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stop the world ('cause i wanna get off with you)

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It starts on a Tuesday.

No. Not really. It does, but it really starts because Louis is well, a complicated man. See, Louis is used to being the oldest, has always been the big brother, the one in charge. He's the one with the plan, the voice just loud enough to be heard by executives and producers - always two steps ahead and wickedly clever. He's always in control, always been the boss. He's a Capricorn - so planner goes with the sign.

And it's worked. It's worked splendidly. They wouldn't be where they are if Louis wasn't so excellent at his role.

But Louis is also weak. Has an Achilles heel in the form of a six-foot, green eyed angel who matches his halo with just the tiniest of devil horns and a dimpled smirk. Louis supposes if there is anything going to be his crux, he'll take it and never ask for anything else.

So, it's not really his fault when he wakes up, blurry eyed and overly warm, and makes the unconcious decision to arch further into Harry's back. It's dark in the bunk, curtains drawn tight so only the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling give a faint glow. Cut off from the rest of the bus, Louis isn't even sure what time it is, lulled by the sound of the wheels on the pavement under them and Harry's deep breathing.

It takes him a minute to figure out what woke him up, hears the faint crinkling of crisps bags and the television on in the lounge playing that dumb car commercial again. It must be early afternoon then, if all the other boys are awake and functioning. They had been peeled from their hotel early this morning, barely able to grab tea at the continental breakfast, before being ushered into the bus by security and urgent handlers.

American tours are always the hardest - everything is so far apart, so they spend more time driving then actually in the cities themselves. It's constant motion, only anchored by each other.
Louis hadn't even had his eyes fully open the entire walk from the hotel lobby to the bus, only kept his fingers tangled up in Harry's sleeve, pulling him along until they could get inside, both of them instantly settling in Louis' bunk - Harry first and Louis at his back. Harry's own bed is mostly used for storage now, extra blankets or clothes or the random souvenir they pick up at all the rest stops. No point in keeping it made up when Harry never sleeps there anyways.

Louis is awake now though, has his nose pressed into Harry's curls, his arm tight around his waist. They fit together in ways that just seem to be made for it - Louis' knees in the back of Harry's, their calves tangled, chest pressed flush to Harry's spine. Louis lets himself wake up to it, the clean scent of Harry's bare shoulder, stripped naked under the blanket, all sinewy lines and soft. Somewhere in the bunk are his shorts, set to the side in case he needs to get up, but right now, Louis is caging him, pinned between his body and the wall.

It's like a slow realization, how hard he already is, pressed up against the fabric of his joggers and into Harry's ass. They've barely had a moment to themselves lately, had crashed the minute they got in from the show last night, too strung out on the adrenaline and the jetlag to do more than share a few lazy kisses between the sheets. They have time now though, driving from Harrisburg to Minneapolis, left to their own devices for a few blissful hours.

Tucking his head down, Louis trails slow, open kisses along the curve of Harry's shoulder, up to brush his hair back at his neck. It's not enough to mark, just leaves a cool trail that Louis blows over, fingers trailing up and down over Harry's sternum. It's just a path to an end, Louis' fingertips finding one of Harry's nipples, circling it slowly, brushing against it before dragging a lone nail across to sting.

Louis can feel it when his breathing skips, Harry turning his face into the pillow with a low whine. It's waking him up, dragging him back to the world of the conscious, the teasing pleasure and the way Louis is gently grinding against him, rocking against his ass. Harry arches into it, leans into the pressure and weight of Louis against him, doesn’t even seem to realize it.

"Louis?" Harry mumbles, voice raspy and broken from sleep.

"It's good, love." Kissing up the back of his neck, Louis gives a sharp bite at his hairline, something his curls will cover later - something just for them. "Feel so good. Lemme me just."

If they had the time, the space, Louis could do this all day. Just let his hands wander, wake Harry up with slow, gentle caresses and teasing bites, play along all the buttons he's memorized. He'd catalogue every response, every small shudder and gasp. But as it is, they're crammed into bunk flying down some highway in America, so Louis does what he can with the time he's given.

Harry's sleep warm and panting, doesn't say a word when Louis slips a hand under his head, uses his bicep to pull him back. It's too dark in the bunk to really see anything, just feel along, but Harry somehow manages to crane his neck, mouth open and needy when it lands on Louis' jaw, then his mouth. It's a messy kiss, if it can even be called that, lazy tongues against one another, lips barely brushing. It changes the angle, tries to tip them over the other way, but Louis uses his leg between Harry's and rolls them back. It pins Harry between the wall and Louis, one long line of heat.

Letting his hands wander, Louis rubs his palms over Harry's ribs, down his curved waist, over his flank and thighs. He feels like a fucking dream, all warm and soft, rocking back into Louis with these little rolls of his hips and moans. It's dragging Louis' cock against his cleft, teasing and shimmering just under Louis' skin, sending these sharp zings of pleasure up his spine. But it's not enough, so close to what he really wants.

As if he's read his mind, Harry is suddenly reaching back, long fingers feeling along Louis' hip until he reaches his waistband, tugging at it. The angle is awkward for him, doing it backwards, desperate and tangled in the strings at his waist with a disappointed whine.

"Easy baby. S'alright." Louis groans, has to lean back just a few inches to give him space enough to untie them. Harry's hand is instantly back to pushing though, easing the fabric down his hip, getting him out.

"Want you." Harry mumbles as they manage to get Louis' joggers down enough his cock springs out, slapping against the back of his thigh. "So bad."

It's so hot in the bunk, between body heat and their panted breath, the blankets now tangled around their knees. Louis comes to the slow, terrible realization that he's left the lube in his bag, packed away for a hotel night that led to nothing. He's going to have to make do though, can't stop now that Harry is making these choked off, little moans deep in his chest.

"Gonna have to do it this way." Louis reaches down, pushes Harry's leg forward enough he can slip between them. It's really too dry for this, even with the precome dripping off Louis' cock. So, he spits into his palm, reaches down to smear it over the soft skin of Harry's inner thighs, up against the warm crevice where his ass meets his leg. It's going to chafe, leave Harry red and sore later, but Louis isn't sure if that's necessarily a bad thing.

Harry, brilliant, wonderful Harry, seems to get on board immediately as he shifts around, clenches his thighs down, locks his ankles together. It creates the perfect vice for Louis to thrust into, rocking forward as he wraps a hand around Harry's cock. He's so hard he's been leaving a trail just under his navel, skin silky and burning in Louis' palm.

"Fuck!" Harry's voice raises on a particularly hard thrust, Louis' cock nudging, just for a brief moment, against his perineum, tucked in behind his balls. He turns his face into the pillow again, tries to muffle it, and instead finds Louis' hand, slipping two of his fingers into his mouth.

They're all tangled up now, legs and arms and moving as one. Sweat is dripping down Louis' neck, too warm in the tight space, but it only makes him move faster, chasing it. Harry is giving it back as much as he's getting, has a hand braced against the wall so he can use it as leverage, rocking his hips to meet Louis' thrusts. He's so wet, everywhere, drooling around Louis' fingers, dripping from his cock, slick between his thighs. And Louis can't get enough of it, buries his own desperate groans in Harry's curls, against his throat.

And then there is light, blinding sunlight, spilling across the bunk, across the blankets, across their naked skin.

"Hey, wake up Tommo - oh god!"

