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Ready To Fall

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The thing about Louis Tomlinson is that Harry has technically known him for the last five years. He’s known him since the very beginning of Louis’ radio career, when Louis was still an intern at Radio1, wrecking havoc with slightly maniacal laughter. He’s listened to the sound of Louis’ voice at all hours of the day, touring across various countries and continents as Louis grew more and more popular, making his way to the more prime timeslots.

Of course, by knowing him Harry means that he knows him tangentially. He mostly knows him through Nick and Scott – he’s never been interviewed by him, or done any segments on his show. They know each other by first name and by sight, but they’re not friends. They’re not even really acquaintances.

That’s what makes Harry’s crush on him that much more embarrassing. He’s been harboring this five year long crush on someone he doesn’t even really know, and the worst part is that he’s absolutely terrible at hiding it. Nick mocks him for it incessantly. Harry just considers himself lucky that he’s never brought it up on air. That’s something, right?

And it’s not like it’s an obsession or anything. It’s just that the sound of Louis’ voice is very soothing, even when he’s hyper and talking a little faster than he normally does. There’s something melodic about it – Harry’s fallen asleep to the sound of it more than once. And it’s not like it’s even something that affects his daily life – he sees Louis in person once or twice a year, otherwise it’s really just the sound of his voice, the brightness of his on-air persona. Harry uses it as a distraction, a nice little fantasy when he’s lonely and Louis is talking about something on the radio. It’s not as big a deal as Nick makes it out to be.

That’s what Harry tells himself, anyway. Honestly, it’s mostly even true – his crush is just part of his life, something in the background that he thinks about from time to time. It’s harmless, especially considering the amount of times he’s actually met Louis in person. It’s not like Harry is harboring a crush on his best friend or something.



“So I’m going to show you a series of images, and we’re just going to see how you react to those images. Okay?” Nick says, glancing down at the sheet of paper he’s holding. “I think we should start with the man that made you a movie star, Sir Christopher Nolan. Talk to me about your relationship with him.”

“Um, I was pretty in awe of him the whole time,” Harry starts.

“Not scared of him at all?” Nick checks.

“I was a bit scared of him, yeah,” Harry admits easily. Who wouldn’t be a little bit scared of Chris Nolan on a film set, much less on their very first film set?

“Oh, the heart rate’s fine,” Nick says. “It’s all calm. I believe you. Next up we go from Christopher Nolan to those gross giant purple trainers you used to wear. How do those make you feel?”

Harry can’t help laughing, reaching up to scratch his forehead. He should have known better than to agree to this – of course Nick is going to try to embarrass him. It’s kind of what Nick does.

“Heart rate’s rising,” Nick notes.

“Yeah, they were pretty bad,” Harry admits. “They were comfortable though!” For a while, anyway.

They were, too. The ticking of the monitor is in Harry’s ears, making him entirely too conscious of his own heartbeat. He has, possibly, tried once or twice to see if he can control his heart rate to some degree. He’s never really been too good at it.

“When did you decide to throw them out? Do you miss them, are you getting feelings of upset?”

“Um,” Harry thinks about it for a split second, not sure that he’d ever really made the conscious decision to throw them out. What had happened to them, anyway? “No, I don’t miss them.”

“I think you should bring them back for the Harry Styles solo live tour,” Nick says, smirking at him from behind his microphone.

There’s really only one thing Harry can say about that. “I’m thinking about it, yeah.”

He’s not. He’s definitely not.

“I think that would be nice,” Nick says, laughing. “Next up, how does this image make you feel?” He holds up a picture of Ryan Gosling from The Notebook.

Harry loves The Notebook as much as the next guy – possibly even more than the next guy – but Ryan Gosling has never really been the type to raise his heartbeat more than a couple of notches at a time.

“Looking very handsome,” he says, hands folded together on top of the desk. “It’s a good scene.”

“Great scene,” Nick chimes in. “Heart rate’s rising to eighty.”

It’s only rising because Ryan Gosling has thrown Harry for a bit of a loop. He should have expected Nick to pull something like this, but he hadn’t. “He’s great,” is all Harry can say.

“Eighty,” Nick repeats.

It can’t be – Nick must be lying. Harry can’t really turn his head far enough to check without ripping a wire loose somewhere. “No it’s not!”

If it is, there must be something wrong with the machine. Gosling is a very attractive man, Harry will admit that much, but he’s not really Harry’s type.

“Okay,” Nick says, letting it go entirely too easily. That really should be a sign there’s something way more sinister going on here, but Harry doesn’t catch it. “A person, a human person, someone that you spent a lot of time with. Someone that went their separate ways. How does Zayn Malik make you feel? Here in a leather jacket but no shirt.”

Harry calls upon all those moments spent trying to control his breathing, his pulse. He takes a second before answering, making sure that all of his wits are gathered. Zayn he expected. Nick asked him about Zayn when he agreed to this.

“It’s a nice combo,” Harry says.

“That would be too sweaty for me,” Nick says.

Harry makes a slight face of agreement. “Personally that would be a little too sweaty.”

“I heard that all the boys got in touch with you for the film and that’s dead nice,” Nick tells him.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees.

“Heart’s gone to a stable sixty-seven,” Nick notes. “We’re spotting a pattern here. If you know them, if you trust them, it’s the same level.”

Harry smiles. It’s true, that.

“How does money make you feel?” Nick holds up a photo of a briefcase of money, and Harry is going to answer, he really is, except he gets distracted by the door to the control room being flung open out of the corner of his eye. He can’t hear it, separated by a glass panel, but there’s something about the way it’s done – something –

The beeping of the monitor speeds up. Harry can barely hear it over the sudden rush of blood in his ears.

“Heart rate’s shot up to eighty,” Nick says, drawing Harry’s attention away from the control room, if only briefly. “I don’t think that it has anything to do with the money, though.”

His voice is sly. Harry opens his mouth to say something – to deny, probably – except the person who’s just walked into the control room bends over a desk as he points something out, and it’s all Harry can do to hold back a whimper.

“Ninety and rising,” Nick says triumphantly, as though making Harry’s heartbeat pick up by thrusting an obscenely attractive person in front of his face is any kind of success. “Louis Tomlinson has just walked into our control room and suddenly our dear Harry Styles has lost all ability to speak. Could this be some kind of strange coincidence?”

“I hate you,” Harry hisses, forcing his eyes back into Nick’s direction, uncaring that the mic must have picked it up. “I thought we agreed that you were going to play fair.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nick denies, except he’s holding up a picture of Louis’ face now, sharp cheekbones prominent, soft lashes nearly sweeping against his cheeks as he looks down, and his fucking mouth

“A hundred and two!” Nick crows, all but clapping his hands together in glee. “The highest it’s ever been!”

Harry covers his face with both hands, but he can’t help laughing along with Nick. This is so ridiculous. How did Nick even know that this was going to work? It’s literally just a picture! And a body in an entirely different room, but Harry’s still trying to ignore that fact.

“To be fair, I did bend over the desk on purpose,” Louis’ voice comes crackling in the headphones. Harry practically breaks his neck whipping his head around at the sound of it, gaping at him through the glass panel. “You can’t really blame him for getting a little excited about that, can you?”

This little shit. Holy shit.

“I’m not excited,” Harry protests. He can hear the fast, steady beep of the heart monitor giving him away, though.

“I don’t know about that, Harold,” Nick drawls.

Harry barely hears him. Louis is leaning forward now, palms braced against a different desk, looking at them from behind the glass, so his glorious arse isn’t on display anymore, and that helps Harry’s heart rate go down a couple of notches.

“You were,” Louis says, completely dismissing Harry’s denial. “It’s a well known fact that Harry Styles is an arse man, innit? And I’ve got an arse on me like no tomorrow, so it’s pretty much a foregone conclusion.”

What the actual shit is going on right now? The monitor is beeping so fast it sounds like Harry’s having a heart attack. He’s pretty sure he’s not, but on the off chance he is he tries to take a few deep breaths in while he struggles to get his thoughts under control.

“Is it?” Nick asks, that same stupid smirk on his face. “Harold here being an arse man is a well known fact?”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to say arse on the radio,” Harry interjects weakly. He can feel the way his cheeks have gone flushed with a bit of embarrassment.

“It’s fine,” Louis says loftily. He’s wearing a red t-shirt that’s stretched at the collar and jeans, casual and comfortable, and it still makes Harry want to bend him all the way over that desk and fuck him until he’s crying from it. “It is a pretty well documented fact, actually, Nicholas. I know that you’ve caught him staring at my arse many a time when he’s been in the studio.”

Harry – can’t deny that, actually. Nick has caught him, and made several comments about it each time. Harry hadn’t realized that Louis had also caught him, though.

Embarrassment has never been Harry’s forte, so he leans into it, leaning forward so he can speak directly into the mic. “I don’t think it’s very fair that the two of you are ganging up on me when Louis isn’t even supposed to be on the air right now.”

Even through the glass, Harry can see Louis’ eyebrows raise, considering. “Hold that thought,” he says abruptly, spinning on his heel and pulling the door between the control room and the studio open. It barely even gives Harry time to ogle Louis’ arse again, much less prepare himself for the fact that Louis is coming into the studio.

