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To Be the Friction in Your Jeans

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Harry’s not shy by any means. He’s knows he’s a little brash, a little too forward, a little too eager to strip off and show everyone the goods. It’s a bad habit.

And yes, he’s more comfortable naked, without tags scratching his neck and collars suffocating him and tight, pesky waistbands leaving lines on his soft skin— but it gives him a thrill as well. Waiting for new people to intrude on his nudity so he can smile and wave as they duck out, cheeks flaming and apologies leaving their tongues as quickly as they do the room. It never takes very long; Harry’s nude a lot. The boys all caught glimpses of him naked within a week of learning his name. A year later, all four of them would be able to pick his cock and balls out of a lineup without hesitation. Niall’s said so.

But once they got used to it, getting caught lost its spark. Nothing surprises them anymore: Liam watched him get naked on a plane and barely thought anything of it until one of the security guys pointed it out to him afterwards; Zayn doesn’t bat an eyelash when he looks up from his phone to get an eyeful of Harry’s dick; Niall scooped some dip off his naked thigh one time when they were sharing takeout and didn’t say a word about it; and Louis has, on multiple occasions, woken up to find Harry nude, checking the news on his phone and sipping his morning tea, at the kitchen table, and every time he’s poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat down opposite Harry with this sleepy, crinkly-eyed smile, like it’s normal and okay to be nude in the kitchen.

Of course, Louis’ also fucked him on that table, so maybe he should be exempt. He supposes it’s okay for his boyfriend to be underwhelmed by his constant nudity, but his friends should still get a little flustered. Otherwise, where’s the fun?


When they’re touring in America, sharing space on the bus and hotel rooms for days on end, he decides to take things up a notch to see if he can get the reaction he wants.

Harry’s wanked with the other boys around before. They all have. They try to be courteous about it, though. Go to the bathroom if they can, use their private time in the shower wisely, wait until everyone’s asleep. Or if they’re too horny to do any of that, they’re at least quiet about it. Between the five of them exists a long tradition of gently creaking mattresses and softly shifting sheets and carefully stifled groans. One which Harry’s more than ready to break.

He waits for a night when they haven’t had too busy a schedule— just a few routine interviews, one fan signing, and then back on the bus for the night to the next city— so they’re not too exhausted, and won’t drop off right away. They all head to bed at about the same time; say their goodnights and share a few routine exchanges (“Can’t you toss your dirty shorts on your own bed in the morning, Niall?”

“I don’t have good aim at 6 am, all right? Toss ‘em over here.”

“6 am is a disgusting time. If anyone wakes me up before 7, they’re dead.”

“You have to get up before 7, Zayn. The taping starts at 7:30. Now has anyone seen my toothbrush?”

“Harry and I were using it in our sex play, sorry.”

“That’s not even funny.”) as they all climb into their designated bunks. Harry is vibrating with the knowledge of what he’s about to do; when he gets up into bed and Liam (toothbrush located, teeth properly cleaned) shuts the light off, he’s already hard.

He lies back, hands tucked under his thighs to keep himself from touching prematurely, until he’s sure everyone is settled in. He waits long enough that all their hearing must have adjusted to the quiet. He sleeps in the nude, so there’s no awkward shuffling about to get his hand inside his pants to help tip everyone off to what’s about to go down. In lieu of that, he tries to rustle around a bit in his blankets, shove them off as loudly as he can to get the other boys’ attention. He grunts as he takes his cock in his hand and then he goes still, breathing shallowly, so he can hear the fragile silence in the room. He’s pretty sure that no one’s asleep yet. If he stopped and settled back into bed, Zayn would probably drop off in the next five minutes, closely followed by Niall, then Liam after a half hour or so, and finally Louis. But he’s so hard right now that he’s going to have to get himself off, whether he’s going to make a production of it or not.

He strokes himself once, with a good amount of pressure, and has to bite his lip to hold in a sound. He still doesn’t quite muffle it, though. Zayn rolls over in the bunk beneath him, and yeah, he’s definitely awake and he can hear everything Harry’s doing. Zayn sighs and readjusts the stuffing in his pillow and Liam coughs, and Harry hasn’t been this desperately hard in so long. He strokes himself again, and this time he doesn’t hold in the sound— a breathy uh punches out of him, so loud in the nearly noiseless room. He hears Niall mumble something into his pillow and the distinctive sound of Zayn tapping the keys on his Blackberry and he tugs himself off faster, thumbing at the wet head and sucking in a sharp breath at how good it feels, how close he already is.

All of them must be able to hear him. They must. They’re all lying in the dark together, none of them saying a word; just trying to ignore the slick, intimately familiar sounds of a hand working a cock— Harry’s hand working his cock, to be specific. Liam clears his throat and Harry bucks up into his hand with a wavering moan, his bunk creaking beneath him. Even if he wanted to be quiet now, he couldn’t; this is way too good. He feels something vibrate next to his hip and he gasps as the soft light of his phone comes on, illuminating the crevice created in the covers bunched up by his thigh.

A text from Louis: “cum already Harry so we can all go to sleep,” it says and really, that’s all the encouragement Harry needs. He groans louder than he means to, breathing harsh and heavy through his nose as he fucks his fist and focuses on all of them hearing him. Maybe covering their faces with their pillows, maybe holding their hands over their ears, maybe with their hands down their pants, as hard from listening to him get off as he is from them listening to him getting off. He lets out another groan, which tapers off into a really quite pornographic exhale, he thinks, proud of himself for it even mid-orgasm, as his body tenses up and he shoots onto his stomach. He pumps himself through it until all that’s left is the come dribbling over his fist, dripping down over his shaking fingers.

Slowly his breathing calms, and his phone buzzes again. Louis again. “god Harry now I need a wank,” Harry reads, and then barks out a laugh that he’s sure must startle everyone. He wipes his fingers off on his stomach and texts back, “Go for it ;)”.

Then he looks at his fingers, and at his stomach, and wishes he’d thought this out thoroughly enough to include tissues in the plan.

Harry hears one of the boys moving, getting out of bed and walking, and his heart speeds up again. He can tell, though, by the outline in the dark, that it’s Louis. He relaxes and tries not to laugh out loud again. Louis goes into the bathroom and doesn’t come out for longer than it would take to take a piss. Harry’s tempted to send him a smug, “Enjoying yourself in there?”, but he doesn’t want to get any more filthy fingerprints on his screen. When Louis comes out, he walks closer to Harry’s bed than is necessary on the path back to his own bed. Harry hears him whisper, “Heads up, stud,” right before a wad of toilet paper lands on Harry’s shoulder and rolls down to the center of his chest. That time he does laugh out loud.

“Thanks,” he texts to Louis, with clean fingers and a smile still on his face.

“Youre welcome, you little pervert. now go to sleep,” Louis responds.

Harry texts him a cheeky “<3” back. Then he locks his phone, tucks it away, and drifts off feeling massively satisfied with himself.


Harry steps out of the shower the morning after his little experiment with a bit of a bounce of his step. Upon waking up he didn’t regret a thing, and he still doesn’t now that he’s clean and fully awake. He leaves his towel hanging over the shower rod after he’s dried himself off and exits the bathroom, shaking his damp hair out with his fingers. Louis stops buttoning up his shirt for a second to slap Harry’s bum when he walks by. It trips Harry up and he whips around to grin at Louis, wet hairs plastered to his forehead and cheeks.

“Made quite the spectacle of yourself last night, Styles,” Louis says, under his breath— but not as quietly as he would if he didn’t want anyone to overhear.

Louis’ verbal acknowledgement of what happened last night is enough to arouse Harry, but there’s no time for that now. They’ve got an interview to get to in twenty minutes. Harry walks backwards in the direction of where he knows his bed must be because he has to keep his eyes locked with Louis’ as they have some sort of seductive eyebrow waggling showdown. Unsurprisingly, he bumps into something. Something warm and solid and smelling like cologne. Harry spins around and comes face to face with Zayn, who is fully dressed but clearly not fully awake; his hair’s still soft and flat against his forehead and he’s unshaven and just all around groggy-looking. It must take a few seconds for Harry’s face to register with his half-asleep brain, because when it does Harry can see it happen; his eyes go wide and he takes a quick step back.

“Sorry Harry, I didn’t, uh— see you there,” he mutters, eyes averted and face going pink.
It’s the biggest reaction Harry’s gotten to waving about his unclothed penis in a year, and it sends the same thrill up his spine as it always used to.


“Sorry,” Louis apologizes, and Harry’s head snaps up when Louis nudges him to indicate that it’s on behalf of him. Harry tries to smile in a way that is both charming and apologetic; this is the second time he’s zoned out and missed a question during this interview. “Harry here’s just a bit overtired,” Louis says, ruffling Harry’s hair. What the camera doesn’t catch is Louis’s nails digging into his scalp, catching in his curls and tugging in a way that makes Harry’s throat constrict tight around a groan. “We all are. Didn’t sleep well last night.”

Four pairs of eyes land on Harry simultaneously, and then three of them dart away; Louis’ eyes linger, sparking and crinkling up at the corners with the wicked force of his grin. There had been a bit of tension between the five of them already (especially with Zayn, who’s sitting next to Harry but is leaning so far away from him that he’s pressed lengthwise against Niall, pushing him half off the arm of the couch), but now it’s ratcheted up to a level the interviewer might be able to spot, never mind the terrifyingly observant fans. Zayn’s not touching Harry, and Niall’s face is red, but Niall’s face is often red, and Liam is fiddling with his mic and refolding his leg under himself and not looking at anyone but the interviewer. Louis is still looking right at Harry. Harry nods and, trying to keep his voice even even though he’s shaking all over, says, “Yeah, bit of a disturbance on the tour bus.”

“Really? Can you tell us more about what happened?” The interviewer suddenly looks a lot more invested in them and less in her notepad of questions.

Niall laughs hysterically, a strangled sort of laugh that registers as desperation in Harry’s mind, and Zayn snorts and Liam pretends to tighten his shoelace and Louis laughs too, the only one who seems to genuinely find any of this funny, and slings an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Oh y’know, Harry was just being a bit rowdy. A bit noisy. He sure can be a handful, can’t he lads?”

Harry is afraid Liam might choke to death on his embarrassment, judging by the noise he makes. He would clap him on the back to be sure he’s breathing okay, but he’s afraid that would put him in an even more fragile state. Niall laughs again, weakly. Zayn glares at Louis, who is brushing all the follow-up questions off like a true bullshitter. Harry, for his part, tries to nonchalantly place his hand on the couch at an angle where his arm will block his boner from the camera’s view. But it’s probably too late. His Twitter feed tonight will probably be full of grainy screencaps of this interview with his crotch circled in red in Paint, and this time the fans will be right about the reason for the outline in his trousers.


Two days later, everything is normal again. The boys touch him without hesitating or lingering too long, and none of them give him that look like, Oh god, I know what you sound like when you come. (Well, except Louis, but Harry likes that look from Louis.)

Now that everyone’s moved on and let their guard down, he can act on the vibes he got from Zayn the first morning after. He’s got a whole elaborate plan. He nicked Zayn’s iPod and put it on the desk in his hotel room, as if Zayn had forgotten it there the night before when Harry was showing him how to stream the shows he was missing at home on his laptop, and Zayn’s going to work out with Liam in a half hour, so he’ll come looking for it.

Harry closes his door and checks twice to make sure it’s unlocked. Then he sits on his bed, lifts his hips and wriggles out of his boxers. His cock slaps up against his stomach, already hard. He bites his lip and touches his open hand to the head, pressing his cock in against his belly and smearing precome over the lines and folds in the soft skin of his palm. Then he circles his fingers around the shaft and lies back on the bed. He tries to keep his strokes light and fleeting, but it’s hard. He keeps remembering how flustered Zayn was, how he couldn’t even look at Harry without blushing, and that was just from hearing him.