Louis doesn't think, just lets the adrenaline take over as he frantically wrenches back, scrambling for the blankets. Harry makes a horrible, stuttering groan as Louis slips out from between his legs, rolls with the moment so he's burrowed against the wall, shoulders up and hiding his face. It fucking burns, friction too rough and chafing as Louis manages to yank his waistband up, secures the blanket over Harry, before turning over.

"The fuck?" It's disorienting, going from the dark and heat to the blinding afternoon, and Louis has to press a hand to his forehead to block some of the sun.

Poor Niall. Poor, poor innocent Niall is red from the roots of his hair to his collarbones. He's staring pointedly up at a spot on the ceiling, hands clasped tightly together at his chest as if he's praying. Louis would think it was funny, he really would, if his dick didn't feel like it was about to fall off.

"Sorry. I'm so sorry." Niall glances down at Louis blotchy face, his sweaty chest, and instantly turns his face back up. "Fuck. Don't kill me."

"What do you want?" Louis can't help the sass, tone biting and sharp. Against his side, Harry is still trembling a little, clearly trying to calm down by his wet gasps.

"Oh. Um. Rest stop. Yeah, coming up in ten." Niall doesn't make the mistake of looking down again, but he does shift a little, turns more towards the bunk. "Management wants everyone off the bus. Get some pics taken. Appearances, yeah?"

"Everyone?" Louis goes to rub his face, then stops when he sees his palm is still sticky with precome, lets it drop back to the blanket again.

"Yeah." Niall sounds sorry for it, actually frowns. "Everyone."

"Okay." Louis knows they can't fight it. Knows that if they're not posted up in Twitter in the next hour - all five of them - then there will be hell to pay. Or at least a lot of passive aggressive or downright aggressive meetings. "Okay. Fuck. We'll be ready."

Reaching up with the hand only covered in Harry's spit, Louis gently tugs the curtain back, cuts off the rest of the bus. The air feels different in the bunk, Harry still turned away, burrowed down against the bunk wall. Louis wishes more than anything that he could go back to what they were doing, could go back even ten minutes ago when it felt like only they existed.

"Hazza." Louis reaches over, digs his fingers into Harry's shoulder to force him over, lays him on his back. The bunk is really too small for the both of them like this, but Louis just curves on his side, makes a small, comforting noise when he sees Harry's face. He's clearly trying to come down, trying to regulate himself, bottom lip between his teeth even as his cheeks still burn with arousal, eyes a little damp.

"Hey, it's alright, love. Just gotta go play the part for a bit, yeah?" Louis sounds calmer than he actually is, leans in to pepper gentle kisses across Harry's sweaty forehead.

"It's okay." Harry murmurs, drawling and deep. He leans into the kisses, steals one at Louis' throat too. "I'm fine."

Louis knows that's not true. He knows because he's not fine, so fucking close to coming and then being wrenched back into reality like that. But they can't be expected to perform all the time. They'll steal some more alone time, somewhere somehow.

- - -


Two days later and it’s Thursday. And this time, it’s not Louis’ fault at all.

It’s so not his fault because he didn’t start it. It all starts with Lou pointing a long, skinny comb right between Harry’s eyebrows. It’s her warning, motherly ‘take no shit’ voice, giving Harry specific instructions to keep his hands out of Louis’ hair - or else. It starts with Harry blinking those big, innocent eyes at her and dragging his fingers over his own chest, crossing his heart in a promise.

Harry, who has been so good today, on his best behavior, who got ready first, who only caused a little ruckus with a new security guard and a skateboard in the hallway. Harry who is all charming smiles and dimples and coy words. It’s Harry who wraps his hand around Louis’ wrist with a small, conspiratory grin and tugs him along to their dressing room, bats his eyelashes at Paul when they pass.

It’s blissfully quiet in here, dark curtains on the wall, silent in comparison to the commotion happening around them. It's an oasis.

”I think we’re alone now. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around.” Harry sings lightly, uses his grip on Louis’ arm to push him against the door.

"Yeah? And what do you plan to do?" Louis can feel his heart kickstart at the teasing way Harry presses his tongue to the corner of his mouth, assessing and slow. It's like he's not sure where to start first. "What type of boy do you think I am?"

"A fit one." Harry confesses, blushing even as he stares, like he can't help the words escaping. It's almost subconscious the way he reaches for Louis, touches his cheek and then goes for his temple, only for Louis to bat him away.

"Now, now, Harold." Louis can't help but tease, uses his grip to lace their fingers together. "Can't go musing up the masterpiece."

"I'll be gentle." Harry doesn't whine, though he does wrinkle his nose, charmed at the way their hands fit together. "Been thinking about it all day. For days really."

"Thinking about what?" Louis likes to hear him say it, still gets so shy, even four years later, like he can't believe he's allowed to have and touch whenever he wants.


Forgoing more words, Harry tilts his head down and kisses Louis instead. It's a sweet kiss - just a gentle, chaste thing before he pulls back and nuzzles his nose against Louis'. Because Harry can't help but be a little gentle, a little needy for love and affection. Under all that ink and rockstar hair, there is the soft, pastel heart of Harry Styles. It's all Louis ever wants to give him, love and romance and every gentle piece of himself, is even kind as he slips his hands under Harry's shirt, traces over his lower back.

"How much time do we have?" Harry trails those sweet, little kisses along Louis' jaw, careful to keep his own hands down, to keep them trailing over Louis' forearms, tracing tattoos he's memorized.

"Fuck, uh." It takes a lot of control to pull his hands off Harry's back, to wiggle his phone out of his pocket, but Louis does it, squinting at the screen. "Thirty minutes before we're expected anywhere important. Forty if you feel like getting in trouble with me."

"Always feel like getting in trouble with you." Harry smirks, presses his teeth sharply into the edge of Louis' neck where it meets his shoulder. He's going to leave a mark, something small and vibrant, but Louis doesn't bother to tell him not to. He loves it too.

Reaching up, Louis grips Harry's jaw in his hands, guides him up into a proper kiss. This time it's all tongues and lips and heat, tracing into each other's mouths to play. Louis can taste the remnants of green tea in Harry's mouth, the sharp sting of the gum he was chewing. It drives him a little mad when Harry flicks the tip of his tongue over Louis', traces the curve on the roof of his mouth.

They're stumbling backwards then, away from the door and Harry still has a death grip on Louis' wrist, probably leaving bruises against his skull and crossbones. It all doesn't matter as Harry wrenches back, nearly topples over his own feet and the coffee table there to crash back into the couch. Louis only has a moment to look down at his bewildered face before he's giggling, crawling into his lap.

"Your mum really should have named you Grace." Louis laughs against Harry's mouth, kisses him again even at his offended snort.

"Don't know why you're complaining. Got you right where I wanted." Harry's hands slide over Louis' thighs, onto his hips, rucking up his t-shirt. It's a Vans raglan and it's going to be stretched to all hell if Harry keeps tugging on it this way.

"And where's that?" Louis knows before Harry says it, still feels his stomach drop when he dimples up at him.

"On top of me."

Harry traces his fingers along Louis' sides, over his ribs, then tugs a little, gets him to sit down fully in his lap. It presses Harry's hard on directly into Louis' ass, the stretch denim rubbing together in nothing short of a tease. If either of them mind it, they don't comment, collapsing back into the couch.

If occurs to Louis, only after his lips are starting to go numb, that Lou never threatened him. Probably because she knows it's useless to try and keep Harry's curls tamed. They're long enough now they're brushing his shoulders and Harry will probably run his hands through them a million times during the show anyways, dancing around like some newly single girl at the club, chaotic and a little slutty and one hundred percent mesmorizing. Not that Louis is complaining. He could watch Harry dance around for the rest of his life, in fact, intends on doing just that.

