Work Header

Push My Buttons

Work Text:

In all honesty, Louis probably should have noticed he was on the wrong side of the arena. In his defense, the blues and reds all kind of muddled together until it was hard to tell the difference, and he had already run fifteen minutes late and was only worried about finding a seat before the first round ended.


Louis probably should’ve realized this meant everyone around him supported the other team. In his defense, the cute boy beside him was wearing a black cap and button-up over what seemed to be a band shirt, completely void of any team logos, so he figured he was safe in striking up a conversation over how fucking awful the Rangers are just to make this unfortunate seating arrangement more bearable.


“Can’t fucking believe I have to sit through the Rangers.” He huffs. “Can’t believe they even call them a team.”


The boy looks at him like he’s just spat in his face. “Do you realize where you’re sitting?”


Of course. Not a Canadiens fan. Of fucking course the cute guy is a fan of actual garbage. “Do you realize you’re at a hockey game and not your paper route, Newsboy?”


Muttering a string of frustrated profanities under his breath, he starts gathering his things before he gives cute newsboy a chance to respond. But of course:


“Yeah, I would leave, too, if I was supporting a shit team.”


Louis pauses. “You’re here for the fucking Rangers, and you have the audacity to say that to me?”


Cute boy hums. “Can’t say I don’t believe it. You sat on the wrong side of the arena, for fuck’s sake.” He smirks. “Think that says enough.”


Louis grunts and plops right back into his seat, glaring at this frustratingly attractive boy the entire time. “I’m not intimidated, fucker.”


Newsboy shrugs. “Fine by me, Tiny. I’d like to see your face when your team loses.”


Louis grunts out a petulant, “I’m not tiny,” before grumpily digging into his nachos.


“Okay, Tiny.”


“Fuck you, Newsboy.”


Somehow, even with the amount of venom Louis is sure he put into those three words, Newsboy only smiles.


He slumps back into his seat with a frown.


He finally gets the chance to watch what little of the first round there is left; one glance at the scoreboard tells him Newsboy’s team hasn’t scored, but neither has Louis’ and that’s worrying. Usually Louis would get fired up over a loss, but this is beyond that—he’s got a cute asshole beside him who will undoubtedly rub it in if the Canadiens go down. That can’t happen, or he will look like the biggest fool in the arena without a question.


The urge to bite his fingernails or chew his lip hits him hard, but he refrains. He can’t chance showing his nerves lest this boy decide to make it any worse.


The first round ends and the score is still zero to zero.


He props a foot up on the back of the empty seat in front of him and huffs.


“You look a little shaken up,” comes the voice of Newsboy. “You can always switch teams, you know. I won’t even make fun of you for it if you do it now.”


Louis scoffs. “I should be giving you the opportunity. You saw the way your Neanderthals played. It’ll be no time at all before my team wins.”


“You sound awfully sure of that,” the boy continues, “but I guess you weren’t here for the first few minutes of their fuck ups, so.”


Louis rolls his eyes. “Lying doesn’t suit you.”


Suddenly, the boy is back to smirky and confident and oh-so terribly cocky. “And what does suit me?”


He makes sure to narrow his glare. “Shutting up.”


The next round commences without Newsboy making another snide comment. This one looks good for Louis when the Canadiens score—he makes sure to elbow Newsboy's side just to make sure he’s seeing it, but he doesn’t act affected in the slightest. Louis almost wants to huff like a toddler, but there’s a pile-up that steals his attention before he can.


The rest of the round is fairly tame, which is fine because it means Louis’ team is still in the lead.


The jumbotron starts up their intermission visuals and games, meaning Louis won’t miss anything when he turns to gloat at Newsboy.


“Getting nervous yet?” Louis asks. “I’m sure your customers will understand when you delay your paper route because your little Ranger’s can’t find the goal.”


“I’m fine, actually,” he responds with a subtle smile. “It’s you I’m worried about.”


“Fuck off.” Louis leans into this boy’s personal space just to show how unaffected he is, even if it is technically a bluff. “My team’s winning.”


The boy crowds right back into him with a smug look, and that turns out to be their downfall—a large man to his left nudges his arm and gestures to the jumbotron, where Louis and fucking Newsboy are currently encased in a cartoon heart with the words KISS CAM burning brightly above them.


You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Louis wants to say, but it’s like his mouth can’t form any words. A hand comes to caress his cheek only a moment later and he doesn’t even have the ability to jerk away in shock.


“What’s your name?” Newsboy says, rubbing his thumb awfully gently across Louis’ cheekbone.