What the actual shit.

“Louis Tomlinson has decided to become part of this interview,” Nick says into his mic. “As you may be able to hear, Harry’s heart rate is resting at a comfortable eighty-six beats per minutes. Is there any particular reason for that, Harold?”

“I’m beginning to feel like I might have to plead not guilty to this,” Harry says. Louis has dragged over an additional chair and plops his pert little arse down into it, taking the headphones one of the producers hands to him and staring at Harry from across the desk.

Louis tsks, folding his hands together on the table top. Harry can’t help but watch them, transfixed by the tattoos on Louis’ fingers, his bitten nails. They’re short, small just like the rest of him. He probably can’t get them that deep when he fingers himself.

If he fingers himself. Just because he wants to bend Louis over doesn’t mean Louis wants to get bent over at all.

“Now, now, there’s no reason to feel guilty, Harold,” Louis chides him, and people have been calling him Harold on and off for years, but for some reason when Louis says it, it sends a throb of heat through Harry’s stomach. “There’s no shame in harboring a five year crush on me. I’m a very attractive person, I know.”

Okay, maybe he does want to get bent over. Harry would love to fulfill that desire for him.

Deciding that if Louis didn’t want to get flirted with, he wouldn’t have come into the room in the first place, Harry plants his elbows onto the desk more firmly, dropping his voice just enough that there can be no doubting his intentions.

“You are a very attractive person,” Harry agrees. “Might even be the reason that I became an arse man in the first place.”

With an arse like that, Harry’s pretty sure he can’t be blamed.

Louis laughs, leaning forward to match Harry’s stance. Harry can barely even hear the beep of the heart monitor now, too focused on Louis sitting directly in front of him, flirting with him. “Really?” he asks, curling his fingers around the mic, thumb swiping slow, idly circles. “That’s a pretty impressive compliment, Harry Styles. Has anyone ever told you that you’re quite the charmer?”

He’s one to talk, sitting there groping the mic like it’s a cock in full view of the cameras like he’s got absolutely no shame. Harry would really like to put that theory to the test, see if there’s any situation in which Louis’ face flushes a deep pink.

“I might have been told something similar a time or two in the past,” Harry admits. “It’s never sounded quite as good as when you say it, though.”

“Alright, alright, we all know that you’ve got moves,” Louis chides gently, tapping his fingertips against the table. “No need to bust them all out on my account.”

This might actually be the first time Harry’s been told he’s got moves in his entire life. Been told that he’s something of a natural flirt, sure, but intentional moves? Not so much.

“I’m not doing anything,” Harry protests, gesturing vaguely in Louis’ direction. “It’s not my fault you look like that.”

Looks like that plus that arse to boot? Harry never stood a chance.

“Wow, I’m real flattered,” Louis says dryly, but there’s no mistaking the mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Reduced to my looks, nothing to even say about my personality?”

Vaguely, Harry can hear the almost frantic beep of the heart monitor in the background. It’s steady, at least, so that’s something.

Undeterred, he tangles his fingers together, unconsciously mimicking Louis’ posture. “I didn’t say that,” he says. “I really love the way you’re roasting me right now, for example.”

“Also my arse,” Louis says, raising a challenging eyebrow at him.

“Also your arse,” Harry agrees. “To be fair, though, I doubt very much that I’m the only one who enjoys that particular – asset of yours.”

Nick snickers, half helpless and half hopeless. Harry ignores him. He’s got his sights set now, and he knows what he wants.

“You’re not,” Louis says, bringing his shoulders together so he looks even smaller somehow, compact and gorgeous sitting across from Harry. Harry’s crush might have been low-grade, background noise for the past five years, but right now it’s burning hot and heavy in the middle of his chest. “What makes you so special, then, Harry Styles, that I should care about what you think about this particular asset of mine?”

He puts the same emphasis on asset that Harry did. Harry might be half in love.

“Nothing, really,” Harry tells him honestly. “I’m just like all the other people out there who harbor a deep appreciation for your arse. I might also enjoy falling asleep to the sound of your voice on the regular, but that’s neither here nor there.”

Louis purses his mouth, staring at Harry from across the table. “Harry Styles,” he says eventually. “If you keep giving me compliments like this you might end up getting more than you bargained for.”

Harry sincerely doubts that. At the very least, he wants to have sex with Louis. And if that sexual encounter happens to lead to something more, well. No one would blame him with an arse like Louis has on him.

“Well in that case let me just say that I think you’re truly quite funny on your program,” Harry says. “Your sense of humour is just – ” he brings his fingers up to lips and makes an audible kissing noise that there’s no doubt the mics can pick up.

“I hate to interrupt this rather strange mating ritual I’m witnessing,” Nick says, sounding anything but, “but we’re about to go to commercial. Harry, do you have anything you’d like to say before we go?”

It’s clearly an opportunity for Harry to plug his album, something he hasn’t done since the interview started. It would be the smart move – it’s what Harry is here for, after all.

Instead, Harry swipes his tongue across his bottom lip quickly before asking, “Louis Tomlinson, would you go on a date with me?”

Louis quirks an eyebrow at him, smug smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “Harry Styles,” he says solemnly, “Do you really think that I’m going to agree to go on a date with you live on the radio?”

“Annndd that’s our cue to cut to commercial!” Nick interjects while Harry’s still gaping across the desk. Harry barely notices Nick making his rather hasty escape, tugging wires off his body, trying to get himself free.

He knows that he didn’t misread that entire situation. Louis was flirting with him. Like really, seriously flirting with him. Harry knows that.

“We’re not live anymore,” Harry says, still plucking kind of uselessly at wires, “How about that date?”

Louis sits back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Where would you take me on this supposed date?”

That’s a challenge if Harry’s ever heard one. “Anywhere you want,” he says easily. “We could go for dinner or a movie. There’s a great little French restaurant not too far from here.”

“What makes you think that I’d want to go to dinner with you anyway?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow at him from across the table. “Awfully full of yourself, Harry Styles.”

If he doesn’t quit it with saying Harry’s last name like that Harry’s gonna be forced to write it all over him. In ink and in other things.

“You mean aside from all this flirting that you’re doing?” Harry asks. “You may have caught me staring at your arse a few times over the past few years, but that can only mean you’ve been staring right back.”

At this point, Harry would admit to the ogling live on the radio if it meant Louis would agree to go out with him.

“You really think I’m that easy, huh?” Louis asks, sliding out of his chair easily, an undeniable sway to his hips as he rounds the table, stopping just in front of Harry’s chair.

Harry bites on the inside of his cheek to avoid blurting out something completely insane like a marriage proposal. “You have no idea how much I wish you were that easy.”

If he was, they could have gone out years ago.

Louis hums softly, reaching out lightning quick and yanking one of the pads stuck to Harry’s chest off, ripping out a few chest hairs in the process. Harry gasps, hand flying up to rub at his stinging skin.

“No,” Louis says, and rips off another one, walking away while Harry is still breathing through the sting of it. It takes him a few seconds to realize that the no had been a rejection.

Ouch. Harry rubs at his chest a bit more, trying to ease more than one sting this time.



About twenty minutes later, Harry makes a pit stop in the loo on the way out of the radio station. He’s been trying not to let the rejection get to him. It’s not like he’s never been rejected before, but this time it feels a little sharper than usual.

Maybe it’s because he’s been harboring this crush for so long, he muses as he washes his hands. Behind him, the door swings open. Harry doesn’t bother to look up, rinsing soap off his hands. Rejection never feels good, but this probably feels worse because in some ways Louis has been a constant in his life. Harry’s always been able to pull up one of his shows and let the sound of his voice wash over him, no matter the time, no matter what country he was in.

“You one of those anal retentive bastards, then?” a voice asks from behind him. Harry’s back stiffens. There’s no way he wouldn’t recognize that voice after all this time listening to it. “How many times do you usually wash your hands?”

Harry looks down, realizing that he’s got fresh soap on his hands again. It must be the third or fourth time he’s lathered them up. He bites back a curse, rinsing them off again and putting on his media trained persona. “Nah, mate, just got a little carried away.”

Louis scoffs. Harry can’t help but watch his expressive face in the mirror as he finishes rinsing his hands – for the last time – and grabs a couple pieces of paper towel to dry them with. “Really? You’re gonna put that posh personality back on like you weren’t writing odes to my arse in your head not even half an hour ago?”

What the actual shit. He just finished turning Harry down, now he’s here, in the loo with him?

“You mean that bit we did for the radio?” Harry asks, pitching the used paper towels into the bin and turning around, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m a professional, Louis Tomlinson, going along with bits on a live broadcast is something I’m used to.”

Louis rolls his eyes, turning around and twisting the lock. Instantly, Harry’s mouth goes dry. His lean back against the counter has more to do with a sudden loss of equilibrium than it is an intentional move.

“You like my arse,” Louis says, enunciating the words crisply. “I might even go as far as to say that you’re a little bit in love with my arse. That ‘bit’ you say we were doing was anything but. That was all you, mate.”

What is he doing here. More pertinent than that, why the hell has he locked the door?