So, he feels no remorse at all when he sinks his hands into Harry's hair, tips his head back a little more and suddenly the kissing is that much better, Louis plunging his tongue into Harry's open and eager mouth. There is going to be evidence of this, bruised lips and glassy eyes that someone will comment about on pictures from tonight's show. But it's hard to care, hard to even concentrate, when Harry's fingers are tugging on the hem of Louis’ shirt again, shoving it up to his armpits, out of the way.

"Want you to come on me." Harry's voice is low, that deep rumble in his chest when he's turned on and trying to be quiet. "Come on, babe. Wanna see it. Feel it later like you’re all over me."

And Louis is a little helpless to that. He knows they don't have time for more. They barely will have time for this. But it's been two days and he's still a little ramped up from the bunk, so Louis is quick to keep grinding, opens up his jeans and pulls himself out.

Harry falls back from his mouth then, leans deep into the couch to get his own jeans pulled down, fabric stretchy with no real button. They're Louis' favorite on him, jeggings that hug every curve. Loves them so much he's written songs about them, how they look on Harry, how they look on the floor.

It's too rough at first, both of them lining up, one of Harry's large hands wrapped around the length of them. Louis doesn't do much to help, has to pause completely and get his fingers to focus on the tiny mother of pearl buttons running the length of Harry's silk shirt. There is only four of them buttoned closed compared to the nine that are there, but it still takes Louis too long to get them apart, nearly ripping it to push the fabric out of the way.

"Take it easy." Harry grumbles, flutters his fingers over their cocks, smearing precome. "That's Valentino."

"That's Valentino." Louis mocks back, breathless as he rocks his hips forward into Harry's fist, and then grinds back on his thighs. "Posh fucker."

"Wanker. It's expensive and vintage." Harry's breath hitches, his free hand coming up to shove at Louis' shoulder. It's counterproductive as Louis almost slips from his grip, catches himself by pressing a hand into the back of the couch beside Harry's upturned face. He's close enough to watch Harry's eyelashes flutter, the blush high on his cheeks.

"You sayin' I shouldn't get jizz on it then?" Louis asks, the corner of his mouth raising in a little smirk as he tilts to the side, aims them towards where Harry's shirt is pooled around his elbows.

"It's a six-hundred-pound shirt, Lewis." Harry's voice cracks a little on the name, squirming against the cool leather under him. "Don't."

"Six-hundred-pound shirt? For this?" Louis doesn't have time to unpack how ridiculous that is, considering it's not even his favorite shirt that Harry owns. It's pale yellow with tiny flowers on it, pretty and dainty, but nothing to write home about. Though, if he's honest with himself, Louis is convinced that Harry can make anything look good, even one of those tourist t-shirts from the truck stop that Americans seem to love, but he keeps his opinions to himself.

"Focus, yeah?" Harry dismisses the criticism and twists his wrist around the head of Louis' cock, feels the pearl of precome spreading over the side of his thumb. With heavy lidded eyes, he drags his hand to his mouth, laps it clean, watches Louis' blue eyes widen and then narrow.

It goes from good to better, Louis dropping further into Harry's lap, grinding his hips back and forth in these dizzying, tight little circles. He feels like, given the time, he could probably do this forever. Smears precome across the laurels on Harry's hips, kiss him until they're barely breathing, only inhaling the other's exhale, melting into the feel of it. Louis forgets where they are, forgets that he's being a little loud, moaning up at the ceiling when one of Harry's fingers slips behind his balls.

The cruelty of it is that they did it to themselves. Neither of them thought to lock the door, thought everyone was preoccupied with pre-show shit, so when it swings open with a shout, someone talking over their shoulder, they really can only be mad at themselves.

Louis almost comes. It's not his fault. Harry jumps in surprise at the noise, tightens his hands so his fingers are pressed right up to Louis' hole, too dry and rough, knuckle digging into his perineum and Louis sees stars and then he sees Zayn's oddly passive face, staring at them from the doorway.

"Oy!" Louis coughs out, barely gets the word from his tightening lungs. And jesus Harry needs to loosen the pressure.

"Um, can you give us a moment?" Harry asks, simple and confused as Louis desperately shoves at his wrist. He gets it a moment later when he lets go, apologetic and gentle as he pets over the inside of Louis' thigh.

"No." Zayn at least closes the door, the noise from the hall abruptly cutting off. There is a someone behind him, one of the guys who helps with the lights, and his eyes go huge when he takes in the couch. He must be new, must be, because he takes one look at them and turns redder than his hair. "This is the only smoking room."

"Go outside!" Louis knows they can't really see from where they're standing, but it's the principle of thing. It forces him to slide further into Harry's lap, to try and use his legs to cover them up. There is being naked because you're comfortable with it and then there is being naked and hard.

"Are you mad? It's twenty minutes to show and you want me to go out? I'll be fucking mobbed." Zayn waves a hand at them, slips a cigarette between his lips as he moves towards the table on the wall. It's parallel to the couch so it puts him behind Harry but in direct sight of Louis. "Keep going, mate. Didn't mean to interrupt or whatever. Me and Archie don't mind."

"Keep going?" Even Louis' winces at how shrill his voice goes.

"I won't look. I swear Mr. Tomlinson." The tech, Archie, makes a point of facing towards the wall, hands up at his side in surrender. "No bother really."

Harry hides his snicker into Louis' chest, leans back to mouth Mr. Tomlinson up at him. Louis really wants to stomp off. Or at least throw something, maybe this bowl of fruit behind him on the table. How is this fucking fair? Twice in one week?

"Don't mind them, Arch. You get kinda use to it." Zayn is saying, reaches out, brushes a friendly hand over the other guy's shoulder. "Shoulda seen them at the beginning."

"Louis." Harry's voice cuts through the conversation, muffled and a little strained. Louis notices it right away, eases up from where he's been pinning their hips together. It's all being ruined and what's he supposed to do? He's already going soft, annoyed and resigned at the same time, as Harry collapses back into the couch with an unhappy little pout.

"I need a smoke." Louis mutters, works on hitching his jeans up and over himself, tucking himself back in. "And a fucking locked door."

"Hotel in three days." Harry gives him that small, charmed grin - the one just for Louis - and promptly licks the precome off of his hand.

"You're a menace, Harry Styles." Louis groans, has to lean down and kiss him one last time. He keeps close, helps Harry drag the denim over his own waist, nuzzles the words against his puffy mouth. "Then I want you spread out and gaggin' for it, yeah? Just us?"

"Yes, yes." Harry is all big eyed and blushing when Louis swings off of him, has to take a few minutes before he can stand again.

- - -


This time it hurts. It hurt so much that Louis thinks he might actually be going insane.

Three days later, Sunday, and they're in a hotel in somewhere Iowa or maybe it's Illinois or Kansas. Honestly, America, find different names.

It's late or maybe it's early. Louis can’t remember. He drank a little too much at the bar downstairs, a few too many fruity little things that he swore he wasn't going to like, but six later and yeah. But he deserves it, deserves to have a day off, deserves to stumble into a hotel room with his boyfriend and shut the door in security's face.

The hotel room is nice, impersonal though with a dull beige lounge room in the front and the bed behind a set of French doors, left wide open. It's dark outside but they left a light on in the corner of the front room, barely bright enough to turn everything a hazy gold. It’s all just details, background noise really because Louis spread out on his back, gazing up at a fucking angel. There is no other way to describe it, no words can ever come close to the vision.