His phone vibrates loudly against the surface of his nightstand. Harry almost knocks his lamp over reaching for it. He stops moving his hand and unlocks his phone.

It’s a text from Zayn: “did i leave my ipod in yr room?”

Harry’s dick jumps and he groans as he starts moving his hand again. He drops his phone without replying to the text. Zayn’s going to get impatient, and he’s going to come looking for it; Harry doesn’t have to do a thing except try not to come before Zayn shows up. He brings his other hand down to cup his balls, press them into the warmth of his palm as he jerks himself off faster. He licks his lips and slides his thumb over the slit in the head, moves it in a little circular motion to feel how wet he’s getting and moans because he can hear footsteps coming closer to his door and oh my god, he’s really getting off on this.

“Harry?” Zayn calls, and knocks once, a cursory gesture, before he opens the door, “Hey Harry, did I leave my— oh shit.” His eyes land on Harry the moment he steps into the room, and then they go wide and his mouth drops open. Harry’s does as well, on an exaggerated breathy moan, and his eyes slide closed, and he can hear Zayn not leaving and it only takes him two more tugs before he’s coming so hard that a bit of it lands on his shoulder, the rest in lines across his stomach and chest.

The door slams shut. When Harry looks up, the room’s empty.

“Zayn!” Harry calls, quietly pleased with how gravelly his voice sounds, “Zayn, come back! Your iPod is in here, man. I’d get it, but I’m a little... messy. At the moment.”

“I knocked!” Zayn snaps when he comes back into the room, a hand clamped over his eyes. “If you got my text, why didn’t you, I don’t know, stop wanking and answer it?”

“I dunno,” Harry says, with a smile Zayn can probably hear. Zayn grumbles something under his breath that doesn’t sound very charitable. Actually, it sounds like such a fucking twat. “Desk, Zayn, on the desk,” Harry instructs when Zayn just sort of stands there. Zayn reaches over, groping blindly, and Harry adds, “To the right, past my laptop. No, past my laptop. Yeah. There you go.”

Zayn shoves his iPod in his pocket, flips Harry off, and slams out of the room again.


He gets Liam a week later. Same setup, but this time he takes Liam’s shoes, which is not really very subtle. But Liam isn’t paranoid, not ever suspicious of people’s motives, so when he comes into Harry’s room after he’s looked everywhere else, tore my room apart and didn’t find a thing! You wouldn’t happen to have seen them, would you? and finds him, in much the same position Zayn found him, but this time with two fingers in his ass, it can’t have even crossed his mind that Harry wanted it that way.

“Oh! Oh, wow, Harry, I’m so sorry,” he stutters, probably louder than he means to, and then stumbles out of the room babbling something about just borrowing Zayn’s sneakers, they pinch my toes a bit but I can live for one night, sorry again Harry, and then an emphatic “oh my god” when he thinks he’s out of earshot.

Harry rubs his fingers over his prostate until he comes with a sharp cry, the shocked look on Liam’s face playing over and over on the back of his eyelids like a DVD that’s skipping. (Or one that he’s purposely rewinding and playing, rewinding and playing and pausing and rewinding and playing and rewinding and playing again.)


Niall isn’t so easy. Zayn and Liam’s encounters got around the tour bus in no time, and now none of them will come into Harry’s room if the door’s closed, no matter what he hides from them in there. Wanking in random places where Niall might come across him works just as well as he thought it would— not at all. After two unsuccessful weeks, he sort of gives up. Niall must really be on his toes for Harry to have failed after so many attempts.

He’s not even at the hotel right now. It’s just Harry and Zayn, and Zayn’s holed up in his room skyping with two of his friends from home. Harry pushes himself up off his bed, where he’d been lying face-down trying to get a bit of rest, to check the time. It’ll be at least two hours until Louis and Liam get back from sightseeing and Louis and Zayn drag him out for food and alcohol, and he’s exhausted. Not just tired, but sore. All his muscles ache when he stretches, and they ache even more when he walks to the door. Zayn gives a pretty good back massage, but Harry doesn’t want to bother him when he’s catching up with friends. Plus, his entire body hurts. What he could really use right now is a hot tub. He hasn’t got one, but there is a big bath tub in the full bathroom of their suite; he strips off his boxers and heads for the bathroom the second the thought enters his head.

Harry used to run baths for his mum on nights when she worked late. Gemma did it when she still lived at home and Harry took over when she moved out. His mum would come out of the bathroom in her robe with her hair up in a towel and kiss Harry on the cheek and tell him he was the loveliest son anyone could ask for. His mum was right about how nice baths can be at the end of a hard day, as she is about most things. Every time he’s had access to a tub and free time on the tour, he’s spent an hour or more soaking, melting out every twinge in his joints. (On one memorable occasion, Harry got out of the tub all pruny and content and smelling like soap, and Louis dragged him into his room and put his mouth on every inch, every inch, of Harry’s skin until he was boneless and trembling and not so clean anymore.)

Harry sinks down into the water when he’s got it almost the right temperature, and it only takes him a bit of fiddling with the taps to get it perfect— just a few degrees below scalding. Harry sighs and tips his head back to get comfortable against the edge of the tub, but it feels weird having his hair dry while the rest of him is wet, so he dunks his head under the water and scrapes it back off his face, then settles back down again. The tub’s big enough that he can stretch his legs out all the way, so the soles of his feet press into the opposite side. He works his shoulders with his hands, groaning as he eases the tension out of his muscles as best he can. It’s not as good as it would be if Zayn were doing it, but it still feels amazing combined with the water enveloping him, the heat seeping into his skin. Harry slides his hand down to his chest, presses his palm over his nipple and it hardens under his touch. He licks his lips, arousal stirring in his gut, and figures, why not; he’s alone and intends to remain that way, which means he can try not to rush it for the first time in weeks.

He gradually submerges his hands as he drags them down his stomach and along his thighs, then spreads his legs and bends them at the knee so he touch the insides of his thighs, palms flat and fingers spread wide over the hot skin. He thinks about getting a finger or two inside himself, but once he touches his cock he knows he won’t need it. Just this is enough, his hand and the steam rising up all around him and the slippery friction of the water sloughing off him as he sits up higher and gets a better grip. He strokes his cock lazily, breathing deep and slowly, slowly winding himself up with the memories of the last three wanks he’s had with someone, or four someones, present. It’s the most leisurely one he’s had in a while.

Or at least, it is until the door opens and Harry’s eyes flutter open to see Niall in the doorway.

“Thought you were out,” Harry muses when the moment of surprise passes, his body heating up even more as he takes in Niall’s gradually flushing face. The heat and pleasure’s made him so delirious that it takes him a while to remember that this is exactly what he’s been trying to make happen for weeks. He clears his throat and tries to remain casual, because maybe it’ll get Niall to say a little longer. “What’re you doing here?”

“Got back early and Zayn was taking a shower in the other bathroom.” He doesn’t seem flustered at all, except for the initial flush. But Niall looks like that every time he stumbles upon Harry showing a lot of skin. Harry wonders if... maybe the sides of the tub are too high for Niall to see anything. He’s still jerking off, even faster now that Niall’s here, and Niall isn’t reacting at all. “Why wasn’t the door locked?” Niall asks. Curious, not accusatory like he’s angry at Harry for thrusting this image upon him.

Harry didn’t leave the door unlocked on purpose. He really didn’t. When they have a suite like this, with adjoining rooms and one or two shared bathrooms, they have rules about it. Always lock the bathroom door when you are occupying the bathroom; if the door’s not locked, you can go right in. (Liam made it mandatory the second time he walked in on Zayn trimming his pubes.) They trust this, and rely on it. It would’ve been perfect for Harry to exploit in his favor, but he didn’t even think of it.

“Forgot, sorry,” Harry grunts. He’s not sure if this is hotter if Niall doesn’t know or if he does. Something about this is doing it for Harry, though. Having a normal conversation with Niall while he touches himself, Niall none the wiser. Maybe he could even come like this, right in front of Niall without Niall knowing. He jerks himself fast enough to get the water sloshing around and asks, voice admirably even, “Did you need something?”

Niall waves his hand. “Nah, I’ll wait for Zayn to get out of the other bathroom. He’s gotta be almost done by now. You look pretty comfortable there.”

Harry nods. “I am,” he says, and his voice is rough enough that he’s sure Niall will think something’s off, but Niall just laughs indulgently and leans against the doorframe, like he intends to stay awhile. He has to say something else or Niall will leave, so he asks, “Where were you today?” and crosses his free fingers that Niall doesn’t think anything of the breathlessness of it.

“Oh, my brother was in town, so we went to a pub and watched the game. Good time.”

“That’s nice.” Niall has no idea. He has no idea. He’s staring right into Harry’s eyes, and he has no idea. Niall starts talking again, going into details about the game that Harry’s not hearing because his heart is pounding and he’s concentrating too hard on not arching his spine and moaning aloud when he comes. He, for the first time while in front of someone else, tries to keep it subtle; he clenches his jaw and presses his lips tight together and his eyes slide shut, for one eon of a second, as his toes curl against the side of the tub and he spills into his hand.

“And you’re not even listening to me,” Niall sighs, shaking his head good-naturedly at Harry, “so I’m gonna go see if the other bathroom’s free. Don’t fall asleep in there or you’ll shrivel up like a prune. Or drown.”

“Noted,” Harry breathes, managing a close-mouthed smile before Niall shuts the door.

Harry lies back and sinks down into the water until his face is the only part of him exposed to the air.


Harry’s on the couch in the common area of their suite, feet propped up on the seat and knees apart as he scrolls through the list he’s made of his friends on Twitter. He’d thought about turning the TV on, but the controller was all the way on the other side of the coffee table and he was quite comfortable where he was, scrunched up in the corner of the couch with his back to the arm. He’s got a few hours before he has to be anywhere, and he’s never sure how to use time like that. He has this nagging feeling that he should be catching up on something more important than Twitter, doing something more important than tweeting some replies to friends and fans, but his hectic life has him missing so much that he never knows where to start with the little free time he has. This seems as good as anything.

Harry feels lips brushing his ear and his foot kicks out in surprise, knocking the coffee table askew.

“Calm down before you break something. It’s just me,” Louis says softly.

“Oh. Hi.” Harry smiles and relaxes back into the couch, into Louis’ touch. He draws the coffee table back where it belongs with his ankle hooked around a leg and then props his feet up on it, stretching his legs out. Louis puts his hand on Harry’s shoulder, then slips it under Harry’s thin t-shirt to thumb at his collarbone; Harry tilts his head up to find Louis’ lips, but Louis draws back out of his reach. Harry purses his lips in an inviting little pout and says, “Hey. Kiss me.”

Louis speaks in Harry’s ear again; “Not just yet,” he says, and slides both his hands down Harry’s chest, dragging his t-shirt down so the wrinkled hem is almost past his nipples. (The first two, anyway.) “What’s this I hear about everyone catching you wanking?” Louis asks, and Harry can’t stop his startled intake of breath. “Am I not satisfying you sexually, hmmm?” Louis murmurs, punctuating his question with a teasing nip to Harry’s earlobe.

Harry’s already getting turned on. The others told Louis about seeing Harry. Louis knows. “What if you’re not, huh?” Harry teases back, even though he actually wants to ask Louis who told him and when and what they said and how they said it and what their face looked like when they said it. “You gonna do something about it?”

Louis bites his ear a little harder and Harry whines, reaching up a hand to twist into Louis’ hair. He pulls Louis close, so his next words are breathed into the curve of Harry’s neck, “Not fair, Harry. How come I’m the only person in this band who hasn’t seen you having a wank? I’m hurt.”

Harry’s next exhale is shaky and unsteady because he’s trying so hard not to moan outright; it’s even harder when Louis rubs rough fingers against Harry’s nipple through his shirt. “You have, though.”

