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take my pure (and wash it all away 'til I'm cured)

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The first time Louis sees Harry, the prize-holder for the most gorgeous boy on the planet, Harry catches him when he’s outside trying to sneak a quick smoke, and - no, literally. He catches him.

Listen.

Louis is wearing these new white sneakers with platforms he got the other day, because they looked really sick with his outfit alright, and pair that with a shitty sense of balance (you’d think years of standing on your tippy toes to look taller in pictures would train that ability) plus a hot as balls frat boy suddenly appearing out of thin air from right around the corner, and you’ve got yourself a tiny Louis cursing your mother’s grave and falling towards his death, and then two strong arms wrapping around him and pulling him to their toned, designated chest.

The boy chuckles a bit breathily, but it’s a voice like a drunken sailor’s, dark and smooth like melted dark fucking chocolate that comes rumbling into Louis’ hair as he valiantly tries to steady him to stand on his own useless two legs. “Careful there, love.”

And Louis just, dies a bit, you know?

He’s already having a bit of trouble orienting himself, as you should, first day of uni and all that, and he really, really didn’t ask for anyone to catch him (mind the pun) off guard dressed in a sheer white tee, an unbuttoned red plaid shirt, black skinnies, tan chelsea boots and a backwards snapback. And, yet. There he stands, fucking sags chest to chest and the top of his head only reaching up to this abnormally tall stranger’s chin, staring into his eyes as his heartbeat quickens significantly by the second.

Because those eyes bore into him so intently, don’t they now? So intensely that he’s kind of scared to even breathe, the boy’s full attention focused on Louis like everything else around them would be blurred out, deemed unimportant. The way his eyebrows knit together with some sort of fierce concentration, like trying so hard to read someone; like looking at them makes you feel a little intoxicated for reasons you don’t even understand. The way his bottom lip comes snatched between his teeth in his oh so suddenly very inviting mouth, and the way his hands just won’t stop touching him. It suddenly feels like doing anything else in the universe would just be for passing time.

As Louis’ got the speaking ability of a powdered donut right about then, his well-thought-out, ever-so-witty reply is of course nothing else than a raspy, confused, desperate little whimper. A great one! Fantastic. A stupid little whimper, to which the boy only fucking grins, lip still between his teeth and wet, dark pink and gorgeous.

Now, Louis doesn’t believe in love at first sight. The guy may have this scruffy sunkissed boyish look, lovely long chestnut beach curls peeking outwards from underneath his black snapback, that cheeky smile made of those gorgeous plump lips and those blue-green eyes you could just practically go swimming in. A dimple you can press your thumb into. Collarbones to build a house on.

But, clearly, this doesn’t do anything to Louis. Course it doesn’t. Because Louis only believes in hate at first sight.

He hates Harry Styles, before he even knows Harry Styles’ name. He decides right then he’s never going to even speak to Harry Styles, he’s never going to think about Harry Styles, never going to even utter the bloody name. Because Harry Styles is so clearly a fuckboy, one of them that come and go like a storm and therefore he’s so clearly not worth Louis’ time. Not this year. He's looking for a relationship, for love with someone who's sweet and kind; he’ll be good this year.

But.

But Harry steadies Louis, shifts him back into a state of sort-of-balance with his hands gripping his arms and his intense eyes still burning into him, and he’s so stupidly beautiful, isn’t he? Etched out of fucking marble and enough tattoos for each of them to be the subject of a billion love as well as breakup songs, and honestly, fucking god honest truth, Louis can already sense how he’s going to be playing the main role of his own alarmingly large amount of wanking plus fingering deluxe sessions in the nearest future, as well as the occasional wet dream that has him waking up whimpering in similar fashion as when he first had a proper look at him just now. That’s just how things work, don’t they? Life has a habit of punching you square in the self respect like that.

The boy releases Louis then, as carefully as if he thinks he’ll break him otherwise, and Louis decides, as the boy slowly starts backing away with that same cheeky grin lighting up that whole stupidly beautiful face, that he should sue him for emotional abuse just for the fact his pecs stretch the fabric of his shirt like that alone. He really should. He might even win the case.

Fuck.

 

 

Louis almost manages to forget. There were, after all, more important things in life to worry about than hot and rugged and most-probably-straight Harry Styles pushing him up against a wall and kissing him raw. Important things such as studying, partying, seeing other hunky boys, deciding on tea flavours at Tesco, making mixtapes with the best 80's jams about sexual frustration and pondering how he was ever going to afford those sick new Adidas trackies he saw down at the shopping centre. They don’t have classes together anyway, what with Harry taking law like an intelligent person or whatever; they don’t go to the same parties because Harry more so likes the punk or indie people or the, well, girls, as rumour has it. Lots of the girls, lots of the parties if the walls speak the truth, and the only times Louis has to actually suffer is when they pass in the corridor and his heart stutters a bit. He can deal with that. He can resist his magnetic fuckboy pull.

It’s on a disgustingly grey monday afternoon, should we properly set the scene, when all of this goes to shit.

Louis is sat pulling distractedly on the sleeves of his way-too-big-jumper (that might or might not be his mother’s that he accidentally packed in The Big Uni Move, but it’s completely acceptable in the unforgivingly chilly late-April-weather and so is his beanie, thanks very much). And then there stands blonde and loud and Irish Niall Horan - as he’s come to learn is the name of Harry’s close friend whom he spends most of his time with, the ones heard before they’re seen and all that - stood with Louis’ best-mate-since-secondary-school-and-current-uni-roomie, Liam. They’re practically in the other end of the corridor, he’ll have you know, devastatingly enough, because they’re both still somehow audible enough for Louis’ poor pining twink soul to pick up every word of the conversation.

As it so happens (because if God exists then he’s a little shit who loves ruining Louis’ plans of staying clear of boys that are hot as hell but will only end up breaking his itsy bitsy heart), Niall is in the midst of expressing to Liam how annoying it is how Harry just won’t shut up about not having anyone help him with makeup for pride and, okay. Alright. But also, wait, what?

There were a lot of vital keywords in that sentence alone.

If Louis gets up and walks casually a little bit closer to the window a few feet away from them pretending to get better phone reception, no one has to know his hidden motive, ever. Sneaky, apart from his shoes squeaking on the linoleum as he curses himself inwardly.

Apparently the makeup, as Niall continues, was something he so dearly wanted to sport during the pride parade in a few weeks time. And how he, a law student that (by Niall’s default) shouldn’t be this expressive, had this vision of long gorgeous lashes, a sharp as fuck contour with blinding highlight, a sleek winged cat eye and glitter, glitter fuckin’ everywhere.

“And it’s all ruined thanks to the simple fact he has the motor skills of a buffoon.”

Liam laughs at that, proper tips his head back and laughs, and Louis can’t help feeling offended when he’s full on buzzing with the thought of all this potential.

You can be straight and go to pride; this is in fact completely fine and an acceptable gesture given the century they’re living in, and honestly, Louis would appreciate it. Go right ahead, bitch, sissy that walk. But the thing is really how Harry, a human being, wants to try other human being things, and the other thing is really how Louis, another human being - who helped his little sister rock his trademark shimmery rose gold eyeshadow and thick top-row mascara combo just last month when he came home for the weekend, and who’s been helping his uterus-bearing friends do their makeup for parties for the past 3 years or so - happens to own products of, and be moderately good at, said human being thing. Like, it’s basically his thing. Harry wants in on his damn thing.

And Louis may have made it his new year’s resolution this time to not date dickheads, but when the opportunity, just… presents itself...

Slapped aggressively into his face...

Naturally, they’ll help each other out. Naturally, fate will bring them together, they’ll bond, have a laugh, because they just have so much in common all of a sudden. Like green organic tea, no pink lemonade in the shade whatsoever.

Louis nearly scoffs aloud, turning back with a smirk. It’s about as natural as botox and god, does he want a certain Harry Edward Styles to fuck him until he can’t walk.

(Which. Well. Someone told him that was his name. Course they did. Louis is above Facebook stalking, why are you looking at him like that?)

 

 

After that last class of said shitty monday afternoon, Louis flings himself around Liam’s legs as soon as he walks through the door to their shared room.

He reckoned it could be a gesture of love and devotion and a way to show that he’d missed him, because Liam works out, Liam goes to the gym quite a lot actually and he shouldn’t fall over from a tiny person wrapping himself around one of his legs. But he does. They both land in a heap with a scream of proper bloody murder which they’re both equally responsible for, Louis immediately decides. The fall, however, he’d like to blame entirely on Liam.

“What’s gotten into you?” Liam basically screeches, probably still not over the jumpscare, bless him. That was so five seconds ago.

“Nothing yet, love,” Louis chirps back, kicking the door shut and before rolling over on his stomach, perching his head in his hands and kicking his legs. “Ask me what will be getting into me.”

Liam makes a gagging noise. He starts to try to stand up but Louis throws himself over him again, much gracefully.

“Uh uh! Write me a 100k words long essay on why I shouldn’t have just moved in with the first gay Londoner I laid eyes on instead of your poor straight ass,” he starts in a scolding voice, attempting to suffocate Liam with the power of his magnificent bum, “or stay right here and discuss a stupidly handsome boy with me!”

“Jesus fucking- alright. Alright Tommo!” Again, Liam goes to the gym, so all he has to do is literally just sit up, then Louis is falling straight towards his death. Liam is however as much of Batman’s muscle as he is his heart (and hunky good looks, god dammit) so he catches his arm and the fall is just that much more graceful for Louis not to scream again. “Is it going to be like that guy from last february? Who was married, I should add - do you remember?”

Louis gives him a look. You know, that skeptical look, class 2 warning, no survivors. “We don’t speak of him.”

“No?” Liam deadpans at him. “What about that other guy from last year, that had you suck him off then snuck out as you were very, like, drunkenly declaring your love for him to me? Or! Or the guy on New Year’s Eve... no explanation needed.”

Louis keeps glaring. He doesn’t remember their names. That’s how much he cares about them in contrast to Harry Edward Styles.

Also, fuck. Was it really that long ago he had a fling? Is it really that hard to find decent, rugged men these days?

When he doesn’t respond, Liam shrugs. “Learn from your mistakes.”

“And if you really love someone you let them sometimes win the argument,” Louis counters and pokes him in the stomach. Nearly breaks his finger on his abs. Okay then. “He’s nothing like that, I’m telling you.”

He sits back, sighing dreamily, twiddling his fingers around in the air.

“He’s so…”

“Gay?” Liam kindly supplies.

“I’d fucking hope,” Louis says with a roll of his eyes. “Think he's really, very straight. Not that it matters, because I don’t think he’s all that good for me, you know? But you can’t know with anyone these days anyways, can you? What with the curious ones, or the aesthetics, the tumblrs… Maybe I could just like, let him do me-”

Liam waves his arm impatiently. “Get on with it, would you? The sodding book analysis thing is meant to be in next week, in case you forgot.”

“I don’t forget, dearest. I hide my papers under Xbox games and Another Man magazines, and they suddenly become so much less important.” He’s met with a glare. When did Liam become such an angry puppy? “Oh well, alright then! Don’t have to give me that-- Okay, okay, so you know Niall Horan?”

Liam clasps a hand over his mouth.

Louis cringes. “Not like- not him! You think I’d have a crush on an Irishman?”

Liam exhales a deep breath and tips his head back, crosses his chest with his hand. “Oh thank bloody heavens.”

“You honestly thought…?”

“Well I… Are you expecting me to guess who he is, or?”

Louis’ eyes widen gleefully and he claps his hands together. “Let’s!” Liam groans. “So. He’s got this slow, dark voice, right? Sexy as hell, sounds like a drunken sailor if I’m honest-”

“Styles.”

Louis drops his hands to his lap. His mouth has turned into a straight line. “Uni made you not so funny anymore.”

“That’s it?” Liam makes a victory fist. “What’d I win?”

“A slap to the face if you’re not careful.”

Liam snorts, then finally seems to deem it fit to get off the floor. He dumps himself on his bed instead. Louis deems it a good enough idea for him to do it as well.

“Didn’t you hear he goes to bed with any girl with like, two legs and something to put your dick in in between them?” Liam continues, frowning. “I haven’t heard any mentions of boys, really, I don’t think. Seems like quite the flirt, though, or uh, fuckboy, as they call it.”

Louis deadpans. “And I’m sure that’s such a horrible lifestyle to you, Liam”, he says, unable to keep himself from defending his pretty boy sailor. “I’m sure you don’t wish you had his secret charm and ability to bed any hot chicks you’d want.”

Liam angrily waves his arm in his general direction. Louis pokes his tongue out at him.

“At least I don’t go behind your back talking shit, do I?” he acknowledges, and Liam flips him off. “Whatever, pal. What I was gonna say was, he’s good friends with Niall, isn’t he?”

“Best, I’d say,” Liam hums. “At least in school. As proven by how all Niall does is bloody complain about him.”

“Gathered as much. And ehm, he’s going to pride, yeah?”

Liam furrows his brow. He looks like the cutest puppy ever when he does. “You eavesdropped?”

“Niall talks loud enough to break the sound barrier.”

“Breaking the sound barrier is when you go fast.”

“Which is why I don’t take physics.”

“Which is why maybe you should.”

“Think Harry’s got a big dick?”

Liam sits up in his bed. “Louis!”

“Liam!”

“You can’t just-”

“Oh come on, boy wears skinny jeans every single day, does he expect me not to stare?”

Liam gives him a last hard look, with an extra aggressive squint mixed in. Aggressive. “You could at least try not to drool.” He lies back down. “You’re soaking the carpet.”

“Seems fair enough when he’s making me flood my whole fucking basement.”

“Louis!”

“Liam! He’s so! Attractive! Like shit, it’s unprofessional is what it is, he’s been distracting me from my studies and my duties ever since august and now he goes and talks about makeup. And I’m just like, God, are you there? Are you doing this to test me?”

“Because you clearly have the copyright on being a boy who does makeup?”

Louis attempts conveying a message with his much dainty hands whilst making little comme ci comme ça noises. It doesn’t quite come across like he’s hoped. “The point here is really how I’m trying to be good to myself. Staying clear of toxic people. Fuckboys, yeah?”

“Well I’m glad.”

“Thank you. But to answer your question, it’s more that it’s… I dunno really, like, you know, I do makeup because it’s fun and I think it’s pretty, right? But on him, it would be… really hot? And it’s really cool to have like a common interest? It kind of makes me think he’s maybe not that bad of a person. Maybe we could be, like. Friends.”

Liam flips his palm up and turns to face the wall. “No more,” he implores, exasperatedly. “You’re texting him right now. A date. Do his makeup or something. Then marriage, then children, lots of dogs, lots of RuPaul’s Drag Race. And you’re not sharing any of it with me.”

Louis leaves it at that, because he got stuck on a tiny detail. He can’t text Harry Styles because he doesn’t have Harry Styles’ number.

But Louis is a people person and if not, he knows his ways around things.

 

 

Louis follows Liam to a party that friday eve just to see Harry, and when he sees him, he’s drunk off of three or probably two shots of something unknown and nursing a Piña Colada with a little tropical umbrella in his lap.

Right. Commence operation get straight man Harry Styles to fuck him.

It’s a stupid little party, in one of the bedrooms of all places, because apparently this is what it means to be living away from home. Independence. Unruliness. Alcohol and loud music, in a room obviously cramped and crowded past the point of being a fire hazard. The host, whose name Louis doesn’t really know (might be one of those stoner punks he’s seen Harry hang with, who plays too much Nirvana and too little The Stone Roses, should we get into the goods and bads of the rock genre), is thrashing around in the middle of the room, people pressed around him, talking over Passion Pit or grinding or kissing or, you know. Other things to make Louis raise his hands in his utter flamboyance and wrinkle his nose, but he can deal.

And Harry’s dark plaid shirt may be unbuttoned to only one lone button at the end but, essentially, Louis is wearing his very tight The Killers top with black jeans, smelling of Chanel and some flowery-scented body lotion he’d picked up earlier, so he thinks fact of the matter is he probably just has to ask Harry how he’s doing, wait for his reply and his drunken exclaim of “hey, don’t we have psychology together?” (they don’t), and then hand him his phone for him to type his number in.

Things are never that easy though, are they?

Because Louis realises after watching Harry dismiss a third girl asking to dance that he might actually have to be nice. Which is… fine. Louis can do nice. Sitting in his lap and kissing his neck until he obliges would be preferable, but. He can deal. People person and all that, he can handle a bit of conversation.

Harry is currently crowded by the headrest of one of the beds, though, so the first step would probably be to go over there and squeeze in between him and the couple making out next to him. Talk. Be nice. Secretly crave a little less conversation, a little more action, please.

However, a loud blonde Irishman has time to grab him before he can even start his way over.

“Liam!” Niall hollers, before tugging Liam into a hug. He’s still holding on to Louis so he’s a bit yanked into the commotion but, whatever. Fuck his goals and dreams in life, right? “Great to see you, lad!”

“Hey, Ni,” Liam greets back, all crinkly-eyed smiles. Gross. They’re both gross. Louis spots a bin, maybe he can make it over there before the grossness gets the best of him. But the bin is probably also gross.

Niall shoves a drink into Liam’s hand, and finally acknowledges him then, apparently tugging a bit on his arm just for good measure. “Who’s your friend?”

Liam wraps his arm around Louis’ shoulder and tugs him to his chest. Harry is ripped from Louis’ vision, and Louis is suddenly in a worse mood. Curious, that.

“This here is Louis,” Liam announces, gesturing up and down his body, as if this helps introduce him. He isn’t a chapter in a book or a rare plant species, he’s a raging homosexual within five feet from the hottest guy at uni, Liam, why don’t you understand that? “Best mates since we were like 13.”

“Sick,” Niall states with a grin before taking a swig from his bottle. “Reckon I’ve known H for about as long. You two been introduced?”

Louis’ eyebrows raise and he immediately perks up. “No,” he answers for Liam, before he even manages to take another breath. He musters a smile when they both stop to look at him. “Let’s.”

“Cool! Follow me.”

Niall grins and turns around, squeezing his way past the people, his drink raised above everyone’s heads. Liam gives Louis a meaning look, then passes him a shot glass. Louis smiles back at him, downs its contents and shrugs, walking over with Liam’s protective arm still around him, swinging his hips to his best ability in the overly cramped bedroom. At least he can still be cute. It is his strongest feature.

Being within touching distance of Harry Styles shouldn’t be a problem. But see the thing is, once they sit down and Louis looks over at him, he’s met with these big, green, doe eyes, and he just. Collapses inwardly. Because Harry has the prettiest damn eyes he’s ever had the privilege to look into and he’s never even gotten to see them up close. He might actually be staring right into him.

And then he shifts his eyes to Liam, lingers, and looks away again.

Alright.

“Ehm, hi,” Louis tries then, reaching his hand out at Harry, disgustingly brave. “Louis. Friend of Niall’s.”

He figures if Harry is going to pretend they’ve never seen each other before, he can play that game too, and he can play even better. Re-introductions are his favourite, and although it would admittedly be rather lovely being wrapped in his arms to Harry’s warm broad chest like the first time again, at least this way he’s sitting down and probably won’t fall over with the embarrassing claim of ‘whoops, seems like I fell for you!’. Because, wow.

Niall, having taken a place of leaning against the wall next to Harry, must be close to splitting his face in half with the smile he gives. “And Liam,” he introduces, pointing to a smiling Liam. “Also friend of Niall’s,” he adds casually with a hand motion as if flicking long hair back.

Harry turns around then with the cutest little expression on his face. He’s like a confused and astonished frog. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t-” He breaks out into an embarrassed grin. “Sorry, hi.” He shakes Louis hand (even his hands are fantastic, gosh) and doesn’t break eye contact. He’s also so close, if Louis would have only just lacked all moral sensibility, he could have leaned right in and kissed him. But. Alas. (Apparently?) “I’m Harry. Also friend of Niall’s, of course.”

Niall tsk:s and waves him off with a coy hand but he’s really honestly blushing. Everything is so ridiculous.

Harry leans over Louis to reach Liam for another proper handshake, smile exchanges, Liam sliding his arm off of Louis to shake his while having the quick “I’ve seen you at the gym haven’t I” “oh yeaaah” recollection and, god, alright. Package. Cock. So big. Right against his thigh. We’ve got a spillage in isle 6, people.

Louis comes to the realisation he needs to work quickly, because he will not stand this torture any longer.

But of course Liam, ever the helpful one, thinks it’s a good idea to compliment the drink in his hand once Harry’s sat back down. “You bartender in your spare time, Nialler?” he asks, sipping it with a delighted expression on his face for emphasis.

Niall blushes more. He blushes furiously. It’s not even that warm in here. “Nah. Just… put something together, witch’s brew.”

“Niall’s good with that, though,” Harry drawls. He cheers Niall, knocking their glasses. “Has helped me out a lot.”

“I’ll have to hire you,” Liam announces, sounding like such a dad trying to be funny. He’s not down with the kids at all. He’s probably not even the oldest within their circle.

Niall lifts his cup. “I’ll drink to that.”

Louis doesn’t want this conversation to take place. Why is it? Why isn’t Harry naked yet?

The music is loud, annoying. Yell-level loud, the kind that will have your ears soaring with white noise afterwards, and Louis is kind of sick of everything in general.

“Must come with the territory,” he interjects, unable to keep from being smart. Or more so, moody.

Niall gives him a look. “How you mean?”

Louis puts on his best sarcastic smile. He leans forward a bit, towards him. “I didn’t insult Saint Patrick’s day, man. Was just saying you’re a good Irishman. No need to be offended.”

Niall barks a laugh, and Louis strangely feels Harry giggle beside him. Yeah, feels it. Vibrating with laughter, slow setting, the good setting. Best setting.

He’ll admit seeing (or rather feeling, and god does he want to feel more of him) his reaction spurs him on to be a little shit even more.

“I’m that obvious with it, am I?” Niall ponders through a grin. “Yeah, yeah. Freshly imported.”

“Really now?” Louis eyes his loose tank top and baggy trackies. “Fit right into English culture, though. The chav one. Good choice, good choice.” Niall sputters. It’s a blessing and a half he doesn’t have any of his drink in his mouth. “And I’m the one from good ole Donny.”

Niall raises his eyebrows, curious. “Doncaster, right?” Louis nods and Niall points his glass at Harry. “Harry’s from around there, aren’t you? Manchester and shit?”

Louis looks over at Harry expectantly. Harry looks back with a hint of… awkwardness? Shouldn’t he be the king of charm and endless conversations? Talk about coming with the territory. Why is nothing adding up and making sense?

“Holmes Chapel”, he answers. “Uh, Cheshire. But, yeah. Manchester and shit.” He clicks his tongue. “Good football.”

“Fuck yeah Man U!” Louis hoots, very loudly, then coughs. “Sorry. Vodka. Inside voices.” He lifts a fist in a silent cheer. “Fuck yeah Man U.”

“More of a West Brom kinda guy,” Liam pipes in with, of a much more appropriate sound level but with much less appropriate small-talking skills.

Louis holds a hand up to silence him, speaks in a bored voice. “My current mood, gender, sexuality, favourite food and thoughts on politics is Christiano Ronaldo; please show yourself out.”

“Well,” Harry huffs, “he is the best player.”

He hears Niall chuckle, but Louis is looking up at Harry through his eyelashes then. His eyes are green and as equally big as his grin. It’s kind of like he’s slowly taking him in. Louis can only say that the feeling’s absolutely mutual.

Liam nudges his side. He’s looking at Niall though, rolling his eyes. “Get used to that,” he says, exasperatedly. “Louis’ good with the… what should we call it? Witty comments?”

“Brilliant observation, Liam, but in the future I’d rather you fuck off.”

This gets the two boys going. Even Louis can’t fight a smile when he turns back around and sees Liam’s expression.

“Get those puppy eyes away from me,” he grumbles through his smirk and shoves him playfully, making Liam pout even more. He pats at his cheek good-naturedly.

“Oh my god,” Niall howls with laughter, “he literally looks like a puppy!”

When they’ve settled again, minus applause and curtain, plus some more drink sipping, and Niall has enveloped Liam in a conversation about, time travel? Louis makes himself as comfortable as he can be given the current situation (which is, not comfortable at all, thank you very much) and turns fully towards Harry. “Hey, so. I hear you need help with makeup?”

Harry actually narrows his eyes when he looks back at him, and Louis suddenly wants to sink through the floor. Then he sees, ah, he’s got a small smile tugging at his lips. He’s a cheeky one. “What’s the catch?”

Louis shrugs and swirls his drink around in the bottle he's been given. “Eehm.” He bobs his head from side to side. “My presence. I’m absolutely horrendous.”

And Harry guffaws. He actually makes such a strange, really loud laugh, and he slaps his hands to his mouth right after, eyes wide. Louis can’t help but smile, raising his eyebrows as a question. That… never happens, usually. If he had only known all it would take to get through to Harry Styles was a little bit of self-deprecation.

“Promise I’m worse,” Harry says then, out of breath. He tucks a curly strand of hair behind his ear. “As just proven, wow. Terribly sorry.”

“You’re alright,” Louis murmurs, as gently as the music will allow, eyes on his lone curl. He doesn’t realise he’s even leaned in closer before he’s sitting back and fixing his own fringe. Crazy how that works, how his fringe always needs fixing when he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “Tell you what,” he starts, but then his eyes catch on the gleaming cross resting between Harry’s pecs on his flushed chest, protected by the two inked swallows looking in towards it. Great! Not like he needed to breathe or anything! “Give me your phone and I’ll write you my number.”