Harry has his hands on Louis' shoulders, uses them as a brace as he rocks and back and forth, eyes closed and lip between his teeth. It's not really even riding at this point, grinding Louis deeper and deeper inside of him, rubbing over that spot that has goosebumps breaking out all over Harry's skin. They've been at this for a while, edging closer and closer until Louis wraps a tight hand around Harry's cock and stops him, makes him count down until they can start again.

"Fuck, look at you baby. My baby. So beautiful." Louis groans, helpless when Harry shifts his weight, rocks a little harder down into him. He traces his hands down Harry's chest, across his stomach, to grip his hips. "So perfect. How'd I get so lucky?"

He knows Harry loves it, loves the praise, the gentle hands on his skin. Makes Harry feel pretty, feel loved, feel secure in all this. Louis will give him whatever he needs, always, sing him every song and every line he knows as long as Harry never loses that soft, gentle love inside of him. The love that's been Louis' since he was sixteen.

"Feel so good." Pressing his palm down, Harry drags it just under his navel, across his pelvis, like he can feel Louis moving inside of him. "So deep like this."

Guiding his hands back, Louis grips his ass, spreads him a little wider so when Harry bounces, he slips even further inside. It feels heavy, this heady sort of knowledge that Harry is going to definitely feel this tomorrow, feel that deep, deep ache of going slow and having Louis fuck him wide. And Louis will see it, see the flinching and the awkward prancing and know he left a mark, has been somewhere inside of Harry that no one ever has or ever will be.

"Love you." Louis is overwhelmed, caught up in all of it. It's so hot between them, the air conditioner whirling in the corner doing nothing to cool them off. He wants to do this forever, never wants it to fucking stop. "Harry, Haz. Come on baby. Wanna see you ride it."

"Love you. Need you." Harry mumbles, hangs his head as he shifts on top of Louis, rocking back and forth.

He's pushing his knees out, drunk on chasing the feeling of it, puts a hand into the mattress instead so he can be closer. It gives him the leverage he needs, changing the angle and arching his back in a tantalizing line, pushing his ass out so only the tip of Louis' cock rests just inside.

It's been one breath and the next, Louis cranes his head up and licks into Harry's mouth, tastes him with a slow curl. He tastes like the whiskey sour he was drinking downstairs, like the cherry swimming in the bottom of the glass. Louis can't stop from chasing it, deepens the kiss with a hand tangled in Harry's curls, pulls him closer. Always needs him right against him. Harry moans into it, low and rumbling, before he rocks forward in a slow glide. The bed shakes with the movement, mattress pressed against the mounted headboard as he takes Louis to the root - hard.

"Oh fuck!" Mouth wide, Harry stares down at Louis in awe. The dim light is making everything seem that more, shining gold along the green, green of Harry's eyes. "Lou. Louis. Fuck me."

How the fuck can Louis say no to a request like that?

Louis rewards him by tucking his heels down, snaps his hips up on the next slow roll of Harry's hip, watches enraptured as Harry's eyes roll back, caught on a low moan. They work together then, meeting in the middle to the sharp snap of skin on skin, mouths a mess when they press together, panting into one another. It's hard to distinguish where one starts and the other stops, when hands and legs and bodies entwine into a blur of heat and sweat.

Louis can't settle on what he wants to touch, to grab onto, drags his fingers along Harry's back, over his shoulders, down to where they’re joined. He can't see, but he can feel, the way Harry is stretched hot and wet around him, sucking him in each time they move. Harry answers with his own whine, leans back so he can roll his hips, does these little figure eights that has Louis brushing against his prostate with each thrust, makes him clench down.

He's leaking all over, smearing onto his stomach, on Louis'. So close he could probably come from this alone, from watching the flush on Louis' chest, stark against the black tattoos, the stubble on his jaw. There are nail makes there, scratches on Louis' chest, over the It Is What It Is. Harry's long, elegant fingers scrambling as he rocks forward, stomach clenching as he turns into a vice between his legs.

There is something sacrilegious about it. Louis knows, but he can't help but feel like he's worshipping. In awe of the man above him, so enraptured he can't really separate the glow of the lamp light behind him and what must be his halo. Louis only has a moment, a marveling, all encompassing moment, before something draws his attention away.

Harsh fluorescent light spills in from the hallways, scattering over the floor, through the front room, and onto the bed. It's like a beacon, cuts a harsh line over Harry's side, like a spotlight, and then glares directly into Louis' turned face. He raises a hand up, tries to block some of it, and makes out the vague outline of someone standing in the doorway.

Swearing loudly, Louis only has a moment to act, reaching out with desperate, frantic hands, scrambling to find the duvet. He wraps it around both of them, roll over and prays they're far enough away from the edge of the bed that they don't fall off. Harry hits the pillows with a sharp cry, cut off and miserable as the momentum yanks Louis out of him, instantly throwing his hands over his face.

The click of the hotel door is deafening and Louis is so fucking angry he's shaking, knees unsteady as he gets to his feet. There are things about Louis' life that aren't for other people. They're secret, private things that Louis guards close to his heart. Harry is one of those things, this Harry, the one who belongs and exists only within their bed. It's not up for sharing. Louis doesn't even look at whose they are, just pulls on the first pair of pants he finds on and the floor and marches out to the lounge.

It's one of the newer security guards - Brian - who looks so fucking shocked he's just staring at Louis with an open mouth. And like, what the fuck? Where are they finding these fucking guys? Does no one know how to fucking knock? The spare room keys are supposed to be used for emergencies only.

"What the fuck are you doing, mate?" Louis snarls, considers putting his first through a wall. He won't, but the thought is there. "Pretty sure that door was locked."

"S-Sorry." Brian is still staring, bounces his gaze off Louis' red face to behind, where the double French doors are open to the bedroom. "I was-"

"You were?" Louis asks, cocks his head to the side. But Brian won't stop glancing between, eyes widening fractionally when he's settled just beyond them. When Louis turns, he's met with the sight of Harry sitting up in bed, the comforter held to his chest. His hair is a mess, ruffled up and sweat curled, blinking owlishly at them as he rubs at his shoulder.

"Oy!" Louis snaps his fingers in Brian's face, forces his attention back down to him. "Not gonna ask again.”

"P-Paul sent me." Brian jumps at the sound, makes it a point to tilt his head down so he won't make the mistake of looking up again. “You have an interview. With a radio station. In twenty minutes.”

“What?” Louis squints his eyes, trying to think back and remember if anyone mentioned it. It might have been on the itinerary that was emailed over yesterday, but honestly, Louis was a little distracted. By FIFA and good lads and maybe Harry free balling in basketball shorts. Louis is a simple man, after all.

“The others are downstairs.” Brian makes it a point to only look at Louis’ face, face still burning. “Waiting on you two. I didn’t know. Paul sent me up, said to just come in, said you were sleeping. I won’t say anything.”

“We’ll be down in a minute.” Harry’s voice is a slow drawl, monotone and emotionless, interrupting the man’s hectic rambling. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Of course. So sorry. I did knock but- Doesn’t matter.”

Brian nods quickly, turns on his heel and bumps into the wall behind him. It’s like a pinball machine, him backing off and then scrambling for the door, missing the doorhandle all together and then getting it the second timed. He mumbles another apology, ducks his head at Louis as he backs out, looks about as chastised as someone can fucking get. Louis would feel bad, does a little, but his body is still fucking thrumming.