“Yeah, when I was fucking you or you were sucking my dick. Not what I’m talking about. I want to see you get yourself off without me touching you. Not once.”

“You’re touching me right now,” Harry points out cheekily.

Louis takes his hands off him immediately, which wasn’t quite what Harry was expecting, but okay; Louis’ taking this seriously. Harry’s shirt stays stretched out when Louis lets go of it, collar misshapen by Louis’ hands. Louis leans in, close as he can get without contact, and whispers, “Get in my bedroom.”

Harry doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s already done stripping off when Louis shuts the door behind him. Louis tells him to get up on the bed, all the way up the pillows, and then he climbs up too and sits perched on the foot of it.

“Go on,” Louis nods when Harry doesn’t make a move, “Touch yourself. Touch your cock for me.”

Harry smiles a dirty smile and does as Louis says, until he’s fully hard. Harry lets his legs fall open and grips the base of his cock tight, the way Louis does before he starts sucking Harry off, and Louis licks his lips and leans forward unconsciously. “What else, huh Lou? What else should I do?”

Louis must realize he’s salivating a little over Harry’s cock because he abruptly sits back, trapping his hands under his thigh. “Touch your nipples. Know you like that.”

Harry pinches his right, uppermost nipple and twists it in his fingers, sucking in a breath at the hint of pain he wrings out. “Good?”

Louis raises his eyebrows when Harry starts to take his hand away. “Don’t forget your third one.”

Harry laughs as he circles his fingertip over the higher of his two smaller nipples, feeling a bit silly. “What about the fourth one then?”

“I like the third one best.”

Harry laughs again, but it’s shorter than before— his breathing’s starting to speed up.

“Is this doing it for you?” Louis asks. He sounds more breathless than Harry.

Harry nods, because it is, but not, he’s quickly realizing, because it’s hitting this newly-discovered... thing of his. It’s because it’s Louis and Louis’ voice and Louis’ bright, dilated green eyes rapt on him, and that’s all Harry ever needs to turn him on. It’s great, but it’s not the same as when Liam and Zayn walked in on him, when Niall watched him. This doesn’t feel dirty; it just feels like sex with Louis, except one-sided. What’s dirty about making himself come in front of Louis? Even when Louis fetches lube from his travel bag and chucks it to Harry and Harry squirts it into his hand, circles two slick fingers over his hole and pushes them in and opens himself up so he can work in a third and Louis watches him, watches all of it, barely blinking as he rubs his cock through his jeans, Harry still doesn’t get the same thrill as he did just wanking that first night, when all four of the boys could hear him.

Louis gets up on his knees to shove his jeans down and then, once he’s got them down his thighs, rocks back into a sitting position so he can tug them off by the skinny ankles. He pulls his t-shirt off too. “Fuck, Harry, this is really hot,” he groans as he grabs a hold of his cock through his underwear. “Go faster.”

Harry doesn’t disagree, it just... could be hotter. But the second thing Louis said— Harry’s happy to go along with that. He props one foot up so it’s flat on the bed and raises his hips up a bit so he can thrust his fingers in and out without as much resistance, hit his prostate more often and make himself moan for Louis.

“I wanna see it, Harry, fuck,” Louis groans. The dark head of Louis’ cock sticks out from under the tight waistband of his boxer briefs as he jerks himself off through the fabric, looking wet at the tip, and Harry thinks about mouthing at him with the fabric still separating his lips from Louis’ salty skin, until it’s damp all the way through. “Come on, Harry. I wanna see you come like you do when I’m not there. Like you did when Zayn saw you.”

Harry moans, sharp and surprised and says, “Yes, Louis. Tell me what he told you.” He almost comes too soon when he starts actively jerking himself off again in anticipation for what Louis is going to say; he has to wrap his hand tight around the base of his cock and leave it there, breathe for a moment before he can push his fingers back in deep because Louis talking about this, talking about this while he watches Harry get off from the thought of it, is almost too much.

Louis pushes his fringe back off his forehead and re-arranges himself so he’s sitting half cross-legged, his legs loosely folded. “He said he walked in, and he looked at you and you looked back at him and— well, ‘moaned like a fucking porn star and jizzed all over himself’, were his exact words. Bit crude, but he paints a nice, obscene picture. I heard him rubbing one out after you fell asleep the night you had a wank for everyone to hear, by the way. Forgot to tell you that. ”

Harry can barely breathe. He’s fucking himself fast now, his arm beginning to cramp from the angle it’s at, but he keeps it up through the discomfort. If he started jerking himself off again, this’d be all over in seconds. But he doesn’t want that. He wants to hear everything Louis has to say before this ends.

“Is that what Liam saw too? He wouldn’t tell me, but I could tell from his face that it was something awfully filthy you were doing, Harry. You know what he said? He came up to me last night and he said, ‘Louis, are you and Harry, like...’” Louis puts on a spot-on impersonation of Liam’s fading Wolverhampton accent, lowering his voice to match the deepness of it as well— as if Harry couldn’t already hear Liam’s voice perfectly in his mind, “‘on a break, or something? Because he’s seemed a bit. Um. Horny, lately.’ Totally sincere, too. Can you believe that, Harry?” Louis asks, affecting surprise, “I tried to get it out of him, but he just went all red and stuttery and said he was glad our relationship wasn’t in trouble.”

“He would,” Harry grunts, huffing out a laugh.

“Yes, now answer my question, Harry,” Louis demands, eyes narrowing. “What were you doing?”

“Liam saw me like this,” Harry pants, thrusting exaggeratedly into himself so Louis gets what he means. “Except, minus one finger.”

Louis’ got his hand inside his underwear now, moving quick. “Christ, Harry. His innocence is ruined. Oh, I get it. Getting him back for all that singing he does about making messes upon innocences, am I right?” He waits for Harry to laugh at his cheesy joke, but Harry’s too distracted going out of his mind with how badly he wants to come. (Not that he would have laughed at that anyway.) So Louis continues, “What about Niall, then? Was he just too embarrassed to say?”

“Niall didn’t— didn’t know,” Harry pants. He’s trying to fuck himself and jerk himself off with the same force at the same time, but it’s near impossible to maintain, so he settles for switching back and forth and wishing Louis’d help him out here. “I was in the tub, in the big bathroom in here, yesterday, and I was just having a wank by myself and he walked in, ‘cause the door was unlocked...” Harry trails off because Louis is getting up, crawling up the bed and motioning for Harry to scooch over so he can sit beside him. He doesn’t touch him once, not even the barest accidental brush; he’s certainly got more willpower than Harry.

“Keep talking,” Louis says, breathless, right next to his ear. Harry can hear Louis jerking off now and he glances over to see Louis’ underwear bunched where it’s been hastily pushed down, his ass half hanging out and his balls resting on top of the waistband. Louis sees Harry looking and he shuts his eyes and whines, hand moving even faster on his cock. For a moment Harry’s sure Louis’ going to come, but he backs himself down off the edge and opens his eyes again. “Stop watching me,” he scolds. “Gonna make me come, looking at me like that. I’m watching you, remember? Now go on, finish your story.”

“Niall was...” Harry starts, and the memory is so fresh that he can still feel the heat on his skin, “He was standing in the doorway, talking to me, and Louis, Louis god, I came and he was looking in my eyes and he had no idea, he—” Harry gasps, pressing his fingers unrelentingly against his prostate as he works his cock with all the strength he has left in his hand.

“Oh my, Harry. You naughty little exhibitionist,” Louis breathes directly into Harry’s ear, awe in his voice, and Harry says, “Oh, oh,” and bites his lip as he comes, so hard and for so long his lip swells between his teeth. His fingers are still twitching inside himself as he works every last drop of come out of his cock, drawing it out until it’s too sensitive to touch. Then he drops his hand onto his stomach and dips his fingers into the come cooling on his stomach. He blows out an exhausted breath and swipes his tongue over his swollen lip and glances over at Louis through half-closed eyes; Louis smiles at him like a shark.

Harry’s heart rate barely has a chance to start to slow before Louis’ gathering Harry’s limp body up in his arms. Harry moans weakly, head lolling to the side a bit. Louis puts his hand on the back of Harry’s head to hold it where he wants it and kisses him; Harry’s too dazed to do much more than open his mouth to let Louis’ tongue in. Louis tugs Harry’s fingers out of his ass by his wrist and slides his hand from Harry’s head down his neck, and finally to brace along his spine, holding Harry steady as he fits his cock up there instead. Harry wraps his arms loosely around Louis’ shoulders and sprawls across his lap, thighs spread wide, and Louis kisses down his neck and across his shoulder and bites down on his flushed skin as he grabs Harry’s hips and fucks up into him at a pace that leaves Harry gasping. It doesn’t take him long to get hard again, with Louis roughing him up and using him like this. He’s panting against Louis’ neck, taking every thrust and working his hips back now that he’s got the inclination.

Louis pauses in his thrusting and whispers, “D’you see that?” Harry picks his heavy head up off Louis’ shoulder and looks in the direction Louis’ head is turned.

“What? I don’t see anything. Come on, keep going,” he begs, squeezing Louis’ shoulder to urge him on. Louis shushes him. Harry looks closer, squints and thinks he sees... yeah there is definitely a shadow under the door. Someone’s feet. Someone’s outside.

Louis gives Harry a meaningful look and then shouts an exaggerated, “Oh, Harry.” Normally Harry would giggle, especially after Louis winked at him like he just did, but as the feet hastily retreat all Harry can think about is how much he wishes whoever it was had come in. Had seen him spread over Louis’ hips, Louis’ cock fucking him open and loose, their bodies sweaty and flushed and tangled together and marks all up Harry’s neck from Louis’ mouth. He wonders who it was as Louis picks up speed again, knocking the breath out of Harry with the way he follows through on each thrust; if the door had opened, would it have been Liam, shutting his eyes tight and stuttering apologies, or Niall, flushing and hurrying out with a, “Woah, lads, my bad,”, or Zayn, looking lingeringly between them, from Harry to Louis and back to Harry again, eyebrow quirked with interest, before remembering himself and muttering an unconvincing apology? Harry digs his short nails into Louis’ back and comes imagining all three of them in turn.

After Louis has come too, and he’s lying on top of Harry (because he knocked Harry onto his back after Harry came to reach his own orgasm quicker) with their chests pressed heaving together, Louis runs his hand through Harry’s sweaty, tangled curls and says, “I have the best ideas. Admit it.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, just smiles, and Louis swoops in to kiss his left dimple. Harry fondly shoves his face away.

Harry thinks he’s got a good idea too, but he’s not so sure Louis will agree that him fucking Harry in front of the lads is a good idea.


They’re in the dressing room: him, Louis, and Niall. Niall’s flipping through a magazine someone left for them, Zayn stepped out to take a call, and Liam’s somewhere else— Harry’s not sure where. But he should be back soon, and so will Zayn. Louis’ texting and Harry’s staring at his thumbs moving across the screen, chewing his bottom lip and thinking about whether or not this is a good time to try. Soon, all the boys will be in here, and no one else will be. That’s an opportunity he doesn’t want to waste.

He’s already sitting close to Louis on the couch, but he moves even closer, so they’re pressed up against each other; Louis molds to his body instinctively. Harry drops his hand onto Louis’ knee and Louis doesn’t react. Sits there, still texting, not looking up. So Harry slides his hand higher, halfway up Louis’ thigh, and squeezes. Louis pauses in his typing, but then goes right back to it. Harry slides his hand even higher, into erogenous territory. When he curls his hand around the top of Louis’ thigh and digs his fingers into the flesh of his inner thigh, Louis finally lifts his head up, with a slight smile and a questioning look. Harry keeps leaning in until Louis sighs and lets himself be kissed.

Niall looks up, makes a face at them, and then looks back down at his magazine.