Harry’s eyes burn his skin. They’re big and gleeful, an innocent expression on his face. “Mummy said not to talk to strangers. Or give them my possessions.” He wets his lips. “Even if they’re very nice.”

It’s fantastic what a few miscalculations and a momentary loss of self control can do. Now all Louis can think of is don’t get hard, don’t get hard, don’t get hard.

He nods slow, speaking under his breath as he slowly moves his eyes from the silver chain to the floor. “He follows rules. Right. See how it is...” He chances a glance up at Harry, who’s looking back at him like he’s got his full attention, so. Fishing his phone out of his own pocket is… much less smooth and glamorous than anticipated, but. “Give me yours, then? Think about all the products I own, about four years of experience up my sleeve…” He pulls up a picture of his little sister, dutch braids on point and with the most bombass makeup you’ve ever seen. “You see these lashes? Whack these babies on in 2 minutes, tops. The possibilities are just endless, I’m telling you.”

Harry looks closely at the picture, zooms into the shimmery eyeshadow, intrigued. He doesn’t jab his number into his phone though; he does something even better.

A smirk that’s a mix between cherubic and mischievous flashes over his face, because somehow that just works so well for him, and then he produces a ballpoint pen from his breast pocket. He grabs Louis’ hand by the wrist, lays it out over their thighs. Then presses the blue ink to his skin.

Five letters and eleven neat digits later (Louis counts them to make sure he’s not messing with him), he clicks the pen and drops it back into his pocket.

Louis licks his lips, eyes still on the big “Harry” now scribbled across the soft skin of forearm. “At least now I won’t forget to text.”

Harry hasn’t stopped smirking. “Exactly.”

Before Louis leaves, when it’s Petit Biscuit playing on full blast, he tests the number he’s been given by texting a ’thanks curly xx louis’, to which Harry grins all big and dopey at when he looks at his phone, even though Louis isn’t even sat next to him anymore and he doesn’t have to be polite. Louis will deny for approximately the next 100 years that just seeing it all happen makes him blush the tiniest bit. But it, like, really does. Therefore, he has to get out of there. Thus, he leaves the party.

Because Louis wants him to be that sweet and pliant always. Preferably paired up with those strong arms pinning him to a bed, because Harry is just such a lovely mix of soft and hard, contrasts that blend so well together and positively drive Louis just a bit crazy, just enough so that he can still act cool but really, his wrist is still constantly sore from wanking.

And his contact name might just forever be curly.

 

 

Liam will probably be at the party for a while longer, and Louis has a very phallic looking pink dildo waiting in the back of his drawer just for him.

So, it all comes naturally after that. 2+2=22. Sipping that green organic tea.

He tosses himself on his bed, hand immediately down his pants and the other one searching frantically through his drawer, through magazines and forgotten assignments, notes and mixtape CDs. He snatches the dildo out, impatient and desperate, kicks his jeans off as he drapes a condom over it - because washing is tedious, duh - and pours as much lube as his medium-done brain decides seems appropriate at the moment.

He feels himself up his thighs with gentle fingertips while he parts his legs, can’t seem to spread them quite enough as he thinks about that one person only and pushes it inside himself, slowly to make it fit, feeling the stretch and the burn mixing perfectly with the lengths and widths he felt against his thigh a mere hour earlier.

“Harry,” he chokes out, a whimper, throwing his head back into the pillows.

He arches off the bed slightly, getting used to it but feeling needy, ghosting gently over his dick with nimble fingers as gasps rip out of his lungs. He pulls on the dildo until it pops out of him again, then he slides it back in, eyes scrunching shut and jaw hanging slack. He pumps his dick, knows it’s the arm that’s got Harry written over it, knows he’s already close but he should be able to fit another session in after; maybe he can be on his hands and knees. Practice makes perfect… although now it strangely feels like practising for what is perfect?

“Harry,” he chants, just a whisper, high-strung and light as he thrusts the dildo. “Daddy… please, Harry. Oh, god, Harry.”

 

 

The next day is a day to remember.

[iMessage conversation 1] [iMessage conversation 2]

So he has successfully scored himself a date. Sort of, kind of not really. Still. Louis has to turn his head into the pillow and squeal once he’s dropped his phone by his side, kicking his tiny legs a bit for good measure. His rainbow-socked toes bounce off the mattress.

Liam turns over in bed, groans all loud and annoying because like, it’s not Louis’ fault he’s got a hangover is it?

“Did you just get a Sephora discount or something?” he bellows, ruffling his hair. He reaches for his glass of water, which at this point is in fact completely lacking water, and then comes another groan from the abysses of hell.

Louis turns his head towards him in the pillow, that sad sad mass that once was his hot best friend. “Negative.”

“A new match on Tinder? Or Grindr, was it?” Liam shields his face from the lights in the ceiling, unapologetically bright and yellow. “I’m dying. Give me more water, please, god.”

Louis perches his chin in his hands. He can’t help but look all smug and proud as he hushes his voice slightly. “I’m going to meet Harry tomorrow.”

“Not Styles?” Liam questions, suddenly fully awake. Why does he sound so offended? Do puppies even get offended?

“Yeah, that one,” Louis sing-songs. He rolls over and lies back down, continues checking his phone. Liam looks at him, helpless, and Louis side-eyes him. “Listen, if I get you some water- if I get you a whole bottle…” He narrows his eyes. “Can we say you owe me a favour?”

Liam groans.

 

 

Of course Louis brings his own makeup, because he doesn’t trust Harry’s judgement. He is after all a student of law. He probably interrogates the sellers and, whatever else it is law people do. Besides, Harry brings green fucking smoothies for lunch, Louis has come to notice. Sits there all proper with his lunchbox munching kale or like seven bananas at a time. He probably demands his makeup is all locally produced, made from natural resources with mango and kiwi extracts and stuff. Not that that’s a bad thing, probably. Louis just really likes his synthetic Israeli eyeshadow palette.

Of course Louis also wears a crop top hoodie. Because it looks good. It’s soft and warm, a soft peach and just reaching to his tummy, which he thinks is pudgy in a cute way thank you very much. He also wears grey jogging bottoms, without any hidden motive, just simply because he has a great butt and they show it off really nicely. It’s just, there, conveniently, adding up to all the other very convenient curves of his body to which his clothes either cling to or make a space for to really put them into view.

But (and it’s a big butt), he’s totally not showing off. He is a professional.

Harry’s room is just down the hall and he knocks at just 3 minutes past 1, obviously being fashionably late. He’s obtained all this information about his whereabouts, among other things, from Liam, because Liam is the bestest best mate and also good friends with Niall, which has been coming very much in handy as of lately, might he add.

And, well. There was the whole dying of dehydration situation, but Liam had him swear not to mention it ever again.

Harry, to his horror, opens the door and says his gruffy hello with shower soft hair and a faded Rolling Stones shirt. He’s beautiful and Louis already hates him significantly more, but then he loses his composure and his eyes drift down and oh, goodness, he’s wearing shorts and his legs are just so absolutely wonderful. Round thighs and charmingly pigeon-toed, bronze toned skin that go for miles and miles. And did Louis just pull a short joke on himself? He needs to snap out of it.

But when he looks up he’s just struck with that strikingly green shade of Harry’s eyes, shifting yellow, shifting blue, and also. Right. Harry’s looking at him just the same way. At his top, more specifically. Good or bad? Debatable.

But there’s suddenly this hint of red dusting Harry’s cheeks, and maybe his lips have parted a bit in surprise, so perhaps it’s… No. Louis won’t speculate. Not right now. His poor soul can’t handle much of anything right now.

So he forgets the entire concept of greetings and politeness and steps right into the room.

He expects mountains of empty take-away containers. He expects dirty socks and half-eaten bags of stale snacks, CDs strewn across the floor, maybe punk, maybe mind-numbing electropop. If he’s honest, he even expects a forgotten pair of knickers lying around somewhere.

It’s the exact same construction as Louis and Liam’s room. Two beds on either side, grey wall-to-wall carpet, walls being white. It’s the extravagant uni life, innit? The right side has crumbled notebook papers littered around it, that much is true - it’s like a bomb struck, as his mother would put it about his own room growing up - but it’s parted neatly by an invisible line down the middle, the marginal between a warzone and a land of peace. On the wall, there’s some pictures and magazine cutouts in attempt to not have it be depressingly plain and in the middle of it all, a giant orange, white and green striped flag. To no one’s surprise, Harry shares his sanctuary with Niall Horan, unforgivingly Irish.

Harry’s side, though.

Harry’s side has fairy lights.

They hang over his bed, radiating a dull, white glow and snaking around pictures and ripped out notebook pages and polaroids pinned to the wall. He sees pictures of Harry smiling, of him with friends, maybe some family. There’s three different shades of nail varnish on his bedside table.

Louis hates admitting to things getting to him. He hates admitting to emotions, to tears or to uncontrollable laughter, but he can’t quite ignore the feeling of warmth it all sends through him. Especially paired up with the old vinyl player and crate of records he sees scooted under the bed in the corner, especially paired with the leather jacket hung on his bedpost. The toilet bag of makeup planted on the middle of his bed.

An enigma. Harry Styles is an enigma.

“Hello to you too,” the enigma with the impossibly dark voice drawls from behind him, and Louis has to actually physically fight the shivers. “Sorry it’s… messy.”

Harry Styles works out. Harry Styles likes classic rock. Harry Styles has a dainty decor. He’s got Harry Styles all alone in a room with a now closed door and Louis is on a mission to touch his face a lot.

How did he never notice the scraped off remains of nail varnish lingering by his nail beds? It fucking sparkles.

“No,” Louis finds himself saying, but it doesn’t feel like him. He sounds dazed. He sounds absolutely gone. “It’s… lovely. What, uh…?”

He points vaguely in the direction of the crate of records.

Harry gets it, though. He must love talking about them. “Oh, right, just my babies.” He walks over and crouches down, pulls them out. Not a single speck of dust. He walks his fingers over their frames. “What’re you in the mood for?”

Louis steps closer and looks down, remembers he genuinely should be wearing glasses and crouches down as well. And then he’s way too close and he has to start talking, say anything. “Well, I like me a bit of The Stone Roses, when it comes to the vintage stuff. Aerosmith maybe, some Oasis, The Beatles… I dunno really, ABBA is a good guilty pleasure, but I see you wearing the Stones there-”

“Do you like Arctic Monkeys?” Harry interrupts, pulling out a perfectly intact copy of AM.

Louis pops his lips. “You’ve got. New stuff. Right. Indie.”

“Believe they call it hipster,” Harry shrugs, sliding a record player out from beside the crate. “Love the bands you mentioned though, really. They’re amazing.”

“Believe we’re obliged to like half of them by British law,” Louis points out.

Harry grins. “Or you just have exceptionally good taste.” He holds the record up. “Did we agree on this one?”

“Not giving me much of a choice, are we?” Louis chimes in. Then he playfully nudges him but, ow, electric shock, emotions, whatever. Let’s not try that. “Go ahead, hipster. Show me what you’ve got.”

Harry grins wider somehow and slips the record on, placing the needle ever so gently on the outer track. Some crackling, some whizzing, then come the drums. They both just look at the record, mesmerized, until the bass comes vibrating through the speakers on the floor. Harry moves one up his nightstand before he turns around, and finds Louis watching him. Like dead on ogling him and he has to rip his gaze away and swipe across the rest of the room as if he was just looking over his surroundings again. Which is just great, thanks, he’s totally fine why are you asking!

Louis quickly gets up and plants himself on the bed instead, starts digging around in his makeup bag but for no reason because he’s not looking for anything and he’s going to at least have Harry wash his poor precious makeup-virgin face and him wash his hands before he even starts but, here he is, acting 14 though he’s way into 19. Then the bed shifts and he has to remind himself to speak.

“So, right. If you can go wash your face, with just water is fine, and then come back here and use this toner and moisturiser I brought-”

“Can I use my own?”

Louis’ expression doesn’t falter, of course not, not even in the slightest. “Yeah sure. More for me later. Then I’ll wash just my hands - not saying that I’m gross like, just for health reasons. Safety first, right? It’s just one of those things.”

“No glove no love,” Harry agrees, to which Louis has to, laugh? Albeit a little shocked?

Harry gets up and strides towards their bathroom. His legs are so… giraffe-like. Or maybe the word he’s looking for is majestic. God, Louis just wants to cherish them. They can’t be getting enough love as it is. They definitely need more kisses, kisses from Louis, much preferably, everyday for the rest of his life.

“Be right back,” Harry says over his shoulder. “Don’t steal anything. Niall would cry.”

The track goes into the second chorus before Harry returns, red-cheeked and glossy eyed. His hair is also tied back in a half bun, which is also great. Awesome. Totally helps Louis’ staring problem.

“Sorry,” Harry whines apologetically, “I take forever.” He goes over to loot the drawer of his bedside table before pulling up a tube of, probably, moisturiser.

“It’s fine,” Louis assures, uncrossing his legs. Just wasn’t expecting it from you, he almost says. “Nice to find someone who cares, I guess,” is what comes out instead.

Harry hums. “My friends like to blame it on me growing up with mostly just my mummy and my big sister. Say I’m all beauty and health crazed, as if it’s a feminine trait.”

Louis gets up, getting a whiff of the lovely berry scent of the moisturiser when he pops the lid. “Tell me about it,” he huffs, walking backwards to the bathroom. “Was just me mum and me, then came four little sisters. I’m sure scientists just cannot explain why I like the things I like.”

Harry laughs in a way that should probably be best described as a giggle, his eyes lit up in that beautiful way. “Same!” His eyes trail his body. “You wear it well, though. More petite than me.”

“Stereotyping now, are we?”

His eyes meet his again. “Yeah, uh… Should have maybe gone for pretty.” They drop again, and he nods. His voice is quiet, pondering. “That’s the word. Yeah.”

And Louis is just so baffled, so amazed and absolutely smitten, after he mumbles his nervous “thank you” he has to turn around, nearly walks into the door before he gets properly into the bathroom and can close the door behind himself. He deflates against it, actually deflates because he’s just so overwhelmed and, perhaps most of all, embarrassed.

He washes his hands and would have probably had that splash of cold water on his face as they do in the movies, had that not been the lamest teen movie gesture ever which he absolutely refuses to even try. He fixes his fringe instead, so long it can almost be pinned behind his ear at this point (maybe he should get an actual hair pin? He’s sure the homophobes would approve of that) before he walks back out, slightly less uptight. Emphasis on slightly. Harry still owns fairy lights, after all.

“All set?” he asks, sitting down and looking through his bag again, this time actually looking for a product.

“As ready as I ever will be,” Harry replies. “You?”

Louis would have responded, but then the song switches into R U Mine? and they both start singing ”I’m a puppet on a striiing” in exaggerated voices at the same time.

They stop, stare. Then comes the burst of manic laughter from both of them at the same time. “Oh my god, I honestly wasn’t convinced you liked them,” Harry admits through a large smile.

And yeah, so his mouth is pretty big in general. But so what?

Louis makes a noise of contemplation. “More for their old stuff, if I’m honest. Oh yeah, because apparently I really like the vintage stuff, if you remember?” Harry laughs hard again, and Louis smirks, putting on his best singing voice as he swiftly continues. “Lone ranger riding through an open spaaace in my mind when she’s not right there beside me, I’m going craaazyy... Right, so. Where was I?” Harry is stifling laughter but his shoulders are bobbing, and Louis just can’t resist slapping his arm. “Harry! This is serious!”

“I’m sorry,” Harry chuckles, wiping his eye roughly as if he would have laughed to the point of tears. Louis’ undying love for this song can’t be that funny. “Don’t think I’ve ever met someone quite so passionate about music. On my own lame level, at that.”

That melts his heart a bit. He ignores it. “I’ll have you stick to the singing then,” he murmurs. He digs through his bag. “Now, for my next trick, I’m going to try to mix a foundation that fits you. We might be here a while.”

“All yours,” Harry promises gently.

Which may give Louis’ heart slight fibrillation.

 

 

They end up with something, in Louis’ opinion, quite light and simple. He tried to colour match Harry best he could (but he’s got this cool olive-like undertone which Louis completely lacks, plus this lovely absolutely unattainable tan because, of course) and he baked him to the gods with sheer setting powder, lots of mascara, lots and lots of highlight, bronzer and slight blusher, some boysenberry purple lipstick (this being one of his favourite colours as Niall kindly told Liam), fierce as fuck lashes, some beauty guru signature freckles on his nose (“Someone told me my nose looks like a penis once, do you think so?” “What the actual fuck, Harry”) and the apples of his cheeks and all this topped off with, not glitter per se, but a genuine promise he’d grant him this wish next time, because glitter is just such a bitch to get off, isn’t it?

Harry is so happy about it it’s ridiculous. He’s smiling so big his dimples are showing, could probably be used as substitutes for shot glasses at this point. A war trench for Louis when Cupid comes around shooting his arrows. He has to keep telling Harry to not look too closely in the mirror because it will look worse and make him look like a shit artist, but Harry is just so mesmerized by how the light reflects off the highlighter, he holds his face right up to that mirror and absolutely preens, just smiles and smiles and can’t stop thanking Louis.

Obviously, it doesn’t make Louis feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Obviously.

 

 

Passing Harry in the corridors goes from being a step closer to death each time, to being a step closer to… closeness.

Yeah. That’s what it is. It’s all simple “hello”s at first, waves and salutes, awkward smiles turned into funny expressions as they grow more comfortable. Harry sneaking up to tell Louis he likes his Amy Winehouse shirt, Louis sneaking up to ruin Niall’s hairdo then telling Harry he finally listened to The 1975’s new album, trying to casually tell him his favourite track is the one called Sex.

Once, Harry just greets him by brushing his fingers over his back as he passes.

Louis is pretty much unable to stop fantasizing about it for the next two days or so.

 

 

“What do you want me to say?”

“That you’re sorry.”

“But I’m not.”

Louis tugs his earbud out to make sure he’s not yelling the words, keeping it all at a nice, angry hissing-level of noise. “You could have told me literally any insult in the world and it would have hurt less than saying you don’t like the Beach Boys.”

Liam frowns deeply. He keeps his earbud in, still softly playing Good Vibrations. “The band’s got like one song that’s likeable,” he interjects, almost sounding like he’s genuinely getting upset. Louis is past being upset. Louis is livid. “And it’s something weird about wanting to be an old man or something?”

“It’s about wanting to grow up so you can get married to the person you love!” Louis cries, shoving at his arm. “It’s about being young in love and looking forward to the future, why don’t you- oh my god. I can’t believe you don’t like Wouldn’t It Be Nice, of all fucking songs.”

Liam pouts and rubs his arm. Louis throws such sissy punches; Liam can stop his whining fucking yesterday. “I said it’s likeable.”

“Meaning you don’t like it,” he grumbles. Liam shrugs helplessly. Louis rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he eventually gives in. “We’ll try something else.”

Liam could be wagging his tail then, smiling contently and scooching closer again. Louis pops his earbud back in and scrolls through his Spotify playlist of choice, the one entitled with three dashes because he’s not that good with names, honestly.

They’re on a bench in the corridor, waiting for their next class to start. Louis thought then that it would be a great idea to let Liam in on his listening instead of closing his surroundings out with loud music as he so often tends to do, but it happened to become the worst idea of his life. He has a lot of those, actually.

He stops at Move in a Little Closer, Baby, looks up at Liam with hopeful eyes as Liam furrows his brow and takes it in. Should be sipped like a fine wine, it should, enjoyed in a nice bubble bath with it playing from a much cultural vinyl player, so if Liam doesn’t appreciate it, Louis might have to throw an actual swing. (Meaning, getting someone else to do it. Maybe Niall has some leprechaun moves.)

“Is this, like…” Liam thinks long and hard. “Beautiful Thing?”

Louis’ eyes widen comically much. “You’ve seen that? You? A gay film?”

“Was back when you came out, I think,” Liam smiles, shrugging shyly. “Not that great a film, but you know, thought I’d educate myself. Really educated myself about Mama Cass, at least.”

Louis heart-eyes him. This guy. Watching badly produced english gay films to be educated.

Louis puts his head on his shoulder, still looking up at him through his eyelashes. “You know,” he starts in a murmur, “if I didn’t hate you so much, I might actually like you.”

“Oh.” Liam deadpans. “That makes no sense.”

Louis sits up again with a snort, and it’s then that he notices Harry having come around a corner. Harry, who he’s now acquaintances with; Harry, who he’s (insert seesaw hand motion) kind of on the brink of friendship with.

Harry, who stops, glares - those big, green doe eyes burning cigarette holes in Louis’ soul - to then promptly turn his head to Niall walking beside him, pretend to be engulfed by the conversation. And he walks away.

Cass Elliot still sings whole-heartedly in his earbud about moving in a little closer when Louis’ heart plummets through the floor, but for all the wrong reasons. He should be sad. He should maybe ask if Harry’s okay. Instead he feels hot all over, like Harry could as well have just caressed his inner thigh. He can’t move.

Liam clearly doesn’t get this feeling, because he just hums sadly. Class starts. Nobody wins.

But Louis can’t help but wonder through the rest of the day why Harry would react with such intense, dark eyes at the sight of Louis wrapped in Liam like that. Why would he be watching him to begin with, why would he act like Louis can’t cuddle up to someone?

He can’t quite work it out. It feels like a fuck-up.

And so when Harry suddenly texts him during free period later that day, Louis isn’t expecting it at all. He’s actually completely caught off guard and he nearly throws his phone when he sees whose name has flashed up on the screen, his emotions hitting him square in that little pit of his tummy where his arousal sits, the one that tends to tide violently at the mere thought of Harry.

(He’s also a bit caught off guard by the flower emoji he added to his name after their last encounter. But it only seemed accurate, after all. So sue him. No but actually don’t because Louis is trying to win this case on emotional abuse because of Harry’s glorious pecs ever since last august.)

He turns away from his classmates to slide open the message, smirking secretly to himself as soon as the screen alights.

[iMessage conversation 3] [iMessage conversation 4]

Louis doesn’t even try to hide his grin when he goes to his room to quickly hop in the shower. He gets rid of his trackies of the day, goes to find some jeans, ponders if it will look like he’s trying too hard (because he is) then settles for a pale pair with a nice Joy Division t-shirt to go with that. He styles his hair as well, bit more spiky in the back, because he’s not a complete slob. He is, however, awfully and completely infatuated by Harry.

”Hopelessly devoted to you”, was it, dearest Sandy? Funny, that. Sounded so much lovelier as lyrics and not as his real life trauma, but. The song still gets stuck in his head and he hums it under his breath as he walks down the hall to Harry’s room.

Harry (to his utter and complete despair, and oh god each day is a travesty worse than the previous one) answers the door dressed in. A big white t-shirt. And checkered red pyjama bottoms.

Oh, great. Louis overdressed.

“Hey,” Harry says through a big smile, and it almost looks like he’s about to lean in to hug him. Maybe that’s how they do it where he’s from. Which is, space, somewhere, definitely, because he’s out of this world, nudge nudge wink wink.

Or, you know. Maybe he’s just excruciatingly polite like normal people.

What happens instead is, he seems to stop himself only when his hand is on Louis’ arm, which probably hurts Louis mentally more than it hurts Harry from the embarrassment of the slip-up. Because now Louis has to focus really, really hard on not letting Harry wrap himself around him, pushing him up against the wall and fucking him raw.

Not that that’d… actually happen, but.

“Hey,” Louis smiles back, and somehow, it kind of feels like a really good moment. Despite all his constant inner turmoil, despite the fight to keep his blood from dropping to his crotch. You know, the norm. Louis’ sad norm as of lately, at least. He gestures over Harry’s legs. “We’re wearing significantly more articles of clothing than last time,” he acknowledges with a cocked eyebrow, remembering his crop top of choice and Harry’s shorts. But his voice sounds hoarse and he’s kind of fixated at Harry’s casual wear. Why would he hurt him like that? What did he ever do to deserve it?

Harry snorts a laugh and looks Louis over as well. His hand moves to tug lightly on Louis’ shirt. “Was kind of just too lazy to change into anything respectable after class today.”

“Shame,” Louis murmurs with a crooked smirk, squeezing past him into the room, really basking in how Harry’s head turns to look at him as he goes.

But then a sound loud enough to break the sound barrier (and yes he hears Liam mentally scold him because “it’s speed, not pitch, Tommo!”) rips through his zen bubble of maybe-I’m-flirting-and-maybe-it-feels-totally-fine. “Louis!”

He takes an inwardly deep breath and counts to ten in like a millisecond. “Niall!”

Not alone. Being alone was a privilege. Noted for future reference. Stop rationalising; take chances when chances are handed to your face.

Niall bumps into his chest so heavily when he rushes to hug him, Louis is nearly flung backwards, out of the Earth’s orbit. “Good to see you, man!”

Louis pats his back, smiling into his shoulder. “You too, you too!”

“Been good?” Niall asks, leaning back but holding onto his arms. He’s smiling so big, glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He’s actually kind of stupidly adorable.

“Oh you know, some arson here, some arms deals there, you know how it is.”

“Naughty boy, aren’t you!”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just one of those… So I hope you didn’t eat all the banana bread, now.”

Niall cracks a guttural laugh. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t dare! Love to, though. Hazza is the best cook, you’ll see, it’s mad.”