He turns on a slow heel, gets to watch the full length of Harry’s body uncurl from the blankets, slip off the bed. Louis doesn’t even get to fully appreciate it, making a disappointed sound as Harry reaches down, finds his pants in a crumpled mess just under the table against the wall. Louis can only make out the little bit of slick, inner thighs glossy with it, before Harry is yanking up the fabric.

“Baby,“ Louis starts, tries to think really hard of something to say that won’t end up with him crying or screaming. “You don’t have to. I’ll tell them you are sick. Have a sore throat. Can’t get out of bed. Whatever you need.”

“Like that will go over.” Harry sighs, glances over his shoulder at him. He’s got a resigned little furrow between his eyebrows, looks unhappy even with the flush on his cheeks, his mouth bruised and red. “I’m sure Brian is having an aneurysm in the elevator down. Paul is going to know. And then he’s going to have to have one of those ‘talks’ with us again.”

“Okay, but we could stage a revolt.” Louis shuffles across the carpet, goes and wraps his arms around Harry’s waist, kisses him right in the center of his butterfly. “I’ll refuse to leave this room until I make you come at least twice. What are they going to do? Drag me out?”

“Yes. And I’m pretty sure there is a clause in the contract to stop that.” Harry leans in, kisses the pout right off of Louis’ mouth. It’s amazing how he can be so mature sometimes, just accepts things imposed on them, even when it sucks, even when it fucking hurts.

“Make it up to you. Promise.” Louis mumbles, steals another kiss, nuzzles his nose against Harry’s.

“Nothing to make up. Not your fault, Lou.” Harry hugs him tight, hugs him best, and then pulls away to go find the rest of his clothes.

Louis still revolts, in a silent, angry way, when they sit down for the interview. Refuses to answer anything that isn’t directed at him, knocks his knee into Harry’s at any chance. If Paul is sending him warning glares from across the room, Louis makes a point of not looking up.

- - -


Louis doesn't even see it coming this time. He's on an adrenaline high, gasping with his pulse thrumming in his chest. The roar of the crowd is so loud, shakes the stadium floor, rings out across the long hallways of the backstage. It's amplified until Louis can't even hear himself think, staggering around, takes the towel a roadie thrusts at him.

He's dripping wet, covered in sweat and water and gatorade. Makes everything smell fruity, like candy. It clings his tank to him, sticky to his chest and stomach, the waistband of his jeans. Even his feet got it, soaked in his Vans. He's only just realizing it, focusing on the squelch fabric on his heels, when a hand suddenly juts out and wraps around the collar of his shirt.

With a startled yelp, Louis tries to whirl around, tries to fight against it, but then he's being shoved inside a dark room, the noise around him abruptly cutting off as the door swings shut. It's a janitor's closet, must be, as the light flickers on and Louis can make out the stacks of Clorox and rags on the shelves, an obnoxiously yellow bucket turned over in the corner. It's all just decoration, background observations, as Louis' attention is instantly taken over by the man pressing against his front.

"God, why are you so fucking..." Harry trails off, caught up in biting open mouthed kisses over Louis' throat, tugging on the tank top to get the collar open wide, sucking at his collarbones.

"Fucking what?" Louis isn't really sure what brought this on, but he's not going to complain, especially when Harry shoves a knee between his legs.

"Annoying." Harry huffs, laps his tongue over Louis' jaw, sucking a little. "Fucking water fights. Your shirt. Your body. It's obscene."

Louis glances down, notices the way the light gray fabric has started clinging, tight across his chest, rucked up on his stomach. Harry is helping it, rubs his hands up and over Louis' hips, down onto his ass. It's like he can't settle, dragging on the wet fabric, making it stick closer to Louis' skin.

"It's just a bit of fun, love." Louis laughs, doesn't get it. Well, he does. Because the water fights aren't a Harry thing. It's a LouisandLiam thing. Sometimes Niall thing. Sometimes Zayn. But never Harry. Not that Harry isn't welcome, he just doesn't like it. Doesn't like being messed up and wet, doesn't like his pretty, expensive clothes ruined by being rowdy. Doesn't like being put on display for a thousands of people to watch and ogle over him more than they already do.

"You're dripping." Harry mutters, gets his fingers under the waistband of Louis' skinnies.

"Always am for you." Louis gives him his cheekiest grin, crinkles at his eyes, and Harry can't help dimpling back. He's always so easily fond of Louis, even standing there dripping cherry flavored water all over the cement floor.

"Yeah?" Harry's clever fingers pop the button on Louis' jeans, tugging them open, reaches inside. "Can I see?"

Louis knows, knows, this is a bad idea. But who the fuck is going to look for them in here? They have time. They'll make time. Louis will take the blame, get punished for it. He'll tell them it was his idea. Whatever it takes because he's fucking already dizzy with it. Has been ready to go for over a week now.

Seeming to get his answer, Harry makes a point of clasping his hands behind his back, right hand over his opposite wrist. It’s a practiced move, a knowing one at that, when Louis feels his breath catch a little in his throat. With a knowing grin, Harry sinks to his knees in one fluid motion, practiced, easy, and Louis collapses back against the door. His cock twitches when Harry leans forward, sucks on the fabric over it, laps against the outline of him.

Louis wants to make a joke, maybe something about all the refined sugar in gatorade, but then Harry uses his teeth to pull Louis' underwear down. His brain kinda fizzles to just the heat and sensation, unblinking as he watches Harry's tongue trace over, flicking over his slit, teasing little kitten licks.

He doesn't seem that much in a hurry, licks all along the length of Louis, refuses to use his hands so Louis' cock nudges against his cheek, his jaw, leaves a sticky little trail. Down here like this, Harry doesn't mind getting a little messy, a little dirty. He leans into it, sucks a little bruise just above the line of curls at Louis' groin, does another next to it so it's cluster just below his hip.

"H, can I?" Louis lets his hand come up from the door, hesitates before touching.

Harry lifts his eyes up, watches Louis' face as he laves his tongue over the length, tracing the vein along the bottom. He knows what it does, knows what he looks like between Louis' spread legs, eager and flushed already. Louis kinda loses his train of thought, goes a little brain dead as Harry leans his head back, pushes Louis' outstretched palm into his hair. It's permission and a request.

Fingers digging in, Louis gently pushes Harry forward, guides him more like a suggestion than a demand. Harry doesn't even think to fight him, opens his mouth wide and lets Louis drag him down, lets Louis sink further and further. It's taken a while for them to get to this point, lots of practice, so Harry's breath stutters and then stops as Louis touches the back of his throat.

"Holy shit." It slips out of Louis' mouth, so fucking amazed by this boy, by his boy. What did he ever do in his life to deserve him? Harry beams under the praise, presses his lips together, sucks hard enough his cheeks hallow, eyes getting a little wet from the pressure. He doesn't relent though, drags his tongue in a zigzag as much as he can, tasting every part he can get to.

Louis is the one to pull him back, takes over control, forces Harry to drag a shaky breath before taking him back in. His throat is so fucking warm, wet, and tight and Harry doesn't even seem to mind it, goes a little crazy at the wet slide of Louis inside of him, drool dripping down his chin. It's messy and a little dirty, kneeling like this on the floor, and there is still water dripping down the side of Louis' hair, caught up in his fringe.

Harry doesn't relent, leans into Louis' grip on his hair, bobs his head in quick little jolts. He's getting red in the face, eyes watery and nose running. But he refuses to fall all the way back, makes Louis pull him off, and then he leans in, nuzzles right up against his balls.