Louis starts to pull back, obviously thinking Harry just wanted a little affection, but Harry grabs him by the back of the head before he can get too far away and tugs him into the kiss, with so much force that Louis ends up partially in Harry’s lap. Louis splutters into the kiss, not at all prepared for it, but Harry knows just the way to touch him, just how to kiss him, to turn him warm and malleable in his hands, and soon Louis’ clutching Harry’s shoulders and settling into his lap and deepening the kiss. They haven’t had a chance to kiss like this in days, what with how hectic their week has been and how tired they’ve been, so Louis’ just as desperate for it as Harry is.

Harry hears Liam, back from wherever he was, cough politely. Louis apparently doesn’t, or he doesn’t care; he’s too busy humming and twisting his fingers into the curls on the nape of Harry’s neck. Harry opens his eyes and peers cautiously past Louis’ head. He doesn’t look at any other faces, for fear that they might sense his eyes on them and catch onto what his game is here, but he can see Niall’s foot twitching and Liam sitting now, one foot on the floor and the other resting, bent, on top of his other leg, and no Zayn anywhere in sight. Louis pushes on Harry’s shoulders until Harry gets the hint and closes his eyes again and slides lower on the couch; Louis sits on Harry’s torso above his hips so their mouths are perfectly level, and then lifts himself up so he can tilt Harry’s head back and really get his tongue deep into his mouth. Harry places a hand low down on Louis’ stomach, so it spans the rucked up fabric of his shirt, the sliver of the soft, exposed skin, and the waistband of his trousers, and rolls his hips gently.

Zayn wolfwhistles upon entering the room. Harry winces, thinking it’ll jolt Louis out of the moment, but Louis just breathes out what Harry thinks might be a laugh and keeps right on going.

“How long’ve they been at it?” Zayn asks.

“About five minutes, Niall tells me,” Liam says. Harry slides his hand lower to feel the shape of Louis’ cock, beginning to harden, through his trousers. Louis stiffens against him; Harry hopes that doesn’t mean he’s remembered where they are and whom they are in front of, and is about to stop everything. “I”m gonna give them another minute.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Zayn mumbles sarcastically, “If you want come stains all over that lovely couch.”

Harry wonders if Louis’ hearing them and ignoring them, like Harry, or if he’s just tuning them out altogether. He doesn’t see how he could. They’re not lowering their voices at all. Liam sighs, sounding impatient. Harry ruts up against Louis and Louis breaks the kiss to let out a sharp exhale. Liam coughs, louder than before, and both Harry and Louis open their eyes. Louis licks his lips and looks at Harry, eyes dark, then over his shoulder at Liam, who’s staring at them with a face so perfectly disapproving that Harry can hear him saying, Cut it out now, lads, in his head. Louis turns back to Harry with an apologetic smile.

“That’s a real cockblock. Sorry, Haz,” Louis whispers in Harry’s ear. He kisses him once more before he rolls off of Harry and sits primly beside him, readjusting his clothes and flicking his bangs back into place. Harry doesn’t even pretend to try and fix himself up.

Liam blows out a breath, probably relieved he didn’t have to break them up himself. “Thank you, boys.”

“Nice boner, Lou,” Zayn snorts from the opposite couch. “You too, Harry. Nice matching set.”

Niall, who apparently was aware of what was going on the whole time but just couldn’t be bothered to care, laughs raucously. Zayn smiles at him.

“Thanks, Zayn.” Louis smiles at him, wide and false. “Your mouth looks to be just the right size for it, so why don’t you suck it?”

“Love to,” Zayn shoots back. Niall laughs even harder. Zayn slings his arm around Niall and pulls him into a cuddly headlock across furniture, ruffling up his hair as he continues to stare challengingly at Louis. Liam breaks in before Louis can think of a comeback.

“Are you two calmed down now? Do I have to get the fire extinguisher?” he asks. It sounds like he’s scolding them, but he’s kidding around now. Unlike before, when he was in full-on pissy dad mode. “Because we’ve got sound check in two minutes.”

“Yeah yeah, Fireman Liam,” Louis answers shortly, “We’re good.”

When Liam turns to the door, Louis grabs Harry by the jaw and softly promises, “After the show.” Harry can feel a dirty grin taking over his face as Louis stands up and ushers Harry on with a hand on his bum, but he doesn’t do anything to hide it.

“Ten pounds says Louis just told Harry he’d suck his dick after the show,” Zayn bets Niall as they head out of the room.

Niall snorts and waves Zayn’s handshake away. “Nah, I’d rather not lose ten pounds.”

Not bad for a first try, but Harry can do much better.


The next time he tries, they’ve got no immediate obligations. It’s nighttime (well, technically morning, since it’s a quarter past one), they’re all sitting in the common area of the bus, and Liam and Zayn are playing their third consecutive round of FIFA. It was supposed to be Niall’s turn, but Zayn has been coming up with reasons for a rematch for the past hour, and Niall doesn’t seem to mind; he’s having too much fun jeering at Zayn’s unusually poor playing. Louis is half-watching, not too interested. His last turn was ages ago, but he probably won’t be getting another one tonight with the way Zayn is carrying on. Harry declined the offer to play early on, said he’d rather just watch; Louis muttered, “Thought it was the other way ‘round,” and Harry looked over at him with a sly grin. Louis’ sitting to Harry’s right, Zayn to his left, and Liam is next to him, at the opposite end of the couch from Louis; Niall is on the floor, sitting up against the leg of the couch with Liam’s sock feet right beside him. They’re not too absorbed in the game, and no one else is bound to be coming around anytime soon; perfect for Harry’s second try.

Harry yawns, fake and exaggerated, raises his arms up he pretends to stretch, and wraps the right one around Louis’ shoulders when he drops them back down.

Louis looks over at him, eyebrows raised and lips curving into half a smirk. “Subtle. Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Maybe,” Harry drawls, smirking full on back at him.

“Think he already ‘seduced’ you twice last night. At least,” Niall remarks, tilting his head back to look at Harry and Louis so the full-faced wink and smile he gives them is upside down. Then he looks between Zayn and Liam, smiling as they snicker at his comment. Group mockery of Harry and Louis’ sex life is bringing them back together where FIFA tore them apart; heartwarming, that is.

“Thanks for your input, Niall,” Louis says. Then he knowingly falls for Harry’s cheesy move, reaching up to tangle the fingers of Harry’s right hand, which is hanging limp over Louis’ shoulder, with his own as he presses their lips together. Harry kisses back eagerly, but Louis isn’t having it tonight. It stays relaxed and sweet, Louis’ lips moving slowly against Harry’s as he touches their fingertips together, tickles them over Harry’s half-closed palm.

Harry’s never met someone who liked his hands quite this much— at least no one’s ever liked them the way Louis does, where it’s not always necessarily sexual. He’ll hold Harry’s hand if they’re alone or with just the boys, palms clasped or fingers interlaced or, his favorite way, thumb linked up with the curve between Harry’s forefinger and thumb, so he can stroke the fleshy edge of Harry’s hand with his fingertips; he’ll line his fingers up with the spaces between Harry’s, or thumb over where Harry’s wrist turns into his palm when they’re making out; he’ll hold Harry’s arms above his head, not by his wrists, but by his hands when he’s fucking Harry, squeezing until both their knuckles turn white; and sometimes when Louis’ feeling restless, the kind that gets under his skin and makes him snappy, Harry will drop his hand onto Louis’ knee and mold it to the shape of it, or settle his hand heavy on Louis’ shoulder, or on the small of his back, and splay his fingers and let the heat soak through Louis’ shirt, and it’ll ease Louis enough to make him feel calm, sometimes.

Harry’s not above exploiting the fact that his hands make Louis weak in the knees, either; he pinches Louis’ thumb between his fingertips and drops his arm lower so he can entwine his fingers with Louis, the inside of his elbow pressing right up against the back of Louis’ neck. He strokes along the back of Louis’ hand and over his knuckles and Louis smiles against Harry’s mouth, comes back into the kiss with more focus than before. Harry lifts his other hand to rest against Louis’ chest, a decent inch or two from his nipple. He has to work up to that so Louis doesn’t push him away. Louis has a thing about his nipples, and it could go either very poorly or very, very well if Harry touched them too early on in this situation; he’d rather not take the risk when he could just wait it out until he knows Louis’ too turned on to shrug his hand away.

And that point comes not five minutes later (if the time remaining announcements on the game are anything to go by) when Harry curls his fingers over Louis’ shoulder, thumb brushing bare skin at the edge of his wide collar, and Louis turns his body towards Harry’s and breathes a soft sigh against Harry’s mouth as he angles his hips up, looking for something solid to press against. Harry moves too, so he can push his thigh between Louis’ legs. He can feel the familiar shape of Louis’ erection through two thick layers, Louis’ jeans and his sweatpants. Bolder now, he slides his hand back down and flicks his thumb over Louis’ nipple; Louis’ breath hitches, his grip on Harry’s hand tightening. As Harry shifts around, trying to get Louis’ back against the arm of the couch so he can have better control over him, his bum bumps against Zayn’s thigh.

Zayn mumbles, “Watch it Harry, I’m trying to play a game ‘ere,” and elbows him out of the way. Harry mutters an insincere apology and moves them both closer to the end of the couch.

“Oy, Harry! If you’re gonna sit in Louis’ lap, can I have your spot on the couch?” Niall asks. He’s joking, poking fun at them again, but Harry knows he’d take him up on the offer if Harry said yes. They’ve had to take turns sitting on the floor since it got too hot on the bus for all five of them to squeeze in side by side on the moderately-sized couch, and Niall likes sitting on the floor the least of all of them; it’s because he misses the closeness, Harry knows it.

“What do you think, Lou?” Harry whispers, getting close enough to nibble at Louis’ ear the way he likes, and Louis laughs and tugs Harry fully into his lap, Harry’s knees landing on either side of his waist. Good answer. “Yeah, sure,” Harry calls to Niall as he rests his chest against Louis’, “Go for it.”

“Sweet. This floor’s killing my arse,” Niall says as he pops up off the floor; the couch sags under Harry as Niall plops down next to Zayn. It’s still a tight fit, but no one seems to mind.

Harry can feel eyes on the back of his neck, but he doesn’t look to see who’s staring. The fake football match continues on as Louis tugs down the collar of Harry’s shirt and renews the mark he left by his collarbone last night; Harry hears little animated crowds cheering their hearts out, Liam giving pep talks to his little animated footballers, Zayn cursing his out, along with the little animated referee, and Niall laughing and bouncing around in his seat, offering Zayn sarcastic pointers like, “You’re supposed to make it in the goal, bud,” and “You know the circle button makes you kick, right?”

Harry pays close attention to these background noises while he makes out with Louis; he wants to be able to hear it and recognize it the moment the boys start having a different reaction to them.

Louis’ lazily sort of turned on, rolling his hips and humming contentedly when Harry wraps his hands around the soft curves of Louis’ waist, sucking another light mark into Harry’s neck that’ll fade by tomorrow. Harry settles more of his weight onto Louis, bracing himself on the cushion and grinding their now connected hips together. Louis starts to groan into Harry’s neck, and he closes his mouth tight over the skin to muffle the sound. Harry grins and slides his hand up under Louis’ shirt, tracing the outline of Louis’ pec to give Louis the chance to expel a harsh breath in preparation for when he rubs his fingers against Louis’ bare nipple. But Louis still gasps, audible and breathless. Harry listens closely as he kisses Louis quiet.

There isn’t as much noise in the room as there was. Harry concentrates to pick out what’s disappeared; he still hears the game, but none of the boys’ voices. Harry’s first try at this might have been a total flop, but it did give him an idea of how the boys act when they’re not bothered by him and Louis’ shows of affection, and this change, this silence, means they must be getting uncomfortable. Harry bets if he reached back and touched Niall’s thigh right now, he’d jump right out of his skin.