“Okay,” Harry says simply. He’s not going to deny it when it had been so obvious. It was a stupid idea to try to pretend it was something else in the first place. “What do you want from me, Louis?”

Louis hums quietly, rubbing a palm across his belly, shucking his shirt up a few inches in the process. It exposes some of his skin, enough that Harry has to bite back a noise of his own. Sweet, soft creamy skin on display. Harry’s never wanted to bite someone so much in his life.

“That depends,” Louis says, holding up his free hand. There’s a small foil packet dangling from two of his fingers. “How much do you really like my arse, Harry Styles?”

Blood rushes south so fast Harry’s surprised that he doesn’t pass out from it. He grips the countertop with both hands so hard his knuckles turn white. “Half an hour ago you turned me down,” he points out.

Louis flicks the condom between his fingers, looking at Harry through his eyelashes. Harry’s cock throbs, threatening to tent out his trousers rather obscenely. “Semantics,” Louis tells him dismissively.

Semantics – fucking really?

Harry grips the counter even harder to prevent himself from closing the distance between them. When in doubt go for the full truth, he supposes.

“A condom isn’t going to be nearly sufficient for what I want to do to you,” he tells Louis.

Wordlessly, Louis reaches back into his pocket, coming out with a packet of lube next. He raises an eyebrow, completely obscene and unnecessary.

Fuck it, Harry thinks, and lets go of the counter so he can practically launch himself across the space separating them. He slams Louis up against the door properly, ducking his head to kiss him. He doesn’t waste time with any niceties, making it wet and open right away, tongue sliding slick and sure against Louis’. Swallows Louis’ gasp with his mouth, the heat between them searing and insistent. He’s got Louis trapped against the door, exactly where he should be, and Louis is kissing him back just as furiously, fisting a hand in Harry’s hair.

God. Louis is a good kisser, wet and distracting to the point that Harry can barely remember his own name. He fills his hands with Louis’ arse, squeezing it, biting at Louis’ bottom lip. His cock is already hard, and he can feel that Louis’ is, too, pressed up against Harry’s thigh.

Harry is the one to break the kiss, using his grip on Louis’ arse to lift him onto his toes, angling him so their cocks grind together through their clothes. “You make a habit of propositioning celebrities in the loo at your workplace?”

Louis wiggles a hand down between their hips, palming at Harry’s cock. “Already made your pal Liam into a notch on my bedpost,” he answers breathlessly. Harry knows it’s not true – even if Liam wasn’t in a relationship, there’s no way he would have been able to keep that tidbit of information to himself.

Shagging cute boys in loos has always been more of Harry’s schtick anyway.

“Liam has a tiny dick,” Harry tells him, and kisses the laughter right out of Louis’ mouth. Louis has an arse Harry’s been daydreaming about fucking for the last five years, and he’s not going to waste anymore time getting around to it. He yanks Louis’ jeans open, going for speed over finesse, heat burning brightly throughout his entire body, but mostly centered in his cock.

He can’t resist getting a hand around Louis’ cock once he’s got his pants pulled halfway down his arse, though. Glances down between their bodies to get a look at it, pretty and flushed pink. Curls his fingers around it and tugs a little.

Louis makes a noise into his mouth, sweet and wanting, pushing up into Harry’s hand. It’s demanding. He’s demanding, and Harry hasn’t even gotten any of his clothes off yet.

“Yours isn’t, though,” Louis says softly. Harry comes back to himself a little, remembers that Louis is still palming at his cock over his trousers, those pretty fingers of his struggling to curve around the heft of it.

It’s not because of Harry’s trousers, either.

Compliments about Harry’s cock will always go to his head – in more ways than one. “It’s really not,” Harry agrees. “You want it in you?”

Louis looks up at him from underneath his eyelashes, thumb dragging over the head of Harry’s cock. It feels so good, even through the layers of clothing. “I wouldn’t have come in here if I didn’t.”

He’s already living up to all of Harry’s idle daydreams. Hungry for it and shameless about it.

“Lube,” Harry says, forcing himself to uncurl his fingers from around Louis’ cock, shoving at his jeans until Louis can step out of them. Louis slaps the packet into Harry’s hand, tugging his zip down as soon as Harry’s fingers close around it.

“How many times have you thought about it over the years?” Louis asks breathlessly, hitching his thigh up around Harry’s hip at Harry’s shameless urging.

Harry’s distracted by tearing the package open and spreading the lube across three fingers. “Thought about what?”

“How you’d fuck me if you ever got the chance.”

It’s a question that deserves a long, drawn-out answer. Harry bets that he could make Louis come just by telling him about it. At the very least, it’d turn him on so much that he’d be begging for it.

As it is, Harry can’t do both. He rubs two of his lube slick fingers over Louis’ hole, watching his face for every minute change of his expression. “How ‘bout I just show you instead?”

Louis’ tongue darts out to swipe at his bottom lip. Harry chases it with his own tongue, pressing Louis harder against the door. “You think you’re up for it?” Louis demands, even more breathless than he was a few seconds ago.

Harry presses one finger past the rim of Louis’ hole before he can even finish getting the words out. Louis’ eyes flutter shut, the blunt edges of his nails sinking into Harry’s shoulder even through the material of his shirt.

“I’m definitely up for it,” Harry says. Louis is hot and smooth on the inside, so tight Harry can’t think about what it’ll feel like when it’s his cock in there or he’ll come. “Gonna fuck you so good you forget your own name.”

It’s hyperbolic sex talk, something Harry may have said a few times before. That doesn’t mean that he doesn’t mean it, though. He’s kind of offended by the way Louis makes a soft, derisive sound in response, doubting.

Harry’s sliding a second finger inside before he can stop to think about it, spreading them apart quickly. Louis’ noise goes from derisive to sharp and breathy.

“All you popstars talk such a big game,” Louis says, but his fingers are still digging marks into Harry’s shoulder, and his other hand has gone from trying to feel him up to just pressing against his stomach.

It only fuels Harry on, searching out Louis’ prostate. It doesn’t take long to find it, judging by the sound Louis makes in response, head banging back against the door, mouth dropping open. “Jesus fuck,” Louis exhales, knee hitching restlessly against Harry’s hip.

“It’s not all talk,” Harry tells him, catching Louis’ mouth for another kiss, stroking the pads of both fingertips over Louis’ spot relentlessly, enjoying that way Louis’ cock jerks against his belly. His thigh has gone straight to trembling against Harry’s side, from exertion or pleasure, Harry doesn’t know. Maybe both. Probably both.

“God,” Louis says, fisting his hand in the silk of Harry’s shirt. “You can put another one in.”

Instead of doing that, Harry drags his fingers out a bit before thrusting them back in, tugging at Louis’ bottom lip with his teeth. He’s rewarded without another noise, shakier and louder this time, and yeah, that’s exactly what he wanted.

“Please,” Louis says, the word falling from his lips so naturally Harry can’t help but wonder, distracted for a second, if he always sounds that good during sex.

He brushes the thought off before he can get lost in it, slipping the third finger in without making Louis wait for it anymore. His own cock has become much more demanding, throbbing incessantly in his trousers, especially now that Louis isn’t touching it anymore. Harry doesn’t waste too much more time opening Louis up before pulling his fingers out, wiping the excess lube on his trousers.

The packet he’d opened earlier is lying empty at his feet. Harry glances down at it before looking back at Louis’ face, cheeks flushed, hair already mussed. “One wasn’t enough,” he realizes slowly.

Louis blinks at him, eyes framed by dark lashes, mouth gone pink and swollen from having Harry’s all over it. “Good thing I brought more than one, then.”

What a gorgeous, amazing boy. Harry wants to see him spread out in his sheets at home, taking up all the space and being irrationally smug about it. He has a feeling Louis is that kind of person.

Before he bends down to fish the rest of the supplies out of Louis’ pocket, Harry gives Louis’ cock a couple of long, lingering strokes. He’s hot and hard in Harry’s palm, skin silky. Louis bends his head down to watch him do it, lips pink and parted.

Harry wants to be inside him so badly he can nearly taste it. He swipes the packages he needs, ripping open the condom packet and rolling it down onto his cock. He tears into the lube just as quickly, swiping it over his cock as carefully as he can manage given the circumstances.

Turning Louis around so he can brace himself against the wall would probably be the best course of action here. The easiest way to do this.

Doing that would mean that he wouldn’t get to kiss Louis as he fucks him, though, and that’s not going to happen. Instead, he grabs Louis’ thigh again, pulling it up around his waist and lining them up so he can start pushing in.

“Jesus,” Louis hisses, palm slapping against the doorframe as he struggles to find something to hold onto. Harry reaches up and covers it with his own hand, pressing it into the wood, fucking his cock in inch by inch. Resisting the urge to kiss him is getting too overwhelming. Harry gives into it, focusing on that instead of how Louis feels around his cock. Louis’ slow as he kisses back, fingers twitching against Harry’s, tongue soft and wet against his. He opens up for it easily, beautifully, taking Harry’s cock like he was made for it, and there’s no way this is going to last very long.

