"Christ Harry. y-your mouth," Louis breathlessly spluttered, voice hoarse and raw at the elicit moans escaping beyond his lips, the younger boy taking humour in his shaky, apprehensive yet blissful state as he licked along the underside of his hardened cock.
Whoever clearly stated one night stands were consequence of poor judgement and morality were completely wrong. After being enlisted by an abundance of his friends, Louis obliged to Stan's pleas and sauntered into the bar beside him, after finally finding a suited baby sitter for his six year old son; Jonah. He was the consequence of a failed six month eloping with a Vegas girl. Pfft. The boy was his only source of light, almost a rarity to get out, and his connection with his son immense, as he was only twenty-four, his other friends almost unable to fathom the thought of children. Jonah was to start school the next morning after a tedious summer break, but Louis had no intentions of that stopping him, pre-packing his lunchbox and preparing his bag for the next morning in-case he’d have to nurse his hangover. Or if he’d have to find his way back to his flat, set just to the South of Central Station, NYC.
He was quite the reserved man, a born and bred New York Yankee, American patriot and proud. After attending Julliard for his performing, (piano and vocals,) by second year he’d met Stan. Wild and relentless when it came to partying, invited the second grade student to a weekend getaway in Vegas. In short summary, he met the girl whom with vague, intoxicated eyes; appeared to be the one. After a day, they were giddily convinced to wed, as ridiculous as it sounded, who knew how easy it was to find his soul mate in such a swift period of time. That day, he felt his life had changed. And it had.
Six months of working a long distance relationship between the girl, Eleanor Calder, they’d solely given up, Eleanor not appeasing him in the ways he needed, was when he had the significant epiphany. It wasn’t just Eleanor. It wasn’t just that the girl he dated in tenth grade had small tits; he had no apparent liking, attraction, to female anatomy. He liked boys, and he was already hitched with a baby on the way. Shortly after Jonah’s birth, they’d reached a resolution, divorcing and giving Louis full custody, what with a stable job after graduating as a music technician; he looked after his boy in more ways than his mother ever could.
So he stood, peeing at a urinal, only to jump as he was interrupted from his restroom break by a curly haired boy with a smile quirked along his lips, who merely meandered past to teasingly accentuate his ass as he stalked off with a small, "Oops." Having taken the implied initiative to strike conversation with the boy, his hands slid around his waist, gripped his hips as Harry mewled in response, breathless as Louis dipped his head to indulge in kissing along his pale complexity, the porcelain skin beneath him quivering in anticipation. Before the clock stroked eleven, he had Harry preening, whining for him, which was quite the unexpected turn in the twist of what was supposed to be an uneventful occasion.
With an encouraging thumbs up from Stan whom had his lap occupied by a blonde girl by the apparent of one too many margaritas. Harry stifles a giggle behind him, Louis instinctively silencing him with a sweet kiss before intertwining their fingers and stepping out into the blistering cold of New York to flag down a taxi. Harry stumbles, still tipsy from the fruity flavoured cocktails Louis had insistently fed to him, pouring the sweetened drink between their lips with exchanges of soft giggles.
“Louu,” he whines, ambling as he cozied up to the older boy, “it’s cold!” He grumbled, biting down on his shoulder with a faint grin, suppressing his intoxicated snickers escaping again. Tonight would be just another meaningless sexual escapade according to Louis. As they clambered into a bright taxi, Louis practically threw his notes at the driver, requesting a sealed booth window and loud music. Very loud music. He had no hesitance to bundle the boy into his arms, setting him on his lap and curling an arm around his waist.
“Oh sweetheart, this’ll be the best one night stand you’ll ever have.” He breathed out in a chuckle, marking across Harry’s collarbone, in reciprocation, small whimpers of undoubtable pleasure radiate from him. This had to be the best stand for Louis too, the boy was more beyond sex, he was literally sex on legs, his husky low voice, tousled brown locks and gangly legs, he was remarkably beautiful; a shame they weren’t in the horny, un-sober predicament they were in.
By eleven thirty, they were most certainly both satisfied and well-fucked. Exchanging blowjobs, rimjobs, flipped roles and kisses, who needed the traditional phone number? Stimulated, overworked and overwhelmed, Harry lay slumped against Louis’ chest, the older boy mindlessly carding his hands through his hair, dawn breaking outside, having to conclude they’d spent the entirety of the night like rabbits.