“Really now?”

Louis looks behind himself, at Harry’s timid but softly smiling figure. He stuffs his socked toes into the carpet. “I used to be a baker.”

“Sick”, Louis proclaims with a nod, genuinely impressed. “Proper chef hat and all?”

“Key word in that is chef”, Niall answers before Harry, “so nah, more like… hair net.”

Harry’s eyes widen.

Niall clears his throat. “Sexy. Sexy hair net.”

Oh. Smooth save.

He finally releases Louis’ arms, so he might actually get his blood flow back in a few seconds. Louis looks up at Harry to smile, apologetically or something, or more so expecting Harry’s smile to be apologetic and Louis’ to be all it’s-fine-I-actually-love-him-he’s-like-an-overly-excited-dog and then they could laugh about it and all that good stuff.

But then their eyes just catch, and nothing is apologetic.

Harry is just watching him silently, dark eyes, crease between his eyebrows, and suddenly everything feels that hot again.

Louis just wants to surge forward and kiss him. So. Badly.

“Came back home from my mate’s just for this infamous baking, you know,” Niall continues somewhere beside him. He hears his hands slap his thighs hopelessly. “So.”

Niall looks meaningly at Harry. And it would appear that Harry and Louis are apparently undergoing a staring contest at the moment, but it feels much less fun and intimidating than Louis remembers it being as a child, and their eyes are so much more gentle. Harry’s gaze still burns, though, and he’s chewing distractedly on his bottom lip.

He feels it in every inch of his skin.

Niall clears his throat. “You gonna serve us, or-”

It takes a moment for Harry to react. When he does react, he jolts. “Right!” He shakes his head and the moment is over, and he steps backwards, pointing behind himself. “In the kitchen. Just… Yeah.” But he’s still looking at Louis, a flush on his cheeks. “Don’t talk about me while I’m gone, or something.”

Niall grins and instantly holds a hand up to his mouth as if to whisper to Louis, but he wheezes. Loudly. “His mum tells him his hair is too long all the time.”

Niall-”

“Actually calls him and is all-”

“You really-”

“”, Niall says in an obviously overly high-pitched voice, “sweet baby, when are you getting that hair cut? It’s so long and untidy, you look like a heroin addict you do, or like you listen to that awful, awful rock band, Nirvana.”

Louis stifles a laugh. It almost erupts when he looks up and sees Harry’s expression; grumpy frog, pouty downturned lips and all. Oh, goodness gracious, why does he have to be the best thing ever?

“I want a divorce,” Harry announces, and then he’s gone.

Louis furrows his brow at Niall. He points between him and the closed door. “Ehm. You don’t actually…?”

“Eavesdrop on him on the phone?” Niall supplies. He shrugs. “Sometimes she calls me herself, man. Says I should talk some sense into him. But I actually like his hair, you know. Suits it a bit longer, bit crazy.”

“Right, no, I meant the, er, like… divorce… couple, part? Words?”

Niall just stares at him dumbfounded for a second, then he snorts and claps his knees. “Me and Harry?” he exclaims. He punches Louis’ shoulder. Ow. “I’m flattered, of course, but I can’t even get girls to like me. I don’t swing that way, bro.”

“Oh!” Louis exclaims, eyes widening. “Shit, sorry for assuming, I guess. Apparently I’m homonormative now.”

Niall nods. “That’s clearly a serious issue, you should work on that.”

“I mean it’s almost worse than the arson, innit?” Niall chuckles and Louis grins back. His expression falls slightly as he tries to think of how to word this and still be slightly politically correct. He probably shouldn’t bring it up at all, really shouldn’t, but, was there ever a moment better than now? Stop rationalising. Carpe diem, yolo, all that stuff. “Does he have anyone? Like, not marriage obviously, just. Is he dating?”

Niall is shook, or at least he really looks it. It’s like he’s really bad at hiding it. But then he snaps out of it and scratches the back of his head. “Hasn’t mentioned anyone, I don’t think, no. He’d tell me if there was anyone he was seeing seriously.”

“Ah. Well.” Louis sighs. Here goes his self respect. Rest in peace: you barely existed in the first place. “Non-seriously, then? I mean, I’m asking because… rumours, right? I hear he’s quite the- yeah. Maybe he needs a nice long bath in some holy water, is clearly what I’m getting at here.”

Niall furrows his brow but snorts. “That’s what you’re getting, is it?” Louis nods, totally unphased. This is totally a normal conversation why is everyone making such a big deal of it and Louis is totally fine! Niall hums. “Maybe you shouldn’t believe in everything you hear. I bet I’ve been seeing more girls than he has… since I’ve ever known him. Maybe that’s something he’ll like, kill me for admitting, but I don’t want you thinking he’s some dickhead.”

“I don’t,” Louis assures. “Trust me, I wouldn’t.”

“But you used to, didn’t you?” Louis has no good reply. Niall shrugs. “It’s fine, man. First impressions are funny, aren’t they? He’s really the kindest, most down-to-earth person I know, like, bit timid yeah, so maybe he can come off as rude or something? He’s just a wallflower, far from what people seem to think for some reason. It’s like tattoos give you a Shit Person stamp.”

Louis hums back, slightly surprised, but nodding in understanding all the same. He thought Harry was a dickhead for like more than half a year. Someone who loved partying and drinking - though the time he saw him at the actual party told a different story. Thought he was someone who slept in a different bed every other night, but he’s just been proven wrong yet again. He’s got a cross around his neck at all times for god’s (literal) sake.

Harry isn’t a fuckboy. Harry isn’t all hard muscles and a big dick. Harry is a sweet little cupcake who wears nail varnish and bakes in his spare time and is close with his mum and who really just wants his makeup done for pride. Harry is the motherfucking dictionary definition of boyfriend material!

He nudges him. Can’t bear think about it all. “Glad you don’t have tattoos then?”

“So glad!” Niall breathes, genuinely relieved. “I get nervous just thinking about it.”

“Don’t you get very like,” air quotes,”triggered just looking at Harry then?”

He shrugs. “I live. They’re kind of beautiful, I think. Just wouldn’t want one meself.”

“Neither, if I’m honest,” Louis sighs. “Promised me mum as well, before I left.”

“That you wouldn’t get tattoos? As if they’re just randomly handed around on campus?”

“Oi! Could be passed around like STDs, I didn’t know the facts.”

Niall cackles. It’s a nice cackle.

“Maybe it could have been like when you draw a dick on someone’s face when they’re sleeping. I need to do that on Li.”

Niall slaps his arm and shushes him, wiping at his eye. “Oh man, Liam,” he sighs. “Uh, we- I was wondering. Are you guys, like-”

He makes a vague you knooow gesture.

Louis stalls. “Are we what?”

“Like.” He looks a little pained. Louis fears the worst. “Together?”

And Louis shrieks. “Like dating?”

“Oh, wow.” Niall takes a step back. “Take that as a no?”

“Take that as a I’ve known him since we were 13 and he’s the grossest person I know.” He shakes his head, absolutely appalled. “Well, he’s hot, I’ll give him that. But he’s my best mate too, so. No. Never. Never have, never will.”

Niall nods, understanding. “Suppose that’s like- yeah. Me and Harry, man. I get it.”

“But I bet Harry didn’t have a terrible bowl haircut when you was 17.”

Niall grins. “I’d say it was fashionable!”

“I’d say it was a disease, Neil.”

He shrugs. He steps back to nudge at him like Louis had. “Single and ready to mingle, then, yeah?”

“Single and ready for a Pringle,” Louis corrects tiredly. “I’m staying clear of fuck boys this year. My new year’s resolution. I mean I only broke it like, once.”

Niall honks a laugh. Louis thinks about Harry and his honking laughter and Louis’ new-year’s-resolution-breaking tendencies to get to hear it.

How sad. How awful. How absolutely horrid that this boy is so stupidly wonderful and so not at all his.

He turns back to Niall then, serious and rushed. “Oh, yeah, and I agree. With you. About the hair thing? With Harry?” He waves his hand, brushing it off like nothing, but fuck, didn’t they pass that subject like, 3 hours ago? “It’s nice.”

Niall just beams though. “Brave boy, isn’t he?” he cites, clearly admiring him. Which is so sweet Louis might have just gotten a cavity. “Rockstar in the making, we like to think. Planning on it, really.”

“It looks, yeah. Amazing.” Louis hears Harry’s footsteps outside the door just then, and he turns back towards it. “I’ll be his biggest fan as soon as that happens.“

Niall shoots him a Look, but he has no time or willpower to think too much about it because Harry is back, distressingly beautiful, plate in hand with a loaf of gorgeous, gorgeous banana bread.

“Fuck, I want that in me!” Niall moans, mouth falling agape.

Louis’ knees nearly go weak with it. “Yesss shove it down my throat, daddy!”

Harry jerks, nearly drops his plate with eyes wide. Niall just stares at him.

Harry’s reaction is Louis’ favourite one. But he can ignore it. He can be brave. He straightens up. “Oh. I-” He nearly excuses himself with a yes I watch that kind of porn. What the fuck. “I mean. I’m okay.”

Niall grabs his belly when he laughs, and Harry very stupidly attractively raise his bobbing shoulders and giggle at the floor, clearly flushed but, hey, who is Louis to speculate? He won’t. Nope. Won’t talk about it, won’t think about it; he won’t even jerk off about it tonight in the privacy of his locked bathroom. Maybe. Only time can tell.

Harry brings the baked deliciousness into the room as Louis tries to recover from maybe the biggest flop in the history, but it’s hard to tell if it really is, what with the horrible example he’s been leading as of late. Maybe his flops are just chronologically outmatching each other. Louis’ flops: the epic saga.

Harry puts on some Morrissey on his vinyl player and clicks his fairy lights on before he sits down on his bed, legs tucked underneath himself and hair tucked behind his ear. Louis and Niall seats themselves on either side of him, passionately eyeing the loaf on the plate. They could have had it erupt in this big fight for dominance, as burly manly men probably should, maybe, plausibly. Louis wouldn’t know, being the biggest bottom of the century, and stuff.

Anyway.

Doesn’t stop Louis from snatching the first piece.

“Hey!” Niall shrieks, and Louis is about to grab another one, grinning manically, but Niall slaps his hand away, still shrieking. “You little shit!”

He grabs the piece that so clearly had Louis’ name on it, and Louis keeps reaching, reaches and reaches until he realises he’s pressed to Harry’s side, face smushed against his shoulder and thighs flush together. He pulls back, fighting a pained expression and instead putting on an annoyed one.

“Next time, Horan,” he seethes, popping his bite into his mouth, and Niall finger guns him.

(When he looks up at Harry, Harry already has his eyes on him. He must be deliberately slow when he puts his own piece to his lips, or rather his tongue reaching out like a landing board all stupidly teasingly inviting and fuck all, so before Louis successfully tears his eyes away he can think of at least twenty-four or so things he’d like to see that mouth do to him.)

They munch away. Louis genuinely enjoys the moment after that; it’s quiet, laid back, yet at the same time the most fun he’s had in quite awhile. Despite a fatal slip-up when Louis leans his head on Harry’s shoulder again to laugh, or that time Harry nudges his thigh when he says something rude but unforgivingly fun, things seem perfectly fine. Niall is hilarious, jumping on every opportunity to get a laugh out of them both, and Harry is forever sweet and relaxed and funny and just, yeah, god, he’s just gushing about him isn’t he? That tends to happen, sadly, sorry ‘bout it.

Louis doesn’t leave and return to Liam (with a free slice of banana bread wrapped in plastic wrap just for him, mind you; he didn’t even have to put up with the social interaction and sexual frustration) until they’ve played both sides of the crackling record and Louis is tired in the best way possible.

“Thanks for coming over,” Harry murmurs at the door, lingering. “Sorry I like, accidentally lied, about being alone.”

“Not a problem,” Louis assures him, and has to resist reaching out to touch his shoulder. But then it happens anyway. Holy shit. “It was great. Maybe we can see each other again, before our big final makeup session?”

Harry smiles. He seems like the kind of person who could purr and snuggle closer into a touch, and it wouldn’t seem strange at all. It’s just a shame he doesn’t do it.

What happens is, he grabs Louis’ hand, lifts it off his shoulder. And holds it in his. “Absolutely.”

And he sounds so genuine. When he squeezes and lets his hand go, Louis steps back and then they’re just smiling at each other. Something just happened. Something just shifted.

Niall looks between both of them.

“What a laugh,” he concludes, closing the door for Harry. “Bye, Lou, see you tomorrow.”

When the door clicks shut Louis turns around and nearly dances down the hall with his neatly wrapped banana bread. He can’t believe Harry bakes. He can’t believe Harry didn’t in fact already fuck half his year and then some. He can’t believe Harry is wonderful and nice and sexy as all hell and single, Harry Styles is free and lovely and the most down-to-earth person Niall knows.

Also. ‘I don’t swing that way’.

Does this mean Harry might?

(The hint is enough. Louis goes straight home, albeit dazed, throws the banana bread on Liam’s bed and locks himself in the bathroom. Jerks off. Bites his lip through the moans. Comes.

It’s potentially his lowest point and that’s totally okay too.)

 

 

Of course Liam, best mate since secondary school and current uni roomie, realises it before Louis even realises himself.

“You proper fancy him?”

Louis stabs his lasagna and sputters. “No!”

“You’ve literally not taken your eyes off him this entire time.”

Louis is currently looking at Liam. Liam doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

The cafeteria is loud enough for no one to hear what they’re saying, but still Louis freaks out and slouches a bit in his chair. If this was a rom com, he’d pull his trench coat tighter around himself and push his sunglasses down over his face, because he bets in a rom com he’d be spying on Harry in this very moment, slowly taking his beauty in second by second, figuring out a plan to get them together. He bets in a rom com, him and Harry would already be fucking this afternoon.

But, alas, his life is way too little rom and way too much com. And fucking. Far too little fucking.

“I’m just… admiring,” Louis grumbles, stuffing food into his mouth. Harry is after all wearing an unbuttoned grey henley shirt and it’s all very, very unfair. “Thinking about what colour to make his eyeshadow and stuff. Working. Makeup stuff. You wouldn’t understand.”

“You know I’ll help you with him if you need anything,” Liam says kindly, eyes big and dark and gentle, like the puppy he knows so well. “Not with the makeup, but like… Hey, seriously, ignore what I said about not wanting to hear about it. I can tell something’s bothering you.”

“His dick is bothering me, Liam. It’s just so big, like, the buttons on his jeans must be screaming for help, just suffocating. I’m very concerned. One of them are gonna pop one of these days, I’m telling you right now.”

Liam stares back, deadpan. “Okay. Try to scare me off, sure. But I’m really here to help. Us two need to figure out a plan to get you together.”

Louis nods lightly. “It takes two to make a hole tight,” he ponders, and Liam dunks his head into the table. “No, honestly though, I’m fine. It’s just- stupid, but. I guess I just don’t want to fuck it up? I mean, I’m scared of making a move and him being like, bro, no way.”

Liam looks up. “That’s not stupid. That’s normal.” He shrugs. “Well, not for you, I wouldn’t say, but. Nice to know you’ve got feelings and a sense of reasoning.”

“I’d rather be his friend than his nothing at all,” Louis reasons, because he apparently has a sense for doing so. “Then again I’d also rather be his bootycall than just be his friend.”

“I think being a bootycall as well as a friend is something we like to call being a boyfriend,” Liam acknowledges.

Louis jumps, hand on his chest. “How dare you speak such words?”

“You don’t like it?” Liam questions, sitting up properly again and arching an eyebrow as Louis turns to look at Harry. “Or you like it a bit too much?”

And Louis doesn’t know. He honestly doesn’t know.

He gets stuck looking again but, obviously Liam doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Of course he doesn’t. Ever.

Except for maybe when it comes to Louis’ big fat crush on Harry. It is debatable.

(Once he’s home, the majority of his evening is spent in bed, headphones on, The Promise by Girls Aloud on repeat. Because, stupid as it is, the promise he made to himself to not get wound up over a fuckboy has definitely faded - or been slowly demolished because of unforeseen circumstances, more like - and there’s nothing he can do about it. Harry Styles is really going to make him love him.

Fuck.)

 

 

The worst happens when the last week of May hits, when it’s blazing hot outside and Louis is sat with Liam. They've got one vanilla ice cream and one strawberry ice lolly in their hands to stay cool through the over-dramatic weather changes. So, guess which one is in whose hand, or mouth, rather, lips wrapped tight and juices running when Harry walks past in a T-shirt and shorts. Guess. Guess once.

The eye contact is so fierce then, so horrible yet amazing, but it’s like Louis can’t breathe until he’s slid his lips over the entire length of the ice lolly and pops off it, lips parted and tingling. He takes a tiny breath as he watches Harry from underneath his eyelashes, watches as he grits his teeth, clenches his fists, and then as he leaves.

He tends to do that though, doesn’t he? Maybe someday Louis will even get to know why.

Because it’s not a hateful thing, it never is. Harry could never be hateful towards anyone unless that Anyone is in fact very hateful. He’s a hippie like that, and a hipster, and a lovely, thoughtful man that always treats people with kindness. But those little looks they share, those moments of just them existing...

Sometimes it feels like hotness, like electricity in the air. Like something tugs on Louis’ chest at the same time as his arousal tides, like the sharp adrenaline of having done something you’re not supposed to do. Sometimes it just feels an awful lot like longing.

 

 

“Can I bum one?”

Louis looks over his shoulder through the smoke. It’s that guy he saw at the party the other week, the one who presumably threw the party; you know, that one trashing around in the middle, playing shitty house and electropop. He’s got these grey low-crotch joggers on, apparently thinking it good fashion mixed with a seemingly lived-in leather jacket decorated with band patches and activist pins, and that says enough to Louis before the smell of weed even hits him. A strange lad. He passes in his book.

He takes out his own second cigarette first - the first one having been produced from behind his ear - then holds the pack out for the guy while he puts his own between his lips. He lights it, watching from the corner of his eye the guy pretending to take his time choosing the perfect one, fingers dancing in the air above the remaining row.

“Ah,” he announces finally as he slips one out. “Thanks, man.”

Louis takes a drag from his own as he watches him light it, watches his chiseled cheekbones hollow as he takes his first deep puff. His bone structure is kind of fantastic? How unnecessarily rude; Louis will have to go home and personally sharpen his own now.

He breathes out half through his nose, the other half through his mouth as he opens it to speak. “I’m Zayn.”

Louis nods once in greeting. “Louis.”

“Yeah?” Zayn takes another drag, pinching the cigarette between his thumb and index finger. “Thought you were a good kid, man. Didn’t expect to find you smoking ‘round the back.”

Louis furrows his brow. Good kid? Is that what comes with trying to not socialize with people who’ll most likely end up just fucking you over?

He takes an angry puff. Intimidating puff. “Elaborate?”

Zayn shrugs easily. “Dunno. You’re over there in your mum’s jumpers or whatnot,” he gestures over Louis’ knitted purple jumper, at his sweater-paws holding the cigarette between two fingers. “It’s… yeah, it’s pretty cool, I guess.”

Louis loosens his posture. “Oh?” He shakes his head. “I mean, pff, course! I do hard drugs, drink hard liquor. I skateboard… hard?”

Zayn smirks. His eyes are so dark, it’s hard to tell where the pupil stops and the iris begins. “I’m sure your mother approves. The one whose jumpers you wear, I mean.”

It doesn’t sting, not even the slightest. This is, after all, his mum’s jumper. She’s got good taste, what can he say? “Suggesting I have two, or something?”

Zayn holds his hands up in defence. “No judgement passed, bruv.” He leans back against the brick wall, cigarette dangling from his lips. “Love’s love, and all.”

No wonder Harry likes this guy.

“Good thoughts.” Louis looks over his lean torso. “Nice leather jacket, by the way.”

“Thanks.” He shrugs it tighter. “‘S cold out.” It’s really not. “Miss summer.”

“It’s, like… May?”

“Time’s a social construct.”

He looks off into the distance with a harrowing expression.

Louis can’t help pulling a face. “What?”

“What.”

Louis shakes it off. “Nothing.” He scratches his hair, left unstyled and shower soft. He must look lame as fuck. “Would you rather I get into the punk scene as well then? Better than me mum’s jumpers?”

Zayn snaps his fingers. “So it is hers!”

Louis slaps his knee, but his face stays deadpan. “Oh, drats, you got me.”

Zayn grins, then he shrugs. “I’m not conforming to any sort of template. How could you put a label on a lifestyle?” he ponders, blows a perfect smoke ring. “The way you wake up, the way you talk... How could you bunch all that up and say it’s one little thing? Nirvana and that whole grunge thing, though. That’s sick. Kurt Cobain is just so… real, you know?”

“Right.” Louis doesn’t know. “I’d say I prefer the more classic rock stuff, but yeah.”

“Impress me.”

Louis mentally looks over all bands and artists that could potentially impress a stoner grunge-fanatic. The options are probably fewer than he likes to think. “Oasis?”

“Anyway, here’s Wonderwall.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Exactly.”

Zayn scoffs and stuffs his cigarette into his mouth. “What a tune.”

He starts patting around his nose, concentrated wrinkle between his perfectly shaped eyebrows. Louis would have asked him if he needed to go powder his nose (get it? Yeah, no, that’s a dad level joke, he doesn’t do cocaine, apologies), but instead he seizes the moment by pointing at his nose ring, feeling like he should change the subject before things get weird. Scratch that. Weirder.

He’s not complaining yet, though, really not. It’s vaguely amusing.

“When’d you get that done? Er, or am I not, like… allowed to ask that? About time?”

Zayn suddenly beams. “Oh! The other week.” Right. He almost goes to poke at it, but seems to stop himself. “Itches like all hell. Not supposed to touch it either, it sucks.”

“I wouldn’t pay someone to poke a needle through me,” Louis muses, studying it. “Looks sick, though, man. I’ll admit as much.”

“You really are a little angel, aren’t you,” Zayn exclaims, smoke gushing out like a chimney. “This is the funniest thing. Louis the church boy, smoking in secret.”

Louis feels the mockery, reminded too much of primary school and dumb boys with dumber comments, but for some reason Zayn doesn’t feel even half as ill-spirited. Maybe a little high, though. Maybe a lot high.

It’s quite interesting though, hearing other people’s opinions. Their impressions of what he’s like. He’d have personally thought he’d been doing quite a good job of appearing like a badass twink that likes Aerosmith and Milburn, but if he’s honest with himself, for once in his bloody life, maybe he’s really just a badass twink that likes Tiffany’s cover of Think We’re Alone Now better than Tommy James and the Shondells’ original. That says a lot, but. Whatever. He can pretend.

He holds one hand to his chest and the other flat up in the air, cigarette pinched between his fingers. “I, Louis Tomlinson, swear not to do hard drugs, nor hard liquor. I shall never get piercings or tattoos, and I’ll only wear old lady clothes. So long as God is my witness.” He moves his cigarette back to his mouth as Zayn grins. “I will however chain smoke the fuck out of my cigs. Amen, blessed be thee, etcetera, whatever.”

Zayn chuckles and grins wider. Good. Louis is making friends.

He props the cigarette back in his mouth. “How’d you know about me, though?”

“Seen you around.” Zayn shrugs. “Harry.”

Huh. Good explanation. Very sufficient.

It can only mean a billion different things.

He must zone out because Zayn nudges his arm. “Bro. Do you actually skateboard?” He points his thumb over his shoulder. “Because I brought mine here, and I’ve been waiting for someone to come around who knows how to properly ride one.”

Oh, Louis knows a thing or two about riding.

They look at each other for a moment. The grins filter off their faces.

“Race you to it,” says Louis, and Zayn has already burst off, flicking his cigarette on the pavement.

Louis stubs his and Zayn’s out two-in-one-go with the heel of his sneaker, Louis the church boy, then sprints off towards his room to get his board.

 

 

One of the things Louis admires most about himself is his ability to keep calm and collected in most situations. He can organise his little sisters on family trips, he can do a pair of boxer braids in 3 minutes if any of them oversleeps. Seeing Harry Styles exit the gym showers, however, is an anomaly. He nearly falls over and breaks both of his knee caps.

He knew it was stupid to come here, of course it was, but he forgot his key in their room when he left for class in the morning and this is obviously where to find Liam Payne if you’re really looking for him. He really somehow also forgot about the possibility of Harry being here too, though. The whole hot and rugged I-work-out-and-can-pin-you-to-a-wall fantasy got kind of lost in the fairy cupcake one the more Louis got to know him, and that’s bad luck, folks. Proper bad luck Harry would be exiting the steamy showers just as Louis would be sat on a bench in the middle of the locker room waiting for Liam to be finished.

What was that he said about his life being too little rom and too much com? Knock on wood and all that.

Harry’s got a towel around his waist though, bless him, bless everything, but it’s hanging far too low and his hipbones are far too lovely and Louis wants to kiss them, kiss every inch of tan, wet skin he can reach. His thighs, his tummy, his biceps, his neck; leave dark red marks from his lips or red welts down his toned back from his blunt nails. He wants to be pushed up against a locker and be grinded against, he wants to pull Harry’s hair to see if he likes it. He wants to be his. His, his, his and nobody else’s.

Self control, Tommo. Deep breaths.

Harry sees him before Louis has time to fabricate a socially acceptable thing to say, and his eyes go wide like saucers before he spins around to conceal himself. “Oh, bugging fuck!”