“You’re amazing,” he tells Louis. The final inch of his cock slides home, buried all the way inside the tight clutch of Louis’ hole, and the pleasure of it is good Harry has to breathe through it for a few seconds.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Louis breathes out, shifting, arm curling around the back of Harry’s neck as he struggles to find some leverage and rock down before Harry’s ready for it.

He’s terribly smug about it, too. If he didn’t feel so good Harry might be able to muster up some indignation about it.

Instead of answering, Harry drops both hands down to curl underneath Louis’ arse, getting a firm grip before he starts fucking him, pulling him down with every thrust.

“Fuck,” Louis says, sharp and startled, his free hand joining his other at the back of Harry’s neck, fingernails digging into his skin. His cock bounces against his belly as Harry keeps fucking him, already building up a bit of a sweat from the exertion.

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs. He can’t keep himself from biting at Louis’ mouth as he goes to kiss him again, deep and wet, tongue curling against Louis’. “Feels so good, baby.”

He can’t stop himself in time to keep the endearment from slipping out of his mouth. Louis’ head drops back at a particularly hard thrust, moaning sweet and high in the back of his throat. Harry fastens his mouth to Louis’ pulse point, sucking a bruise there that he won’t be able to hide.

“C’mon,” Louis says, out of breath and begging, nails sharp as they drag down Harry’s back, curling his thighs tighter around Harry’s hips. Harry’s supporting all of his weight now, and he’s pretty sure nothing has ever felt this good in his entire life. “Harder, please, harder – ”

Harry obliges, slamming up into Louis hard, left shoulder braced against the door for leverage, the entirety of Louis’ body pressed up against him, so pretty Harry thinks he might die from looking at him. His cock is wet between their bodies, head flushed red and glistening, balls drawn up so tight there’s no way he isn’t going to come sometime within the next two minutes.

“You’re so fucking pretty, you know that?” Harry demands, shifting so he’s supporting Louis’ weight with one arm, using his free hand to curl around Louis’ cock, stroking him roughly. “Your fucking voice – ”

Louis drags his head back up to force their mouths together again. It’s less of a kiss than it is a mauling, complete with teeth, and Louis is so tight and hot on the inside –

It only takes a few more strokes before Louis is coming, clenching up even tighter around Harry’s cock, making sweet, soft noises into Harry’s mouth, cock pulsing in his hand. It’s a good thing, too, because Harry doesn’t last much longer, yanking Louis down onto his cock one more time and holding him there as he floods the condom.

His head goes a little fuzzy from the force of it. Slowly, he starts to realize that there’s an ache in his calves from the exertion. It’s not unpleasant, more like the soft sting of a job well done.

He barely realizes that he’s still kissing Louis, brushing their lips together. After a couple more minutes, Louis tilts his head back with a sigh, uncurling one of his hands from the back of Harry’s neck to pat at his chest, where another one of his buttons has slipped open, leaving his skin exposed.

“Yes, alright, you did a good job,” Louis tells him. His palm is warm against Harry’s skin. “You can pull out now.”

If Harry had his way, he might stay in forever. There’s no denying that he’s getting a little sensitive, though, so he pulls out slowly, lifting Louis up a few more inches and tilting his own hips down. It’s easy to slide down onto his knees from there, taking Louis with him along the way, until he can sprawl out on his back on the tile floor.

“You’re amazing,” he tells Louis, sex-drunk and happy, hands still full of Louis’ arse. Louis’ sitting astride his hips now, looking down at him, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I love the segment you do about which celebrity with the same name would survive in a zombie apocalypse.”

“God, you’re annoying,” Louis sighs, but the way he folds himself down to kiss Harry some more says the complete opposite.

Harry doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but he’s definitely starting to believe in infatuation at first fuck. He wants to take Louis home with him and never let him leave his bed.

They’re still kissing as Louis slides his hand down and pinches the condom off Harry’s cock, pitching it into the bin without even looking. Harry’s cock definitely has something to say about that, and it’s only good things.

“How about that date?” Harry asks, breaking the kiss so he can see Louis’ face better.

“Harry Styles,” Louis sighs, tucking Harry’s cock back into his trousers and tugging the zip up carefully, “You’re gonna have to try a lot harder than that.”

He pats Harry’s chest again, kisses him one more time, and then he’s gone before Harry’s even realized that he’s got all his clothes on again.

Jesus. Sex really does make Harry stupider.



It takes Harry a few minutes to gather himself up enough to peel his body off the floor. His limbs still feel heavy and sluggish, and if this had have happened pretty much anywhere except in a loo, he might already be asleep. He can’t sleep here, though, so he forces himself up.

On the way out of the building, he tucks his hand into the pocket of his trousers absently. Immediately, something crinkles against his fingers. He pulls it out, glancing down at it. It’s a small slip of paper with a phone number scrawled across it. There’s no name, just the number. Louis must have slipped it in there when he was tucking Harry’s cock back in his pants.

Harry grins to himself, stepping out into the bright, sunshiney sidewalk, already planning all the ways he’s going to put that number to good use.



Instead of using the phone number Louis gave him, Harry arranges to have flowers and chocolates delivered to Louis at the station. He’s very specific about the timeframe the deliveries have to be made in, and it’s so worth it when he gets to hear Louis’ reaction on his show.

Harry may have bribed Nick with a few too many bottles of that wine he likes in order to make it happen. None of that matters right now, not when Louis is about to receive the gifts live. Harry can’t wait.

There’s a cup of tea sitting in front of him, rapidly cooling. Harry wraps both hands around it absently, listening to his own song fade out on the radio and Louis’ voice come back in. It’s kind of poetic, that. Nick better be on time or the moment will have been wasted.

“And that was Harry Styles’ new one,” Louis is saying. Tingles travel up Harry’s spine at the sound of his name falling from Louis’ lips. It doesn’t sound quite the same as it did when he said it after they had sex, but that’s actually good. It would be inappropriate for him to sound like that on the radio. “Got a little bit of cheek to it, doesn’t it? In other news, it’s wet and rainy on this lovely London afternoon and we’ve got a contest coming up for all you lovely people to participate in – ”

“Tommo,” a voice interrupts. Nick’s voice.

Good. He’s on time.

“Nicholas,” Louis returns easily. “Is there a reason you’re barging in on me show or do you want something?”

“Oh, it’s not me who wants something,” Nick says. “I promised someone I would bring you something, so I’m here fulfilling that responsibility.”

“What is it?” Louis asks, suspicious, and that crush Harry has on him only deepens. There’s some rustling, presumably the cellophane crinkling as Nick hands over the flowers.

“From your very special secret admirer,” Nick says solemnly.

Harry doesn’t bother trying to tamp down his smile. Try harder, Louis said. Harry’s going to try so hard there’s no way Louis will be able to resist.

“I’d love to keep getting more than I bargained for,” Louis reads. “Let me – ” he pauses to clear his throat. “Well. The next bit’s not really something I can say on radio.”

Harry can imagine the sweet, pink flush that must be covering Louis’ cheeks by now. He’d had it in the loo, so nice to look at.

“For the benefit of all our listeners, Louis seems to have received quite the beautiful bouquet of flowers from a certain Harry Styles,” Nick says into the mic. “Tell me, Louis, did you ever agree to go on that date with him?”

“Well, Nicholas, I’m sorry to break your heart like this, but I in fact did not agree to that date,” Louis says. “At this point I think all of this might add up to a little bit of harassment, in fact. He’s probably listening, right?”

“I imagine he must be,” Nick agrees.

“Well then, Harry Styles, if you are in fact listening, let me make it absolutely, one hundred percent clear to you that if you want to take me out on a proper date I’m going to need a lot more than a single bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. I have a feeling that you’re a lot to deal with and I’m going to need all the gifts I can get out of this.”

Harry grins down at his mug. That’s not a no.



A few minutes later, Harry finds that his decision not to text Louis was a good one. Louis texts him instead, a series of messages that come in one after the other.

wow you arsehole i can’t believe the audacity on you
sending me flowers like you’re trying to woo me
if you WERE trying to woo me you’d have better chances with beer and burgers
hint motherfucking hint
don’t make me regret having sex with you in the loo at my workplace
i already got enough shit from my co-workers coming out of there looking like that
grimmy still hasn’t let it go and i’m blaming you for that
send me your address i’m coming to your place after i finish my show
if you’re not there i can just steal all your shit and then leave

Harry still doesn’t believe that you can fall in love with someone before you really get to know them, but that crush he’s got only grows bigger, more steadfast in its devotion. He has to rub at his chest for a minute before he can text back, trying to contain the glow that wants to burst out. Some guys actually don’t like getting flowers, feel like it’s too girlie or something dumb like that, but he’s got a feeling that Louis isn’t one of them.

Of course, it also helps that Nick had texted him to tell him that he’d never seen Louis blush like that before. Harry’s only regret is that he wasn’t there to see it in person.

Are you saying that I should cancel the deliveries I’ve got planned for the rest of the week? Because I could do that, but I spent a lot of time working on what I want the flowers to say so I’d be really disappointed.
Also, thank you for having sex with me in the loo. Top five sexual encounters of my life. I’d tell Grimmy to leave you alone about it, but, well, I’m pretty sure you deserve it for setting that whole thing up. I’m still scared to log into any of my social media to see what my fans are saying. I think that was the uncoolest I’ve ever seemed to them.