Liam clears his throat and starts to say, “After this game, who wants—?” but his question is cut short by Louis’ moan when Harry palms him through his jeans. His hips buck up against Harry’s hand and Harry almost loses his balance, but holds tight to Louis’ shoulder to stay upright. Liam doesn’t finish his question. Harry imagines him going red, frowning with eyebrows furrowed as he looks stubbornly at the screen. Someone is watching him and Louis, though; Harry can feel their eyes again. Despite his preemptive bracing, Louis does manage to knock Harry off his lap when Harry unbuttons his jeans and starts to unzip them; he falls backwards and lands stretched out over Niall and Zayn’s laps, staring right up into Liam’s shocked face.

Harry smiles crookedly up at him. “Hi,” he says. Liam doesn’t say anything back— just keeps staring down at him with wide eyes.

Liam is so distracted that Zayn’s able to score on him. His team finally wins the match and he drops his controller onto Harry’s chest and throws his hands up, whooping. “Suck on that, Liam!”

“Well, I hardly think that counts!” Liam huffs, finally looking away from Harry to look at Zayn. “There were...” he begins, gesturing vaguely at Harry, then back at Louis, who’s still in the corner of couch shaking his head at Harry, a smile fighting to break out on his face. Harry sees that he’s pulled his shirt down over his crotch; Harry’s erection is painfully obvious in comparison. Liam glances down at Harry again and completes his sentence with, “Extenuating circumstances,” then turns his whole head to look away.

“Putting it up for a vote,” Zayn says, stubborn as he is any time he’s losing.

“Liam,” Niall says decidedly. Zayn gives him a dirty look. “You’ve been sucking tonight, Zayn. No offense. If it weren’t for these two humping,” Niall says, patting Harry’s stomach and jerking a thumb at Louis, “Liam would’ve won. And Harry, your boner’s a little close to me right now, mate.”

Zayn grumbles as he picks up his controller again to exit out to the main menu, but he laughs a little along with everyone else at Niall’s bluntness. Harry apologizes to Niall, and to Zayn and Liam, for intruding on their personal space while in such a delicate state, and sits up, bum momentarily sinking down between Zayn and Niall’s thighs before he gets enough leverage to launch himself back into Louis’ lap. Louis says, “Easy there,” and kisses Harry behind the ear as he helps him settle into a comfortable position. Then he thrusts his hips up slowly, so his still half-hard cock presses up against the crack of Harry’s ass through the layers of denim and cotton, and whispers, “Go to the bathroom in a minute and I’ll follow you.”

Harry adjusts his cock in his sweatpants.

“Honestly thought I was gonna see one of your dicks if that went on any longer,” Zayn mutters as he hands the controller to Niall.

“You and me both,” Liam agrees stiffly, and Harry shoots him a cheeky grin past the other two boys to try and loosen him up. Liam rolls his eyes a bit, but smiles back. “They’re like animals in heat.”

“I resent that comparison,” Louis says, and then pauses for effect. They all know a punchline’s still coming. “Harry and I can go for much longer than animals,” he finishes, and Niall cackles like he always does at Louis’ dumb jokes and Zayn chuckles and Liam groans like he wished he hadn’t heard that and Harry barks out a laugh, the kind he covers with his hand when he’s in public.

Liam plays against Niall, a more even match, and after about thirty seconds Harry gets up off Louis’ lap and winks back at him as he walks out of the room, doing his best to make his intentions not at all subtle. He and Louis both know that the boys all know what they’re getting up to, but Louis still leaves Harry waiting in the bathroom for three minutes before he comes in after him. When he enters, Harry’s leaning against the counter already wanking. Louis drops to his knees with a smile and sucks him off, holding his hips still as he swallows his come, and Harry pants and strokes a knuckle over Louis’ cheekbone as he licks him clean; then Harry guides Loius to sit on the edge of the combination shower/tub and helps him balance with a hand on the small of his back as he returns the favor, Louis’ hand fisting in Harry’s loose curls when he comes into Harry’s open, waiting mouth.

The boys’ eyes follow them when they walk back into the room, and they don’t say a word when they reach the couch. Harry’s never been more pleased by an awkward silence. Harry sits down first and Louis sits on his thighs, and Harry wraps his arms around Louis’s torso, pulls him in close so his back is against Harry’s chest, and bites Louis’ shoulder through the wrinkled fabric of his t-shirt, the way Louis likes to do to him. Louis turns to smile and peck Harry on the lips.

Zayn breaks the silence by saying, “You owe me ten pounds,” to Niall.

Niall sputters. “How could you possibly know Harry blew Louis?”

“His lips. Now hand it over,” Zayn demands, hand outstretched.

“I don’t know if I’m comfortable with how much gambling is apparently going on concerning our sex life, Harry,” Louis says to Harry. “Also, that Zayn apparently knows what you look like after you’ve had a dick in your mouth? Your attention to detail here is concerning, Zayn.”

“Can’t help being observant.” Zayn shrugs and then makes a ‘gimme’ motion at Niall.

Harry touches his lips self-consciously. They aren’t that swollen; Louis didn’t even fuck his mouth this time. “If it affects the bet at all,” Harry offers, licking his lips to draw Zayn’s attention back to them (and maybe Niall’s, if he’s lucky), “Louis sucked my dick too.”

“Knew it!” Niall shouts.

Zayn sighs. “Shit, all right. We both win.”

“Ah, but I bet twenty, so you owe me ten pounds. Hand it over then.”

Niall pauses the game to argue with Zayn about the conditions of the bet and the amount owed, and Liam closes his eyes and leans his head back against the couch, looking like he wants to tell Zayn and Niall that gambling’s illegal so they’ll shut up, but just can’t summon the strength, and Louis nuzzles into Harry’s neck as Harry massages his belly, laughing softly and squirming in Harry’s arms now and then when Harry hits a ticklish spot.

“Since we’re all clearly distracted from the game....” Liam says, mostly to himself, since no one else is listening, and gets up to put in one of the dozens of new movies they were supplied with to keep them occupied on long nights like these. He walks around shutting off all the lights, and warns Harry and Louis to keep their hands to themselves before he sits back down and presses play.

“I can’t guarantee I’ll keep my hands to myself,” Louis says, “but I’ll keep my hand off Harry’s dick. Fair?”

“I don’t like that,” Harry pouts. Louis pats his cheek and shushes him.

“I do. I like it very much,” Liam says, a little too loudly. Harry smirks in the dark. Liam is so easy.

Louis keeps his promise, but it turns out to be not that much to keep with the way their night turns out; they all fall asleep on the couch together, Louis’ head pillowed against Harry’s chest, Niall’s head on Harry’s arm, and Zayn leaning over Liam so he can rest his head on the arm of the couch, about fifteen minutes after the opening credits.


The third time goes much like the second time, except this time they’re a bit tipsy from playing a drinking game they’ve been making up as they go along, and Harry and Louis aren’t on the couch with the other boys; they’re on the floor because Harry rolled off of it laughing at something that no one else found quite as funny, and then Louis joined him down there, called him an idiot and kissed him mid-laugh.

Now they’re making out, Louis crouched over Harry on all fours, while Niall laughs until he’s doubled over at something Zayn just said and Liam screws the cap on the bottle they’ve been passing around and sets it aside, silently declaring that the four of them have had enough for the night. Niall’s had the most of all of them, but Louis’ had quite a lot too. Enough to make him loose and giggly; to make him want to make out with Harry in front of the boys without Harry having to coax him into it first.

The other boys aren’t paying them any mind, though. Niall’s trying to clamber over Liam to reach for the bottle and Liam’s laughing, stopping him with one hand, and Zayn’s grabbing him round the waist and hauling him back and ruffling his hair, saying in his go-to silly voice, “Look how red your cheeks are. Drunk little Irishman.” Niall tells Zayn to fuck off, but it sounds muffled. Even though Harry can’t see them, he’s almost entirely sure Niall’s nuzzling his face into Zayn’s neck; he gets twice as cuddly when he’s got some alcohol in his system.

Louis murmurs, “Got such pretty lips,” against Harry’s jaw, and Harry forgets all about what the other boys are doing.

“Wanna get your cock between them? Make them all puffy and red?” Harry whispers back. He turns Louis’ head slightly with the grip he has on his hair so he can speak closer to his ear, breathe out hot against his neck, “You wanna come on them, Lou?”

“God, Harry,” Louis groans, his voice strained and husky with arousal, and he thumbs over Harry’s bottom lip as he says, “Yeah, I always wanna fuck your mouth.” The boys can’t have heard what Harry said, but they definitely heard that. Harry’s pretty sure he hears someone clear their throat and some awkward shifting around on the couch. Probably all looking at each other wondering what they should do.

Harry places both his hands on Louis’ back, one up near his shoulder blades and one three-quarters of the way down his spine, and pulls down until Louis crumples against him. Harry squirms a bit, reveling in the way Louis’ muscles shift against him when he uses his weight to pin Harry to the floor. Louis’ body heat soaks through Harry’s clothes and Harry longs for Louis to be naked, for them both to be naked; he wants to feel Louis’ hot skin bare against his. He tries to tug Louis’ shirt up, but Louis takes both of Harry’s hands in his and holds them above his head and kisses him again with more tongue, lewd and heated. Harry rolls his hips up and Louis groans and ruts down against him, like he wants to fuck him into the floor.

“Keep your hands here,” Louis orders, pressing Harry’s wrists into the rug to emphasize, and then he lets go of Harry’s hands. Harry watches as Louis lifts his shirt up and rests a hand low on his stomach, then starts kissing across his chest. Harry gasps, muscles in his abdomen jumping under Louis’ fingers; Louis’ stubble scrapes over Harry’s lower nipple as Louis works his tongue and teeth over the one right above it, and Harry whines and disobeys Louis— he grabs him by the hair and hauls him back up to kiss him harder, frantically, then wraps his legs around Louis’ ass and grinds their hips together until they’re both panting, Louis’ torso twisted around to suck sloppy marks into the side of Harry’s neck. Harry arches his neck to give Louis’ mouth better access. He takes advantage of the new angle his head’s at to glance over at the three other boys.

They’re all staring at them. Liam’s brows are knitted together and his jaw is clenched and Niall looks bewildered and Zayn’s got a hand on his crotch, palming himself through his trousers and biting the side of his lip as he looks on with impossibly dark eyes.

Harry groans and wriggles a hand between their bodies to go for the button of Louis’ jeans. Louis doesn’t stop him from unbuttoning it. He touches along Harry’s ribs, kisses and scrapes his teeth over his sternum and then grabs Harry’s hair with both hands to drag his head back, to kiss along his jaw while Harry unzips his jeans. Louis grunts and thrusts towards Harry’s hand. Harry tugs Louis’ jeans down a bit, so his fly opens wider from being stretched over his hips, and touches Louis’ cock through his boxers. It twitches against his palm and Harry kisses Louis to distract him as he tugs it out of his boxers and takes it into his hand.

The boys won’t be able to see that Louis’ cock is out because his and Harry’s bodies are so close, but they’ll be able to hear the slick sounds of Harry working it with his fist if they’re listening closely, and they are. The room is silent but for the sounds he and Louis are making.

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis moans as he fucks Harry’s fist, “‘m gonna fuck you so hard.”

“Jesus,” Niall mutters.

Harry tears himself away from Louis to look at Niall; his pale face is flushed, as red as Harry’s ever seen it, and his mouth is open, and their eyes meet and the way he stares, barely any blue left in his wide eyes, makes Harry feel even hotter than he already is all over. He shudders and moans without looking away and Niall repeats himself, louder and with more feeling. He thinks he sees Liam watching Zayn thumbing the button on his trousers, as if he’s contemplating whether or not to take his cock out and start jerking off right there, out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t have much of a chance to look because Louis suddenly gets up, cock still jutting out of his pants, and drags Harry to his feet. He doesn’t say a word to the other boys as he picks Harry up and carries him, Harry clinging to him with his arms linked around his shoulders and his legs wrapped tight around his hips, into the adjoining room. There, he tosses him onto the closest bunk and picks up right where they left off.