“Sorry!” Louis immediately spits out but fuck is his ass nice, god is it the nicest ass in the world. “I wasn’t- hi! I mean. Sorry! Fuck.”

“Hi,” Harry replies miserably. He looks over his shoulder and, despite his tousled up wet mess of a hair, he somehow looks like a model. “Um. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“I know, sorry,” Louis says, covering his eyes. “I’m waiting for Liam. Forgot my key. I’m not looking, you can get dressed, god I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Harry drawls, genuine. He lingers. “Suppose it is a public changing room.”

Louis hears him cautiously pad away, and for a moment of false hope, Louis thinks he can actually do this. He can pretend his body isn’t burning hot and his mind isn’t travelling to the darkest of fantasies involving Harry’s body just like that but with a tiny bit less amounts fabric on it than how it is in its current state.

But the wet slaps of Harry’s soles on the tile don’t wander off. They wander closer to Louis. And they wander closer, and closer.

Oh.

He sees the shadows shift from behind his lids, and Louis opens his eyes still shielded with his hands, and.

Harry’s lovely pigeon-toed feet are planted right in front of him.

He tries to breathe, but suddenly that’s a very difficult task. What doesn’t help at all is when Louis feels Harry’s gentle fingers on his wrists, lowering his hands from his eyes. He can’t bring himself to look up at Harry’s face at first, because first of all, he can’t bear see his expression. What is he thinking about?

Second of all, he’s now almost perfectly lined up with Harry’s crotch. Harry Styles’ perfect, big cock is a good five inches away from his face, just a white towel separating it from Louis’ mouth and tongue.

What the fuck.

It’s only when he looks up he realises his mouth is actually open, anticipating, and when he sees Harry’s face it’s with a pang of arousal in his tummy because he looks back at him, just the same. Lips parted, pupils blown wide. Eyes half-lidded with lust. And all Louis wants to do in that moment is untie the knot of his towel and let Harry fuck his mouth until he loses his voice for the rest of the day.

This doesn’t happen, though. And, eventually, Harry actually speaks.

“My locker’s behind you. You don’t have to cover your eyes.”

And then he saunters away. Around Louis’ bench, away to his locker. And Louis stays sitting there, rendered speechless as well as breathless, trousers suddenly just that much tighter.

Liam comes out shortly after and the moment is lost, Louis thankful to quickly slip into conversation about their day and banting, ridiculing Louis’ bad key-memory though this just plausibly was the cause for brightening his day by about 83%. When Harry leaves it’s just with a smile and a wave to both of them, snapback covering his shower-soft hair going curly at the ends.

He looks fine then, but Louis saw the shift underneath his towel before he walked to his locker. Louis saw the bulge, and he saw the attraction in his eyes.

Let it be known that, if not before, then at least from that day, Harry wants him back. And Louis, quite possibly, wants Harry more than ever.

 

 

Dearest Lima Bean is on his way out for a date with a girl he’s obsessed with or whatever when there’s a knock on the door. Louis whines and waves in the door’s general direction, busy lying in bed stocking promising porn videos in a queue on his laptop for when Liam finally decides his cologne cocktail has the perfect amount of Tom Ford mixed with Hugo Boss and leaves him the fuck alone.

Liam sighs exaggeratedly and stomps over to the door.

When he swings it open, Louis can see from the corner of his eye how Liam side-eyes him all jittery. Deep sigh. He’s finally found a free gay pornstar with just the right amount of tattoos and perfectly shaped thigh muscles. What now?

“Harry!” Liam announces, unnecessarily loud, probably startling the poor boy but most of all, startling Louis. He jolts and slams his laptop shut, scooting it off the bed where it lands, thankfully, in a pile of clothing on the floor. “Good to see you, man.”

“Hey, Liam,” he smiles, meeting Liam’s handshake slash hand slap, that weird kind that turns into a hug that Louis never seems to understand the science of. “So sorry for coming over without notice.”

“Not a problem, not a problem. I’m heading out so you can keep my dear old Lou company.” He grabs his keys, forgets or actively ignores how he hasn’t done his last fringe check, and squeezes past Harry in the doorframe until all that’s left of him is his frantically waving arm. “Don’t wait up! Love ya both, g’night!”

The door closes, and Harry turns comically slowly to Louis on the bed. Louis meets his deadpan yet shocked concoction of a facial expression with something that’s pretty much mirrored, because he doesn’t really know what else to do. Doesn’t really know what else to make of this.

Tiffany sings in the back of his mind over a generic 80’s electric drum beat: ’I think we’re alone now. Doesn’t seem to be anyone around…’

He’s suddenly acutely aware of how he’s just in an ugly coloured striped T-shirt and baggy grey jogging bottoms and worst of all, his reading glasses. He never lets anyone but Liam see him in those because they make him look like a major dork and, oh, god, why is Harry looking at him like that? And can he please stop before Louis actually implodes from the inside out?

“Hi,” Louis rasps, a bit unsure and a lot horny, all of a sudden. It’s to the surprise of no one, though; he was prepping to watch twinks riding hot hunks for god’s sake. He’d been looking forward to it. Is he going to throw Harry out because of it? No, because he’s nice, and considerate, and besides, he quite enjoys the view, Harry in a tank top scooping low on his collarbones and his orange snapback, looking quite taken aback by his own current view. “Ehm. Alright, love?”

Harry’s lips are pink and full and wet and open, looking at Louis on the bed. It hits Louis’ square in his last will to fight when Harry quickly bites his bottom lips before he nods, swallows dryly. “Fine. Sorry for uh, barging in.” He finally meets Louis’ eyes. “Niall’s out. Was lonely.”

Louis raises his brows and nods once. “Hm.”

And then it’s dead silence again. Louis’ mum taught him better than to be blatantly impolite to guests, just because they’re blatantly attractive, so he cocks his head and smirks.

“You don’t happen to have brought any baked goods, have you?”

Harry looks relieved, relaxing his shoulders. He snorts a laugh. “No, no. Unfortunately no banana bread this time.”

Louis pets his bed beside him. “I guess I’ll have to make an exception.”

Harry smiles and starts making his way over. “Oh, uh, you don’t happen to have a CD player or something? I’m kind of used to having music on in the background.”

“How very dare you? Obviously I have a 1970’s vinyl player and the whole wardrobe stocked with records.” He rolls his eyes when Harry laughs. “Yeah, no, I have a laptop like most people, you big divvie. Check my top drawer, I’ve got some sick mixtapes in there. Hope you like a bit of everything from Green Day to Olivia Newton-John.”

Harry is baffled. “No way? You like Grease?”

“She’s more than just that movie, Harold, but yes. One of my favourites.” And I’m hopelessly devoted to you, he almost says, but thankfully doesn’t. Lame. Stick to Tiffany for now. Singing ’children behave’ and all that. “Think I’ve got Twist Of Fate on the CD with stars drawn on it, if you find it. A real banger.”

Harry smirks, now stood with his hand on the handle of the drawer. “Stars?”

“I’m not good with names,” Louis counters casually with a flick of his wrist, then lays down to reach over the foot of his bed. He opens his laptop and makes quick work of closing all his open tabs (very sad; rest in peace, Harry-body pornstar lookalikes) and then tries to orientate himself to the iTunes window.

A very badly stifled gasp makes him immediately look over his shoulder.

Harry’s got the drawer open, but. Did Louis say top drawer? Did he- did Louis seriously say top drawer, the drawer which no one may open because it contains his dildo and lube?

Fuck.

Fuck.

Harry closes the drawer with a loud thump, looking up at the ceiling. “I’ll pretend I didn’t see that!” he affirms, voice strained, but then he looks down at Louis and. Ah. His gaze gets fixated at his bum. “Oh,” deep, shuddering breath, “fuck.”

Because Louis is practically hanging off the bed to reach his laptop, and it’s all just perfect, isn’t it? Perfect, how his ass is right there, ready for Harry in however way he might want him. Perfect, just brilliant, but why do things have to happen so much?

Should there ever be a time to start defying physics, Louis would like to sink through the floor right about now.

He scrambles up the bed, duvet sliding and he feels a bit like a cat scratching himself up to sit properly, as stupid as that is and god does he want to just die. His whole body feels hot, throbbing, everything he’s ever wanted suddenly presented in front of him without being a fantasy or a wet dream, and it’s all so much, far too much. “Jesus christ, Harry,” he breathes, feeling the blush on his cheeks match Harry’s own.

And then they’re just staring at each other, breathing just that much heavier, and all Louis can really hear is the beating of his heart. Harry’s pretty eyelashes flutter as he blinks, lips so round and hot and inviting and fuck, yep, fuck’s the word, put that on his tombstone because Harry Styles is going to fucking kill him.

It feels like ages of hotness, of stillness yet tension, before Harry finally asks: “Can I kiss you?”

Because of course he does, of course he fucking does and Louis barely has the time to nod before he’s leaning up at the same time as Harry comes crashing down to his height, Louis grabbing Harry’s top and tugging him down and suddenly he’s on top of him on the bed, the whole awfulness of situation forgotten because Harry is on top of him and Harry is kissing him.

A soft mff noise escapes Harry’s lips and Louis responds by wrapping his arms around his neck, pulling him in closer, tighter, because he’s not going to let this moment go. Harry kisses him deeply, wet and open already and Louis tugs his curls, just because he can, just because he’s been waiting to. He nearly knocks his snapback off but Harry doesn’t seem to mind, what with the gasp that comes from him.

“Louis,” he pants against his lips before kissing him again, pinning him closer to the bed somehow. Louis slips his hand out of his curls and moves it down his body, down his spine with light and nimble fingers, but Harry grabs his wrists and pins his arms beside his head, pulls away and looks down at him with dark eyes. He doesn’t seem to have anything to say at first, just breathes heavily.

“Please,” is what Louis comes up with to say, a tiny whimper. He sees Harry lose the tiniest bit of composure. “Want it.”

Harry shakes his head, but he’s looking at his lips. “Too special,” he murmurs, then he looks down at their bodies. “Fuck, Louis. Want it too, so much.”

“Harry,” Louis starts, “you’ve literally got me pinned to the bed. Please do something about it before I explode.”

Harry looks up at him again and, ah, there’s that dimple, there’s that cheeky smile. There’s that lovely, lovely Harry. “Feeling’s mutual. Just, dunno where to start.” He nuzzles against his neck and Louis shivers, chokes on a breath. Harry pecks at the place underneath his ear. “I saw your lube.”

Louis tries to not arch his hips as Harry kisses him harder, conveniently enough at the spot that feels the best. “Figured.”

“Wanna use it?” Harry drawls, lowering his hips to lign up with Louis’. Louis throws his head back into the mattress and whimpers, grinding up against Harry. “Fuck, you’re so- You do bottom, don’t you?”

Louis’ head snaps right back up and he glares at Harry. It nearly startles a laugh out of him. “Stop talking. What the fuck do you think?”

“‘M just checking…”

“I’ve been fucking myself imagining it’s you,” Louis interjects, watching Harry’s eyes widen. He snakes a leg around Harry’s. “Yeah, honestly. You’re quite big aren’t you, I felt it, I know. Been thinking about you so much; for months, if I’m honest. So, please, if you’re done…”

Harry interrupts him with a sudden kiss, grinding down against his hips. His cock tenting his jeans gives all the friction he needs to probably be able to come with just a few more thrusts.

This is, however, not the plan.

“Yes,” Harry breathes. “Yes, please. Can you-”

He releases Louis hands and Louis immediately buries them in Harry’s hair, leaning up to kiss him. “No,” he mumbles against his lips, but one hand is flailing, searching for his evil, betraying top drawer. “I love kissing.”

Harry chuckles. “We’ll kiss,” he promises, slightly mischievous. He reaches over, away from Louis, much to his dismay, and collects the lube and a condom himself after some scattering about. He lays it on the bed, then pulls out a CD with dots on it. “How’s this one, maestro?”

“Get the, uh, think it’s the cross one.” Harry pulls a CD with a felt pen X on it out for his inspection. “Yeah, think so. ‘S a good one. Pardon me, let me just-”

He snatches it from Harry’s hand, wrestles himself out of the tangled up mess of limbs they’ve created, then lies down over the bed again. He reaches for his laptop, sliding his CD in. Immediately I wanna be yours by Arctic Monkeys comes on. Oops. So either Louis lied about liking their older stuff more, or he made this mixtape inspired by Harry. He’ll just never know. No one will. (He made it inspired by Harry and his devastatingly perfect lips.)

It only takes to around the third strum of the guitar before Louis suddenly feels hands on his ass, squeezing through his joggers and all he can do is gasp and lean into it, which is however quite so difficult when most of his upper body is on the floor.

That’s also what makes it so much better, though. Harry has full control.

“Could have just told me you liked them,” he murmurs, followed by a much needed spank and Louis flinches, moans. “This feels like our song now, doesn’t it?”

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of his joggers and tugs them down over his bum, just to rest under the curve and Louis can’t decide in his vaguely hazy state if it’s a good or bad thing he didn’t go commando today. He thinks he’s got black boxers though. Black is safe. And Harry seems fine, because suddenly- suddenly he’s biting the material, pulling it out and having it snap back.

“Lou,” he rasps, almost like he’s scolding him, and for what - being attractive? Ditto, Harry Styles. Fucking ditto. “God, you’re… you’re everything, can I... eat you out? Please?”

Louis can’t fight the way his hips stutter and grind against the duvet, fists turned into balls gripping anything he can find, presumably yesterday’s laundry but who even cares anymore? “Yeah. You can- yes. Please.”

Harry makes quick work of his boxers, letting them snap to his skin by the waistband of his joggers. Then those two wonderful, large hands are parting his cheeks, digging his fingers into his skin so harshly it might bruise him, as if he’s afraid he’ll disappear. It feels like claiming. Louis isn’t protesting.

And then it’s hotness, wetness, his tongue lapping and his fingers kneading into him. Louis must just be in a constant state of panting, not sure if that’s the reason he’s feeling light-headed or if he’s just intoxicated by Harry, but it’s happening, oh god is it happening.

Because Harry’s moaning while he does it, mouth open and dripping spit, tongueing into him like he could be doing it for the rest of his life and, honestly. He should. Louis doesn’t know how to ever get out of this position anyway because his bones have turned to jelly, and the only thing his brain seems to be able to think up is Harry, wet, hot, open, fuck me. A lot of fuck me, equal amounts please.

The noises that escape him must be embarrassing, light and whiny and raspy and high-strung, but he doesn’t seem to find it within himself to care somehow. Instead he can feel himself thrusting back, forcing Harry to take more, push his tongue deeper, harder, touch him more. He wants to sit on his face but maybe that’s rude to ask, not that he’d know, his brain currently fried and his body uncooperative beyond return.

He feels his dick leaking already. This is a problem because he can’t reach it at all, and the friction from the duvet might be enough to get him off if he starts humping it, but he doesn’t want that. He’s got Harry right there. Harry’s tongue, Harry’s fingers, Harry’s… Holy shit, how is he so good at that? Why is it so hard to form words?

“Harry,” he gasps, but then Harry pulls away, and it turns into a disapproving moan. “Don’t- I just. Please, can you…”

“Yeah. Yeah, just gonna…” Louis hears the lid of his lube pop open, a far too familiar noise. Far too much associated with him all alone in bed. “You want to? Yourself?”

“No,” Louis replies. “You. Want to feel you.”

Louis hears him shuffle back, and then feels the dab of lube squirted on his entrance. There’s immediately a finger tracing it, slipping over his hole like he’s… Is Harry a teaser? Please, God, are you listening? Don’t let him be a teaser.

But then it’s like his prayers are actually heard because Harry slips his middle finger in to his knuckle, and Louis buries his face in the clothes, glasses fogged up, bites back a whimper.

“Okay?” Harry asks, because he’s an adorable cupcake, but Louis doesn’t need that anymore. Louis needs rough.

“Do two,” he moans into the fabric, wiggling his butt ever so slightly. “Come on. Hurry.”

“Impatient,” Harry tuts, but pushes his ring finger in as well. “Wow... but, you’re so tight, babe.”

Louis makes an unintelligible noise.

Harry puts his free hand softly on his hip. “Are you gonna come back up here so I can do you properly?”

More unintelligible noises. Mixed with frustrated ones, mixed with, goddamn, how do you make your limbs work again? He leans up on his elbows but then it seems like he doesn’t need to do much more, because Harry pulls out of him. And places both hands on his hips. What.

He drags him up and Louis only has time to make a little surprised yelp and try to protect his face by walking himself up on his hands, then he collapses on the bed.

He rolls over on his back. Stares. “Fuck you.”

Harry shrugs. Then his face lights up and he starts to say something, but Louis holds a finger up.

“No, I know. You’re fucking me.” He cocks his head. “But I was almost mistaken, because you’re taking so damn long getting on with it.”

Harry looks like he just accepted a challenge. Good. That’s a good expression.

Louis kicks his pants off and throws his stupid glasses on the floor while Harry grabs the bottle of lube and pours some out over three fingers, then he hooks his arm under Louis’ thigh. Louis can see where this is going but still allows Harry to call the shots, hook his leg over his shoulder and do whatever he pleases with him. Damn, his shoulders are nice. Louis would like to lick them, in a position when it’s not biologically impossible.

Harry thrusts his two fingers back inside, slightly easier but still a tight fit, making Louis choke off a whimper. When he meets Louis’ eyes, his pupils are blown wide. He leans forward until Louis is leaning up to meet his kiss, intertwining his fingers in his hair, clearly straining some thigh muscle or another but god is it hot, him wrapped up in Harry and Harry kissing him with tongue and teeth and then. His fingers start pumping.

And they pump fast. Hard. Aiming upwards, to the base of his balls, and-

His body twitches, jolts maybe, and he moans against Harry’s lips. “Fuck that’s so good,” he breathes, tugging on Harry’s hair more than he probably should, but his fingers keep hitting that sweet spot, keep thump, thump, thumping into it and his orgasm burns in his tummy and it’s far too early to be over. “Right there, right there, don’t stop, god.”

“I love when you pull my hair,” Harry moans, and then he’s pulling back a bit, but it’s clearly just to watch Louis’ face twist into pure arousal because he slips his third finger in then. He tries to scissor them and stretch him while still bumping his prostate, albeit slower, more dragged out. Deeper.

“You’ll make me come,” Louis acknowledges, through a long whine, lost in Harry’s eyes. They’re the colour of the mediterranean fucking ocean and Louis is drowning. “I can’t- not twice. You have to fuck me.”

“I’m a free spirit,” Harry drawls, and honestly, this fucking hippie piece of shit, why does he dress like he could steal your girlfriend when in reality he probably just wants to touch her to feel her good aura or some shit? Maybe ask where she bought her moisturizer?

Harry kisses him again before he pops his fingers out of, making Louis grimace. He kisses it better.

“One second,” he says, lets Louis’ leg down before he leans back to retrieve the condom.

“No glove, no love,” Louis quotes from earlier, from Harry before he did his makeup. Crazy how they’d come to use it for its actual purpose. Crazy how things work out.

Harry rips it open, waving it between them. “You wanna do the honours then?”

“I’d love to, but I might get distracted by your dick,” Louis says. “By sucking it, more specifically.” Harry just stares. “Another time, love. You get to come inside me, remember? Got my full permission.”

“In the condom,” Harry corrects, scandalized. And Louis would have retorted something hilarious but then Harry’s unbuttoning his jeans and cock.

Huge.

His mouth actually waters.

Because it’s just so pretty too, isn’t it? Big and thick, reddened head, curved up against his tummy. Leaking. Louis did that. He created this masterpiece.

Harry tries the condom, but wow, Louis should have probably considered their size difference. Not only is Louis about a head shorter than Harry when they’re standing next to each other, their dicks are basically of the same scale.

It’s not even intimidating. It’s kind of hot.

“Don’t bother,” Louis mutters, slapping his hands away. “Hint taken. Get your magnum XXL.”

Harry blushes when he produces a new condom from his back pocket. Maybe he’s blushing because he loves the praise. Maybe he’s blushing because he came so prepared.

He rolls this one on more smoothly, and then he’s tugging his tank top over his head, loose enough to somehow only leave his snapback slightly skewed but indefinitely, still on. Louis is so glad he saw him topless in the showers or he might have blacked out. He also forgets this is his cue for taking his own shirt off and Harry has to silently prompt him by sliding it up his tummy, then Louis reacts, because how impolite, how awfully rude, and tugs it off the rest of the way, letting it land in a heap with the rest of the clothes there.

With Louis’ leg back over his shoulder, Harry easily scooches closer to line himself up. But just as soon as Louis feels the pressure of him against his entrance, he feels on the verge of blacking out again. This can’t be real. Someone should pinch him.

Harry does something better though; he starts pushing inside.

Louis’ mouth drops open and he fists the sheets. It’s tight, so tight; his violent dildo-use wasn’t worth shit in comparison to Harry’s widths and lengths. He’s also so wet and open though, warm and anticipating from Harry’s glorious tongue and fingers, and once the head pops in, he glides easily balls-deep.

Louis has never been so full.

“I’m in,” Harry suddenly gasps, sounding like an undercover agent having broken into a building. Just way hotter. But Louis would find that danger aspect quite hot as well though. “Babe, you’re taking my whole- fuck, you okay? It’s fine?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis nods, but he’s still gripping his sheets. So big. Fuck so big. Fuck his amazing big fucking cock. Harry is however the one shaking trying not to start moving, so he continues attempting the power of speech. “You can move, it’s okay.”

“Sure?” Harry murmurs, closer to his ear now, and it sends vibrations rummaging through him. “Tell me to stop, if-”

He thrusts once, slowly, but determinedly. A tiny noise escapes Louis. Harry immediately slows, listening and watching him intently, crease between his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Louis prompts in a breath. “Slowly. Go on.”

Harry does.

He works up a pace, slow, steady. For a second it feels more like making love than fucking; Harry is caressing his arm, stroking his cheek with his thumb as he rocks above him, curls falling in his face. Louis goes between watching his face, getting overwhelmed, and watching the ceiling.

Then it’s faster. Then super fast, and oh fuck, Louis moves his hands from the sheets, up to Harry’s wonderful arms. He grips them helplessly, some sort of link to reality and sanity, though he still can’t believe how much he gets to touch, and he’ll touch all of it, miles and miles of soft, tan, toned skin.

Each thrust gets penetrated by little uh, uh noises from Louis, Harry biting his lip in concentration, a sheen of sweat on his temples, his chiseled jawline locked. A lone curl is sticking to his skin, tattoos shifting each time he flexes a muscle.

Louis moves a hand to his hair, trying to grab onto anything he can find. He tugs it gently at the nape of his neck and it startles a low moan out of Harry.

“You feel so good,” he rumbles. “Just wanna…”

Then he’s grabbing the back of Louis’ other leg and throwing it over his free shoulder. And, fuck, is that a good angle. It’s no longer deep, no longer that long drag, it’s just quick and short bursts, still hard and rough, using all that muscle strength on him and it’s not long before Harry manages-

Shit!” Louis squeaks, thighs quivering from the feeling. “God yes, right there, don’t move. Fuck.” The bed is creaking underneath him, Harry is grunting above him. It hasn’t felt this good in months. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

Harry leans forward, careful not to break the angle (or break Louis) and lose the spot, kisses him frantically but Louis is whimpering and moaning so much against his lips, a mixture of curses or incoherent choked off noises or “I’m gonna come”s, he moves on to his neck instead, kissing all he can reach between his jawline and collarbones as he snaps his hips. Their bodies are almost pinned together, so close and slick with sweat, but Louis manages to snake a hand between their bodies, jerks himself once, twice, five times tops before he’s coming.

It hits him like a freight train.

He nearly shouts but mostly he thinks he just whines loudly, a toe-curling orgasm and he clenches around Harry, ultimately sending him over the edge as well. He feels Harry gasp into his hair, shuddering through it as his hips jerk a few more sloppy times, and Louis is definitely seeing stars.

When Harry pulls out Louis winces, misses the contact stupidly but knows it’s just about impossible to stay in much longer than that without either of them getting oversensitive. Biology sucks like that. Someone should file a complaint.

Once Harry’s pulled the condom off, tied it and chucked it in the bin (Louis doesn’t even own one because he’s a piece of shit, so Liam is having a nice surprise when he comes home), he collapses next to Louis, on his back as well. Only now does his snapback come off. Louis could laugh if he had any post-coital bones left. He’s busy forcing his lungs to work.

“Good?” Harry asks then, and it could have sounded like a statement but Louis hears that overwhelming underlying kindness and gentleness, returned once again.

“Yeah,” Louis assures. He never really knew what was to come after sex. It had almost seemed like this past almost-year was leading up to this point, him somehow ending up with Harry, but difference is that from the past weeks spent together, it has him feeling more than just good. Harry has a heart, and it’s big enough to fit half the country, though maybe Louis would like to be alone in there. First impressions sure are a funny thing. “Amazing, actually.”

Harry grins. “Good.” His green doe eyes look up at him. “And, same.”

He seems to be biting back another comment, but then his hand comes up and brushes sweaty curls off Louis’ forehead.

“You’re so pretty.”

Louis immediately flushes. He’s not usually one to get like that about compliments, mind. Harry’s body and sexy, sexy existence maybe, but few other things if he’s honest. It’s a strange revelation what a spark of arousal it alights in his tummy.