He sends his address a few seconds after that, already thinking about what kind of burgers he’s going to make. He’ll have to run out to the shops to pick up some ingredients before Louis gets here.

all a dozen red roses say is that you want to have sex with me again and it’s not like that’s news to anyone on the entire planet
you’ve definitely seemed way more uncool to your fans before. none of your fans actually think you’re cool, i don’t know what kind of rock you’ve been living under
also, this isn’t a date
now leave me alone, i have a REAL job to do, unlike some people i could name

It’s definitely a date. Harry’s going to make sure of it.



When Louis rings his doorbell at half past five, Harry’s only just gotten home from the grocery store. His text asking when Louis would be here had gone unanswered, and Nick had said Louis doesn’t normally leave the station until after six. A little bit panicked, Harry wipes his hands on his jeans and goes to answer the door.

“Hi,” he says, pulling it open. Louis barely waits for him to open it halfway before he’s squeezing past him and into the entryway, kicking his shoes off and dropping his bag on the floor.

“Hello,” Louis says, “This isn’t a date, and I’m not going to have sex with you.”

With that, he takes off into Harry’s house, leaving Harry to blink at his retreating behind, gaze unashamedly caught on the curve of it. Belatedly, he goes to close the door, nudging Louis’ shoes out of the middle of the hall before he follows him.

He catches up to Louis digging through the refrigerator in the kitchen, a bottle of wine already tucked under his arm. He’s wearing black trackies and an oversized hoodie, hair messy from the wind. He’s dressed for work, not to impress.

Harry’s still pretty impressed. The trackies are doing absolute wonders for Louis’ arse.

“I’m pretty sure this is a date,” he says, delayed by the frankly obscene thoughts running through his head. “You did ask me to make you dinner, after all.”

“Not a date,” Louis says cheerfully, kicking the fridge door closed with his heel and turning around, cradling a block of cheese and a bag of grapes in his arms next to the wine bottle. “You don’t even have any beer, so if it was going to be a date, which it wasn’t, it couldn’t be now. I expect to have all my date demands taken very seriously.”

And he called Harry a lot of work? Clearly he’s never been introduced to himself. It’s a good thing Harry is so into him and that he doesn’t mind doing a bit of work to get what he wants.

“The beer’s in the fridge downstairs,” Harry says, watching as Louis plops all his contraband on the island and sets about pulling cabinets open, searching for something he’s not even going to try to guess at. “I wasn’t expecting you for a couple of hours still so I haven’t gotten it yet. What are you looking for?”

Louis doesn’t even pause in his rummaging. “This is how you get to know a person, Harold,” he explains patiently, setting the corkscrew down on the counter before going back to searching. “Going through all of their belongings. You have a nice house, by the way. Very posh.”

He pulls out a knife before shutting the drawer with his hip, seemingly content with the things he’s grabbed.

“Thanks,” Harry says. “You know, if you’re hungry I can just get started on dinner now. It won’t take that long.”

Louis brandishes the corkscrew at Harry like a weapon, tearing the package of cheese open with his teeth. “Are you trying to prevent me from eating your stupidly expensive cheese?” he says through a mouthful of plastic. Harry reaches out and grabs the corkscrew from him before he can hurt himself, popping open the wine bottle with a flourish.

“You can have as much cheese as you want,” Harry says, setting the cork down on the counter and going to grab a couple of glasses from the cabinet. “We can eat whenever you want, is all I’m saying.”

When he turns around, Louis has boosted himself up to sit on the counter, the knife and cheese beside him and the wine bottle dangling from a few fingers. “I wasn’t expecting you to actually make me dinner, you know,” he says. He’s holding the wine bottle close to his body, gaze heavy and expectant.

It’s practically as good as an invitation. Harry steps right up into the space between Louis’ knees, holding the glasses steady as Louis pours a liberal amount of wine into both of them, almost filling them to the brim. It’s so far from an accepted pour, and the challenging look on Louis’ face says he knows it and is daring Harry to say something about it.

“I always make dinner for my dates when I bring them home,” Harry says. Louis sets the nearly empty bottle down onto the counter, taking one of the glasses from Harry’s hand.

“This isn’t a date,” Louis tells him before swallowing a healthy mouthful of the wine, lips coming away with the slightest purple stain.

Harry sets his own glass down on the counter, untouched, and yanks Louis closer by the backs of his thighs. “It’s a date,” he says firmly, trying to nudge Louis’ glass out of the way so he can get at his mouth, taste the wine secondhand.

Louis brings the glass back up to his mouth, taking slow, steady sips at it until it’s empty again, and all Harry can do is watch the way his throat works as he swallows, the way he doesn’t try to squirm away from Harry’s hands on him or the way Harry knows he must be looking at him. Then, once it’s empty, he sets it beside Harry’s still full one, leaning forward so he can rest his elbows against Harry’s shoulders, linking his fingers behind Harry’s head.

“I didn’t come here to have sex with you,” he says, winding a piece of Harry’s hair between his fingers. He’s giving Harry bedroom eyes, though, flirty and interested, and Harry’s weak.

“Okay,” Harry murmurs, hands still wrapped around Louis’ thighs, the flesh of him warm and solid. “Can I kiss you, though?”

“Yes,” Louis answers on a soft, breathy sigh, tipping his head down to make it easier, lips already parted by the time Harry’s meet his. They kiss slowly, almost sweetly, tongues sliding together. Harry’s insides feel like they’re melting, desire and happiness joining together as one.

He wants more – of course he does – but this is so good too. Unhurried, lazy snogging in Harry’s kitchen like they’ve had sex more than just once before, like the ways they know each other are deep and vital.

“God,” Louis breathes out eventually, tugging Harry away with his fingers knotted in his hair. “You’re making me want to have sex with you, and I don’t put out on the first date.”

Harry can feel the smile creeping across his face. “So you’re admitting that it is a date, then?”

“It’s not,” Louis denies immediately. “Told you you’re gonna have to work way harder than that if you want a date with me, mate.”

He pats Harry’s chest a couple of times before pushing him back and hopping down off the counter, grabbing Harry’s glass and taking off towards the stairs. Harry watches him go, still leaning against the counter. Louis’ arse bounces as he runs, and fuck if it’s not one of the most distracting things Harry’s ever seen.

Once Louis and his fantastic arse disappear from sight, Harry shakes his head, trying to re-focus, and sets about cutting the cheese Louis abandoned, arranging it on a small platter with the grapes and some crackers. He tops up the glass Louis had been drinking out of before uncorking another bottle, putting everything onto a tray and wandering up the stairs to see where he’s gone off to.

No one has ever come into Harry’s house and immediately made themselves at home like this before. It’s actually kind of relaxing, not having to worry about putting his best foot forward. People who want you to put your best foot forward generally don’t snoop through all of your stuff, Harry’s pretty sure.

Upstairs, most of the doors are thrown open. Harry left most of them that way himself, so he has to duck into every room to see if Louis is there, still balancing the tray between his hands. He doesn’t find him until he goes into his own bedroom, lounging on Harry’s bed, underneath the covers, with the telly on.

Harry actually has to stop at the threshold, blinking at the sight. It’s – Louis Tomlinson is in his bed. Of all the ways Harry imagined having Louis Tomlinson in his bed, none of them were even remotely like this.

“You have a telly in your bedroom,” Louis says, flicking a glance over in Harry’s direction before he goes back to flipping channels. “Proper rich person thing to do, innit?”

Harry finds his feet again and starts moving towards the bed. “Are you absolutely sure that you didn’t come here to have sex?” he checks, setting the tray down on the bedside table and climbing into the bed beside Louis, on top of the duvet Louis is buried under. “I want to believe you, I really do, but normally people who don’t want to have sex with me also aren’t getting into my bed, so.”

“Better watch your tone, young man. I’m starting to think about never having sex with you again,” Louis says mildly, dropping the remote and curling closer so he can lean over Harry and grab some of the cheese. “And I definitely didn’t come here to have sex with you. If you really need it that bad I can get you a prostitute, though.”

Up close, he smells vaguely fruity. Harry hadn’t noticed earlier, too busy trying to memorize the taste of his mouth.

“That’s alright,” Harry says, resisting the urge to haul Louis all the way into his lap. It’d be so easy – he’s taking his time about picking the pieces he wants, and it’s clearly intentional. Meant to rile Harry up. “Even if we’re not going to have sex I still want to be spending my time with you.”

Louis pauses, a piece of cheese halfway between his mouth and the tray. “Jesus,” he mutters to himself, disgusted, before setting the cheese back down on the tray and forcibly yanking it from Harry’s hands, practically flinging it down behind him. “This doesn’t mean we’re going to have sex,” he warns, clambering into Harry’s lap.

“Okay,” Harry says, already breathless, fitting his hands around the curves of Louis’ hips, holding him tight as Louis leans down to kiss him. It’s harder than their kiss in the kitchen, more biting, and combined with Louis’ weight in his lap Harry’s already getting hard.

