his thumb is rubbing little circles on Liam's cheekbone. Bloody Liam is always derailing his plans.
"I don't, um," says Liam, then swallows and licks his lips. They're puffy and red, and Louis's stomach somersaults. "I don't really know."
They're pressed close together, chests and thighs and hips, and Louis for one is halfway to hard in his jeans, and he's pretty sure Liam is too, from what he can feel, even with Liam's low-slung belt in the way, and the way Liam's eyes flutter shut and his mouth drops open when Louis urges his hips into Liam's a tiny bit.
"I--oh," says Liam. "I think - maybe - like. An adrenaline thing? F-from the show?"
Louis thinks about that, or maybe he's thinking about making Liam look like that again, what he can do to this boy to make him go all flushed red and ruined. "Makes sense." Maybe. "Let's go with that, shall we."
Liam looks worried, which does not go well with thoroughly-kissed. "Do you want to stop?"
That might be more sensible, but if there's one thing he and Liam have never been it's sensible, and what sort of mentor in mischief would he be if he gave in now? Louis bites his lip, watches Liam watch him, and feels the delicacy of Liam's wrist in his one hand, the strength of his jawline in the other. He - good idea or bad idea, post-show adrenaline or something else, he knows that now he's started, he does not want to stop kissing Liam.
He swoops in, catching Liam's mouth against his own, shifting down enough to get the obscene swell of Liam's bottom lip in between his own lips and suck on it, lick right up the middle of the generous curve, dragging a stuttered groan from Liam that he really likes the sound of.
"Nope," he says, into Liam's mouth, "I really don't."