Liam Gallagher was on his knees, something you enjoyed seeing. But there he was, with that mix of arrogance and vulnerability he projected. The scene was almost ironic: the man who once stood at the top was now at your feet, in an act teetering between surrender and provocation.

Your hand, soft but firm, slid through his disheveled hair, pushing it forward. You looked down, studying every line of his time-worn face, flushed and agitated. There was something hypnotic about his gaze, those eyes still intense despite the years and circumstances.

"Are you comfortable down there, Liam?" you asked with a light smile, your tone bordering on teasing and curiosity.

Liam let out a dry, through-the-teeth laugh. "Don’t ask stupid questions, you know the answer."

It was a game, as it always had been between the two of you: a constant dance of power and pride. He hated when you pushed him to the limit, but he endured it. Maybe because, deep down, he needed you more than he was willing to admit.

He brought it on himself every time with those stupid little stunts.