He blinks. “Thank you.” Harry sweeps in to peck his cheek as Louis murmurs: “You’re beautiful.”

He feels his cum drying on his chest though, and he should probably do something about that. He twists around to turn the music off but Harry interjects.

“Leave it on. You gonna shower?”

Louis nods. “You can have it after, I’ll be quick.”

“Thanks,” Harry smiles. Then he leans over the bed and turns the volume up.

What the fuck.

The CD has also moved its merry way to Touch Me by Dolores Haze, filled with a heavily distorted guitar and psychedelic vocals (not punk, dammit, Louis doesn’t do punk) and Louis quickly stumbles out of the room (because, ouch, his bum just hurts for reasons totally unknown) and into the bathroom. Like another familiar time he deflates against the door. And this time he supposes he does splash cold water over his face like a teen movie cliché, because he has to take an entirely cold shower to get down from the high, to cool his throbbing body down.

Because he just had sex with Harry. Harry is in his room waiting to use the shower because he just had sex with Louis.

More cold water.

He ties a towel around his waist and steps out, finding Harry still on the bed and tapping his foot to I Wanna Be Adored.

“All yours,” Louis announces about the bathroom, patting his denim jacket thrown over their desk chair for his cigarette pack.

“This is good,” Harry points out, motioning to the laptop, or the song playing from it, more like. He gets up and Louis hates that he’s got his jeans on. He just wants to see his stupid thighs. “This that band you like?”

“The vintage one,” Louis adds, fishing a cigarette up and cranking the window open. “Yeah. Love this song. Got a shirt with the cover and all, like a total lameo.”

Because he wants to be adored. Babied and cherished and treated like a princess, loved by someone that loves him. And that’s very, very lame.

He feels Harry behind him, snaking his arms around his waist. He’s warm and sticky but it’s lovely somehow, his lips brushing his ear before kissing the crown of his head.

Louis feels him inhale as he’s nosing around his tousled up sex-hair, his voice a small murmur. “Don’t like you smoking.”

Louis wants to say something stupid. Something stupid that might make him laugh that stupid laugh of his, something like don’t like you being so sodding attractive. But he doesn’t. “Okay,” he says instead, uncharacteristically quiet, and that’s stupid in its very own way.

He turns his head and his eyes are immediately trained on Harry’s lips. He darts his eyes up to see that, so are Harry’s on his own.

They kiss, slow, deep, then again, haste, before Harry is unwrapping himself from Louis and entering the bathroom.

Louis lights his cigarette, only gets down a few drags before he’s sick of it, stubbing it out on the windowsill. They’ll talk about this whole situation some other time. For now, he’ll focus on letting his CD play to an end, and maybe getting Harry safely down the corridor to his room.

He wouldn’t mind if the latter doesn’t go to plan, though.

 

 

The love bites are many. His regretful thoughts are few.

The soreness in his ass is another story, though, but he thinks he can deal.

He fumbles for his phone, barely 9 in the morning on a saturday, and he nearly curses aloud when the bright light from the screen hits him. Liam is snoring in his sleep on the other side of the room, most likely hungover as fuck (though also most likely blissed the fuck out from presumably getting laid last night), so Louis decides to pay his respects for the fallen and silently turns the brightness down, blinking awake, locating the camera.

He makes sure Liam is turned towards the wall, then takes a flash picture aimed at his neck.

Did he get mauled by bears or something?

Surely he hasn’t looked this bad since he was 15 and had a very friendly neighbour two years his senior. Or looked this good? There’s lip-shaped dark and purple marks all down his neck and collarbones, Harry-lip-shaped marks at that. This is an important and very relevant detail to add and Louis will probably never stop thinking about it.

He opens his text conversation with Harry, hesitates for only a moment before he attaches the picture in a message, the thought of Harry’s morning wood spurring him on. Hopefully he still likes him and stuff.

[iMessage conversation 5] [iMessage conversation 6]

Louis has to take two deep, grounding breaths before he exits the conversation, gritting his teeth through the process of standing up with his bum so sore. He puts the torch option on to look for some okay clothes on the floor, gives up and reaches blindly into the wardrobe instead. He stumbles into the bathroom and closes the door just as he hears Liam grumble and angrily toss over, but he’s most likely still asleep because Louis is sneaky, he’s like a ninja because there’s not even any sneakers to be squeaked with or Legos to be stepped on.

He puts on Axe and perfume in a haste, brushes his teeth then tries to calm his raging bedhead with appropriate amounts of product, and soothe his raging boner with an adult conversation about boundaries and house rules. The clothes he’s found are sadly his white and blue-striped tee that’s admittedly too tight on him and some red chinos he doesn’t even really wear anymore, but he puts them on anyway then stumbles out into the dark again.

Using his phone for guidance he pads out, without either socks, shoes, jacket or keys, and he pockets his phone as he makes his way down the corridor. The sunlight sifts through the windows, quiet classical music coming from inside one of the rooms in the dull haze of the early morning, only a few people (like Niall, fucking hopefully because Louis isn’t into exhibism nor threesomes including loud Irishmen) off having slept with friends or others. It’s all yellow, soft lights with an almost utmost silence, and all Louis can think about is sucking Harry’s beautiful dick off. How will he ever fit in his itsy bitsy mouth? Should he get his teeth surgically removed or something? Hot, hot, hot.

He enters the room quietly without knocking, still sneaking inside carefully as if to not disturb a sleeping person. The room is dim but not dark, dull light seeping in through the blinds of the window in between the two beds, one of the duvets thrown half across the bed and half onto the floor, and on the other bed lies the sweetest creature Louis has ever laid eyes on.

Harry’s got sleep-rumpled sheets and an equally sleep-rumpled Ramones shirt, paired with unfairly small gym shorts which his hand is gracefully stuck down into, gripping the base of his cock not to come. His hair is standing in all directions but it somehow looks sexy, his handsome and rugged man, smelling of sleep and berry moisturizer and minty toothpaste. His thighs truly are a work of art.

“Hey,” Louis whispers as the door clicks shut behind him. Harry’s lying on his back with his knees pulled up and his feet resting on the headboard, and he turns his head up and back into the mattress to look at Louis, ruining the sexy, sexy hairdo. His sexy, sexy smile makes up for it, though.

“Lou,” he greets, husky morning voice, croaky from unuse. “Niall’s out. C’mere.”

He takes his hands out of his shorts and makes grabby hands for Louis. Louis wrinkles his nose.

“Get those filthy paws off me,” he says in some weird accent he felt should probably go with such a statement. Harry chuckles breathily. “At least invite me out for dinner first.”

“I will,” Harry retorts, cheeky grin thrown in. He drops his hands above his head, shirt riding up. “Hey. How are you?”

Louis makes his way over to the bed, swings his hips and takes his merry time. “Bit sore, to be honest,” he murmurs, stops when his eyes are adjusted to the change of light and he sees Harry’s pretty little tummy, and best of all, his cock tenting in his shorts.

Harry bites his lip and flutters his eyelashes. He tugs on the hem of Louis’ shirt. “Sit on my face.”

Louis goes hot. “What?”

Harry turns over on his side, stray curls falling over his face. “Sit on my face. Let me get you off again.” He eyes Louis’ package. Evil, evil methods. “You look lovely today.”

Louis tugs his collar down, almost rolls his eyes as he displays his love bites. “You think?”

But there’s something new in Harry’s eyes then. Like when Louis complained he was taking long and he accepted the challenge, grew more sure and rougher; or when he stood in front of him in the changing room, half naked, dripping wet, when all it would have taken was a few hand movements and he could have been fucking Louis’ open awaiting mouth until he’d come down his throat.

“Yeah,” he husks, eyes darkened with that exact mode. “Looks like you’re mine.”

Louis’ collar pops back into place as his finger slips on the fabric.

Oh.

He can’t come up with anything to say at first, lost in thought, and is it getting hot in here? It’s possessiveness. Harry is genuinely possessive over him.

“Thanks,” he says, too quietly, probably too wide-eyed. Why is that so hot? Why is Harry wanting to make him his making him hard? “But um, do you mind,” he swiftly continues, gestures between them with two jittery fingers, “kissing first?”

Harry grins and tugs on the hem of his shirt again. Louis smiles back - a bit dazed, a lot horny - and kneels on the bed.

Harry grabs his neck gently, leaning up as he pulls Louis down, lips meeting softly with a little sigh. Louis lets himself sink down and lies down beside Harry, caresses his neck and strokes curls out of his face as Harry runs the back of his fingers so gently across his arm, gentle enough to give Louis goosebumps with how much emotion he can put into such a slight motion.

“Better?” Harry murmurs, moving his hand up to cup his cheek.

Louis nods, bites his lip all coy. Harry quickly kisses him again.

His hand travels down Louis’ torso, down to his thighs. He slides it between them and Louis gasps against his lips, parts his legs ever so slightly for his access, eyes lightly closed and his hand stilling with a handful of Harry’s curls in his grip.

Harry watches him with parted lips and half-lidded eyes as he moves his hand upwards, cups his dick and strokes him softly up and down. Louis tugs his hair, not matching the softness, and he hears Harry bite back a moan.

“What about now?” Harry husks, sliding his index and middle finger perfectly to outline his dick, swelling in his pants by the second.

“Much better,” Louis whispers, steals another kiss. “Yeah. I’m good. We can- yeah.”

“Wanna sit on my face? Have us sixty-nine?”

Louis opens his eyes. “Oh god, yes.” Harry grins. Louis begins to sit up, reluctantly having Harry’s big warm hand removed. “Just stay clear of my precious princess bum. Only suck me off.” He fiddles with the zipper of his trousers. “Bit too achey today.”

The way Harry’s face drops is even audible in his voice. “Oh- babe.”

Louis looks over his shoulder where he’s kneeling. Harry’s looking up at the ceiling with a furrowed brow and pouty lips, touching them contemplatively.

“I didn’t... Ah, fuck.” He taps his lip anxiously. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I didn’t know.”

Louis blinks, stunned. “It’s okay.” He begins unbuttoning the trousers. “It’s… Really, Harry, I was expecting that. And I wanted it, and I loved it. I’m of a smaller size, yeah? Just need a day or summat before we can go again, is all.”

He gets up to get his chinos off, waits to see Harry start pushing his own shorts down, not surprised at all he’s not wearing underwear underneath. Louis is, however, much to his own sudden disapproval, and he steps out of his boxers before getting back on the bed.

“Okay,” Harry replies, at least a little bit less concerned. “Good. I’m glad. I loved it too, so, uh. Just tell me next time. Because more would be nice.”

Louis smiles at him gently. “Oh, there will be.” He puts his leg over Harry’s body, facing his legs, scared he’ll knock his teeth out with his knee but somehow manages to control his limbs. Again, good for blowies, but- no, bad Louis. Bad. “Like this, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry confirms. “Yeah. Then just-”

Louis faces forward and is suddenly presented with a face full of glorious, leaking cock. He should start every morning like this. A blowjob a day must keep the doctor away. It keeps Liam away, at least; he never wanted to hear all Louis’ juicy details and if he gets one himself, he’s out of it for hours.

Louis tries to focus, but it’s difficult with Harry’s hands on his thighs.

“Sit back down,” Harry prompts. “Let me take you. Fuck, when you’re ready I want you to sit on my face for real. Just… crush me, all sweet and whimpering.”

Louis’ dick twitches, and he bites his lip. “Mhm?”

“This is… Yeah, want you in every way. Could be humping my leg, would get me so hard… Come on. Use me to get off.”

Louis nods, blushing, though Harry can’t see. He looks down between his legs, goes on his hands and knees and tries angling his dick to Harry’s mouth. It’s all backwards, and it’s ridiculous, like Spiderman’s upside down kiss, but once Harry’s hand grips his hard-on and his lips brush his swollen head, Louis gasps and thinks it might just be worth it.

Harry takes him into his mouth, a hot, wet and tight sensation that’s so long overdo, so long Louis can’t even remember when the last time was, probably some drunken night last year when he had pointedly “forgotten” about the hot frat boy stranger that’s currently sucking him off and thumbing over his balls. Louis loves fate. Fate didn’t fuck him over for once.

He bends down and licks a trying stripe over Harry’s cock, from the underside up to the tip. He hears as well as he feels Harry’s moan and he ends his lick with taking him into his mouth, sinking down just past his head, no further. Louis loves his big dick, trust, he adores it, but a sore throat isn’t on his agenda for the day. After all, it has only just started. More fun activities might follow after this one.

He swirls his tongue around the head and laps over the slit, while Harry aims for depth and bobs his head over him. Louis can’t help but start to thrust his hips, only so slightly, helping him on the way perhaps, but that prompts Harry to do the same. Thing is though, Harry is too considerate. He moves so carefully it doesn’t even bother Louis, basically just having him slide his tight lips over his head as he grips the back of his thigh with one hand, jerks him off where he can’t reach with the other.

It’s not long before he feels his orgasm burning in his tummy, because it truly has been too long and maybe he truly is more of a horny teenager than he’d like to admit. He pops off to say it. “I’m gonna come.”

“So come for me,” Harry rasps (fuck, that cock-sucking voice), kissing his head before he slides back down. Louis whimpers and licks Harry like an ice lolly just to hear his reaction before he goes down on him again.

Harry goes faster, or is it Louis thrusting his hips? He screws his hand around the base and Louis has to pop off of him again because he can’t think, can’t get his motor skills to work, it all feels so good. “Fuck, Harry. Like that. Don’t stop.”

He feels tightness in his tummy, feels so good whatever Harry’s doing. He buries his face in the sheets when he comes, shudders and arches his back and feels Harry take it, his cockhead against his hot tongue and swallowing around his cum.

Louis collapses on his side, takes a few breaths and tries to collect himself. He beckons Harry closer, panting. “Now sit on my face?”

Harry’s playful grin is the best thing in the world. “Huh?”

He leans up on his elbows to look at Louis, dick still obviously painfully hard.

“Yeah, not gonna like, eat you out. Just suck you off again.” Louis keeps motioning him closer in a haste. “Let me taste you. Come on.”

Harry climbs up and on top of Louis, straddles his torso and Louis immediately grips his dick and jerks him off fast. Harry’s breath hitches and Louis darts his eyes up, watches his face as he brings his tongue out to lick at the head, little kitten licks around it then just resting under it. Harry’s eyes are big and glassy, lips red and then he’s throwing his head back, hips stuttering and he’s coming. He’s so beautiful when he does it he truly should be the subject of a billion love songs.

Louis doesn’t usually swallow. He’ll do it if they ask politely, but he’d rather not because he doesn’t really like the taste. This time, for some reason, just seeing Harry’s gorgeous orgasm-face, his muscles tensing up in the faint, soft light of the morning, he swallows everything he gets into his mouth. It’s not even bad. Harry’s such a healthy boy.

Harry tips his head back and looks at him with his jaw slack, glassy eyes set on Louis wiping cum off his cheek and chin with his thumb and sucking it into his mouth. He pops his lips every time, going very slowly, keeping the eye contact. He’s ridiculous.

“You might just get me hard again,” Harry drawls, and Louis rolls his eyes through a smirk and pushes at him. His thighs. Nice thighs.

“Get off, you buffoon.”

Harry, though scandalized, snorts and climbs off and lies down next to him on his pillow. Louis turns to the side to look at him, secretly turns a little closer to the pillow to smell it. Even though Harry’s right in front of him. Even though he can touch him all he wants. His pillow smells like vanilla, like berries, like hair gone too long without washing and like warmth. Smells like Harry. Smells like home.

“Talk me through your tattoos.”

Harry’s eyes flutter open. He turns over to Louis. “Oh. Why?”

“‘Cause.” Louis’ eyes trail down his body. His sleep shirt just barely covers him up, their pants still discarded on the floor. No thigh tattoo though, but Louis appreciates the George Michael lyrics inked across his ankles. “I wanna know. Do they all have like a story, like people say they should?”

“Well. I guess, kinda. I mean, they all have a story in the sense I remember the day I got them and stuff.” He furrows his brow. “Uh, mostly. But yeah, some I don’t have a reason for, why I got them, honestly. Just that they looked cool.” He lifts his left arm and points at a black star on his underarm. “First one.”

“Ooo.” Louis touches. “Feisty.”

“Painful placement as well. Right on the muscle, I had no idea. Was just an outline at first though.”

“No way?” Louis snorts. “What a tramp stamp. Or like, Myspace boy design.”

Harry pokes his tummy. “Heeey.”

Louis pushes his hands away. “I like your birds,” he comments. He hooks his finger in the collar of his top and tugs it down to get a look. “Swallows, is it?”

Harry nods. “They mate for life, look really pretty and stuff as well. Saw them around my house a bunch growing up. The story goes like, they’d help seamen home-” Louis snorts again because, semen. “Yeah. Right. They’d help men at sea home in a way, because they knew when they saw swallows they were close to the coast.” He taps his bicep, a ship stretched over it. “Bit into the nautical theme I guess.”

“I told Liam you sound like a drunken sailor.”

Harry turns into an affronted frog. “What?”

Louis just shakes his head. “Nothing. Go on.”

Harry silently obliges, talks him through Temper Trap lyrics, symbols for his family, a homage to Pink Floyd, some stupid small ones his mate did last year, an “I can’t change” for everything else. Louis has potentially never heard Harry talk this much, nor this passionately. It’s kind of everything.

He likes his filled in love heart, likes the nautical theme as well, that thing about finding your way home somehow and how pretty the birds look. He especially likes the they mate for life bit, though that he won’t admit aloud.

Harry’s shirt has come off at this point, and Louis seizes the moment by kissing down his neck, then across his tattoos. He stops by one on his arm, pecks it slowly with his lips before he moves to his chest.

Can I stay?

He continues downward, down his chest and belly in a trail, crawling lower along his body. He gets to his waist, Harry’s dick already twitching for attention and he kisses the tattoo there by his hipbone, flicks his eyes up at Harry. He grabs his cock and licks along it, Harry burying his hands in his hair, gasping, nodding silently.

Might as well.

Lame. Lame, lovely, beautiful Harry Styles. And still, Louis just wants to be his.

 

 

“We need to have an intervention.”

Liam looks up from where he’s fumbling to get his keys out of the now open door to their room.

“Oh.” He enters and throws the keys aside, puts a contemplative finger to his pouting lips. “Let’s see... I don’t have a drinking problem, I don’t do drugs... Haven’t been scarily loud with Sophia...”

Louis hops off his bed and stands with his arms crossed. “It’s not you, it’s me.”

Liam stops and slowly narrows his eyes. “Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I’m scared.”

Liam looks even more skeptical. “You? Scared? The Tommo, scared?”

Louis almost wants to cry. “I’m in love with Harry Styles.”

Liam drops everything - jacket, bag, would have dropped his keys if he still held them - and puts his hands over his mouth. “Oh!” His wide eyes go back to normal and he drops his arms tiredly again, gives him a thanks-captain-obvious look. “I’m so shocked.”

He picks his stuff back up to organise into their standard place. Louis can’t believe this disrespect. “You knew?”

“Course I bloody knew, you always gush about him. Ever since the party when you wouldn’t stop staring at him or like, making fun of Niall and me but not him, do you remember? You made it out like you just wanted a fling but, clearly...” He gestures over Louis.

“Fuck you,” Louis spits. He throws his arms out. “You could have told me. You could have figured it out for me before I even did.”

Liam shrugs. Louis lets his stiff shoulders fall.

“Sorry, Li.” Stop throwing diva tantrums, dammit. “Does, uh… Does Niall know?”

Liam looks at him with compassionate puppy eyes. “I think you need to have this conversation with Harry, mate. Not me.” He gives him a soft smile, then turns to his bag and pulls out a bag of crisps. “Movie on my laptop?”

“But Liam,” Louis gasps, “the carbs!”

Liam shrugs again, tosses the bag onto Louis’ bed. “It’s a celebration. Of your coming of age. And coming to your senses.”

Louis proceeds to tackle him to the floor.

 

 

When there’s a knock on the door one morning, Louis honestly could have expected anyone but Harry. Wasn’t there some sort of mutual agreement to not show up without texting first since last time’s little mishap?

He doesn’t even say hi when Louis opens the door for him, and neither does Louis, because Harry just takes a quick, deep breath and asks out of the blue: “Do you like chocolate or flowers?”

Louis takes a step back, quite literally taken aback. “Huh?”

“Sorry. I’ll- god. I’ll try that again.”

He closes the door. Louis stares at it.

There’s another knock. Louis opens it and, surprise surprise, it’s Harry, but he’s got his hands behind his back now, hair tucked behind his ears.

“Hi,” he says, nods politely. “Good morning.”

“Harry,” Louis whines exasperatedly, “it’s fuck o’clock in the morning, what the fuck do you-”

“Can I take you out today, please?”

Louis stops. His pajama pants are riding low on his hips and he’s got an old pink tank top on since sleeping in it, contrasting with Harry’s nice and soft sleet grey jumper and typical black snapback. What’s going on? Why does he smell really nice?

“What’s going on?” Louis asks aloud, rubbing sleep from his eyes; he was literally woken up from the knock.

“I’d like to take you on a date,” Harry elaborates, as if he’s practised this. Louis would like to see that. Him in front of the mirror, reading smudged notes from his palm. “Whatever you want, wherever. Gifts included, which is why I, yeah. The flowers bit. Bit old fashioned.”

It finally clicks. Harry is genuinely asking him out. No fucking about. “Oh.” His eyes widen. “Oh! Shit, alright. I mean. Yeah. Yeah, thanks, that’s… sick. I mean, that’s so sweet of you, Haz.”

He leans forward and kisses him, haste to not have him endure his morning breath. But Harry closes his eyes all cutely like a happy cupcake and Louis melts inside. “Oh. Cool. Thank you.”

“Nowhere fancy, right? Don’t quite have the outfit for that.”

He returns into the room to get changed, maybe brush his teeth or whatever. Get his fringe down properly.

“Not if you don’t want to,” Harry says from the door. “Like I said, anything you want, love.”

Liam awakens with a loud groan then, Louis almost having forgotten about his existence. He sticks his head out of the bathroom, toothpaste foam dripping from his lips. “Excuse me, Liam. Maybe show some respect for our guests?”

Liam sits up and ruffles his hair. “Lou, fucking christ, why’s your boyfriend here?”

“He’s not my-!” Louis crunches the toothbrush between his back teeth. “Go back to sleep. We’re going out.”

Liam groans again. “Hi Harry. Goodnight Harry.” Then he falls back onto the mattress.

When Louis emerges Harry seems a little less content with the situation, but this doesn’t stop his face from lighting up when he sees Louis. “Oh, wow. Somehow even better than before.”

Louis is just wearing a dark T-shirt and a cardigan the colour of Harry’s jumper. It’s Harry you’d want to safely bundle up under the arm of. “Matching grey and grey. If I get lost I’ll just say please return me to that handsome fellow I colour-coordinate with.”

Harry does put his arm around his shoulders then, but only to pull him in and peck his forehead. “Being very cute today.”

“Maybe I’ll stop if you keep treating me like a child,” Louis mutters, escaping his grip. Which of course is anything but childish.

Harry just smiles though. “Just treating you like the little princess you are.”

And then Louis has to try not to like, blush. “Yeah, yeah.”

He kind of maybe succeeds. He’s got other things on his mind.

They close the door behind themselves and start walking down the corridor. “Hey, um. Can I ask you a thing?”

Harry immediately frowns. “Yeah. Course.”

“Just.” He puts his hands down his pockets, Harry holding the door open for him as they exit the building. “Do you not like Liam?”

Harry stalls. He looks over at a pond, seems to be planning to bring up his love of ducks or water or the magnificent power of the Earth and the Sun, or anything else to not have to discuss the matter at hand. “Course I like Liam.” He looks back to Louis, then straight ahead. Kay then. Do they even know where they’re walking at the moment? “He’s super nice. Wish we were closer, honestly.”

“Then why do you get so weird when he’s around?” Louis’ voice comes out harder than anticipated. Not quite spitting venom yet, just like, imploring. It’s been on his mind for so long and he really just wants to know what his deal is.

“Weird?” Harry questions.

As if he’s that clueless.

“Yes, Harry. Weird. Like when you went all quiet just now. Like when you were going to refuse to talk to us at the party. Remember that? Remember how pissy you were before I forced an introduction?”

“Well why don’t you tell me your side of the story then?”

So they’re playing at that level, huh.

“I come over there, wanting to talk to this hot guy that’s Niall’s friend, right. He’s got a gorgeous face and muscles and all, you know, all that shit I love. And then, then he stares at my best friend like he’s visualising a grand fucking piano dropping on him, or summat. Can you believe it? Really wonder what his problem was, you know.”

“Was visualising myself in his spot.”

Louis turns his head. “Huh?”

“I get jealous,” Harry says. “I guess, yeah. That’s what it is. He had his arm around you and I guess I thought, you know. Even when I found out you weren’t actually together I still felt like- he gets to see you so much, when you’re the most beautiful because you’re unaware of it; just like, talking in bed, waking up with you, or something… And I don’t get that.”

Something has caught in Louis’ throat. Is it guilt or tears?

“It’s selfish, I guess,” Harry continues when Louis doesn’t speak. He shrugs. “I mean. I know I am. Selfish. I can’t expect you to not have friends, can I? That’s just gross, and a bit like, abusive? But like, yeah. Yeah. That’s that, I suppose.”