Once he’s got Harry prepared, hole slick with lube (which Louis grumbled about having to go nick from Harry’s bunk), he bends Harry nearly in half and fucks him so thoroughly that the noises Harry’s making aren’t just exaggerated for the benefit of the boys anymore. He can’t help them coming out when Louis’ fucking him this good, his thighs aching and his curls sticking damp to his forehead with sweat and his body tense all over and it’s so good, too good— even better because the boys can hear all of it; Louis pounding into him, the bunk creaking, Harry begging Louis to fuck him harder, harder and faster and oh please Louis, come on, fuck me, yes, Louis harder, even though he’s already so overwhelmed, because Louis likes to hear him say it. Harry scrapes his nails down Louis’ back and, out of breath and hoarse from moaning, says to him, “Now they all know how much I love your cock in me,” and Louis groans and digs his nails sharply into Harry’s thighs as he comes inside him. Louis brings Harry off right after, clumsily palming his cock against his stomach until Harry comes hard across his chest.

Louis suggests they go take a shower once they’ve caught their breath, but Harry declines—- says he’d rather go back out with the boys. Louis could take a shower by himself, but he goes along with Harry instead, even though, or quite possibly because, he must be catching on to what Harry wants by now. Harry’s too grateful for it to ask questions that might change Louis’ mind. Harry pulls his boxer briefs back up, leaving them low enough that they’re still hanging half off his hips, and shakes out his sweaty hair as he walks back into the room. Louis follows after pulling on his shirt, his pants still partially undone.

The boys look at them for about half a second when they walk in, and that’s as long as they can look before they look away.

Harry sits between Liam and Niall on the couch, much too close to Liam, and tries hard not to smile. Liam is so tense he’s practically vibrating and Niall closes his eyes and breathes out like he’s trying to calm himself. Harry was expecting Niall to laugh at least once, even a nervous little giggle, but he’s just rubbing rhythmically at his thighs and blushing all the way down to his neck. Harry looks over at Zayn, who’s on Liam’s other side, to see that both his hands are covering his crotch and he’s staring hard at the floor. The sound of Louis zipping up his trousers is very loud in the quiet room, and they all look over at him leaning against the arm of the couch. Bless him, he smirks.

“Fuck,” Zayn blurts and both his hands fly up to his hair, tugging on it like he’s trying to tear it out. Harry catches sight of the obvious bulge in his trousers and feels his own dick stirring at Zayn’s physical reaction. “You both smell like sex, fuck.”

He gets up off the couch and storms off in the direction of the bathroom.

Niall shifts further away from Harry on the couch, swallowing hard when the door slams shut after Zayn. Harry watches his Adam’s apple bob. He stares straight ahead, as still as Harry’s ever seen him. Harry checks out his crotch while his eyes are averted, but can’t tell if Niall’s hard or not beause his pants are so loose and bunched up around his hips.

“I’m just gonna... yeah,” Niall says, and when he stands up Harry can see that, yep, he’s hard, even though he tries to hide it with his hand. He scrubs his other hand through his hair and heads to the bathroom as well, presumably to wait for his turn in there after Zayn’s done.

Harry looks at Liam. Liam doesn’t look up from the floor. His hands clench into fists at his sides and he says, “I’m going to bed.”

He probably won’t be so keen on the idea when he realizes Harry and Louis fucked on his bunk.

Louis sits down next to Harry on the couch and puts an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a one-armed hug. “I wish Liam drank so there was a chance he wouldn’t remember any of this.”

Normally Harry would agree with Louis, but it wouldn’t be as exciting if Liam didn’t remember.

And none of them were too drunk to remember this.


Things are predictably awkward for the next few days. By day four, Harry starts to get concerned. They’re all still talking to each other, but it’s different; they don’t touch as much, or look each other in the eye as much. Harry’s starting to feel self-conscious of how affectionate he is with Louis because none of the other boys are being as affectionate with each other, and certainly not with them. It would probably blow over in another few days if he left it alone, but Harry’s still attached to the idea of getting fucked in front of them, and there’s no way that’ll happen when they’re on all edge whenever Louis so much as leans too close to him.

But Harry knows just how to fix it.

“Alcohol,” he states plainly as he plops a bottle of tequila down on the table in Zayn’s room. All the boys, save him and Louis, have been hiding out there since they got back from the show. “Let’s drink a lot of it and forget all our worries. And our cares. And our troubles. All of that.”

Liam, Niall, and Zayn stare at him with varying levels of doubt on their faces. Liam’s definitely has the highest.

“Come on, what else are you going to do tonight? We can’t go anywhere.”

The three of them share some significant glances. Eventually, Liam and Niall’s eyes both land on Zayn. Niall nudges him, and finally, making a face like he’d rather not be speaking at all, Zayn says, “Us drinking didn’t end so well last time.”

“Hair of the dog?” Harry suggests.

“That’s about hangovers,” Zayn says.

“Could work just as well for... awkward drunken happenings. And all the awkwardness thereafter. Let’s get drunk? Please?” Harry unscrews the cap on the bottle and holds it out to Niall because he’s closest to him, and never one to turn down a free drink.

“No thanks, mate,” Niall says, waving the bottle aside. Harry frowns. But then Niall gets up off the couch with a lopsided smile and says, “I’ve got some whiskey in my room. Be right back.”

“See, Niall’s on board,” Harry says as Niall jogs out of the room. “Zayn?”

Zayn looks at Liam. Liam doesn’t give him any indication of what he should do, at least not that Harry can see. Zayn shakes his head (at himself, Harry guesses) and grabs the bottle from Harry to take a swig. “This is probably a bad idea,” he says as he wipes his mouth and hands the bottle back.

“I agree,” Liam says.

“But Liam,” Harry pouts, dragging his name out to make his pleading more explicit, “It’s not a party without you.”

Niall comes back into the room with a half-full bottle of whiskey and a family-sized bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and jumps onto Zayn’s bed without permission. “Yes, party! That’s what I like to hear! I’ve got enough Doritos for everyone, Liam. Well, almost. Got a back-up bag in my room though.”

“Look, Niall’s even sharing his snacks. How can you say no to that?” Harry asks Liam.

Liam stays seated, still looking dubious, but Harry knows that once gets all four boys on the bed, Liam won’t be far behind.

Harry sits next to Niall on the bed, bottle tucked between his knees while he texts Louis to come to Zayn’s room; Niall turns the faintest shade of pink when Harry’s thigh touches his. He covers his slight discomfort with a swig of whiskey. Harry raises his eyebrows at Zayn once he’s sent the text. He beckons him over, holding the bottle out to him again so the liquor inside it sloshes around invitingly, and Niall makes sad faces at him until Zayn sighs and walks over to the bed, flopping down next to Niall.

“Gimme a Dorito,” he grumbles. Niall, smiling, offers him the bag. Zayn looks at Harry. “And at least half that bottle.”

“Are we drinking? Great!” Louis exclaims when he comes in the room, grinning at each boy in turn. Niall and Zayn both pause, Niall about to bite into a Dorito and Zayn about to lift the bottle of tequila to his lips, when Louis tackles Harry flat to the bed. Not something that would’ve bothered them before, but everything’s all weird now. Even Louis playing around with him, like he would with any of the other boys, puts them on alert. He tries to loosen up the mood by tickling Louis until he threatens to knee him in the balls, and it works; Niall and Zayn are smiling at them instead of looking like they’re ready to bolt. Louis hits Harry with a pillow and then crawls over to grab the bottle from Zayn, swallowing much more than one shot’s worth when he tips it back.

“Easy,” Harry laughs. He’s so distracted trying to get the bottle from Louis so he can take another drink that he didn’t even hear Liam get up and move; but there he is, standing at the foot of the bed with a look in his eyes that Harry can’t read. “Joining us?” Harry asks, smiling in what he hopes is a welcoming way.

Liam still looks unsure. “Gotta make sure none of you drink yourselves to death, right?” he says hesitantly. He looks at each of them in turn, eyes finally landing on Zayn.

Zayn holds out his hand; Liam takes it and allows himself to be pulled onto the bed.

They don’t say much as they drink for the next hour. Harry, Louis and Zayn pass the bottle between the three of them, and Niall eventually rolls up the bag of Doritos and sets them aside to focus solely on finishing his whiskey. Liam pretends to be texting— or maybe he really is texting, but it’s half six in the morning in England right now, so Harry’s not sure who. Harry strips off gradually as they drink. By the time he’s feeling properly drunk, he’s just in his pants. Normally he’d take them off too (well, normally he wouldn’t have been wearing them when they started), but he’s been careful about getting fully naked around the boys lately. None of them seem to mind him being in his pants, though.

Well, until Louis starts stroking up and down his sides. He always gets handsy when he’s drunk, and he’s quite drunk. Niall notices first, freezing with his bottle to his lips. When Niall tenses up, Liam feels it because Niall’s cuddling up to him, nearly in his lap, and he looks over at them as well. Zayn catches on about fifteen seconds after they do, eyes landing first on Harry’s face and then moving down to settle on his torso, gazing intently at Louis’ hands.

“Is this bothering you?” Harry asks them, too drunk to think about being tactful. Louis’ hands still, but stay curved around Harry’s hips.

There is a very long silence.

Then Niall shakes his head. Liam looks at him like he’s gone mad. “Niall,” he hisses, agitated; Niall shushes him. Niall looks at Louis and Harry and nods, motioning for them to go on. Or, Harry thinks that’s what he’s trying to communicate with his imprecise gestures. Zayn watches Niall and then nods at them too. Liam looks like he wants to strangle them both, but he doesn’t say anything.

Harry’s not really sure what they were just given permission to do. Act like a couple in front of their best friends without it being awkward? Make out in front of them? (Because they should all know by now that’s where this is going.) Go further than last time? Go all the way? Harry doesn’t know, but when Louis places his hands high up on Harry’s ribs and, slowly and purposefully, slides them back down his torso to rub over where the waistband of his boxer briefs is tightly hugging his hips, no one protests. Niall and Zayn keep drinking, eyes flickering from each other to Harry and Louis, but never to Liam. Liam’s eyes keep following Louis’ hands as they move over Harry’s body, until he catches himself and goes back to staring intently down at the coverlet; but every time, he gets curious and looks up again. Harry doesn’t want to take his eyes off them, but when Louis whispers in his ear, “Turn around, love. I want to kiss you,” Harry can’t refuse.

Louis puts his hands on Harry’s hips again as soon as Harry sits facing him, gets a good grip on them and draws Harry into his lap as he kisses up his neck. Harry’s trying to listen to the boys and be necked on at the same time, but multitasking is hard when he’s drunk. So he focuses all his attention on Louis; Louis’ fingers tapping unevenly against his hips, Louis’ breath hot on his jaw, Louis’ lips warm against his, tasting like the bottle they’ve been sharing, Louis’ hands traveling around to Harry’s ass, settling in the center of each cheek and then digging in when he bites Harry’s bottom lip. Harry thinks he hears one of the boys mutter something, but he doesn’t catch a word of it, too distracted by how hard and messy Louis is kissing him as he works his fingers under the waistband of Harry’s pants on either side of his hips. Harry feels his pants slip down his ass a few inches when Louis tucks his hands all the way inside, fingers sticking out from underneath the bottom edge of the leg hole, and wonders how much of it the boys can see. He presses his fingertips, his nails, into the soft flesh high on Harry’s thigh and whispers, “This is what you’ve wanted all along, isn’t it?”

Harry groans and his cock swells, straining against the fabric that Louis is already misshaping. Louis takes his left hand out of the side of Harry’s pants to press it against the front instead, to feel how hard Harry’s getting.