"Baby, baby." Louis is kinda losing it, definitely already close. It makes sense then, as Harry is nibbling, leaving another little mark on his thigh, that the door behind him suddenly jolts forward.

If Louis wasn't leaning his full weight on it, they would have toppled over, barely manages to skid his heels on the cement and act as a human door stop. As it is, Louis shoves his shoulder back, braces a hand on the wall, is lucky he doesn't knee Harry in the fucking face with the way he slams back. It doesn't seem to matter as the door is shoved forward again in reply, someone clearly trying to get inside.

"Hey! It's occupied." Louis grits out, glances down at where Harry is whipping a hand along his jaw, eyes going wide.

It really could be anyone on the other side of the door, crew or reporters or fans or hell, even the janitor the closet belongs to. Enough eyes that it's going to matter if they get the door open and see two of the members of the band tangled up in what is clearly more than just friendly banter.

"Louis? Come on, mate. What are you doing?" And fuck, why is Liam so strong?

Louis only has a moment, just enough time to shove himself back in his jeans, before Liam is slamming his whole weight into the door. He topples inside, sneakers skidding on the floor, tripping himself up and nearly beams himself on the shelf in his haste. It's a tangle of limbs then, as Louis tries to move with the door, tries to stay standing, and instead manages to half hop, half trip over Harry, who goes sprawling back, catching himself with one hand, still on his knees.

"What the fuck are you-" Liam turns, clearly annoyed and still soaking wet too, and stops when he takes them in.

In his defense, Louis is lucky he even got himself tucked in, jeans still unbuttoned. He's at least mostly turned away from Liam though, facing the opposite wall. But it's not him that Liam is staring at. Harry is much worse, his t-shirt damp with water, mouth bruised and red. He's just sitting there, awkwardly spread out, back arched.

"Are you...Are you crying?" Liam doesn't seem to understand, leans an arm heavily on the shelf of bleach. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not. I wasn't." Sniffling sharply, Harry scrambles up, rubs a hand under his nose, across his mouth. "I'm fine."

"Haz, the show was really good. You did a good job. Hit all your notes. You know you did." Liam reaches out, ruffles Harry's hair a little, pats his cheek. "You're so hard on yourself."

Quickly, Louis uses the distraction to reach down and button up his jeans, adjusts himself a little. He's still sorta hard, kinda difficult not to be with the way Harry looks, half fucked out and a little glassy eyed. Leave it to Liam to be oblivious.

"Thank you." Harry flashes him a small smile, always so kind, so accommodating.

"Don't be sad." Liam, the sensible one, the dad friend, who hates his title but still does it, leans into Harry, tries to get him to be the cheery, always grinning Harry everyone knows and loves. "It'll be fine. Whatever it is. We'll figure it out, yeah?"

"Yeah, Hazza, we'll figure it out." Louis reassures, though it's for an entirely different reason. He can feel Harry's eyes narrow at him a little, teasing and coy.

"See, nothing LiLo can't handle." Liam nods quickly, his hair flinging water everywhere. "Leave it to us, mate."

"Okay." Harry rubs his fingers over his mouth again, rustles his hair. He can't look at Louis for too long, shifting around on his feet, restless.

"Come on. They're looking for us. Gotta get on the bus now." Liam wraps his arm around Harry's shoulders. "Lucky I followed that water trail in here. Never thought I would find you guys."

Louis lets it happen, doesn't even think to comment on it too much, not until they're out in the hall. Then it's too many people, rushing around, yelling, packing up shit. It's commotion and action and people calling out to them, and Louis makes a point of touching on Liam's elbow, nudging it off and out of the way. He replaces it with his own arm, all the way around Harry's waist, lacing their fingers together at his hip.

- - -


They're desperate for it. It's been a week and a half. Nine days of trying and getting interrupted. Of being so fucking close only to have it dashed away, taken from them. Louis so keyed up he smokes through an entire pack during a rest stop, twenty cigarettes in thirty minutes, barely has a voice after. Even Zayn gives him a worried look when he had climbed back on the bus, awkwardly rubbing a hand on his shoulder like Louis was keyed up about the show or management, not about somehow not getting a free moment alone with his boyfriend.

It's not like Harry is much better off, constantly watching, worrying his bottom lip or his thumb between his teeth, fidgeting with his jeans, his hands, his hair. He makes a point of bumping into Louis, of running his hand over his shoulders, his back, along his arm when they have to make appearances or go anywhere. Niall gets shoved between them as often as possible, a buffer to make it seem all accidental or friendly, but it barely helps. It's like being a teenager all over again, staring at each other, being so fucking obvious whenever they're ready to go.

It's how they end up here, on the bus again. This time it's late, only the street lamps and the moon to watch them, the road a blur outside of the window. It's an overnight trip to the new town, phones allowed to be on silent. They had waited the boys out, had stayed poised and indifferent to the running marathon of Cupcake Wars, as first Niall went to bed, then Liam, and finally Zayn with a suspicious glance but nothing else. He's way too observant for his own good.

Now, they're blissfully alone, spread out over the length of the couch, television turned off. It had started with just a few innocent kisses, a wandering hand, but now Louis is on top, tangled up legs and grinding. There are too many clothes between them, hoodies and t-shirts and sweats, but neither feel like pulling away enough to get it out of the way.

"Feels like old times." Louis pants into the space between Harry's neck and the back of the couch, smothers his groan as Harry works his hips up. "Remember in the X-Factor house?"

"Yeah. Always had me coming in my pants." Harry snickers, slides his hands down Louis' back, grabs a handful of his ass. "Don't know if I'm gonna last much longer than back then."

"You were a quick shot." Louis leans in, bites into Harry's lip and tugs, soothing it slowly with his tongue. "Always were quick to get it back up though."

"Was kinda Louis Sexual at that point." Harry starts rocking up with more earnest now, tilts his hips so he can grinding along Louis' length. "Couldn't think straight with you around."

"So, nothing's changed?" Louis actually giggles this time, lets it taper off to a low moan as Harry's hands flex on his ass, spreading him a bit, playing.

"Think I last a bit longer then back then." To back up his point, Harry raises a leg, hooks it around Louis' waist, pulling him down closer. "Know a few more tricks."

Louis kinda goes a bit tunnel visioned, centered down on Harry's lovely face, his bruised mouth. He's a little obsessed with Harry's legs, especially when they're wrapped around him, gripping at his waist. Could spend all of his time between them, wants Harry wrapped up tight around him, no space. Trailing his hand down the outside of Harry's thigh, hooks a thumb into the waistband of his sweats. Maybe they have time to do this proper. Maybe he could at least get them semi naked, more skin than just their wrists and their mouths.

Getting his knees under him, Louis drags Harry's other leg around him, hides his grin in Harry's neck when he feels him lock his ankles. It's a practiced move, brings Louis down into the cradle of them, nudges his cock right into the hot crease where his thigh meets hip. It gives him no space to thrust, only grind rough and a little jagged, but it's good. It's perfect. They'll make it work.

"Lou, yeah, just this. Need it." Harry can't keep the words in, blearily smearing a kiss to Louis' jaw. His clever hand slips off Louis' ass, wiggles its way under his hoodie, traces gentle fingers over Louis' spine, traces the knobs there.

"Shh. You're so loud, baby. You're gonna wake everyone up." Louis can't help but taunt, a little breathless, as he reaches up to brace his hand on the arm of the couch. It gives him a little more leverage, something to grip onto when he rolls his hips forward.