Yawning, Harry grumbled and slumped a gangly arm across Louis’ waist, his expression endearing as he curled closer with an incoherent mumble. Louis swept his fringe back from his forehead and kissed it softly, only to pause and furrow his eyebrows. He had never been this affectionate with a one night stand. He did not spend the entire night there and he most certainly did not play with his partner’s hair. Something was wrong.
Lolling his head to the bedside table, he carelessly eyed the alarm, eyes widening in realisation of the time, half past five. With a groan, he shimmied from beneath the snoozing giant, the boy doe-eyed as he was woken in distress.
“Fuck. I-I Harry I have to go, I’m really fucking sorry, I just have so much to do and—“ In the distance, you heard a weak chuckle, shaking his head.
“I’d just go before I wake up completely love, thanks for a good night.” The boy displeasingly huffed, scowling at the abandonment as he sulked and buried his head back against the pillow, having; in hopes; the boy would at least leave his number.
Louis apprehensively nodding and tugged on his boxers, grabbing his striped shirt and flamboyant red skinny jeans with his vans; stumbling back into the kitchen, groggy from the alcohol consumption the night before and sleep deprivation. Tugging his clothes on, he stammered out down the stairs of Harry’s apartment, licking his lips and attempting to identify pinpoints of his precise location, eventually resolving he lived two blocks south from the unit complex. As he tucked his hands in his jeans and lowered his head to avoid the frigid climate as though someone was blasting an AC in front of him. Proceeding to pace back to his own apartment, he wondered, having knowing where the boy lived, whether he’d permit for Louis to return back that same afternoon to apologise perhaps.
Arriving at the front door, he swiped his card and sauntered on through the now sweltering heat of the AC, he paced himself up the stairs before unlocking his apartment door and sighed as he saw the babysitter soundly asleep against the couch, reminding himself to make it a considerably larger cheque this time. After writing out a hundred dollar pay-check for the girl, he stirred her awake, thanked her for the task at hand and escorted her to his door before waking up his boy.
As he wondered into his main bedroom, having spent a consistent six years of his life with his beautiful son Jonah tucked into his side, they shared a bed, a room, they were tight knit; but still he had a room available to Jonah’s of his own if ever he was too old, and wished to grow from a phase. Louis crouched down to gently wake his son, his first day of school as a grade one student. As he gently shook him, he cooed fondly into his ear.
“Daddy’s making some pancakes, wake up if you want some,” he’d often tease, watching the groggy boy wipe at his eyes and stumble from their bed to give him a swift kiss on the cheek and seat himself around the kitchen table. As routine, Louis poured the pre-made batter into the saucepan and prepared two in the shape of hearts to appease Jonah, who was indeed, the boy who he loved so dearly.
“Morning daddy.” He mumbled, Louis reciprocating with a small chirpy ‘hello,’ and setting the two pancakes against Jonah and his own plate, smiling as he prepared the syrups to appease Jonah. As they are wordlessly in peace, he smiled fondly at the small boy that came to be so incredibly similar to him. Azure, cerulean blue eyes was he graced with, his ruffled feathered hair and wickedly charming smile.
“Big day huh kiddo?” He mused, lightening the mood, returning to scrub clean the dishes as the boy changed into his new uniform, tugging his greyed trousers around his hips, buttoning up a white logo pressed shirt and fumbling with his tie.
“Yep! Sammy is going to meet me at the gate and we’re going to walk in together!” He exasperated, Louis beaming as he turned around, kneeling in the centre of the kitchen floor, assisting Jonah tie the knot to his tie, smoothing the creases of his uniform and tucking his shirt in encouragingly.
“That’s great baby. Why don’t you go get your big-boy lace ups and daddy gets your bag ready? “ He cooed, the boy nodding at the suggestion as he complied, rummaging through his end-less sets of lace-ups Louis had longingly bought for the boy. Kneeling down, he tied his shoe laces and set the bag atop his back, clasping his hand and locking up their apartment, before escorting his son down towards his run down second hand Toyota corolla ascent.
Easing the five year old into the passenger seat and buckling him in, he steadied himself and clambered into the driver’s seat, setting the backpack at Jonah’s feet and pulling the car out from reverse to abandon the underground car-park for the residents of his complex. The drive to the newly anticipated primary school for Jonah was a few blocks north, stuck in the anticipated New York traffic, and slamming his head displeasingly against the steering wheel, Jonah responding with stifled snickers beside him. Huffing, he composed himself again and drove towards the parking bay for the all boy’s school. The school appeared considerably private and elite, the uniforms expensive, textbooks a beguiling price, and a parking bay for parents? Louis had gone in too deep.