Louis stares straight ahead at the gravel, and so does Harry. His Harry. His wonderful, beautiful Harry that wants him all to himself. Louis is obviously not going to cut years long friendship ties for that, or any ties for that matter, because that’s pretty shit. But at least he can revel in the pleasure of feeling wanted. Desired.

I just wanna be yours…

“It would be abusive,” Louis concludes. He shrugs as well. “Well. It is what it is, innit.”

They seem to be walking into town, so he keeps allowing his legs to just carry him there. He’s sure they have a great plan.

“I guess it’s kinda hot,” he continues. It’s very hot, but he’s not going to throw himself drooling over Harry, as much as he may want to. “Like, I really don’t mind it. Really.” He glances up at him. “Emphasis on the really.”

Harry grins all cutely, burrowing his chin into his chest. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“So this means I can give you more love bites, and like…”

“Yeah,” Louis interrupts, spares him the pain of trying to explain. “Yeah, babe. Definitely, yes. Honestly, like I- I really like that idea, like the possessive thing and um, that. Stuff. As long as you’re fine and not genuinely hurting, because that would just suck, then. Yeah. Up for it.”

Hs feels warmth in the pocket of his cardigan then, where his hand is buried deep. Harry’s hand wrapping around his, stopping him. Leaning down to kiss him. Gentle, loving. Kind.

Someone bumps into them and he feels gazes burning; he may have just never kissed another boy out in the open before. It’s usually in the privacy of their room or in the dark of a party, in a back alley or behind closed doors. Not in the middle of the street, not in the middle of busy London.

When Harry pulls back, his eyes are big and wild, intensely dark. Louis gets that. He gets a bit high off Harry as well. “You know,” Harry starts, still gripping onto his hand. It’s now slid out of his pocket, hanging by their side, like a knot tied between a ship and the shore. Such a safe, strong hold. Such a lame, dumb metaphor. “I wanted to get to know you since the first time we met.”

Louis fights a blush. “Shut up.”

“No, really. Maybe I bumped into you, like, not so much on accident. Couldn’t stop thinking about you after that. Like yeah, I saw other people, I’m sure you did as well, wouldn’t expect you not to… but my thoughts kept on just like, going back to you. Comparing it to how nothing felt like the rush of like… just touching you.”

He caresses him with his thumb for emphasis. Louis tries to breathe. Fails a little. “Same, if I’m honest. I’ve never really- yeah. Never felt as good as with you. As safe. And ehm, stupidly turned on.” Harry snorts a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, fucking constantly.” Louis prods his chest. “No but honestly. Ask Liam. I’ve liked you for a while now.”

“I’m laughing because it’s so relatable,” Harry explains, grabs his other hand as well. “Yeah. Ask Niall.”

He brings this hand to his lips. Brushes his lips over it, then kisses his knuckles. And what an absolute sap oh my fucking god Louis wants to die. “I think they tried to get us together for the longest time.”

“They did,” Harry confirms. “Niall was a meddler.”

Louis recoils a bit with a startled expression. “He wha’?”

“Yeah, like. I dunno. Told me you and Liam weren’t a thing. Told me you don’t like tattoos but you like mine? My hair? Something.”

Louis gapes. “That motherfucking snitch.”

“Helpful, though,” Harry supplies. “I wouldn’t be here holding your hands if it weren’t for that, I think. Gave me some courage.”

And Louis supposes he could give him that. That’s nice. God bless Niall Horan.

Harry looks up towards the street. “Hey.” He looks back with a childish expression. Louis is so done for. “Wanna try something?”

“...I’m not that into public sex, Harry.”

Harry scoffs. “Louis. No.” He leans in close. “Have you ever tried ice skating?”

His eyes go wide. “You wouldn’t-”

But Harry is already letting his left hand go to drag him by his other towards, presumably, the ice rink. Louis complains all the way, whines exaggeratedly and tries to stub his heels into the ground, but hey, once they’re there it’s actually not so bad. They borrow skates, skate around for a bit, Harry holding Louis’ hands to not fall on his bum (so that he’d a real reason to complain about ache). They don’t do cool tricks like all the other couples seem to do - because they’re not a couple, course not, obviously - but Louis still feels pretty accomplished just standing up the whole time, only desperately flailing his arms for balance like, once, he swears.

Afterwards, they sit on the benches and people-watch, Louis ridiculing the ones looking stupid and Harry laughing along and handing out compliments, bunched up in each other and munching on toast and sipping hot chocolate, which Harry treated him without any doubt, that sap. Afterwards they kiss the sugary marshmallow taste off each other’s warm lips and hold hands all the way back to Louis’ room, where Liam is still sound asleep and drooling on his pillow. They kiss goodbye at the door and Harry texts him a heart emoji basically just two minutes after, when Louis is back in bed and smiling at himself, shirt collar tugged up over his nose. It is, undoubtedly, the best date he’s ever been on. He sends like twenty-six hearts back.

 

 

Harry gets occupied with studying and doing his finals then. It feels kind of like having your husband be drafted to war.

At least if you ask Louis, because suddenly his lovely Harry is constantly busy, Louis is horny 24/7, and Liam is still seeing that girl which means either nights alone and lonely or afternoons spent out because Liam needs their room to himself. On top of this Harry also takes approximately 3 years to respond to texts and never has time to meet him.

The next few weeks are summed up with a whole bunch of sad wanks, a mixtape entitled 'you can’t hurry love (but please hurry the fuck up with your finals bc I miss your dumb face)' slid under Harry’s door, and nights out with Zayn.

They skateboard away and explore, get drunk in crop tops, watch movies in one of their dorms, have chips and curry sauce. Sometimes they invite Niall as well but soon realise he’s far too loyal and kind and actually needs to focus on his finals as well. He’s really like a puppy, much like Liam, but more cute. An overly excited golden retriever, that pees on everything, out of sheer, adorable excitement.

Louis really likes Zayn because he’s chill yet also fun, creative enough to never have them bored but also laid back enough for it not to drive Louis mad. He’s also very beautiful, and very bisexual, but Louis would never feel anything towards him and he thinks Zayn knows and agrees with that too. Maybe if Louis would have met him some months back they could have exchanged some sloppy, drunk handjobs, but Louis has Harry now, and he only wants Harry.

So they continue at a comfortable distance, continue being absolute divs, and it’s him Louis seeks emotional comfort in when a mixtape is slid under his door with 'I miss your CUTE face too :)' written across it. Because thing is, lo and behold, children, Louis has first of all never received a mixtape before, and when he slips it into his laptop the first track is some 60’s song, which has him going like what the actual fuck and what have I gotten myself into, before the lyrics hits him with a strong “So won’t you say you love me? I’ll make you so proud of me. We’ll make them turn their heads, every place we go. So won’t you be (be my, be my baby) be my little baby? My one and only; say you’ll be my darling. (Be my, be my baby.) Be my baby now.”

It actually tears his heart out of his fucking body. Then puts it on a pink pedestal with a little bow on it or something, glitter sprinkles on top.

He thought he may have overdone it putting Build Me Up Buttercup on his own mix to Harry, but it was for the jokes, the bants, because Harry literally isn’t calling or coming around like the song says due to his studying, and sure it mentions loving him still and how he’s the one he needs the most, but like! It was for the laughs! Right? Because Louis doesn’t actually...

He just doesn’t. Right?

Still. Louis is literally squealing on the floor by the time he’s calling Zayn up. The squealing is partly because he’s so ridiculously in love - because fuck it, he really is - and partly because he’s frustrated he can’t go over to Harry’s and kiss him senseless. Also just pure hysteria because, jesus christ, does Harry really like-like him like that? Where does he cross 'yes' on the 'be my bf?' note?

Zayn babbles on about love and emotions down the receiver, taking a drag from his cigarette between every other sentence, and it’s exactly what Louis needs somehow, for some reason, because nothing of it makes sense and that’s basically how he feels about life in general. He’s on the third replay of just this first track by the time Liam walks in, gives him a weird look just as The Ronettes sing for all three of them: “Oh, since the day I saw you, I have been waiting for you. You know I will adore you ‘til eternity."

Louis gives Liam a teary thumbs up and Liam snorts and pets his head.

(But it’s Liam that sings along to the chorus of the song that evening during his shower, and Louis hears him as he lies scrolling through his phone, as much as he tries in vain to block it out. “So won’t you be - be my, be my - be my little baby?” Gentle humming, plausibly massaging shampoo in. He must know Louis is listening. “Be my baby nooow! Wo oh oh oh!”

It hurts. Everything hurts, yet it feels so, so good.)

Liam is really out a lot with the girl-friend-that’s-a-girl-and-a-friend-but-not-a-girlfriend as of late, so he never gets properly introduced to Zayn. This is however also because of Zayn who, on top of this major complication, likes mysteriously disappearing (to then return high as fuck with a new revelation or theory on how life works).

Sometimes he just returns with a rent DVD, though, and that’s exactly the position Louis is in the next afternoon when Harry finally texts him. It feels like it’s been 84 years.

 

[iMessage conversation 7]

 

Louis finishes Lost Highway with Zayn (god knows why) before he heads home and Louis heads to Harry’s room. He’s a bit nervous all of a sudden, tugs on the hem of his striped shirt and worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Nothing bad can still be a lot of other things. Maybe something terrible, perhaps horrible.

Harry’s in bed stuffing a biscuit into his mouth when he walks through the door, though, and Louis cocks an eyebrow as Harry stills his movement.

Is a wewad,” he drawls through the crumbles.

Louis snorts. “Pardon?”

Harry spins his hand by his mouth to gesture trying to chew as quickly as he can. Louis is already sat on the bed when he swallows.

“Jesus. It’s a reward.” He goes to kiss Louis then stops himself. “Oh, are you allergic? Gluten? Or nuts, or…”

He picks the package up to skim the table of contents.

“It’s fine,” Louis protests and slaps the package out of his hands. “Nevermind that. Did you like your mixtape?”

Harry’s eyes light up. “Oh, yeah! That was so… Yeah. Amazing.” He stops himself, thinks about how to use his words correctly. He does that a lot, on top of speaking way too slowly all the fucking time. “I’ve seen that in movies and been like, wow, imagine that. And then you did it, so, thank you.”

“Even thought of that brilliant title,” Louis continues, basks in the praise. “I never do that. Matched the first track and all.”

Harry smiles. “Loved that. Love The Supremes. And did you like yours?”

“Oh, I-” Louis stutters. Louis never fucking stutters. “Yes. I really did, yeah. Never got one meself either, so, yeah, yeah. Thank you, honestly. Banger songs. Good meanings. Ehm.” He feels nervous all over again, changes the subject like an idiot because that’s what he does best. Acts a fool. “But I still don’t want your gross biscuit-breath unless you’re going to tell me what you got me here for.”

Harry pouts. He doesn’t seem to have noticed the rush in the change though. “You make it sound like such a chore.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Listen. I’ve missed you. A lot, I have. And I’m tired of wanking when I know you’re just down the hall, and I really want you to just, like, wreck me right about now, babe, trust. But please tell me the big news first so I can at least relax.”

Harry tilts his head. “It’s no news. Just a proposition.” His eyes drift down Louis’ body. “I was going to make like a nice build-up, but…”

“You’re not actually proposing, are you?” Louis questions, unable to keep the jokes from firing even though he’s kind of really not joking because oh my god just imagine. “Will you bring out a plate of banana bread and I’ll bite into a three carat gold ring?”

Harry grins and leans in and kisses him, damned be biscuit-breath. It’s actually kind of nice.

“Louis,” he murmurs, just an inch apart. “Pride is next week.”

Louis pulls back and gasps. “Shit, no way! Already?”

Harry shakes his head fondly, scooches closer. He kisses him again. “I was wondering… Just, uh. Do you want to like, go with me?”

Louis pulls away again, but not much. Just to look him in the eye. Harry’s looking at his lips though, like he can’t really face him, like this is really important to him. Louis is so fucking smitten. “Like… like a date?”

“Yeah.” Harry bobs his head from side to side. “I mean… Yeah. Guess so. It’s next Saturday, I just, uh…”

“Yeah,” Louis interrupts. He nods, sure of himself, though fireworks are kind of really going off inside his head and chest. “I’ll go. Never been before, actually. Little old Donny didn’t have much of that. It’ll be really fun.”

Harry looks up then. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He smiles softly. Harry smiles back, and everything is just so warm and fuzzy. “Thanks for asking. That’s beautiful of you, Harry.”

Harry emits a breathy laugh, relieved, then they kiss again. Deeper, harder.

“I can have like the pride flag painted on me face,” Louis muses while Harry moves to kiss his neck. He shudders, moves closer until he’s somehow straddling him. “Rose gold eyeshadow and lashes and all. Love that look, it’s sick. Lots of glitter on both of us. What are you gonna wear? What am I gonna wear?”

“Lou,” Harry mumbles, hands having travelled down his back and going under his shirt. “You could be naked, I wouldn’t care. You could be naked… right now.”

“Maybe we should match,” Louis rambles on, unable to stop himself. Fuck, what’s happening now? “Maybe wear complimentary stuff, or the same colour scheme. Glitter and glitter obviously, but. Is it like a walk around town? I hope it’s not very long. Will we hold hands? Am I your boyfriend?”

Harry pulls away abruptly. His lips are puffy from working down Louis’ neck, and Louis grits his teeth. Oops.

Harry takes a breath in. Hesitates. “What?”

“What?” Louis raises his brows and smiles; very faked. “Don’t have to stop, love, I’m okay. Let’s, uh. Continue. That. The kissing thing, yeah? Let’s. Alright, nice, cool.”

He pushes forward but Harry holds him back, hands around his arms now. “Are you asking me to be your boyfriend, or are you asking for you to be my boyfriend?”

“Neither, obviously,” Louis retorts, scoffing. “What a dumb thing to- and isn’t that the same thing? Does one mean they own the other or?”

“Louis.”

“Harry.”

Harry closes his eyes and breathes out heavily. Louis focuses on his dark eyelashes fanning out over his cheeks instead of the lump in his own throat and the stabbing sensation in his heart.

“I honestly didn’t know if you wanted that. Like, the relationship thing.” He opens his eyes again. “Glad you asked, though. Really. I mean, I… I guess I brought it up, in some way.”

Louis doesn’t say anything. Harry blinks.

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

Louis must twitch visibly. “If you’ll, um. If you’ll have me, I guess, then. Yeah. Yes.”

“Okay.” He pouts contemplatively. “Will you be my boyfriend?”

Louis can’t help but grin. “If you’ll be mine, then yeah I suppose I’m kind of obliged to.”

Harry grins too, eyes big. “Oh! Good.”

Louis nods casually. “Great.” He moves his hands to Harry’s waist. “So. Boyfriend sex?”

Harry chuckles and leans forward, kisses him again. He leans further, about to lay Louis down before him, then he stops and pulls back. “Wanna ride me?”

Shit. Fuck. That’s hot. “Yeah,” he answers. “God. Okay.” He grinds his hips tentatively, Harry gripping onto his arms harder. “I was thinking, ehm… Actually, if maybe you could, like. If we could go for longer? Not aim for, you know, coming, but for it to last as long as possible?”

Harry furrows his brow. “Are you suggesting I come too fast?”

“No, Harold,” Louis patronizes. “I just… Or maybe we could go twice, you know, take like 10 minutes then, yeah.”

“What’s the catch here?” Harry asks through narrowed eyes and a cheeky grin.

Louis perks up. “My presence. I’m absolutely horrendous.” Harry doesn’t exactly guffaw in the light of their first encounter - or well, second, on the bed at the party - but he definitely bursts out a laugh and Louis slaps his shoulder. “I’m not joking though. I wanna, like. Make up for lost time. Think it’d be kinda hot.”

Harry hums, then nuzzles against his neck. “As long as you’re okay. And we’ll prep you slowly.” Louis groans, but Harry shushes him with a finger on his lips. Louis’ eyes go wide. “And you won’t complain.”

Oh. Okay. A Harry in charge. And a Louis actually allowed to get hard. Well, harder.

This is a concoction for disaster.

Harry slides his hands down Louis’ ass then, cups it perfectly in his large hands and Louis buries his face into the crook of his neck, gasps. “These,” Harry gruffs, spanks him once. “Off.”

“What if I won’t?” Louis questions cockily, but his mind is already hazy from being wrapped up in Harry, spanking him like a bad boy. More of that, please. Right about now, thanks.

Harry stills for a moment. Then he pushes Louis backwards, having him land with a tiny yelp on the bed, Harry immediately all over him, tugging on his belt. A rush of arousal erupts inside Louis, dick twitching against the fabric of his jeans as Harry man-handles him like he wants.

But Harry darts his eyes up for a second, catch Louis’ half-lidded ones. “Green light?”

Louis is busy drowning in his eyes again. Is he talking about those? Or is he making a Gatsby reference? “Huh?”

“Green light? Yellow? Red?” Harry relaxes his hands a bit. “Red to stop, yellow to wait…”

“Oh, shit, green,” Louis rushes. “Fuck. Keep going. Yeah.”

Harry grins and starts tugging on his belt again, soon having his jeans sliding down his thighs and Louis helps get them off his shins as Harry starts battling with his own. Louis kind of can’t help himself when they come down his thighs; he rolls over on his stomach and leans up on his elbows in front of Harry’s kneeling form, takes his dick out of his pants and takes him into his mouth. Greedy. He thinks Harry should probably spank him some more.

Harry just hitches on a breath though, and buries his fingers in his feathery hair. Louis wants to impress. He sucks hard, goes deep, dribbles and chokes but he loves the expression Harry’s sporting, and he loves the way his hips move slightly. Use me to get off.

Louis wants to be adored, but he also wants to be used. Claimed. Belong completely to Harry. Maybe that’s a bit of a scary revelation, to know he could surrender everything, do anything, but it’s true. So when Harry starts thrusting his hips and essentially fucks his mouth, both hands in his hair, Louis just takes it. And he fucking loves it.

“Fuck, Lou, so pretty,” Harry moans, so hot on Louis’ tongue, warm and swollen down his throat. “My pretty boy.”

Louis’ feels his eyes water and Harry notices because he slows down, but Louis makes a disapproving noise and grabs his hips, tries to shove him closer again. So Harry keeps going, keeps going and he pinches at Louis’ nose, restricting his breath for just three seconds tops when Louis feels like he’s floating from being so fucking turned on. He keeps going until Louis has to be let up for air, gasping for it and spluttering. His face is flushed, his fringe a bit sticky maybe, his dick just that much harder and wetter in his boxers.

“You’ve gotten good at that,” Harry remarks, cheeky as he is. Fuck this guy and his sodding attractive existence, Louis thinks as he wipes spit from his chin and swollen lips.

Harry gets up and gets his jeans off properly, his shirt following next. “There’s nothing I can’t do,” Louis rasps in response and, yeah, literally. His voice is pretty shit at this point. He grabs his throat dramatically. “Oh, fuck.”

“Sorry, baby,” Harry murmurs. “Any oral presentations coming up?”

Louis glares. “Just gave one.”

Harry snorts a laugh. He kneels on the bed again, slides his hands up under Louis’ shirt. Louis trembles when he rubs over his nipples, eyes fluttering shut. “You don’t have to take your top off. It’s cute.”

That’s always nice to know.

They snog again, Harry pinching at his nipples until he’s whimpering. Louis finds himself gravitating towards him until they’re suddenly lying down with Harry on his pillow and Louis on top of him. But oh, it gets even better, because Harry’s hand travels down Louis’ spine until it gets under the waistband of his boxers. With no lube, he just slides a finger along his crack, but it’s enough for Louis to shudder and rut his dick against Harry’s hard abs and, god, that’s a lot happening at once.

Wait. No lube.

Harry’s room.

Oh, goddamn it.

He pulls back, as if frightened, and honestly he kind of is. “You don’t have any lube.”

Harry furrows his brow. He silently reaches over to his bedside drawer and produces a bottle of, lo and behold, lube. Cherry flavoured. Louis’ face falls deadpan.

“Oh.”

“Unexpected?” Harry questions, sounding a tad bit snarky. “What did you think? I like guys, but won’t be the one paying for any essentials?”

“Dunno, just.” Louis stares at it like he hasn’t looked it over for consideration several times at the pharmacy. He fucking loves cherries. “Have you tried- yourself?”

“Oh, no,” Harry assures, pops the cap to slick his fingers in Louis’ boxers up. He winks. “Saving it for pretty boys like you.”

Louis punches his arm, but then Harry pushes a finger in. And the thing is, Harry’s fingers feel really, very nice, right? Mostly because they’re not just Louis’ own, probably, but also probably because they’re that perfect amount of length, perfect amount of width, and also the perfect fact he can push a second one inside almost instantaneously and Louis only makes a tiny groaning noise against his neck in protest.

He finds his prostate almost immediately, and Louis lets him know with the way he stutters on a breath then whimpers, cuddles closer to his body. Harry grinds his fingers in and out slowly as Louis mouths helplessly against his neck, and when Harry slides a third finger in alongside them he starts moving his body with Harry’s gentle thrusting, takes him as deep as he’ll go.

His orgasm is nearing just from the slow, dragged-out prepping, but what can he do when the room feels steamy and Harry’s body is warm and hard in every way beneath him, when he grinds his hips and feels Harry’s cock slip over his own each time. He can’t come yet, said he wouldn’t, but also, fuck does he want to.

“I’m gonna come,” he announces in a tiny voice, kind of hopes Harry won’t hear and let him have his orgasm. But Harry, the dickhead, pulls his fingers out.

“Ride me,” he decides, and Louis’ tummy does a flip.

Harry sits up with Louis still straddling him, and he only has to take his cock out of his boxers, slide Louis’ underwear to the side, and suddenly Louis is sinking down on him, head popping in.

And he’s still so fucking hung.

“Oh, fuck,” Louis chokes out, clenching involuntarily around him, as well as clenching his legs with his thighs on either side of Harry’s. “Forgot how big you were, mister.”

“Sorry,” Harry says dumbly, caresses Louis’ cheek. “Forgot how… ah, how amazing you feel. So gorgeous.”

Louis would bite his own lip, all coy and compliant, then he sees Harry’s so perfectly swollen and he leans forward and catches it between his teeth. Harry moans, hips stuttering a bit and Louis loses his balance - and oh, what was that he said about a concoction for disaster? The clumsiest boys on the planet just had Louis fully sit down and suddenly Harry’s balls-deep, his whole thick cock inside him and Louis, Louis feels so full and overwhelmed he just digs his nails into his back wordlessly, can’t quite find the words to speak.

He might draw blood with his teeth, but Harry doesn’t mind, seems to kind of love it actually, so Louis just sucks his sore bottom lip into his mouth before he starts bobbing his body up and down, riding Harry though he’s still so, so tight.

Harry starts moving his hips and Louis pulls away to gasp, everything so close and intimate and feeling so passionate. “Slow, slow…” he whispers, Harry complying with his intense eyes focused on him, reading his expressions. “That’s it. Yeah. Feels good.”

“You like that?” Harry asks huskily, screwing his hips just right.

Louis nods quickly. “Yeah, yeah. Fuck. You’re so good. Go faster.”

Harry speeds up a bit, a gradual build as Louis’ groans and other little noises get more loud and high-strung, his dick slapping his tummy as he bounces in his lap with Harry’s hands on his hips. “Missed you so much,” Harry whispers before he wraps his arms around him, lips meeting again.

Harry meets him halfway, skin slapping together obscenely as Louis grinds his hips over his, kissing hard and almost aggressively. Like there’s some sort of anger element involved. It’s like it’s desperate, hot and heated, and when Harry moves to kiss Louis’ neck, he completely loses it.

“God, oh god,” he whimpers, Harry’s cock brushing past his prostate to then slam into him as deep as he’ll possibly go. “That’s it, don’t stop.”

Harry doesn’t, just keeps going, rougher and faster as Louis bounces on top of him, head thrown back for Harry’s access with his pretty, sinful lips.

Harry slaps his ass again, so hard Louis loses his breath. “Fuck me!” he cries, close to sobbing and really, really close, just in general. “Want it. Want it so bad. More, daddy. Harder.”

Which, he probably shouldn’t have said. But, he did anyway.

And it’s quiet, it’s trying, it’s a in-the-heat-of-the-moment kind of thing. But Harry’s eyes go wide as he picks it up, movements stilling.

And then he’s lifting Louis up from underneath his thighs.

Louis makes a tiny, scared noise as he’s lifted up, carried off and then. He’s pushed against the wall, legs wrapped around Harry’s waist and his arms around his neck, Harry’s strong arms holding him up and his intense eyes still on him. “Again.”

He grabs his dick, somehow able to hold him up with just one hand, thrusts into him, hard, the angle so, so right but the position so rough-- Louis throws his head back against the wall and he comes, and comes, and comes.

He’s basically entered another dimension because everything is blurry and all sounds are muffled out for a bit, but then he hears Harry, bringing him back to reality. “Angel. You’re going to do that again, alright? You’re going to say that, and you’re going to come again.”

“What?” Louis whimpers, dick slack and achy, spent against his stomach. “I- I can’t. I have to wait.”

Harry keeps thrusting into him. “You can, baby. Daddy wants to make you come again.”

Louis, despite everything, feels his dick twitch at that. “Fuck.” He digs his nails into his back, gripping onto something, even if it leaves deep marks for days to come. “Daddy.”

Harry moans and thrusts rougher, more relentlessly. He’s sure to have Louis sore for days but he loves it, never wants it to stop.