“They’re watching us. Watching you, Harry,” Louis murmurs into Harry’s ear, “And they don’t look like they want to stop watching anytime soon. That’s you wanted, huh? Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Harry hisses as he ruts against Louis’ hand. He opens up Louis’ trousers and wriggles his hand inside, cupping Louis’ dick through his boxers. “Want you to fuck me in front of them.”

Louis laughs. It tickles the curls by Harry’s ear. “Not yet. This first.”

Louis swings him down onto the bed, supporting his back with one arm as he lays him out over the smooth coverlet. Harry flails a little and lets out a startled breath when he lands, head bouncing on the mattress. Louis’ on him immediately, pushing Harry’s knees open and coming up to kiss Harry in between them. Then he pulls back just as fast to whip Harry’s pants off and suck down his cock.

Liam gasps.

Niall breathes, “Shit,” low and emphatic.

“Guys,” Liam says, sounding like he’s on the verge of hyperventilating, “Guys, this is not— you shouldn’t be— oh, oh my god.”

“Shut up,” Zayn snaps at Liam under his breath.

Liam swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing dramatically. If Harry were to reach up for something to hold onto while Louis licked along the full length of his cock, Liam’s calf would be the first thing within reach— he’s that close to Harry’s head. Liam and Niall have moved away from each other since Harry last looked and now Niall is diagonal to Harry’s shoulder, about a foot from Liam. Zayn is on the opposite side, sitting cross-legged with the bottle of tequila propped up against the inside of his knee. If he stretched his leg out just a little bit, his bare toes would graze Harry’s ribs.

Louis taking him all the way in from the get go was clearly just for the shock factor, because now he won’t stop teasing; breathing hot over the head of Harry’s cock and licking at the slit sporadically, fleetingly, as he works the rest of it with his hand. Harry has no idea what to do with his hands. He thinks about grabbing Louis’ hair and forcing him to suck him down again, but he doesn’t want his arms to block anything from view. He’s wound so tight already, hands twitching into half-formed fists at his sides and hips jerking up out of his control until Louis gets fed up and holds Harry’s hips down with both hands, only his mouth on Harry now.

Harry keeps looking up and making eye contact with the boys; Niall, who’s looking at him with this intensity, this sharpness to the blue of his eyes that Harry’s never seen before, and Zayn, that hint of something he always has in his eyes when he looks at Harry and Louis full-blown now, and Liam, who looks like he’s trying to convince himself to look away but just can’t come up with a reason better than how badly he wants to see this.

Harry’s hand flies up to clutch at Louis’ wrist when Louis sucks sloppily around the head and he says, “‘m gonna come soon, Louis please,” and bucks his hips hard enough to surpass the strength of Louis’ hands and get his meaning across; his cock pushes in another inch past Louis’ lips and Louis gets it. He pinches Harry’s hip, scolding him for being impatient, but opens his mouth wider and takes Harry the rest of the way in anyway.

“Can’t decide who I’m more jealous of,” Zayn says. Harry catches his eye and thrusts deeper into Louis’ mouth, groaning louder than he has to.

Louis gags a little, but adjusts quickly enough. He starts bobbing on Harry’s cock, hollowing his cheeks and sucking and Niall blows out a breath and answers Zayn with: “Definitely Harry.”

Louis picks up the pace until Harry tosses his head back and comes deep in Louis’ mouth. He wishes he could’ve seen their faces, watching him orgasm for the second (albeit unknowingly the second, for Niall), and this time because they chose to stay and watch, but he can’t stop his eyes from shutting. When he opens them again a few seconds later, he’s staring right up into Liam’s big brown ones.

“Hi,” Harry says. Then his eyelashes flutter, eyes almost closing again, and he bites his lip a bit and licks out over it as Louis sucks him all the way through his orgasm. He starts to tremble from the oversensitivity and has to put his hand on Louis’ forehead and shove him off his dick to get him to stop.

“Hi,” Liam croaks out, but his eyes dart away from Harry’s and Harry assumes he’s watching Harry’s spit-slick cock slip out of Louis’ mouth.

Louis starts biting at Harry’s thigh and then loudly sucks a mark over the imprint his teeth left. With everyone’s eyes on him, he says, “You still want me to fuck you, Harry?”

It’s like everyone stops breathing. Harry’s never heard a room with all five of them in it so silent. It’s sort of scary to break it, but he’s gotten this far— no point in stopping now. “Yes,” he says. “Louis, yes, fuck me.”

Liam’s jaw drops so dramatically Harry can hear it.

“Gonna need your help here, lads,” Louis says. Harry has no idea what he’s talking about until he elaborates with, “Zayn, Niall, hold his legs.”

Harry’s stomach jumps. Louis’ really going to do it. He’s really going to fuck Harry in front of them.

“This alright, Harry?” Niall asks. There’s an uncertain tremor in his voice that has nothing to do with how he’s pressing Harry’s thigh down into the mattress. His hand is shaking.

Harry nods at him reassuringly.

Zayn has no such qualms, however. Or at least he pretends he doesn’t. He comes much closer than he needs, so close Harry can feel the heat coming off his body, and curves both hands around Harry’s thigh. He bends his fingers, trailing his nails up over Harry’s skin until he finds a comfortable grip and then clamps down. But he’s bluffing. His hands are shaking too.

Three unfamiliar hands on him and Harry feels overwhelmed already, trying to catalogue each different touch. Niall’s guitar-calloused fingers and Zayn’s slightly dry palms, and their manner of touching— Niall barely holding on and Zayn holding too tight to mask his nervousness. The different pressure on each thigh is remarkably erotic. Harry wonders how long he’ll have to wait before he’ll feel Liam’s hands on him too.

“Zayn, you wouldn’t happen to have any lubricant of the personal persuasion in here, would you?” Louis asks, smiling sweetly.

“Oh no,” Liam says. “This isn’t actually happening, is it?”

“Liam, shut up,” Niall says as he strokes absentmindedly over Harry’s thigh, fingers disturbing the coarse hairs there.

“I have some lube,” Zayn says to Louis, “In the bathroom.”

“Would you mind getting it?”

“Why don’t you get it yourself?”

Harry makes his voice go all breathy and husky and begs, “Zayn, please,” and Zayn gets a little red in the face and he trips over himself getting off the bed. Louis gives Harry a discreet high-five.

Niall laughs. “Reminds me of the last time this happened. I... I mean, not,” he corrects himself, stumbling over his words, “not, not this, but. You know. The time before this, when Zayn ran off and wanked in the bathroom.”

“And then you wanked in the bathroom after him, didn’t you Niall?” Louis asks with a sharp grin, pushing like he always does.

Niall blushes, but when he answers his voice is steady. “Did you hear the noises Harry was making? ‘Course I did.”

Harry blushes a little too. Niall’s hand is right there, on his thigh, and Harry can’t help putting the thought of Niall wanking and his hand’s proximity to Harry’s rehardening dick together. Can this go as far as handjobs? Harry has no idea what the limits are anymore. As badly as he wanted this, he didn’t spend enough time thinking out the others’ involvement to know where to draw the lines. Everything’s up in the air now.

Zayn comes back and tosses a half rolled-up tube to Louis. He sits on the bed right where he was before and pulls Harry’s leg even closer to him, spreading him wider for Louis. Niall holds him tighter. Harry tips his head back to check on Liam and ends up with his head nearly in his lap. He’s moved closer. This near to his crotch, Harry can easily spot his erection. Harry licks his lips and gives him a knowing smile, a waggle of his eyebrows. Liam blushes redder, but doesn’t look away.

Harry’s expecting cold, slippery fingers, so when Louis’ fingers touch his ass dry, he’s confused. Harry looks at him, quirking an eyebrow, and Louis smiles before he lifts Harry’s hips up and ducks his head down between his thighs, and oh— oh, he presses his lips right below Harry’s balls and Louis’ name gets stuck in Harry’s throat as Louis messily licks his way back to the crack of Harry’s ass. Harry twists up and gasps, accidentally dislodging Niall’s hand, when Louis tongues over Harry’s hole.

Harry wasn’t expecting that. Not at all.

“What the fuck is he— is he...? Oh, Jesus,” Niall murmurs, hushed and in awe. Or horror. Harry’s not sure which yet.

“Niall,” Harry groans, wiggling his thigh to remind him, and Niall nods shakily and puts his hand on Harry again, this time with a strong enough grip that Harry’s leg sinks down into the mattress.

“Fuck,” Zayn says simply. He sounds sort of muffled; Harry looks up to see that it’s because he’s biting down on his knuckle. Harry hadn’t even realized Zayn had taken one of his hands off him; honestly, it’s hard to pay attention to anything other than Louis holding his ass open and licking his way into it. He’s a lot less careful, less... proper about it when he’s drunk. Harry loves Louis shameless like this.

“Does that feel good?” Niall asks, almost a whisper.

Harry would think that his cock going from half-hard to swollen and red and wet at the tip in the time between when Louis first lowered his mouth to Harry’s ass and now would be enough of an answer; if not that, then the way Harry’s biting down on his lip, breathing harshly in and out through his nose and making high-pitched noises in the back of his throat should be a dead giveaway; or the way the muscles in Harry’s thighs are straining as he tries and fails to lift his ass up and push back onto Louis’ tongue, because Niall should be able to feel that happening right under his hand. But Niall seems to have missed all that. Or, maybe he just wants confirmation of it because maybe he can’t make sense of the equation that tongue plus ass equals pleasure in his head.

Harry looks him in the eye and nods.

Niall leans closer to Harry’s ass, peering down at where Louis’ mouth is. Harry feels remarkably exposed even though Niall probably can’t see much at all. “You like Louis’ tongue in your arse?” he asks again, but this time it’s rhetorical, to wind Harry up. It’s dirty talk.

Harry starts to say yes, but then Louis’ tongue is licking sloppily around his entrance to get the ring all wet with spit, in tighter and tighter circles until he’s finally pushing the tip of his tongue hard against the center of it, and Harry moans instead, grabs Louis by the hair and tries to push his tongue all the way into him. Louis shakes Harry’s hands off his head and pops up, hair sticking up in odd places, mouth all wet and obscene, and says, “Liam, hold his hands, will you?” He goes right back down without waiting for Liam’s answer, licks over Harry’s hole with the flat of his tongue again and again to punish him for trying to rush him, before he gets back to opening him up.

Harry looks up at Liam through half-shut eyes. Liam looks sort of terrified. “S’okay, Liam,” Harry says softly and lifts both his arms up, hands folded together, for Liam to take. When he doesn’t, Harry rests them in Liam’s lap and continues to stare up at him as he waits. His eyes slip shut for just a second and he whimpers a little, and his fingers twitch against Liam’s crotch when Louis’ tongue finally pushes into him, and that does it— Liam gathers Harry’s wrists up in his hand and squeezes them tentatively together. Harry doesn’t break eye contact with him, not even as Louis is stabbing his tongue repeatedly into Harry’s hole. Liam eventually gets bold, expression stern as he runs his free hand down one of Harry’s tensed forearms, fingers tracing the veins that pop out all along it when Harry squeezes Liam’s hand.

Niall’s voice snaps Harry out of the weird, sexual staring contest he’s having with Liam. “Do you guys always do this? When Louis fucks you? I thought you just had to, you know,” Niall says, making a curling motion with two of his fingers. Niall’s not even making eye contact with Harry as he crudely mimes fingering him, too busy still looking curiously on at what Louis’ doing. Harry wonders how much he actually can see.

Harry shakes his head and manages, “Only when we have time,” through gritted teeth, between heaving breaths, as Louis fucks him full on with his tongue. “Fingers would be— good, though.”

“Think Harry wants you to finger him, Louis,” Niall says helpfully.

“Thanks, Niall,” Harry grunts sarcastically.