Louis fists his hands in Harry’s hair, tongue slick and wickedly good as it slides against Harry’s. He’s compact and pretty, feels so good in Harry’s lap, grinding down against his cock, and Harry already knows what it feels like to be inside him, but he wants that again.

He slides his hands down to Louis’ arse, helping him move in a smoother rhythm, making the kiss wetter, as filthy as he can. He’s trying really fucking hard to remember that Louis said they’re not going to have sex, and it’s not easy when he’s moving like that.

It only takes a couple minutes of it before the temptation to roll them over and really start giving it to him becomes too much. Harry pulls his face away with a gasp, letting go of Louis’ arse and cupping his cheeks instead, brushing his fingers against Louis’ soft skin.

“You’re incredible,” he says seriously, ignoring the slight pinpricks of pain in his scalp where Louis’ gripping has gotten even tighter. It’s far from an unpleasant tingle, and paying attention to it is only going to make this harder. “If you keep doing that I don’t see a way we’re not going to end up having sex.”

Louis’ mouth twists like he’s trying to hide a smile. “Alright,” he agrees, and slides off Harry’s lap so slowly Harry could cry. He doesn’t go very far, staying curled up against Harry’s side, although he does pull the tray closer before he settles in.

Harry’s always been the tactile sort, so even if they’re not going to have sex this really works for him. He wraps an arm around Louis’ shoulders, shifting his hips so his cock won’t be quite as noticeable in his jeans. Louis seems to notice anyway, making a soft, amused sound into Harry’s shoulder. He doesn’t say anything about it, though, popping a grape into his mouth and chewing slowly.

“So how was your day?” Harry asks, breaking the silence. Not because it was uncomfortable – more to distract him from the fact that he has Louis fucking Tomlinson in his bed right now.

That crush Harry always considered to be a low-grade, background type of thing is proving to be so much more than that.

“It started out pretty good,” Louis says thoughtfully, holding a grape up without looking at Harry’s face. After a beat, Harry takes it, figuring that must be what Louis is aiming for, popping it into his mouth. “Then I got this surprise delivery from a certain pompous popstar and for the rest of the show I couldn’t receive phone calls from listeners without them wanting to know why I didn’t agree to go on a date with him.”

Why didn’t he agree to go on a date with Harry? If he had have left it at a simple no Harry could have dealt with it, but then Louis accosted him in the loo for sex, and now he’s here, in Harry’s bed. Those aren’t the actions of someone who doesn’t actually want to date him.

“You keep acting like you didn’t like the flowers, but from what Nick told me you actually did,” Harry says. He figures it’s a safe enough comment to make.

Louis punches him in the arm. It’s not hard enough to hurt, but Harry rubs at it anyway and complains, “Ow.”

“If you believe everything Grimshaw tells you then you’re stupider than I gave you credit for,” Louis tells him haughtily. He slides his fingers up against the spot he’d hit, though, stroking Harry’s bicep idly. “I’m gonna get so much shit from everyone when I go into work tomorrow, you know. Roses, honestly.”

He doesn’t sound unhappy about it.

“Do you hate roses or something?” Harry asks, curling his fingers around Louis’ shoulder. He can’t help watching it as he does it. His hand looks so big on Louis’ body, strong and capable. Louis has guests on his show sometimes who poke a bit of fun at his height, and it’s not that he’s short exactly, but he’s pretty fucking compact. He’s easy to haul around. Harry knows that from experience. He just doesn’t know how much of Louis’ dramatics about his size are real and how much are played up for his audience.

There’s a little bit of a pause. “No,” Louis says eventually, picking up a piece of cheese and turning it over between his fingers. “I like sunflowers better, though.”

He likes sunflowers. For some reason, that makes so much sense. Harry knows exactly what to do with that bit of information, too.

“Sunflowers,” Harry repeats. “Got it.”

Louis breathes out unsteadily, nibbling at the cheese. “Don’t make me kiss you again,” he says, and it sounds like a mix of a threat and a warning. Harry would not be at all opposed to kissing Louis again, but he doesn’t quite understand exactly what’s going on here, and until he figures it out he’ll follow Louis’ lead.

“Do you want to find something to watch?” he asks instead of trying to figure out how to respond to that. He stretches his arm towards the table to pick up his glass, the one Louis had been drinking out of earlier, and takes a sip, trying to hide the slight tremble in his fingers.

There hasn’t been anyone who makes him this nervous in – well. Pretty much never. Not like this, at least. Harry still gets nervous before interviews sometimes, and almost always before performing, but this kind of jittery nervous energy because he’s really into someone? He can’t remember the last time that happened.

“What, you don’t want to watch – ” Louis takes a second, squinting at the screen, “Some Japanese commercial?”

“I did learn a few Japanese phrases over the last few years,” Harry says thoughtfully. “I can try to see if any of them come up?”

Louis snorts, leaning forward to grab the remote before he settles back again, pressed more against Harry’s chest. There are butterflies in Harry’s stomach, flitting around like crazy. This is flirting. It’s not normal, run of the mill flirting, but it’s definitely flirting.

“No,” Louis says firmly. “Let’s watch a film.”

He flicks over to Netflix without even fumbling, and Harry spares a few seconds to be jealous of his technological prowess. It’s Harry’s telly and it always takes him at least five minutes to figure out how to get it to do that.

“What kind of films do you like?” Harry asks, taking another sip of wine. Louis is warm and cozy against him, and Harry’s not not thinking about sex, but he’s thinking about it a little less now. “We could do a rom-com, or a horror, or a drama?”

Louis makes a slightly derisive noise, scrolling through film options. “Like I’m going to give you an excuse to ‘comfort me.’”

There’s no air quotes, but that’s probably only because his hands are full.

“I hate to break this to you, sweetheart, but I’m definitely a cuddler,” Harry tells him. “I’m going to end up holding you regardless of what we watch.”

Louis elbows him absently, just barely making contact with Harry’s arm. “Don’t call me that,” he says, distracted, brows furrowed together as he tries to find something, and shit, he’s so fucking attractive. Every single thing about this night has made Harry even more determined to date the fuck out of him.

Harry sighs theatrically and slumps back against the headboard, careful not to spill any of the mostly full glass he still has in his hand. “Okay,” he says, really playing up the sadness. Louis doesn’t even look at him, finally settling on a film and starting it.

“Iron Man,” he says triumphantly, and then the heat of his body leaves as he leans over and wiggles across the mattress mostly on his belly, putting his glass on the nightstand on the other side of the bed.

All Harry can do is watch, gaze stuck on the places Louis’ shirt is riding up as he stretches, baring smooth skin. The sound of the film completely fades, and all Harry can hear is the sudden rush of blood in his ears.

“Alright,” Louis says, turning back around and getting up onto his knees, pointing a finger at Harry. “Don’t read anything into this. This still isn’t a date.”

With that, he strips his sweatshirt off over his head, leaving him in a threadbare t-shirt. It pulls up at his belly, just for a second before he smooths it back down, and Harry doesn’t realize he’s staring until Louis snaps his fingers in front of his face.

“You’re shameless,” he sighs, but there’s no denying the way his cheeks have gone pink from Harry looking at him. He gestures down at Harry’s legs. “Spread ‘em.”

Harry blinks. “What?”

“Make some space,” Louis says, enunciating every word, and Harry’s confused enough to do it without further questioning.

He’s so fucking glad that he does when Louis clambers into his lap, wiggling his arse down into the space between Harry’s thighs and leaning back against his chest, pulling the duvet up around them.

“This means nothing,” Louis tells him, even as he’s guiding Harry’s free arm around his belly so they’re fit together properly. “You’re big and warm and I get cold easy.”

Jesus. There’s no way Harry doesn’t get an erection from this.

“I can keep you warm,” Harry says stupidly. Onscreen, there’s some action happening. Harry has seen this film at least three times and right now he can’t even remember what it’s about.

“Yes, darling, I know,” Louis murmurs, patting Harry’s hand where it’s lying on his belly. It’s absolutely the wrong thing to say if he wants to dissuade Harry from thinking this is a date. “You good provider, me hapless little househusband. I know.”

Harry’s breath catches in his throat. He is getting hard, and Louis must be able to feel it, because he wiggles a little bit, chuckling low in his throat. It’s the proximity, is all. Louis has that fantastic arse and it’s pressing right up against Harry’s cock.

“Watch the film,” Harry says, a little more pleading than he means to.

“Yes, sir,” Louis says, but then he lets it go, and Harry can breathe a little bit better. Just a little, mind.



As it turns out, Louis’ proclivity for talking goes beyond his job. He’s the type to talk during films. It starts off with low, muttered comments under his breath, then they get louder, more intrusive.

Harry is also a talker during films, though, so he can’t say he minds. Thinks they probably shouldn’t ever go out to a movie theatre together, but film watching with Louis is fun. Louis is equal parts snarky and funny, and he laughs at all of Harry’s jokes no matter how lame he deems them. And to top all of that off, he’s still sitting in Harry’s lap, leaning back against his chest.

Harry’s had a lot of really amazing days in his life, and he doesn’t think it’s overreacting to add this one to that list.