“Why?” Louis all but stutters.


“’Cause,” the boy says, “I want to know your name before I kiss you.”


Holy shit. Beautiful and infuriating newsboy is going to kiss him. This has to be a dream of Louis’—or a nightmare, but a perfect one at that. What the fuck.


He could stop it. He could completely humiliate this boy in the process. He could do so many things other than kiss him.




“Louis,” he finds himself muttering. “My name is Louis.”


“Fitting.” A tiny pause. “I’m Harry and I’m going to kiss you now.”


The crowd is whistling the second they lean into each other, before their lips even have the chance to touch. But once they do—well, Louis kind of tunes everything out, because Newsboy is Harry who is kissing Louis.


The kiss is innocent by Louis’ standards, lasting only a few seconds with no tongue or teeth or anything of the sort. When they pull back, Harry is looking up toward the jumbotron with a dimpled smile that could easily rival that of a Disney prince. Louis tries his best to mimic the expression until the camera finally pans to another unsuspecting couple.


“Wanna get out of here?” Harry asks once the crowd’s attention is sufficiently elsewhere.


The idea is tempting. So very, very tempting. But—


“And not stick around to record your face as your team sucks my team’s dick? Nice try.”


 His words shock a laugh out of Harry, who sits back in his seat once again and claps a hand on Louis’ thigh. “Fine. But let’s make it more interesting.”


Louis hums. “How?”


“A bet,” Harry mumbles. “When my team wins, you put on my Ranger’s jersey.”


An eye roll. “Ignoring that that is impossible,” he begins, then gestures to Harry’s upper half. “You’re not wearing a jersey.”


Harry shrugs. “Guess that just means you’ll have to come to my place and get it.”


Jesus Christ. Surely Louis is in a fantasy. Or a porno. Any explanation other than this being real.


“That’s a cute idea, but when I win—” Louis pauses to consider the punishments thoroughly. “—you’ll wear my Canadien’s jersey to the next game with me.”


Harry laughs. “Well, ignoring that that is impossible, good luck getting me to fit into your clothes, Tiny.”


“My name is Louis.”


“I know.”




He loses. Of course his team fucking loses.


Instead of feeling like an idiot as he feared before, he’s got a hand intertwined with his own as he’s lead out of the arena while his head is swimming with thought after question over how this is happening.


Harry is apparently not as much of an asshole as Louis had originally assumed, because he’s keeping a gentlemanly hold on Louis’ side the entire walk to the car. Not one moment of gloating over the fact that Louis lost. Nothing but a smile is on his face and it confuses Louis as much as it entices him.


Once they’re back to Harry’s place—a quaint apartment only a few minutes from Louis’ own, he notes—he’s guided to the end of a couch. Harry sits on the opposite corner with his body turned towards Louis with an animalistic kind of look, but he’s a million fucking feet away. Louis may be way off tonight, but he is positive he knows when a cute boy wants to get him naked. Harry most definitely wanted him naked.


“You don’t have to woo me before we get to your bed, Harry,” he mumbles sincerely.


Harry laughs and shakes his head, giving Louis a bright smile when he finally meets his eyes once again. “I don’t, but I want to.”


Louis rolls his eyes. “No point. If you’re bad in bed then I’m out anyway.”


“You know you don’t have to keep being a dick to me since we’re out of the arena, yeah? I won’t tell anyone if you’re nice to me.”


“I’m a lot nicer when I’m being pleasured,” Louis admits. He scoots forward until his knee is knocking into Harry’s thigh. “I could even prove it to you.”


He watches the exact moment Harry relents, his eyelids dropping into a sultry type of look while his lips look as pink and pretty as they had all night. “Come on then.”


Louis mentally gloats about his own personal win the whole way to Harry’s bed.




Louis wakes up in nothing but a New York Ranger’s jersey that’s two sizes too big for him.


He groans and shifts until the light is out of his peripheral, managing to come face to face with another set of eyes. Vivid memory after vivid memory floods his brain as he remembers where he is, the fucking hours of pleasure he experienced. Fuck.


“I really think you should consider switching teams,” comes Harry’s sleep-filled drawl. “The blue really compliments your eyes.”


Louis can’t hold back the grin tugging at the corners of his lips, nor can he refrain from kissing this boy again. “In your dreams.”


Instead of responding, Harry pulls him back in for another kiss that Louis slips easily into.


Maybe, he supposes, the Rangers have one good quality.


Louis plans on being a thorn in that quality’s side for as long as he can keep him around.