“Ahh yes, daddy! I’ll be a good boy,” Louis moans, one hand finding Harry’s hair and tugging hard. Harry bites his neck to muffle out a loud groan. “Harder, please, harder. Make me come again, feel so good in my tight little hole.”

Louis almost can’t believe this. Harry is fucking him against the wall and wants in on Louis’ most secret kink. Is he dreaming? Feels like he might as well be, apart from the pleasure, currently overwhelmingly present and very, very real.

Harry is clearly nearing his own orgasm as well, but seems to be holding it off, trying to make it last as long as he can. “Never want your hole to close up, baby,” he drawls, and Louis might just explode from the inside out. “Want it gaping open from me all the time. Want you walking around all pretty and fucked out, so everyone knows. Knows you’re mine.”

“Yours, daddy,” Louis whines, panting now, scratching along his back and knows he’s leaving red welts in his wake. “Fuck me, you’re so good, so big. Come on, shit, I’m coming again.”

Harry grabs his dick, semi-hard again and so close just from dirty talking, but Harry beats him to it, arches his back and shudders as he comes, filling the condom against Louis’ sensitive prostate. He keeps thrusting though, sloppy and uncoordinated as he tries to jerk Louis off at the same time, and soon enough it washes over Louis, a bit number and more achy but still so hot, spilling over Harry’s hand as he sobs.

Harry’s eyes are still so dark and intense as he slips out of Louis and lets him down on the floor, ever so carefully. Louis grimaces as he closes his legs again and sets his feet on the rug. “Shit.”

Harry wipes a curl from his forehead. “Yeah.” It’s a drawl yet also a sigh, and then he keeps ruffling his hair, like he doesn’t know what else to do. “Wow.”

Louis glances up at Harry, that weird cold feeling in his stomach like he just did something he’s not supposed to, yet also feeling the adrenaline for the exact same reason. “Do we talk about that? Or…”

“Never,” Harry rushes. Then they break out in a weird chuckle, like, it’s kind of awkward, yet also kind of relieved. “No, I… I’ve never…”

“Me neither.” Louis smiles. “Ehm. I liked it, so.”

Harry smiles back. He closes the gap between them. “Me too, baby doll.”

Louis puts his head to his chest, listens to his beating heart. He can’t believe he just came twice. He’s never done that before.

“Kind of lost on the endurance thing, didn’t we?” He turns his head upwards. “That was like, what, ten minutes.”

Harry waggles his eyebrows. “Who said it was over?”

Louis rolls his eyes but, shit, maybe he’s right. Got a few weeks to catch up on. Louis is, after all, still open and loose from Harry. And Harry does, after all, never want him not to be.

That’s good. Great.

Louis will never ever go flaccid again, just from the thought of that fact alone.

So he spins Harry around, pushes him against the wall. He kisses him, Harry’s eyebrows raised high all expectantly, and when Louis sees this he smirks and drops to his knees. “Now daddy can try to come again.”

They both do, eventually (when Louis is pressed down on his stomach on the bed and Harry has his arm wrapped around his throat and one in his hair holding his head up, whispering in his ear about what a good boy he is as he pounds into him), and when Harry’s done adoring how wet and loose he still is, attempting to finger him again though they give it a rest because they’re both too oversensitive - even though he does fit his tongue as well as three fingers which is, possibly, the hottest thing ever - they lie on the bed together, warm and happy, catching their breaths.

Louis’ top has finally come off at this point and is lost under the bed or something (he may have kicked it in there himself) so he takes the liberty to scavenge their wardrobe for one of Harry’s shirts. He finds the perfect one, being perfect because it’s far too big on him so that it covers him up, scooping low over his collarbones and hanging far down his plump thighs, and he doesn’t even put on his boxers as he climbs up to a stunned Harry on the bed. He pulls Louis to his chest and kisses him sweetly, tells him how he’s so pretty and such a princess, and Louis doesn’t even object.

He ends up bringing the shirt home. And once he is home, he changes Harry’s contact name to bf with the same pink flower emoji. Changing it to daddy might be the next step on that journey.

 

 

Zayn comes over when Liam is in the shower and Louis already knows what’s about to happen, because Zayn has the exact same type in men as him without the disadvantage of having known hunky daddy Liam since they were pre-teens with bad haircuts.

“Come on in,” Louis says, holding the door open. “I just need to check a thing on my laptop, then we can leave.”

Zayn shrugs a sure, then steps inside of their room. He’s in his leather jacket and a sheer top, tight jeans with big ripped holes in them. His hair is about 3 steps away from being properly styled.

He looks amazing.

“You dressed up for anyone?” Louis asks over his shoulder as he walks over to his bed.

“Myself,” Zayn answers, obvious. He scratches the back of his shin with his socked foot; who goes outside without shoes on if not this guy? “And for you. For everyone present, you know, because of the construct and norm you can’t go outside without clothes on in our society.”

“How can you blame little old society, Zaynie? We are society.”

Zayn closes the door behind himself. He gapes at Louis.

“Shit, man.” If he had a blunt, he’d hit it. “That’s deep.”

Louis scoffs. “I meant if you were dressed up nicely for anyone in particular?”

Zayn shrugs again, skims through some of Louis’ stray CDs on a chair by the wardrobe. “Thought we could head out, so close to the summer break. Reckon I won’t see you much then.”

Louis pouts and tilts his head. “Saying you’ll miss me, buddy?”

“Saying I’ll need someone to buy chips and curry sauce for me.” He gives him a meaning look. He holds up a mixtape with cute songs written over it. “Thought you didn’t do titles.”

Louis shrugs easily. “I’m a changed man.” He clicks open his email, needing to check a thing from a teacher. “Could have just written Børns’ entire discography and then some, but yeah, you know. Borrow it if you want. It’s good.”

Liam emerges from the shower then, a waft of lemon and like, pine trees, or whatever else rugged men use for shower soap scents, filtering through the air with the layers of steam. His towel hangs low on his hips, his abs having the water run down his v-shape in perfect tendrils over his tanned skin.

Louis can see the moment all air is sucked out of Zayn’s body.

Louis!” Liam scolds immediately, wet soles slapping the floor before he stops to shove an empty bottle of shaving cream in his face. “If we run out we buy more. Did you forget, some-fucking-how?”

Liam is sporting a lovely four day scruff with his dad-upset-with-his-son expression. Oh, it’s all too good. Cue the evil villain laugh track.

Louis smirks innocently and points beside him. “Liam, meet Zayn, that guy I’ve been spending time with.” Liam turns around so quickly he could break the sound barrier. Wow, got that right, the time when everything mattered the most. “Zayn, meet this dickhead.”

They both stare at each other. Is Zayn… blushing? Is… Liam?

“Oh.” Liam reaches a tentative hand out, big and strong in contrast with Zayn’s smaller size. “Hey. Sorry, man.”

Zayn is not available at the moment, please try again later.

“I’m… yeah. I’m Liam. The dickhead. I mean… not, actually a dickhead, I mean, you know, um.”

“He’s saying he has one,” Louis pipes in good-naturedly. “He has a fully functional penis underneath this towel. Speaking of which, maybe we should put some pants on, dear?”

Louis knows exactly what Zayn is feeling at the moment because he’s gone through the same thing, except his was a long-time crush, and they were alone. This is only their grand introduction. First impressions are key. And besides, Louis knows what Liam’s dick looks like, accidentally, once, so why not spread some good reviews while he’s at it?

“I’ll… yeah.” Liam drops his hand by his side. It would be so hilarious if his towel dropped as well. “I’ll do that.”

He turns towards the bathroom.

“Are you coming out with us?” Louis asks, still smiling like nothing’s going on. “We’ll probably head out to the bar or summat, won’t we, Zaynie?”

He doesn’t really expect an answer. And he doesn’t get one either.

“Uh, maybe, we’ll-” Liam stops and points into the bathroom. “Pants. Bye.”

He takes a large step inside and closes the door quickly. Locks it.

Silence.

Louis looks up at Zayn, wide eyes still set on the door.

“Y’alright, dear?” he chirps, closing his laptop. Zayn looks down, the tips of his ears tinted crimson. “Would you like to have Liam tag along? Maybe you two can get… acquainted?”

Zayn swallows hard. This is so out of character for him, it’s kind of hysterical. “I’ll wait outside.” He gestures over Louis’ oversized joggers and Harry’s t-shirt, which he probably doesn’t recognise as Harry’s. “Get dressed.”

Once the front door is closed, and Louis is suddenly alone, he saunters over to Liam’s door and knocks. “Babe?”

Liam peeks his head out, still flustered, still red, still not dressed. “Is he…” he whispers, looks around. “Is he gone?”

Louis puts his hands on his hips. “Liam. Rude!” He scolds him with a finger. “Bad puppy.”

Liam sighs through his nose and steps out. “I didn’t even bring clothes.” He shuffles past Louis and towards the wardrobe. “Can’t get shaved either. Everything is horrible.”

“Are you coming out with us or no?”

Liam turns around with a heap of clothing in his arms. “No.”

He tries to walk past him again, but Louis puts an arm out, almost breaks every bone in it on his damn abs. “Liam. What’s wrong?”

Liam looks down at the ground. “Nothing.” Big puppy eyes, furrowed brow, pouting lips. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Well. Do you know him from before?”

“Not… not really.” Liam looks up towards the wall instead. “Saw him a few times, but uh… never been introduced.”

Louis puts his hands on Liam’s arms, has him look into his eyes. “I’ll make this very simple,” he says. “Do you find him attractive?”

Liam’s eyes go wide. “Of course I find him bloody attractive, can’t you see that with the way I’m actively avoiding him?”

Oh. So maybe this is more of a relatable situation than Louis initially thought. That’s even more hilarious.

Liam suddenly looks like all the colour just drained out of him, though, and he pushes past Louis into the bathroom. Louis won’t be a dick. Only a bit of a dick. Once the door is slammed closed he leans against the it to murmur through the slit.

“We’ll be at the bar. Come by if you want to, or you can stay here and sulk, yeah? We’ll bring Harry and Niall along so you can talk to them as well. It’ll be great, Payno.”

Liam gruffs a reply, so Louis gives it a rest. He walks out to Zayn. He would have felt like a kid meddling between two fighting parents, or Hermione being an owl for Ron and Harry in whatever movie that was, but he’s not going to bring up Liam to Zayn. Oh, no. Only if he asks. That way he knows if he’s interested.

Louis is smart.

“Hey, sorry I’m taking forever,” he says as soon as he’s stuck his head out and he finds Zayn having cranked the window open, sitting smoking on the windowsill with his legs out, which is illegal on so many levels but, whatever. “You could go get Haz and Ni, yeah? I’ll be done by the time you’re back, promise.”

Zayn nods silently, stubs the cigarette out and starts climbing back inside. “And uh…” He looks up through his eyelashes. “Liam?”

Good. Cue evil laugh track again, Louis stroking the white cat in his lap in a sinister way. “We’ll see, man. Maybe.”

He smiles at him and steps back into the room. Now, Louis doesn’t really want to change out of Harry’s shirt, but he also doesn’t want to bring it outside and have it catch other scents than Harry’s. So he changes into his Stone Roses one and some jeans or whatever, then knocks on the bathroom door again.

“What?” Liam cries from the other side.

“Just need to get to the colognes, love,” Louis says gently. “Open up.”

There’s some shuffling around, but then just silence. Louis puts his forehead against the door.

“Did you die?”

“No, just.” Pause. “Busy.”

“I’ll be quick, though. I’ll grab what I need then get out.”

Still nothing, though. Okay. What the hell is he doing in there?

Louis taps his fingers against the wood. “Well you’re not getting off, are you?”

Silence.

“Are you-” He tugs on the handle. “Liam!

“Fucking alright! Lemme get dressed, then!”

Louis pulls back, scandalized, as he hears Liam get up and shuffle about. He gets out of the bathroom, first staring wild-eyed at Louis, a hoodie bunched in his hand in front of his crotch. Then he promptly adverts his eyes and walks towards his bed.

Louis turns after him, all the way until Liam has thrown himself on the bed, head first. “I can’t believe this shit. Who the hell were you then, being my fucking therapist?” Louis exclaims. “It’s you that proper fucking fancies Zayn!”

“I don’t,” Liam groans into his pillow. He kicks his legs, frustrated. “I don’t like guys.”

“Explain your boner then, fuckhead,” Louis spits, gets one of Liam’s shirts off the floor and throws it at him. Liam cries out in defeat. “Are you still seeing your girl-friend?”

“We weren’t working out,” Liam explains, voice smaller, sadder. “But I’m not gonna be seeing Zayn because of that. Go away.”

Louis rolls his eyes. He’s not dealing with this. He’s going out. “Fuck it. Alright, then. Sulk.” He quickly goes in and sprays his favourite perfume. “We’ll be at the bar if you need us. Leave the door unlocked.”

He leaves, stomping out towards Harry and Niall’s room.

Once he sees Harry outside though, all beautiful and like a midsummer’s day or whatever other shit like that, all his anger simmers out and is replaced with butterflies in his tummy. Serene calm mixed with wow he’s so hot and he’s my boyfriend and I can touch however much I want.

So he sprints. Sprints down the hall and Harry only just barely has time to turn his head to look at him before Louis has jumped up and wrapped himself around his body. Harry catches him, thankfully, because he’s good at that thing isn’t he, with his hands under his thighs as Louis’ legs stay snaked around his hips and his arms wrapped around his neck. Then they stare at each other, Louis’ grin splitting his face in two.

Niall breaks the stunned silence first, breaking out into laughter. Zayn laughs too, and Harry might just be blushing a bit when he’s letting Louis’ down, because maybe it resembles their wall sex position from the other day a little bit too much for anyone’s liking when they’re around people, but hey, Louis was just being romantic.

He stands on his toes, lifts one leg all cutely behind himself as he pecks Harry’s lips, Harry’s large hands resting on the curves on his waist now. “Hello, dear,” he chirps, and Harry licks his lips, still wide-eyed. “Looking awfully dapper today.”

Harry eyes him up and down, ridiculously attractively. It feels really good to be looked at like that. Like being desired.

He leans in to whisper into his hair. “I can’t say what I’m thinking with people around.”

He stands back up, but Louis tugs him back down by his faded Pink Floyd shirt, sleeves rolled up. “Show me it, then.”

Harry meets the kiss open-mouthed. Sounds of disgust come from Zayn and Niall’s direction, but Louis doesn’t care because he’s kissing Harry right now and that’s all that ever mattered, if you ask him.

“Ready to leave?” he murmurs to Harry when they’re mere inches apart. Harry nods and they kiss again, a bit more haste, then Louis turns to Niall. “You too, Nialler?”

“Me too what?” Niall screeches, hand on his chest. “I don’t want a greeting kiss, thanks man.”

“What? I said- oh my god.” Louis buries his face in his hands. “I said are you ready to leave? What the fuck?”

“Oh, shit,” Niall breaths, fans his face. “Got me worried for a second, bro. I told you I’m straight, like…”

Louis rolls his eyes out of his fucking skull. “Just because of that cliché you’re getting some. C’mere!”

Louis reaches over and grabs Niall’s face, pulls him in close as Niall holds his arms up and scrunches his face up in fear until he’s rendered unkissable, but Louis still manages to tilt his head and leave a petty, dry peck on his forehead. He releases him and Niall falls back into the wall, making fake gagging noises as Zayn giggles beside them, biting his tongue.

“You too, bud?” Louis asks and spreads his arms out as if to hug him, and Zayn just shoves his hands into his pockets.

“No.”

Louis lets his arms fall. “Oh.” He shrugs easily. “Okay.”

Hey!” Niall screeches again, making Zayn giggle, again. Why can’t they be hopelessly in love instead? Louis would ship that so hard. “That’s it. I’m leaving.”

He stomps off and Zayn laughs loudly before catching up to him, looking over his shoulder to wave Louis and Harry over.

Louis turns around to Harry with a huge grin on his face but, oh. Harry’s expression is flat, eyes dark. His hands are balled into fists, thumbs rubbing his index fingers, like he’s holding back.

Harry is angry. No, that’s not it, is it? Harry is jealous. Harry’s being possessive.

“Hey,” Louis tries, takes a step closer. “It was a joke, yeah? He’s my friend. He’s your friend too, if you forgot.”

Harry clenches his jaw. Walks away.

And Louis is just so sick of people and their attitudes!

He jogs to catch up to him, trailing a few steps behind the other two, who are talking loudly so they their conversation can go unheard. “Babe.” He tries grabbing his hand, ends up just holding his wrist. “Kiss it better?”

“Not when you taste like someone else.”

Louis stops abruptly. His wrist slips out of his grip. “I barely touched him!” he whisper-screams, catches up to his side again. “You live with him!”

Harry sighs, but his shoulders still seem tense. “Fuck it, whatever.” He relaxes his hands, grabs Louis’. “It’s fine. Ignore me.”

Louis squeezes his hand hard. “That’s not how it works. Don’t think your problems and thoughts aren’t valid, just…” He sighs. “Yeah. I don’t know. Just talk to me, you know?”

“I know it’s stupid, though,” Harry says. “I told you, I can’t expect to control your life. I don’t want that either. Just, like. Let me get over it by myself, because it’s stupid, but I can’t control what like, emotions I feel.”

Louis hums. Whatever. Fair enough. Isn’t marriage counseling just great?

“And I love you.”

A weight drops in Louis’ belly. Did he really just- “What?”

Harry’s staring straight ahead. He shakes his head. He looks less uptight, though. “Was nothin’.”

They’ve reached the exit then, and he holds the door open for Louis as they leave. Louis doesn’t push the matter. All he knows is if Harry loves him, then Louis loves him back.

(And even if he doesn’t, Louis still fucking loves him, goddammit.)

They get to the bar in one piece, get a booth, get chips, start working on getting hammered. Harry gets adorable tropical drinks and Louis does his best to get all the colours he doesn’t for his own, steals his tiny umbrellas to put behind everyone’s ears, and maybe it’s been one or two too many at that point but Louis loves how soft and pliant Harry gets, when his eyes go glittery and his cheeks get dusted with a constant shade of pink.

Later in the evening, when they’ve had a few drinks each, when the bar is playing Grouplove’s Tongue Tied for like the third time and Louis is leaning practically his whole weight into Harry, a familiar shape saunters in through the door. Niall is busy trying to make Zayn laugh again, so neither of them notice as Liam walks in, Louis, Harry and him exchanging big smiles as they spot each other across the crowded, dimly lit space and he comes up to their table, takes a chair. Spots Zayn. Freezes.

Did he forget about his existence? It’s been like two hours tops. Imagine that. Maybe Louis should symptom-check him for Alzheimer’s one of these days.

Or, maybe, maybe Liam just truly feels the same way Louis does about Harry. Or rather, how Harry does about Louis. Because when Zayn looks up from Niall, his face falls and his eyes go big like saucers, lips parted in shock and probably a billion other things Louis doesn’t want to imagine his mate being involved with.

And that’s just about how Louis feels when he looks at his man, so. Relatable, and all that.

“Hey, guys,” Liam says, eyes still on Zayn. “Sorry I’m… late.”

“Glad you could make it!” Niall cheers, patting his shoulder like he’s trying to get him to cough up something he’s choking on. Maybe if he’d pat a little harder he’d cough up his heart. Maybe it’d run straight to Zayn. “Get yourself a drink, man.”

The night goes on with some more bants, some more awkward stares. Some Harry feeling Louis up under the table, some Louis keening and whispering “daddy” into his hair under the music. Some disappearing into the bathroom to make out. When they’re back though, Zayn and Liam are gone, and Niall is off talking to some girl at the bar. They decide to call it a night, texts Niall to let him know and also wish him good luck with a few too many winky faces, then they stumble home.

They end up in Harry’s room, because Niall is hopefully not sleeping in his own bed tonight. Louis wants to try choking so, so badly but Harry slurs something about not doing it when they can’t see straight and they have proper, normal, missionary sex, save from the red lipstick Harry digs up from his makeup bag and puts on Louis’ swollen lips, tells him he’s pretty and Louis really, really feels it. Harry finishes before him then fingers him quick and hard with three fingers, Louis’ mouth occupied with two of the fingers from his other hand, staining them as they muffle out the sound of his whines and moans into the 3am air.

He falls asleep in bed with him.

When he wakes up, it’s to golden sunlight spilling over his face. He feels gross and sticky, maybe from a spilled drink, maybe cum. Probably sweat. Harry’s body is pressed to his back, an arm slung over his waist, his leg draped over his. Morning wood pressing into his bum.

Enticing, but, Louis might have to pass this time.

He somehow untangles himself from Harry’s long giraffe-limbs, finds one of his shirts on the floor and pulls it on, finds his pajama pants then washes his face. He goes home to his own room.

Thankfully, thankfully Liam is there. He jerks awake when Louis opens the door.

He sits up, hair pointing in a dozen different directions, eyes big and swollen. “Oh.” He closes his eyes again. Then scrunches them shut, then balls his fists into them. “Fuck. Ow.”

“Morning, love,” Louis murmurs, throws himself into his own bed. “Had a good night?”

Liam opens his eyes wide again. Then he lies down in bed, just staring up at the ceiling.

Louis furrows his brow. “Yeah, don’t you just hate when friends try to strike up a friendly conversation with you? When they ask about your well being and stuff. Terrible, such bad etiquette.”

“That’s not…” Liam flops his arms out. “It was fine. Yeah. Had an alright time.”

“So where did you and Zayn disappear off to?”

Liam wrenches his head to the side. “What did you see?”

“Woah there, pal,” Louis scoffs with his hands up in defence. “Didn’t see anything, but now that you’ve assured me something indeed happened, maybe you want to share that with me?”

Liam grits his teeth. He’s holding the duvet tightly up to his chin. “Nothing happened.” Shakes his head. “Nada.”

Louis glares at him. Yeah, that one. Class 2 warning, no survivors. It always wins.

“I swear. Didn’t talk to him. Didn’t see him. Not at all.”

Louis arches an eyebrow. “And what if I say I’ll tell Zayn your deepest, darkest secret?”

Liam flips over to stare at him. “Which one?”

“Wouldn’t you like to find out?”

He swallows hard. He looks a bit like he’s about to throw up. “We jerked each other off in the loo. Fooled around, kissed a bit. He finished before me and sucked me off the rest. Left without saying anything and I washed my hands before I went too. I’m not gay, Louis.”

Louis breaks out into a grin. He’s so amused. “Didn’t say you were.”

Liam looks straight into the wall then. Must look interesting, white and plain. Is he sweating a bit as well?

Louis curls up, speaks dreamily. “Spit or swallow, then?”

Liam clenches his jaw and closes his eyes. “Spat in the sink.”

Louis nods once. Hums in wonder. “Good lad.”

Liam wrenches over, stares at him across the room. “You think this is funny?”

“Yeah,” Louis concludes, easily. “Yeah, I kinda fucking do, Payno. Because you’re the straightest guy I know yet you’re in love with a guy.”

“I’m not-”

“Oh, but not just any guy,” Louis mows on. “Zayn, the most wonderful of guys, the biggest bottom here if I didn’t already conquer the local crown. You’ve made a good choice, Li. Just wondering, when will you ask me for my son’s hand? Today? Or tomorrow?”

Liam blinks stupidly. Maybe the colour is coming back to him a bit. Tan, gorgeous hunk; honestly, if him and Zayn biologically could make babies, they’d all be models. “You think?”

“Babe, I know,” says Louis. “And he’s totally into you. It’s kind of hard to miss, yeah?”

Liam hums. He turns back to look up into the ceiling again. “Christ, Tommo. What would you do if you were in my position?”

“Besides lose the beard?” Liam glares at him. “Kidding. I’d text him. See if he wants to hang out, could be just casual in here, like, I’ll leave you be, man, promise.”

Liam stays silent. Louis, an avid gossip-enthusiast, can’t help but ask.

“You’ve liked him for a while, haven’t you?”

Liam nods. It’s kind of sad. “Yeah.” Then he sighs, and it’s oh so sad. “You could say that.”

“So why’d you date that bird?”

“Because I’m not-”

“You’re not bloody gay, I got that, Liam. I got it the first time and I got it the 32nd time. Doesn’t mean bisexuality isn’t a thing. Pansexuality. Do you even enjoy sex? Have you considered homoromantic asexuality?”

Liam doesn’t answer. Louis shrugs, which is kind of awkward lying down.

“Just checking.”

“I just- I don’t know. I’ve never felt like that about a guy before. Like.” Liam seems to try to stop himself, but then it’s like he just goes, fuck it. Slams his fist on the big red button to start the presses. “Like I get nervous whenever I see him in a room with me. Not like in a scared way, just like- that my heart just goes crazy and I can’t really look at him, but at the same time I can’t look at him enough? Or can’t stop looking at all. And if he looks back, then it’s like everything just, sort of, like. Boom.” Hand motions. “Explodes.” Gestures of Liam’s entire being trickling to the ground, popped like a balloon. Blown to smithereens. Relatable. “Like- I can’t explain it. It’s stupid. What am I talking about?”

“Keep going.”

Liam takes a sharp breath. “And he’s so gorgeous too, like? I’ve never seen someone so gorgeous, bloody hell. It’s like it doesn’t even matter he’s a guy. I want to be with him, for him, not for his gender, or something. I wish I could like kiss him, like all the time, whether there’s people watching or not but I’m scared, because it doesn’t feel like me, because I’m not- yeah. I’m not gay. But I really, really like him. So that’s weird. I guess, he’s the only exception, really.”