“All rich people have pools,” Louis insists. He’s got Harry’s glass clutched between his hands, sipping at it. The extra bottle Harry had brought up with him is nearly empty, although Louis’ own wine glass is still sitting on the other table where he left it, three quarters full. They’ve been sharing out of this one for the past hour, and he’s giggling enough that he must be feeling slightly tipsy. Harry’s not, but to be fair Louis has had more than him and he does feel whatever the level below tipsy is. Slightly buzzed? Starting to feel it? Whatever.

“Not all rich people have pools,” Harry maintains. He doesn’t remember exactly what led to this particular conversation, but he is sure that Louis is very wrong.

“Do you have a pool?”

Harry doesn’t even hesitate before lying, “No.”

Louis pauses, twisting around in Harry’s lap so he can see his face. “You’re a filthy fucking liar,” he says admiringly, pushing the glass into Harry’s chest before scrambling up. “I’m gonna find it.”

Harry barely has time to take the glass before Louis is out of the bed, running down the hallway in his bare feet. He was wearing socks earlier, Harry is pretty sure, which means that they must be buried in the sheets somewhere now.

A few seconds later, Harry curses to himself, realizing that he should probably follow. He nearly falls on his face as he tries to get out of the bed, skidding down the hallway and then down the stairs, following the sound of incredulous laughter. For someone who’s never been inside his house before, Louis seems to be finding everything remarkably well.

The double doors to the pool room have both been thrown open. Louis is standing at the edge of the pool itself, nearly bent in half from how hard he’s laughing. “Not only do you have a pool, but it’s an indoor pool so it’s still filled,” he wheezes out.

Harry wanders a little closer, tucking his hands into his pockets. “The one at my house in L.A. is an outdoor one,” he admits.

“Oh my god,” Louis gets out. He sounds like he’s about to start crying, he’s laughing so hard. Harry finishes closing the distance between them, standing a foot or two away so there’s still a bit of space between their bodies. Louis finishes closing it, linking his fingers behind Harry’s neck and stretching up onto his bare toes.

“I really like you,” he whispers. He’s still smiling, so pretty it almost hurts, and Harry is the one who initiates the kiss this time.

Their mouths barely meet for a second before Louis is shoving him. Harry stumbles, but there’s no way he’s going to regain his balance, and his fall into the pool is anything but graceful. For a moment, he sinks, eyes squeezed shut against the tingle of chlorine.

When he surfaces, Louis is treading water a few feet away from him. Harry’s jeans are waterlogged and heavy, trying to drag him down, and even from here he can see that Louis stopped to take off his trackies before getting in the water.

“Do you treat everyone you’re dating like this or am I just special?” Harry wonders aloud, cutting the distance between them with a neat breaststroke.

In the blue hue of the pool, Harry can see the drops of water clinging to Louis’ skin, illuminating his cheekbones. Even with his hair flattened to his head, he’s the most gorgeous person Harry has ever laid eyes on.

“Well, considering the fact that I’m not actually dating you, I guess you’ll never know,” Louis responds. His eyes are glittering with a challenge, and Harry’s going to meet it.

“You are,” Harry tells him, pushing Louis up against the side of the pool and caging him in, keeping them both afloat with one hand gripped around the pool lip, the other curling around Louis’ waist and pulling them flush together. There’s no mistaking the interested press of Louis’ cock against his, not fully hard but definitely getting there. “You’re dating me right now and I’m going to tell the entire fucking world about it.”

He kisses Louis again before he has the chance to respond, their bodies nearly weightless in the water. Louis opens up for it easily, sucking Harry’s tongue into his mouth, nails already digging marks into Harry’s back. Harry pushes his way between his thighs, sliding his arm down to curl around his arse instead, lining up their hips better. Water laps at their bodies, trying to send them adrift, and Harry can’t get nearly enough momentum going in order to actually make something happen, but it’s good. It’s so fucking good.

He didn’t get a chance to leave his fill of marks on Louis’ skin last time, and that was something he regretted a little. He makes up for it now, ducking his head to bite at Louis throat, sucking a bruise in so deep it’ll take weeks to fade properly.

“Fuck,” Louis says, sweet and wanting, squirming in Harry’s arm. “Harry – ”

He swallows the rest of the words back, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Harry smiles against his skin, tonguing at the mark he’s made. It’d be so easy to slide his hand down the front of Louis’ pants, get a grip on his cock and jerk him off right here in Harry’s pool. Harry could make him feel so good, make him beg to come and then carry him back up to his bedroom afterwards, keep him there for as long as he could.

Instead, he pulls back a little, looking into Louis’ face, at his closed eyes. “I really like you too,” he whispers back.

Slowly, Louis’ eyes open. His pupils are blown, and he already looks fucked out. Fucking gorgeous. “I can feel that.”

Deliberately, he squirms a little, bumping against Harry’s hard cock. Harry hisses out a breath, fingers tightening against the wall.

“Tell me about your L.A. pool,” Louis murmurs, dragging wet fingertips down Harry’s back. “It’s outdoors?”

Harry takes a few seconds to catch his breath before he responds. “Yeah. It’s bigger than this one, but it doesn’t have a hot tub.”

Louis shifts, craning his neck as he tries to look over his shoulder. “Wait, you have a hot tub too?”

Clearly, it was the wrong kind of admission to make. Louis keeps squirming, pushing at Harry’s chest until he lets him go. He climbs out of the pool, dripping wet, and it only takes him a few seconds to spot the hot tub. Harry sighs, only a little mournfully, folding his arms on the edge of the pool and resting his chin atop of them. The kissing had been nice. The kissing had been really nice.

Harry closes his eyes for a second, bobbing gently in the water. Without having Louis pressed up against him to distract him, his clothes are starting to feel more uncomfortable by the second.

Something heavy splats against the floor, sending droplets of cold water flying at Harry’s arms and face. “Are you coming or what?” Louis calls to him.

Harry opens his eyes again. Louis is already sitting in the hot tub, torso bare. His wet shirt is lying a few inches away.

It’ll be something close to torture, getting into the hot tub with him. Harry’s going to do it anyway.

He heaves himself out of the pool, dripping as he walks over. Louis has figured out how to turn the jets on, the water bubbling soothingly around him. “Make sure you take off your pants,” Louis tells him, and if he wasn’t the most English person Harry has ever met he might think he meant Harry’s jeans.

As it is, Harry falters a bit, stopping just shy of the hot tub. “What?”

Like it’s an answer, Louis’ boxers float up to the surface. He raises a single eyebrow in Harry’s direction, lounging back with his arms spread out on either side of him.

“God,” Harry groans. He starts stripping, peeling himself out of his wet clothes as fast as he can, uncaring of how graceless he looks doing it. They hadn’t been naked when they’d had sex yesterday, so he hadn’t gotten to see his fill of Louis’ body. Hopefully that will change right now.

Water sloshes over the sides of the tub as Harry steps in, sinking down onto the seat opposite Louis. The churn of the water makes it impossible to see Louis’ body, but it feels good enough against Harry’s bare skin that it’s worth it.

He matches Louis’ pose, spreading his arms out and leaning back. “I think this is the first time someone who I’m not having sex with has left their clothes strewn all over my house.”

It’s less of a test than it sounds. Mostly, he’s trying to reassure Louis that he isn’t going to push anything farther than he is willing to go. As much as Harry wants to have sex with him again, he knows how to take no for an answer. Even if that no is the most teasing no he’s ever heard.

“Really?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow again. “I’m surprised that people don’t start shedding their clothes the second they step into your house, regardless of who they are.”

Harry stretches his legs out, knees nearly touching Louis’ from how low he’s slouched. “That seems to be just you, sweetheart.”

Louis’ cheeks are pink, but Harry can’t tell whether it’s from the endearment or the heat of the water. He keeps his gaze trained on Louis’ face, despite his urge to glance down and try to see if Louis is hard.

“I don’t know whether you’ve earned the right to call me any pet names yet,” Louis muses, damp hair sticking to his head. He doesn’t look unhappy about it, though.

“Two hours ago you called me darling,” Harry points out. He definitely hasn’t forgotten that.

“Yes, well, I’m very British, darling,” Louis says, smoothing his hair back out of his eyes with a water slick hand. Harry traces the curves of his muscles with his eyes, the shapes of his tattoos. “I use terms of endearments for total strangers. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Right now, it’s more than just that going to Harry’s head.

“I’m British too,” Harry says, frowning for effect.

Dismissively, Louis waves a hand. “Sure, but you don’t go around calling people love or babe like I do.”

Actually – “You don’t call strangers darling, though.”

Harry’s been listening to Louis’ show for five years, and in all that time he’s never once heard Louis call anyone darling. Love, definitely. Babe, for sure. Even sweetheart once or twice, when it was a young child. Never darling, though.

The pinkness of Louis’ cheeks is definitely due to a blush. It looks incredible on him.

Louis clears his throat, shoulders shifting against the water. “Sure I do.”

He definitely doesn’t. Harry would know if he did.

“Okay then,” he says, but he can’t keep the smirk off his face. “If you say so.”