Eventually snatching a park from an oblivious mother midway applying lipstick to herself, he smirked in accomplishment and beamed as he pulled into parking gear, retrieving his keys and smirking as he unclasped Jonah’s buckle, who was already squirming out of the car to chase after his few friends entering the front gates.
Reluctantly sighing, he clasped his bag and cast it across his own shoulder, stepping out and pacing after his son, licking his lips instinctively, as he stormed across the playground, fringe switching sides from the forceful gusts of wind, watching as they all united as a cohort, Jonah receiving a tag with his name upon in pinned to his uniform shirt, Louis smiling faintly as he took clasp of the boy’s hand.
“Don’t just leave daddy like that next time Jonah, you know I could’ve lost you!” He scowled softly, the boy shrinking apologetically before Louis hesitantly drawled out a sigh and crouched down to kiss his son’s forehead.
“Sorry daddy, I promise not to run off!” He assured the boy momentarily distracted by his idle classmates.
“Have a lovely day okay? Make friends, don’t be naughty. Why don’t we go find out who your new teacher is?” He mused quietly, the boy eagerly nodding as he guided him towards a formally dressed woman, knee high socks and a skirt to her skins, Louis politely offering a hand.
“Erm, hi, I’m Louis Tomlinson, Jonah’s father. I was enquiring which teacher and room he was assigned.” He hummed, the woman frantically shuffling through a list of the cohort, finding the last-name ‘T,’ and smiling politely in reciprocation.
“Ah, Jonah here has Mr Styles, a marvellous teacher indeed. His room is two doors down is you’d like to send him to place his bag down and introduce yourself.” She insightfully explained, Louis gratefully nodding as he dodged through an abundance of parents tending to their sons.
As he distinguished the room, he smiled widely and found the designated bag hook for his boy, ‘Jonah,’ taped atop the handle as he helped him place it on, escorting him into the roomful of children Mr Styles was to teach. Louis wondered on in, in anticipation the man would be an aged one, greyed hair and exhausted smile, creases against his forehead from a tedious half decade of living.
Yet as he turned his attention to the young figure leaning by the desk, his eyes widened in awe, gasping in disbelief as he set his hands on Jonah’s shoulders to steer him in an alternate direction. As he had Jonah only grab his hand and drag him in tow towards what was supposed to be a one night stand, he swallowed thickly and straightened himself to glance up, Harry’s eyes soon to widen as he stifled a chuckle.
“Mr Styles this is my daddy Louis!” Jonah introduced him, his cheeks flustered as he refused to leave the comfort of Harry’s longing emerald stare. The intensity of it disguised his emotions. Was he angered he left? Confused for solving why he’d left? Did he even recognise him with the fuelled alcohol intoxicating him the night before?
“I’m Harry Styles, Jonah’s new teacher. Pleasure to meet you Mr Tomlinson.” Harry chimed politely. Cocky bastard. With a reluctant smile, Louis outstretched his hand in offer, the span of Harry’s hand enveloping his own in awe.
“Pleasure is all mine, Harry.” He gritted out, the boy considerably smug at his teases.
“Quite the firm handshake too, I’m impressed how good your hands are, working I mean. Are you a handyman?” He mused Louis dully glaring at him with unimpressed expression navigating his emotions.
“Quite, actually. I’m really good with my hands. “ He snapped, withdrawing his clasp before patting Jonah on the back to encouragingly aimlessly wonder the classroom, only for Louis to lunge at Harry, clutching his button up and dragging him in tow towards the arts storage room, closing it after him.
“What the fuck? You’re his teacher? You’ve got to be kidding me!” He snapped, burying his head in his hands, silence settled between us, Louis curious as to why Harry hadn’t taken the initiative to comfort, and or complain with him.
“What’s your problem? Aren’t you uncomfortable with this?” Louis evasively questioned, Harry meekly smirking across. The boy sauntered closed, crowding the boy against the storage walls, the shelving units above him stirring uneasily at the collision, back pressed against the wall as Harry dipped down, pressing a soft kiss beneath his earlobe.
“Oh Mr Tomlinson, it’s going to be a long year.”