"Don't care." Harry groans, bleary eyed and gasping. He looks perfect, disheveled and sweating, reaching for Louis with desperate hands. "Don't stop. Gettin' close."

It's fucking fate. It's the stars above hating them. It's some cosmic fuck you straight to Louis' poor, weeping cock. Because just when he thinks he's got the space to get them both out, wants to touch, to feel Harry burning up, hard and dripping for him - the bus suddenly jolts, swerving violently to the side.

The lounge is small but there is still enough room that with a shout, Louis is suddenly wrenched over, his position with Harry dragging him with. They land on the cold, metal floor with matching groans, a fucking miracle neither of them crack their skulls open on the running board lights. It's an unforgiving landing, Louis rolling into the cart with the game consoles on it, Harry half smashed into the side of the couch.

There is more shouting from the bunks, someone swearing violently, and when Louis manages to crane his head up, he sees Liam on the floor in a very similar position to his own. He at least landed on a discarded hoodie, though he did fall from a top bunk so it probably hurt.

"Lou. Louis." Harry groans, voice brittle and high, and when Louis glances over, it's to Harry pushing on his leg - pushing away Louis' boney knee from between his spread legs.

"Shit. Fuck. Sorry." Louis scrambles up, bangs his elbow on something, tries to do it as gracefully as possible, even as the bus is clearly kissing gravel. "Oh babe, god, you okay?"

"You broke my dick." Harry coughs, has a hand over his eyes, the other rubbing between his legs.

"I didn't. It'll be okay." Louis reaches down to reassure himself, joins Harry in checking him out. He's only semi-hard, though Louis isn't sure if he's getting soft or he's still little into it. It's not like Harry's pain kink is a secret to him. "Still all there."

"Can you two stop for half a second?" Liam suddenly snaps, lumbering to his feet. He's holding the back of his head, looming in the dark. "If you haven't noticed, we've had a mechanical emergency."

Niall's laughter is loud and sharp from inside the bunks.

"It's just a blow out." A voice, maybe Brian, informs from the front. "Sorry boys."

"A blow out?" Liam turns sharply at that, goes towards the front of the bus.

"Wish I had a blow out." Louis mutters darkly, pushes himself up to sit on the couch. He actually thinks he might never orgasm again. Like, it's some sick joke by the powers above that he's been cock blocked this many times.

"Let me get some feeling back, love, yeah?" Harry sends him a wink, peaking out from between his fingers, hand still moving between his legs.

Niall and Zayn are sticking their heads out of their bunks now, glancing between the lounge and then up where the driver and a few security are talking to one another. Through the front window, the headlights glare out at rows and rows of cornfields, vacant and lonely.

Louis is about to make the suggestion they just go to bed. He doesn't care anymore. Other boys be damned. At least in a bunk, they have some version of privacy, but just as he opens his mouth, Brian does instead - cutting him off.

"Alright, everyone off the bus. We've got to jack it up."

"I'm going to die." Louis actually groans, tilts his head back and stares up at the ceiling. He hasn't felt like being this dramatic in a long time, but for god's sake. This cosmic joke has gone stale. "Leave me to rot. Right here."

"Come on, Boobear." Harry suddenly looms over him, holding his hand out. He's wearing socks covered in pastel teddy bears, nudging his toes up against Louis' ankle. "I think I saw an exit for a McDonald's a little way down the road. I'll buy you some hash browns."

And this is why Harry will always be Louis' favorite. 100%. No one ever will compete.

"Two. With a ten piece nugget." Louis squints, feels like he's bargaining when he's already given in, entwining their fingers.

Raising his eyebrows at him, Harry tugs him to his feet. "Expensive date."

"Somehow I think you'll manage." Louis rolls his eyes, lets Harry lead him through the aisle towards the front. "Must be hard to squeeze it into your budget. What was it? A six hundred pound Versace?"

"Valentino." Harry can't help correct him, hides his amusement when Louis makes a mock, scandalized noise, wailing sarcastically.

"Oh of course. How could I ever forget the vintage Valentino?"

- - - - - -


This time, this time Louis thinks ahead, slips into boss mode. Plays the game, keeps his cards close, until he can pull strings. He plans. He bargains. He begs, but only a little, butters up to Paul with big eyes and clasped hands. Promises of being good. Of following rules. Of giving no shit and being on his best behavior for the next week.

It's how he finds himself in another hotel, somewhere outside of Denver, the mountains rising up in the view of the window. They weren't dumb enough to leave the curtains open though, not with the other buildings close around them, not with how desperate the paps have been getting. The last thing they need is some illicit photos to end up online, a vague outline and a suggestion go a long way - look at Wellington.

No, this is all for them. Secret and sacred. With a do not disturb sign on the door and a promised full twenty-four hours. Sold a story of being on vocal rest.

Harry definitely isn't being kind on his throat right now though, groans and cries ragged into the pillows. He's been fisting the sheets at his cheek, tugging on them and biting down when needs to, a little too deep, slipping. Louis has been dedicated to it, flicks his tongue inside of him again, can't stop rubbing his stubble against the red, raw lines of Harry's inner thighs. He wants this to last, to linger when Harry is prancing around on stage, when he's bending over, always putting it all on display.

Dipping his fingers inside, Louis caresses over his slick walls, feels around. He already knows where to find it, knows how to twist his wrist, but he feels like playing. Feels like listening to Harry's voice hitch, whine and try and push back. He has no leverage like this though, spread out flat, pinned to the mattress with Louis' knees spreading his own.

"Look so good like this." Louis marvels, his free hand petting over the curve of Harry's thigh, dragging his nails in teasing lines. "Been thinking about this forever. How bad you want it. How you open up for me."

"Lou. Louis. Please." Harry whines, tries to pull his knee up higher on his side. Craning his head, he moans low as he watches Louis dip his head down again, lap between his fingers, just a teasing kiss over his rim. "Don't tease."

"Why not?" Louis looks up, keeps his eyes on Harry's as he spits down on where his fingers are corkscrewing inside. It's dirty, a little too raw, but Harry can't help but moan - arches into it.

Honestly, at this point, there is nothing Harry won't let Louis do to him. They're creative people, open to new experiences, so if Louis wants to get a little rough, a little feral, well Harry will do his best to keep up. It's not like it's done with anything short of true love, utmost devotion. Even when it hurts, even when it's rough and biting, it's still love making.

"Been so patient." Harry tries to argue, untangles his hand from the sheets, reaches back to touch Louis' cheek. "Please, just want to feel you. Can play after. Need you now."

And Louis is weak for that, weak for the blurry way Harry's green eyes are staring up at him, his curls stuck across his forehead in sweat. He's so beautiful, looks so sweet like this, all laid out and begging, eager hands and spread legs. And Louis did it to him, had led Harry into the room with a hand tangled in his t-shirt, had kissed all his excuses, his worries, right out of his mouth. Had stripped it all away until all that was left was this.

Louis could exist in this bed forever and never fucking grow tired of it, never get over the way they fit together, the way Harry sounds, looks, smells right now. This is all for Louis, all he he's ever wanted. Bargain with the devil every time just so he can end up here.

He leans back, watches Harry roll over, all that milky skin speckled with tattoos, inked into his chest, his arms, his stomach. Louis traces the laurels with his tongue, leaves a chain of bite marks between them. Wants to mark him up so the whole world will remember that he's taken, that they belong to one another.