“Strong Paramore reference.”

“Been listening to it a lot,” he admits sheepishly. “I was so mad you were friends with him, honestly. Not because I’m jealous because like, I have dibs on you being my best mate, or something - well I do, but. It was just because I couldn’t believe you were actually talking to him, like actually getting to spend time with him, and I wasn’t. Because I was scared and an idiot and a proper homophobe towards my-fucking-self.”

“You’re not-” Louis tilts his head from side to side. “Well. You are an idiot.” Liam snorts. “But you’re sweet about it. Love, did you notice all those feelings you put words to just now? Put that into a text to the poor lad. He wanted whatever happened last night, yeah? Otherwise he wouldn’t have done it. I know him, he wouldn’t have gone through with it. Zayn is an introvert at the best of times. He must like you. So…” He raises his brows and opens his hands in an this-is-so-stupidly-obvious gesture. “Go to his place. His roommate’s pretty much always out, or summat. You can hang.”

There’s silence for a while, then Liam says: “Yeah.” He nods, pressing his lips together. “Yeah. I will.”

And that kind of certainty feels really good to hear.

Louis must fall back asleep at some point after that, content like a kitten napping in sunlight, because when he opens his eyes again Liam is gone, Zayn having texted him he hopes he got home safe and how he’ll be busy today. He knows what that means and it’s very exciting as well as hilarious.

Louis nurses his hangover with coconut water and The Beatles, and Harry texting as well as photo documenting his live reactions to like his thirtieth re-watch of Love, Actually in between heart emojis and “I love you”s.

It’s a good enough day after all.

 

 

The takeoff feels like that last kick of the pedal on your bike, when you were a kid and you were about to come soaring down a steep hill. When you’d pedalled your way up to the top just to feel that momentary sensation of floating through air in absolute, utmost freedom.

The anticipation is tight, like electricity in the air and Louis feels it in his stomach, a pull of nervosity weighing him down a bit, if he’s honest. But Harry’s hand is big and sturdy and it’s holding his and Louis knows he’s keeping him safe. There’s lots of people around, people of all ages, sizes, colours, genders. Some people have signs, about feminism and equality. Some are about how love is love and how that’s all that we need. There’s glitter, wigs, holographic heels, neon dresses and large, genuine smiles. There’s all the colours of the rainbow, matched together or painted in stripes, held up in the air or draped across proud shoulders.

The takeoff feels like crossing that hill, when you’ve worked so hard to get there, to reach the top, and then you’re finally there and it’s finally time to go. To feel the adrenaline. Two people at the front of the train of people scream into megaphones, and suddenly they’re off, stomping down the street and chanting with their slogans. People dance around Louis, press into him smiling, and all he can do is smile back, smile until his face is aching because he's truly never felt so free, yet at the same time so involved. Like they’re all one big, enclosed bubble, safe and protected, free from worries but with all the love in the world bouncing between them. It’s a new feeling, and it’s a lot to get used to. After all, he’s never been to a pride parade before.

When he looks up at Harry he seems just as ecstatic. He’s painted by Louis with gorgeous lashes and cateye liner, his favourite colour lipstick and glitter, glitter fuckin’ everywhere. The little speckles reflect in the sun and shimmer in green and blue. On his cheek, much like on Louis own’, there’s a small rainbow painted, one which Zayn did himself and matched it on his and Liam’s faces as well.

Beside Louis, Zayn looks absolutely mesmerized as he walks pressed against Liam’s side, like he’s scared to get lost. But Louis sees that glint of absolute happy content shining from within him and how his arms grip Liam like he’s not afraid to, like they belong together. Liam holds a protective arm around Zayn’s narrow shoulders, scanning the area with equal amounts uncertainty and fascination, because he’s not gay, but maybe just a little curious. Maybe a lot curious. Maybe he watched Beautiful Thing for another reason than just educating himself for Louis, after all.

But Harry, Louis’ beautiful Harry, just absolutely looks to be in his own true nature, smiling widely and chanting along to the roar of the crowd as they parade down the street, and Louis can’t help himself, really can’t keep it in any longer. He tugs Harry down and stands on his toes for a second to not disturb the walking rhythm, murmurs into his ear so it’s audible for him only: “I love you.”

Harry looks down, green eyes wide and happy. He kisses him quickly, murmurs back. “I know.”

Louis gapes, slaps him, and Harry laughs.

“I love you too, Lou,” he’s quick to add. “But I think you knew that already as well.”

Louis shrugs. “Figured. A little birdie called The Ronettes had me know before you slipped up yourself.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry drawls, then starts singing, eyes set on Louis. “Oh, since the day I saw you, I have been waiting for you. You know I will adore you ‘til eternity.”

Louis squeezes his hand. He leans into his body, murmur-sings into his shoulder. “I wanna be adored...”

It’s reminiscing their first mixtape, really; the one Louis made about Harry’s devastatingly perfect lips, the one entitled merely with crosses. Those perfect lips he’d thought he’d never get to kiss, the ones he can now just turn his head slightly to get to catch. Whenever and wherever he wants, Harry is equal parts his and Louis is equal parts Harry’s. Funny how things work out, really.

They continue like that, both pairs pressed tightly together because that’s how it’s meant to be, Louis thinks. Even though it’s summer now, even though they won’t see each other for some weeks while away from uni, Louis knows they’ll return to this once august rolls around, like a tape put on pause. Just add a little bit of second year stress, a bit of a golden retriever for an Irishman. It’s all gonna be amazing.

 

 

“Greedy. Say you’re sorry.”

Louis doesn’t. Wires his mouth shut instead.

Harry spanks him again, hard, so hard that Louis winces and cries out with his ass red and raw. He’s so sure at this point the shape of Harry’s hand is forever imprinted in his skin.

“Are you counting?”

“Eleven,” Louis chokes out. “Daddy.”

“None of that. Apologise for being bad and daddy might kiss it better.”

Louis jiggles around, lying across Harry’s lap with his wrists tied behind his back with one of Harry’s headscarves. They’re in Harry’s room, back in Holmes Chapel, because summer is really long and Louis really missed his boyfriend and decided to come visit, though his boyfriend soon enough decided it was time to play.

Louis bites the sheets, tears threatening the corners of his eyes. He won’t give in. Not yet.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” Harry spanks him, harder, and Louis wails before he breaks out sobbing but his dick is still so hard, swollen where it’s trapped against Harry’s strong thigh, craving another scolding immediately. “So why are you looking at other people?”

“Wasn’t,” Louis whines, not wanting to think about that guy that came up to him earlier in the evening at the pub when he’s got Harry underneath, above and soon enough inside of him. He wanted to buy him a drink or something, was it? But how should he remember, really, how is he expected to bloody remember when he was focusing his entire being on Harry’s intense eyes from the other side of the room? “Was just talking.”

“You were showing off, weren’t you?” Harry seethes, that in-control anger seeping through each word. “Maybe we should get him to join in, have you suck my dick while he fingers you, yeah? Or would you like it the other way around?” He spanks him again and Louis only cries harder. “Yeah? Would you like me to fuck you while he fucks your mouth? Have both your holes full?” Another spank, Louis’ voice going hoarse by now. “How many, baby?”

“Fourteen,” he sobs. “Please, daddy, I’m so hard.”

“You like when you’re called a slut, don’t you? Maybe you want both of us at the same time, hm?” Louis expects another slap, instead Harry’s hand roams his ass. He soothes it, with the cold, soft sensation of his gentle palms. “Both of our dicks stretching you. Wouldn’t you like that? Would keep you open for days, baby.”

“Only for you, daddy,” Louis whimpers, near breathless. “Only want you.”

“And how can I believe that?” He cups his ass, still gently and carefully. “Look at that. How many did you owe me, baby?”

“Fifteen.”

“And how many orgasms?”

Louis screws his eyes shut. “Three.”

His fingers tap the top of his bum contemplatively. “That’s right.” He caresses a cheek again, burning hot against his cold hand. Then out of the blue comes the final rap of his hand, the sound about as sharp as the pain, and Louis screams into the sheets, dick leaking and trobbing against Harry’s thigh now. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? Will you let me get that now? Let daddy see you come three times for me?”

“Yes, daddy,” Louis wheezes lightly, voice broken and nearly gone. “Love you, daddy.”

“Love you too, baby,” Harry murmurs, a tiny glimpse of reassurance. It’s the calm before the storm because then he’s pulling him up by his hair, Louis gasping loudly. “So why would you go and hurt me like that?”

He pushes his middle and ring finger of his other hand past Louis’ open lips, stopping him from being able to answer. Louis immediately wraps his lips around them.

“Suck,” Harry instructs, so Louis does, gathers spit to slick them up and moans obscenely, eyes fluttering shut. “No lube for baby today. Get them nice and wet.”

Louis scissors his tongue between his fingers before Harry starts thrusting them in and out, having him gag on them. He sputters but keep sucking, moaning as if it was Harry’s cock hitting the back of his throat. Harry pulls them out with a pop and Louis gasps, spit dripping down his chin, running down his chest.

Harry moves his hand back to his ass, slowly slides one of them in. Louis emits a long, broken moan as he quivers a bit, struggling to keep the position. “Oh, fuck, daddy.”

“Doing good, baby,” Harry murmurs, sliding the next one in beside it, in all the way so very slowly not to hurt him. Though, he’s still a bit open from before. They’ve been playing a lot. “Whose ass is this?”

“Huh?” Louis questions, voice sounding as hazy as his mind is.

“I said, whose ass is this?” Harry asks louder, starting to move his fingers. He curls them, and Louis draws a sharp breath.

“Yours, yours!” Louis chants as Harry speeds up more, pumping his fingers quickly and harshly into him. “Please, daddy, I’m yours.”

“Mine,” Harry confirms gruffly, stretching his ass as he scissors his fingers. Louis squeals as he keeps hitting that sweet spot within him roughly, wet sounds coming from the fast pace before he’s pulling his fingers out sharply. He lets go of Louis’ hair as Louis makes a displeased noise, limp body jerking back to lying bent over his knees again. “On your back.”

Louis scrambles out of his lap on shaky legs, moving to lie down on the bed instead. Harry’s immediately towering up between his thighs, waiting for him to settle before he’s reaching for his hair again and pulling him up so he’s leaning on his elbows, wrists still trapped and tied just behind the bend of his back.

“Need you to watch this,” he explains, kneeling on the bed and lining himself up. “Keep count. Three, remember?”

“Yeah,” Louis murmurs, watching as Harry presses his cockhead against his entrance, his dick twitching against his tummy. His arms already ache from trying to hold the position and he’s so overly ready for his release, for Harry to thrust into him raw. “Fuck.”

“Doing so well, baby,” Harry praises in a softer voice, pushing himself in slowly as Louis grimaces through the discomfort. “Want you always. Hate it when you’re with anyone else. Want to just be fucking your tight little ass all the time.”

“Want that too,” Louis breathes, watching gaping at how Harry’s big, thick cock somehow slips into him so easily now. At this point it’s as if they were made for each other. “Mm, fuck. Want it hard.”

“I set the pace,” Harry informs, gripping tighter around his hair. “You don’t speak unless you’re spoken to, alright?”

Louis bites his lip, nods slowly.

Harry smiles gently. “You can answer that, love.”

“Okay,” Louis replies quietly, eyes set on Harry’s cock sliding into him. “Thank you, daddy.”

“You okay?” Harry asks him, balls-deep now. “Green light, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. Really. Love this so much.”

Harry grins. “Well, I’m glad.” He leans down to peck his lips, but Louis leans up after him after he’s pulled away, open lips seeking more contact immediately pouting. “Praise comes after, babe.”

Louis pouts more. “Am I doing good, though?”

“Yeah. Yeah, babe.” Harry looks down at his dick in him, circles his thumb across his thigh. “So good. Ready to keep going?”

“Mm, yeah. Slow.” Harry pulls out and Louis can’t help but clench around him, making Harry bite his lips and furrow his brow, choking back a sudden moan. “Shit. No, faster. Can’t stand this. Want you so bad.”

“Indecisive, love?” Harry mocks. He starts thrusting back in, Louis groaning loudly. Harry’s eyes set on his face, and Louis loves how intoxicated he looks when they play like this, when his pupils are big and it’s like he can only see Louis. “Love the sounds you make. Sound so pretty.”

“Only you make me sound like that,” Louis admits. His legs are quivering, arms pins and needles, but the pain makes the pleasure so much better. “Make me feel so good.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes. “Same.”

He works in a pace, knows by now what Louis likes as well as Louis knows about Harry. Louis is biting his lip, whole body shuddering with the effort of trying to hold himself up, Harry holding his hair so that all he can look at is how he tears into him repeatedly.

Louis starts whimpering against his closed lips, and he feels Harry caress his cheek with his thumb. “Speak, baby. Starting to feel good?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, flicking his eyes up at Harry. “So good. Keep doing that, please, daddy.”

“You wanna lie down?” he asks him, not genuine but rather patronizing. “Change the angle, yeah? Maybe I’ll fuck you with your face into the pillow? Press it down, choke you out a bit?”

Louis’ eyes flutter shut. “Daddy.”

“Or against the window.” He opens his eyes again, follows Harry’s gaze to his window with the pink evening light spilling in. “Show you off. Show everyone what I’ve got.”

“Keep me to yourself,” Louis murmurs, even though his dick twitches at the thought and he just knows Harry noticed. “Don’t want to share.”

“I’m not convinced,” Harry drawls, hungry eyes on his dick curving towards his tummy. He takes the index finger of his free hand and draws a line from his balls to his tip, and Louis gasps, legs involuntarily trying to squeeze shut around Harry. It ends with a flick on the head and Louis groans, desperate, feeling so, so light headed from being so, so turned on and ready for a proper touch. “Maybe I should let you come untouched, just this first time. See how long it’ll take you.”

Daddy.

“Are you complaining?” Harry scolds, tugging on Louis hair hard, making him yelp. “Watch, baby. Look at yourself.” Louis looks. Fuck. “I’ll speed up, yeah? That what you want, isn’t it? Fast and rough like a proper slut?”

He speeds up without waiting for an answer and Louis squeals, nails digging crescent shapes into both palms of his bound wrists, Harry somehow having located his prostate within seconds. “Yes!” he whines, mouth open and wet, just wanting to put it on something so badly. “Fuck, yes, like that. Please, god, oh god.”

“Just Harry’s fine,” Harry grins, though it’s strained, fighting his orgasm. “Come on, baby. Come on.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis breathes, feels like he’s overwhelmed, like he’s disappearing off somewhere. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He hasn’t ever felt like this without his dick even being touched. Like he’s swimming between consciousness and his reality whiting out around the edges, like all he can feel is pleasure and suddenly he’s struck with it all, a pang in his belly and a headrush so strong he might as well have passed out.

He’s not sure if he makes noise until he’s breathless or if he stops breathing altogether.

When he opens his eyes again, however, his tummy is covered in cum and Harry’s swollen cock is slipping out of him. His words echo around his head: “Well done, baby.”

Harry gently lets go of his hair, takes a hold of his shoulders and lets him down slowly, slowly on the bed. His arms are still caught uncomfortably behind his back but it still feels like such a relief, finally relaxing as he stares at the ceiling and catches his breath, wondering if this is what dissociation feels like. Maybe it’s just subspace.

“You did so well,” Harry continues, that soft, dark voice Louis adores, “just as daddy said. I’m so proud of you, Lou. You’re amazing.”

He climbs up next to him, loops an arm around him and pulls him in close. He leaves gentle kisses up Louis’ neck, making him smile even though he’s exhausted and doesn’t quite know how his muscles are even responding. He reaches his mouth and Louis kisses back, though still dazed, still blissfully soft and a little coy.

Harry leans back on his elbow, strokes a sweaty strand of hair out of his face. Louis feels he must be looking up at Harry like he’s just fallen off his skateboard and hit his head (which is a strange analogy but he knows that look really well because Zayn did it once, on grass, thank heavens, but he slurred the funniest shit about like how he’d want Louis to kiss it better but he’d rather he called Liam to come pick him up).

Or maybe he’s just looking at him like Harry hung the moon. Looking at him like in The Time Traveler’s Wife, when she finally gets to meet him, the man she’s been in love with her whole life as she’s finally caught up to him in real time.

Just… somewhere in between knocked out, and so in love it hurts.

“Can you come back to me, please?”

“I am back,” Louis assures, tries to sound sassy but can’t quite muster it. Instead he sounds just as gone, just as dreamy. “Shit. Thank you. I’ve, like- I’ve never-”

“I know,” Harry smiles, kisses his temple so that Louis scrunches his nose up. “That was so amazing of you, honest. So hot.”

Louis glances down at Harry’s cock, red and swollen and with the condom still wrapped around it, begging for attention. “You didn’t even come.”

Harry smirks. Mischievous son of a bitch. “Was holding off.” He grabs the base of his cock for emphasis. “I believe you’ve got two more to give me, wherever that came from.”

If Louis didn’t love him so much, he might have actually punched him.

“Harry. Babe. You honestly expect me to-”

“Yes,” Harry interrupts. “I do.”

So. That’s final, then.

Louis is always up for a challenge.

“How do you want me then?” he asks, and Harry’s eyes are just so intense. He loves having his full attention.

“In every way,” Harry responds, steals another kiss. “Can’t decide. How do you want me?”

Louis bites his lip. He shifts a bit, uncomfortable in the position. “Want to feel your cum inside me.”

Harry smirks. “Wanna give me a blowjov?”

“No.” His eyes drift down. “Want you to take the condom off and fuck me.”

Harry’s face drops though, to a concerned half-frown. “Babe.”

“I know,” Louis starts, “I just…” He arches his back a bit, already a bit turned on again. “I want it. Want you.”

“It’s dangerous,” Harry informs gravely, tucking more loose strands of hair behind Louis’ ear lovingly. “We can get tested, both of us go in. As soon as possible. Then we can do it, yeah?”

Louis sighs. Suppose he could wait. “Alright.”

“Impatient?” Harry pokes his cheek when he pouts, making him smile instead. “Want to suck me off then?”

“Fuck my mouth,” Louis breathes as Harry gets up. He hoists him back to a sitting position by his shoulders. “Ah,” he whimpers, “daddy.”

“On your knees, baby. On the floor.” Harry helps him scramble off the bed and onto the floor in front of him. “Don’t be greedy.”

“I won’t.”

He settles on his knees, eyes about lined up with Harry’s tummy. Or maybe rather, his abs. Gorgeous, gorgeous boy.

“Hey.” Harry grabs his chin and turns his head up. “How about you ride that dildo while you blow me? Keep you nice and open?”

Louis’ eyes widen. “Yeah.” His mouth opens and closes, already hard again, at a loss for words. Thinking about all the ways he can have Harry and knows that all those ways will come true, sooner or later. “Sure, yes.”

“I’ll get it for you, love.”

They’re in Harry’s room, so it’s the dildo Harry got him as a gift when he came to visit three days ago. Which means it’s the glitter speckled pink one, the one with the suction cup that might in fact come very much in handy.

Harry pulls it out from its neat pink bag Louis stuffed into his rucksack and walks back, proper saunters, like a villain. Like he wants to tear Louis apart.

He crouches next to Louis and Louis draws a sharp breath, eyes set straight ahead as he feels Harry’s presence next to him, his breaths on his skin, eyes roaming his naked body.

Then he sets the dildo down, and Louis makes a hiccupy noise in surprise. “Sit.”

Louis shuffles about until he’s got his thighs placed on either side of it, then glances up at Harry with pleading eyes. “Lube?”

“Why don’t you spit on it?”

He nods, spits down until the wetness is running down its sides, then moves back and positions himself. He tries to bite back whimpers as he sinks down but then Harry’s stood in front of him again, wrenching his head up and his mouth falls agape, moaning as he sits on the dildo.

“Good boy,” Harry murmurs, caresses Louis’ cheek with his thumb then runs it over his red and swollen bottom lip. “Doing so well. Want me now?”

“Always,” Louis murmurs, opens his mouth more so Harry can put his cockhead to his lip, slide it over it, smearing precum. Louis moans and whimpers all at the same time.

He’s desperate to start moving, to start getting off again, but instead just gets the teasing stretching feeling, unable to move until either Harry starts fucking his mouth or tells him to move, whichever comes first. He does love Harry dirtying him down, though. Painting him with his precum, claiming him. Louis always loves that. He loves always belonging to Harry.

“Want to move, baby?” Harry murmurs, like he can read minds. “Want to come again?”

Louis can’t answer, so he darts his tongue out to his cockhead, trying. Harry doesn’t stop him so he continues, swirls it around his tip as they maintain eye contact, burning cigarette holes in each other with the intensity. It’s always been like that, hasn’t it? Like they were always meant to end up like this.

“Want to taste me, yeah?” Harry continues, voice even more gruff. “Keep doing that. You can move.”

Louis’ eyes flutter shut, relieved to start moving on the dildo. It’s not as good as Harry’s dick - not as big either, mind - but it fills him up nicely and he happily takes Harry properly into his mouth, muffling his moan. His eyes only open when he hears Harry shuffle close, hands in his hair.

“Bouncing so prettily.” He thrusts gently into his mouth, Louis tongue gliding underneath his cock. “Can you take me? Want it?”

Louis moans approvingly, trying hard to convey that yes, god yes, I want you so much all the time, and it must come off as something at least vaguely close to that because Harry starts moving more. And then, so does Louis.

Finding the rhythm is weird, if not awkward. But Louis lets Harry come first, figuratively; he moves less to let him move more, because if not for the whole daddy-is-in-charge aspect, his poor boyfriend hasn’t come yet. And it’s showing. He looks focused, a bit strained, fucking down Louis’s throat with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

But when Harry pinches Louis’ nose - like he’s done before, of course he has and Louis is still jacking off to the memory - is when Louis sees fucking stars. His eyes go wide looking up at Harry, and some-fucking-how he finds just right on the dildo and stops moving then, pressing right onto that spot that makes his whole body feel on fire.

Harry comes first. Literally.

He throws his head back, looking so, so gorgeous as he spills down Louis’ throat, and he comes back to reality at just the right time to let go of Louis’ nose and pull out to not have Louis start turning blue or something. Cum spills down his chin and chest as he sputters, heaving ragged breaths.

“God,” Harry gasps. He drops to his knees and grabs Louis’ dick, immediately jerking him off as Louis moans, leans his forehead against his shoulder. Harry kisses down his neck, runs his fingers down his back. “Yeah, baby. So good. Come for me, you can. I’ve got you.”

Louis bites his shoulder and grinds on the dildo slightly, squeezes his eyes shut and has Harry jerk him off for a few more seconds with that glorious, talented hand before he’s coming, shooting into his cupped palm as he thumbs over his head.

“You did it, Lou, babe,” Harry murmurs, kisses his cheek. “Twice for me. I’m so proud.”

“Thank you,” Louis gasps, looks down at himself; back-tied and stuffed with a dildo, cum drying on his chest with Harry’s hand still on his dick. “Fuck. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Harry smears the cum on his thighs. Of course. “One left, remember? You owe me one more.”

Louis groans. Getting off the dildo sounds like a much too hard task on its own. He’s bloody exhausted.

“Tired?” Harry asks him, getting off the floor. “I’ll untie you, you can lay on the bed.” He does, supporting Louis with an arm under his elbow as he rises, thanking him quietly as he stands on shaky legs, bruised knees. “On your front, love.”

He does as told, so, so grateful to be moving his arms again and puts them under his head. His wrists ache, red marks on them despite the fabric of Harry’s headscarf being rather soft. He feels the bed shift, and then Harry’s pressing kisses up his thighs.

“I’ll eat you out,” Harry announces, and Louis’ legs close, whimpering. Harry stops him. “Nuh-uh. I know you’re sensitive, baby; you’ve been so good to me. But you owe me one more and you know that.” He moves up and places more kisses up his inner thigh. Louis can’t bother fighting him. “You just have to lie there, be pretty. I’ll make you feel so good.”

And, to no one’s surprise, he does.

It’s approximately fifteen minutes of wetness, warmth and other wonderful things, as Louis whimpers and sobs and soon enough he’s grinding into the duvet, chasing his release. He’s spent, exhausted and so, so sensitive, and when he eventually comes into the sheets it’s just a pitiful, dumb lil dribble, but it hits him just as strong. Harry’s tongue into his stretched hole, his moans vibrating through Louis’ whole body.

Harry climbs up next to him, arm flung around his back. “You did it.” He kisses his cheek, and Louis scrunches his face up, smiles big. “Gorgeous. Love you so much.”

He cuddles up next to him and keeps peppering his face, his nose, his forehead, his fringe... and Louis just keeps smiling. This is always, somehow, the best part. Being showered in kisses and told he’s loved.

“Love you too,” Louis mumbles back, happily. Could go for a nap right about now, though. Right there, wrapped in Harry’s arms. Like it always should have been.

“Sleepy now? Harry asks, and Louis nods, face tucked under his chin. “You deserve a good nap, love. Can I keep holding you?”

Louis nods, yawns. “Yeah.” He snuggles closer, buries his face into Harry’s chest. “You can keep me.”

Harry smiles. He boops his nose. “Mine?”

“Yours.”

“Sick.” He settles on the bed. “Uh. For the record, I’m yours as well.”

Louis has already drifted half to sleep. He breathes out heavily, contently. “Figured.”