Louis withdraws his tongue and props himself up on Harry’s knees, licking his lips hungrily, like a predator, as he makes eye contact with Harry and only Harry. He takes his shirt off, like he should have ages ago, and then his trousers too. His erection is tenting his boxers so obviously he might as well be naked. Louis comes back with his fingers slicked up and pushes one smoothly into Harry as he settles back between his legs. Harry struggles against Liam’s grip, really wanting to get his hand on his cock now, but Liam holds him fast. Niall’s still watching Louis, rubbing Harry’s thigh as an afterthought. Harry looks over at Zayn to discover that a lot’s changed since he last looked at Zayn; his trousers are open and he’s palming himself through his underwear, eyes fixed on Harry face. Harry’s cock twitches at the sight and Zayn’s eyes go right to it. He licks his lips and arches up into his hand.

“Can I...?” Zayn starts to asks Louis, voice coming out deep and rough like it does first thing in the morning. Just the sound of it is arousing, nevermind what he’s saying. Louis stops trying to get a second finger into Harry and looks up at him, waiting. “Touch him?” Zayn finishes, and his eyes land on Harry’s cock again so there’s no misunderstanding what he means.

Louis frowns, makes eye contact with Harry, and then shrugs. “I dunno, it’s not my dick.”

Zayn stares at Harry with this wide-eyed look, like he dug up all this courage to ask and now he’s not sure he can do it again. Louis pushes two fingers in and starts fucking Harry shallowly with them. Harry nods frantically at Zayn, choking out, “Yes, Zayn, yes, you can touch me.”

Niall’s fingers dig into Harry’s thigh and he whispers, “Oh Christ.” Zayn slowly eases his hand out of his trousers and places it low on Harry’s stomach. Harry’s abdomen tenses at the touch. Zayn slides his hand lower until his palm is resting half in Harry’s pubic hair, in the sparse beginnings of it at the end of his happy trail, and lifts up two of his fingers to touch the base of Harry’s shaft experimentally. They drag so lightly along his skin Harry can barely feel it.

“Come on,” Harry urges, making his cock jump towards Zayn’s hand, and Zayn only hesitates long enough to breathe out before he wraps his hand around it. Zayn’s hands are bigger than Louis’; Harry knew this, but it’s different knowing it by sight and knowing it by how much area they can cover on his cock. Zayn keeps his hand low on Harry’s cock and squeezes, then slides his hand up higher with his fingers loosely curled and squeezes again, near the top, like he’s testing to feel how Harry’s cock differs from his. Which is all well and good— Harry was probably curious like this too the first time he touched a cock that wasn’t his— but he really wants Zayn to jerk him off already.

Louis fucks his fingers in deep enough to, first, lightly stroke, and then rub hard against Harry’s prostate and Harry moans and arches up off the bed, a third the height he would have if he wasn’t being restrained, and flings his head back. To his surprise, the back of his head lands on Liam’s thigh; Liam’s even closer than before. Harry looks up at him, pleading for something; maybe for Liam to tell Louis to stop torturing him, or for Zayn to move his hand faster, or maybe for something else altogether. Liam shushes him gently and gets a hand in his hair, carding through the curls and scraping his fingers over his scalp, the way he knows Harry likes, to try and soothe him. It feels so good Harry could cry. Louis backs off his prostate, easing his fingers out and coming back with one more to fit inside him, and Harry presses his face into Liam’s thigh and bites at Liam’s jeans to stifle the sharp sound he makes when Louis pushes all three inside to the knuckle.

Liam lets go of Harry’s hands. Harry whips his head up, curious, because no one told him to let go. Liam’s struggling to unbutton his trousers with one hand, the one that had been holding Harry’s wrists. He stops when he realizes Harry’s looking.

“Go on,” Harry says quietly, and bites harder at Liam’s thigh through the denim.

Liam lets out this noise, hardly more than a particularly loud exhale, but it’s the first noise he’s made since he tried to tell them to stop, and from the sound of it, Harry thinks he’s made a complete 180 since then. Liam goes further than Zayn: shoves his jeans and his boxers down his thighs and takes his bare cock in his hand. He looks so uncomfortable like that, so aware of where he is and what he’s doing, that Harry takes pity on him and cranes his neck to mouth at the side of his shaft. Liam groans and his hand in Harry’s hair tightens and he pulls Harry’s head up as far as his neck can take it. Harry does his best to lick and suck at the salty skin of Liam’s cock even though the angle’s all wrong and he’s getting a twinge in his neck. It’s sloppy and distracted at best, but it seems to work for Liam because he starts jerking himself off.

Harry is jolted away from Liam’s dick when Louis licks around where Harry’s opening is stretched around his fingers. Harry scrambles for something to hold onto, because otherwise he’s going to put his hand over Zayn’s and make himself come too soon, and his hand lands on Niall’s shoulder. Niall startles at his touch, but doesn’t shrug Harry of. Harry looks at him, takes in his eyes, just a thin ring of blue around his dark pupils, and his mouth, red and slightly agape, and his hair, fluffed up and messy— Harry raises his hand and grabs that instead, combing through the blond strands; and then nearly wrenches them out of Niall’s scalp when Louis takes his fingers out of Harry’s ass and tongues over his open hole. Niall yelps, but he lets Harry’s hand stay where it is when it relaxes.

Louis leaves Harry empty when he grabs the lube again to slick up his cock. Harry’s about to tell Louis he doesn’t need it, but instead he lies there and takes in all the things he was distracted from before. Zayn’s thumbing the wet head of Harry’s cock, and Liam and Zayn are both jerking off (Harry doesn’t remember when Zayn took his hand off Harry’s thigh), and Harry’s messing up Niall’s hair further while Niall studies Harry’s face. Niall’s eyes move to Harry’s flushed chest, and then Niall lifts his hand to toy with Harry’s necklaces. Harry watches the chains slip over his pale fingers. Niall moves his hand over to tweak one of Harry’s regular nipples, already hard, and then one of the extra ones, and smiles when Harry breathes out shakily and arches into his touch. Then Louis’ back, lining his cock up so the head’s nudging into Harry’s hole, and there’s barely any friction there to stop it because Harry’s hole’s so wet with spit and lube, and Harry’s so hard he might pass out.

Louis pushes in easy, filling Harry up like he has a hundred times before, but Harry feels it so much more than normal. His toes curl and he raises his hips to get Louis in deeper, and his breathes start coming so quick he really might pass out if he doesn’t calm himself. He shuts his eyes and fists his hand in Niall’s hair, and his other hand in the coverlet, to try and compose himself until Louis bottoms out inside him. Louis shoves Harry’s knees back towards his chest, high enough that just Harry’s toes are left on the mattress, and then Louis scoots closer; Harry can feel his hot skin all along the insides of his thighs. Louis’ first thrust is steady, controlled, and so slow Harry can feel every inch of Louis’ cock leaving him and entering him again.

Harry’s breath comes out all strangled-sounding and his fist twists in Niall’s hair, probably painfully. Harry struggles to open his eyes when he feels Niall’s breath on his cheek. Niall’s face is about two inches from his. They blink at each other for a moment and then Niall kisses him, right when Louis thrusts in again. Serendipity, Harry thinks. Harry’s not sure if kissing Niall is okay, but Niall’s lips are soft and Harry likes to be kissed while he’s being fucked, and Louis doesn’t stop fucking him when he and Niall start kissing— he starts to fuck him harder, actually.

Liam’s fingernails are scratching along Harry’s scalp, fingers getting hooked in Harry’s curls and pulling on them sharply now and then, and Zayn’s lost all focus on Harry’s cock, but his fist is still wrapped loosely around it and Harry can fuck up into it on his own now that no one’s holding him down, and Niall’s got his tongue in Harry’s mouth. He’s a better kisser than Harry expected. One of his hands leaves Harry’s side and Harry hears a zipper being dragged down, feels something wet grazing his thigh, and then Harry can feel every jerky motion of Niall’s hand against his hip as he wanks himself off. Harry slides his hand down to the back of Niall’s neck and kisses him deeper, until he can taste the whiskey in the back of his mouth. Louis holds Harry open with both hands high on the backs of his thighs and pounds into him, fucking him until he has to stop kissing Niall because he can’t breathe. He gets one good lungful of air when Louis accidentally slips out and has to guide his cock back in with his hand, but then Louis thrusts back in so hard that Harry loses it all on the cry he lets out when he comes.

When Harry can feel anything other than his orgasm again, his first thought is that he’s glad Zayn’s hand has left his cock because Louis’ fucking him right through the aftershocks and Harry’s not sure he could take the double overstimulation without screaming, or possibly dying. Zayn’s not even sitting in the same place anymore. It doesn’t take long for Harry to figure out that he went over to Liam, and from what he can hear (hands working cocks, and encouraging grunts and pants of each other’s names), Harry guesses they’re helping each other out.

Niall’s knuckles keep knocking against Harry’s thigh, stripping his cock so fast Harry’s afraid he might chafe, and just as Harry is about to offer to lick his hand for him, he wheezes, “Jesus, fuck, fuck,” and shudders apart against Harry’s side. A bit of come he doesn’t manage to catch in his palm splashes onto the skin of Harry’s thigh. Then Niall slumps against Harry, face flushed as red as Harry’s ever seen it and chest heaving. Harry scrapes his fingers upwards through the back of Niall’s hair and kisses him again, until Niall stops panting and starts lazily making out with him.

Louis hasn’t let up on his Harry’s ass at all, this whole time. His thrusts are starting to feel like too much, heightening his oversensitivity to an uncomfortable, even painful, level, but then Louis’ hips stutter and slow and Harry sighs, into Niall’s mouth, when he feels Louis’ coming spilling hot inside him.

There’s a hand in Harry’s hair again. This time it’s Louis’. He drags Harry away from Niall by his hair, not at all gently, and kisses him with too much tongue and teeth, forcing Harry’s jaw open so hard it starts to ache. Harry comes out of it with bruised lips, to Louis staring down at him with a possessive look in his eyes that makes Harry shiver. Niall got the hint right away and has since flopped back on the bed. Harry tips his head back to check on Zayn and Liam; their movements are languid, so they must’ve already come, but they haven’t bothered to pull away and fix themselves up. Their clothes are half-unbuttoned, half-unzipped— all-around disheveled, and their hands all over each other and they’re kissing, which is unexpected, but not that surprising.

Louis grabs Harry by his chin and kisses him again, gentler this time. Then he lowers his head to Harry’s chest, holding eye contact with him as he sucks a massive lovebite above his collarbone. Harry lets him do it until his skin starts to tingle, then pulls him back up so he can tuck his chin up over Louis’ shoulder and wrap his arms around his middle.

“Love you,” Harry says with a smile, right into Louis’ ear so no one else can hear.

Louis smiles and rubs little circles in Harry’s scalp with his fingertips until Harry feels like purring. “You too.”

“Do you think it’ll be... weird?” Harry asks, voice getting even quieter. “For us— I mean, for all of us?”

“Bit late to be thinking about that,” Louis says, and Harry gets a little worried. Louis continues with a shrug, “Probably. But not for long.” Then Louis switches from his normal tone to a steely, inspirational one and says, “Because nothing, nothing— did you hear me, Harry? I said nothing, not even impromptu orgies, can tear One Direction apart,” and Harry laughs into his shoulder and tells him to quit it. Louis hums and buries his face in the side Harry’s hair.

Harry thinks he’s right, though. Niall’s passed out near the top of the bed, arm flung over his face and dick still hanging out, and Liam and Zayn are sitting close, nodding heads resting on each other, looking like they’ll drop off as soon as they finish whispering about whatever they’re whispering about, and he and Louis will be out in no time— Harry knows that from experience. They’ll all wake up in this bed together, with two mostly empty bottles of liquor to dispose of and a lot of showering to do, and only time will tell whether it’ll be the awkward morning after to end all awkward morning afters or just another morning, but it’s nothing they can’t get past. Eventually, this will just be another one of those nights they keep strictly between the five of them.