Harry moans with it, laces his fingers into Louis' hair and tugs. He's been so good, so deserving, so Louis rewards him by moving back up, trails his mouth over Harry's stomach, his chest, attaches to his nipple. And Harry can't keep still, is rocking into Louis' thigh, scratching over his back, moaning low and desperate in his ear. He's drunk on the feeling of it, dizzy and reaching out.

The kiss is rough, biting at each other, desperate and peaking. Louis fucks his tongue into Harry's mouth at the same time as he lines up, dragging his head back and forth over where Harry is slick, loose from Louis’ tongue and his fingers. It's the phantom press of him, a suggestion, until Harry reaches down, grips at him, tries to guide him deeper. Louis rocks with him, thrusts shallow until the head pops in.

He wrenches back, freezes and watches Harry's face, his wide eyes and wider mouth, moaning loud and sharp. It's a precursor to the way he moves, reaches above his head to brace a hand on the headboard as he slides down the mattress - forces Louis deeper into him. He's so tight, so hot inside, and Louis has to dig his nails into his own thigh to keep from snapping his hips.

"Oh god." Harry's voice bounces around the room, moaning deep in his chest, rumbling as he rolls back and then presses down again, fucking himself on Louis' cock.

Louis lets him have it, lets him take what he wants, watches with half lidded eyes as Harry rocks against him. It's hard to move like this, the sheets a mess under Harry's back, face red and blotchy onto his chest. He's committed to it though, starts a slow, deep rhythm until Louis suddenly shifts his weight, snaps in just as Harry comes down.

The sound this time is higher, a bitten off wail that Louis just lets out of his mouth. It's answered a moment later by Harry's own moan, both of them so loud, too loud, in the hotel room. There is no way the neighbors can't hear, probably the whole fucking floor. But it's really an afterthought, a blip on the radar, especially when Louis reaches down, guides Harry's legs up and around his waist.

He locks them just above Louis' ass, tugs them tight together so there is no space between them. This close, Louis can feel it when Harry loses his breath, tastes the gasp and the moans on his tongue. It's like they're melting together, fucking hard and fast, wrapped up in sweat and the fever of it. Harry pets his fingers over Louis' jaw, his cheek, marveling at him with glassy eyes and a wet mouth.

"Love you like this. Just for me, baby." Louis gasps, his voice thin and reedy, grunting when Harry squeezes tight around him. "You're so beautiful. Fucking perfect. Holy shit."

"Feel so good in me. No one else can do it like this." Harry answers, let’s all the words spill out of him, doesn't even try to hold them back. "Never want anyone else."

"Nah?" Louis raises an eyebrow at that, rolls on his knees a little, gets a better angle. With the next thrust, he's aiming into Harry's prostate, watches the goosebumps break out of his chest. "No one?"


Linking their fingers, Harry raises his hand above his head, lets Louis' weight pin it down to the mattress. He's staggering biting, sucking kisses along the sharp line of Louis' jaw, leaves a breadcrumb trail over his throat. Louis ducks his head, has to get Harry's mouth on his own, remind him not to leave too many. They're still on tour. Louis is still going to have to pay for this.

To distract him, Louis uses his free hand to reach between their stomach, wraps his fist around Harry's leaking cock. He's wet at the tip, hot and silky in Louis' palm. It's muscle memory, knows just what it will take Harry to get there, to get off. Louis strokes him slow, twists at the head, before going back down fast, times his thrusts to the movement of his hands.

It's been too long, too much edging and disappointment, so when Harry gives a sharp cry, pulls back from Louis' mouth, he can tell he's already close. Louis changes his grip a little, thrusts a little harder, rocks his full weight into it. It's not hard to get lost in it, overwhelmed and thrumming, delirious in the way Harry is gripping down at him, legs tight around Louis, calling out for him.

Between one stroke and the other that Harry chokes over his name, tosses his head back against the mattress in a wave of curls. He comes with a cry, his cock twitching and spurting between Louis' fingers, up onto his stomach, his chest. He's so red, so wet, so fucking tight when he turns into a vice between his legs.

Louis barely peels his fingers off him, grips Harry's hip with a sticky hand, gets another couple thrusts in before he's coming. It's everything in golden relief, all hazy with glimmer lights, and Louis wants to say something poetic or romantic but all he can feel is the burning, the engulfing pleasure shattering over his spine as he comes deep inside of Harry, clamped down, leaving bruises in the shape of his fingers.

Harry grunts when Louis collapses down on him, shifts a little so his sharp chin isn't digging into his sternum. He's shaking, legs trembling around Louis still, clamping down and spasming. He doesn't want Louis to pull away yet, lets it fester inside of him, thrumming with the high of it. Could float here forever, high on endorphins and the heat of having Louis all over him.

“Love you.” Harry mumbles through his wet gasping, brushes his fingers through Louis’ fringe.

“I love you baby.” Louis answers with a kiss to the curve of one of the bird’s on Harry’s chest. It’s tender and loving and Harry’s chest fills with warmth.

It's a while, too long, before Louis can feel his knees under him, before he pulls back and out, listens to Harry's little whimper of pain. His hole is red and puffy, leaking a little, and Louis presses a gentle, fleeting kiss to it before collapsing on Harry's left side.

“How does it get better every time?” Louis asks, stretches his back out, his arms above his head. “Like the first time, every time.”

“Not tired of me?” Harry turns his head, grins wide, dimple on his cheek. “Even after four years?”

“No. Of course not.” Louis reaches over, brushes a stray curl from Harry’s cheek. “Why? Are you?”


Harry answers simply, rolls over onto his side so he can curl around Louis. He’s still sticky, stomach a mess, thighs a mess, but he knows they’ll end up in the shower later anyways. Lets himself have this, being near and sharing slow, unhurried kisses. Louis is always so gentle with him, all soft hands and soothing touches, mouth eager but not bruising. It’s not like he’s with the other guys, this is just for Harry, the one to see the soft, the vulnerable Louis. Makes his heart hurt, full of adoration.

They’re nearly down from the high, pulses settling, when the buzzing starts. It’s half muffled under the blankets, a quick staccato rumbling under a stray pillow. It takes Louis too long to grab it, the ringing stop when he finally fishes the phone out. He’s missed a few calls from Liam, a row of texts spilling down the screen.

"What's wrong?" Harry cranes his head up, blinks languid and slow. He's starting to feel it, the exhaustion settling in his bones. He just wants to pull the covers over them and sleep.

"Liam wants to know how the vocal rest is going." Louis shrugs, thumb flicking over the screen. "Since, he says, the whole hotel can hear us."

"The acoustics." Harry waves a finger around, motioning to the room. "Really just superb. Should be happy you hit that high note at the end there."

"Oy, shut it." Louis reaches over, presses his fingers into Harry's side, right between his ribs.

It ends up with them rolling around, Harry trying to fend of Louis' clever fingers, tickling against his side, knowing all his weak spots. He manages to get that squawking laugh out of Harry, a bark turned into giggles as he tries to roll away from Louis' grip on his waist, pinching and digging in. It ends with Harry flat on his back, Louis looming over him, pinning one of his wrists down, fingers entwined. Harry could probably buck him off, could throw his weight around if he wanted, but he's a little mesmerized by the way Louis' blue eyes are sparking, delighted and warm.

"What are you grinning at?" Louis asks, uses his free hand to poke into Harry's dimple.

"Happy to be here with you." Harry doesn't lie, just gives up the truth.

"Only took us two weeks." Louis huffs, shifts down to kiss Harry's mouth, gentle and sweet. He almost misses Harry's response, feels it right against his lips, like a secret.

"Worth the wait."