Louis rolls his eyes, kicking at one of Harry’s knees with a foot. “What’s your favourite film,” he says, demanding like it’s a challenge.

Harry doesn’t even stop to think about it. “The Notebook. What’s yours?”

If Louis has anything bad to say about The Notebook he’s not a person Harry wants to continue dating anyway.

“Grease,” Louis says, but he’s staring at Harry like he’s grown a second head.

Harry’s pretty sure he hasn’t. One of his heads is hovering around the fully hard mark, but he thinks that’s to be expected, given that he’s currently naked in a hot tub with the most beautiful person he’s ever seen in his entire life.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Louis slaps a hand out of the water, sending it sloshing over the side of the tub. “It’s really unfair that you get to walk around looking like that and then go around declaring that romance films are your favourite,” he cries, and then he’s moving, sliding gracefully through the water until he can climb into Harry’s lap. They’re kissing again before Harry really knows what’s going on, wet, naked skin sliding together.

He can feel the bump of Louis’ hard cock against his stomach as they kiss, daring him to reach out and take a hold of it. It’s distracting, and he has to settle for fitting his hands against Louis’ sides instead, holding him tight.

Louis seems to have no such qualms, reaching down between them and stroking two fingers up the length of Harry’s cock. With the water pulsing around them, Harry can barely feel it. His hips buck up against the pressure anyway, chasing the touch.

“Mm,” Louis murmurs against Harry’s mouth, pulling back just enough that their lips are no longer touching, eyes still closed when Harry opens his, arms looped around the back of his neck. “If this was our fourth date, I’d get on my knees for you.”

“Jesus,” Harry hisses, cock throbbing. He can’t stop the flex of his fingers against Louis’ sides, digging into his skin.

“Let you give it to me like that, suck your cock exactly the way you’ve always wanted me to,” Louis continues, opening his eyes slowly, blinking at Harry like the world’s most innocent porn star.

It’s hard not to picture it, Louis on his knees, mouth stretched around Harry’s cock, tongue sneaking out to lap at the head, sweet and pink and almost shy about it.

“You’re really starting to make me wish that this wasn’t only our first date,” Harry says. His voice sounds rougher than he’s used to.

Louis sighs and kisses him again, briefer this time. “It’s not my fault you’ve got a dirty mind,” he says, sucking at his own bottom lip for a second. “I want those burgers you promised me now.”

With that, he pushes himself up from Harry’s lap, slow enough that Harry gets a chance to see every inch of him, skin wet and slightly pink from the heat of the water. He’s so fucking pretty Harry has to throw his head back and groan up into the air.

“I might seriously die from how turned on I am,” he says, still looking up at the ceiling.

Louis laughs, patting Harry’s cheek before he climbs out. “I’m gonna go shower and raid your closet for something to wear. Those burgers better be ready by the time I’m done.”

Harry doesn’t turn his head to watch him go, but only because he definitely wouldn’t be able to resist getting himself off right here if he caught a glimpse of Louis’ naked arse. It takes him a full five minutes to catch his breath enough to get himself out of the hot tub.



By the time they finish eating a very leisurely dinner, it’s nearly midnight. Louis wipes at his mouth with a napkin, pushing his plate away.

“There’s something seriously wrong with you, right?” he asks, leaning forward with his elbows planted on the table, chin resting in his hands.

“What?” Harry asks, pushing his own plate away and mirroring Louis’ pose.

Louis shrugs one shoulder, Harry’s shirt riding down and threatening to expose even more of his skin. Luckily, Louis had only chosen a plain t-shirt and a pair of trackies, nothing elaborate, and definitely none of Harry’s merch that has his own name stitched on. Harry probably would have lost his mind if Louis had have come back downstairs wearing something that has Harry’s name written on it. As it is, he’s barely holding it together.

Louis just looks so fucking good all the time, is the thing. And he looks especially good when he’s wearing Harry’s clothes.

“You’re rich, decent looking, good with your cock,” he starts, listing things off with his fingers, “kind, a good sense of humour, like chick flicks, and you can cook? There’s got to be something seriously wrong with you.”

“I don’t think so,” Harry says, frowning thoughtfully. “Unless you think there’s something wrong with the fact that I keep a thousand Barbies in my basement all chained up?”

Louis cackles, dropping his head into his hands fully, covering his face. Harry beams at him, too pleased with himself to bite it back.

“Oh my god,” Louis groans. “I knew it. You might have a good sense of humour, but you’re terrible at coming up with your own jokes.”

There’s a moment of comfortable silence before Louis breaks it again. “It’s late, though, and I have to be at work in way too few hours, so I really need to get going.”

“Alright,” Harry agrees. As much as he never wants this night to end, that’s reasonable.

Louis looks back over at him expectantly. “You can drive me home, though,” he allows.

“Well,” Harry says. “How could I say no to an offer like that?”



The drive to Louis’ house only takes twenty minutes. They spend the entirety of it fighting over the radio, Louis slapping at Harry’s hand and screeching whenever he tries to turn it to Radio1, claiming that it’s a betrayal to listen when Louis’ show isn’t on. It’s silly, and it’s fun, and Harry feels well fucking satisfied that his crush was so dead on this entire time.

When they pull up to Louis’ house, Louis directs him into the garage. The door shuts behind the car, leaving just the two of them and the radio playing softly in the background.

“You know, for someone who kept making fun of my house, your place is awfully posh too,” Harry comments. Louis shoots him a smile, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“If this is you angling for an invitation to come inside and get the tour, it’s not going to work,” he says, turning towards Harry.

“It’s not,” Harry says, and it’s even true. “I respect the fact that you don’t put out on the first date.”

Respect, yes. Rue a little? Also yes.

“Well I guess it’s a good thing this isn’t a date, then,” Louis says, reaching out and unclicking Harry’s seatbelt, finding the lever for the seat unerringly and pushing it all the way back so he can fit between Harry’s body and the steering wheel. He does it all so fast it leaves Harry’s head spinning a little.

Harry has a second to be grateful that he took the Range Rover instead of one of the flashier cars with less room. There’s no way Louis would fit in his lap like this in any of his other cars.

Just a second, though, because then Louis is wetting his palm with his tongue and reaching into Harry’s trackies, pulling his cock out. He doesn’t waste any time before he starts jerking him off, bending forward to mouth at Harry’s jaw.

“Wait,” Harry gasps, holding his palm steady against the center of Louis’ chest, right where he can feel the fast thrum of his heartbeat. “Wait, baby – ”

Louis lifts his head to look at him, fingers still wrapped around Harry’s cock but not moving now. “If you get all sex stupid and say something crazy I’m going to leave right now,” he threatens.

“I’m not,” Harry promises, curling his fingers around the back of Louis’ neck. “Just – this is a date.”

He’s going somewhere with this, he’s pretty sure. It’s just really hard to remember where when Louis drags his fist down the length of his cock again, raising an eyebrow at him. “Thought you said you weren’t going to say anything crazy.”

“It’s not crazy,” Harry argues. There’s a bead of sweat sliding down his back, giving him something to focus on that isn’t the tight clench of Louis’ fist. “You came over to my house and we watched a film. I fed you. There was snogging. There was a lot of snogging.”

“Why are you so obsessed with dating me, huh?” Louis asks, sliding his fist all the way back up to the tip. “You already know that I’m gonna put out for you.”

Like he’s proving a point, he leans forward and sucks a kiss into Harry’s neck, just above his collarbone.

Harry slides a hand down to Louis’ arse, squeezing as much of it as he can. “I like you,” he says. Keeping his voice even would require concentration he doesn’t have right now, so he doesn’t even try. “I have a feeling I would like you even more if I was dating you.”

Figuring he might as well try his luck, he wiggles his hand under the waistband of Louis’ trackies – Harry’s trackies, fuck – and pets at his smooth skin, sliding down in between his cheek until he can press two fingers against the rim of Louis’ hole.

“Maybe,” Louis starts, voice breaking when Harry adds a little more pressure to the touch, “Maybe we can find some sort of compromise.”

Lube. Lube would be great right about now. “How do you compromise on whether you want to date someone?”

“You – ” Louis stops to swallow, eyes closing for a second or two before they’re opening again, pinning Harry with a heavy, expectant look. “I can’t have a conversation with you while you’re doing that.”

“You started it,” Harry points out. Reasonably, he thinks. He drags his fingers across Louis’ hole again, enjoying the way Louis shudders against his chest.

“God,” Louis mutters, more to himself than to Harry, but he doesn’t relinquish his grip on Harry’s cock. “I stole your schedule from Grimmy,” he says abruptly.

Okay? “And?”

And,” Louis repeats, flicking at Harry’s chest, “You’re going to L.A. tomorrow, then you’re only going to be back here for a few days before you start your tour. Now is like, the worst possible time for you to start dating someone.”

Harry thinks it over for a few seconds. It doesn’t change anything for him, not really, but he’s starting to see how it might for Louis.

“And you don’t want a long distance relationship.”

Louis rolls his eyes, flicking at Harry’s chest again, harder this time. “Oi, don’t put words into my mouth.”

“Something else I’d rather put in your mouth,” Harry mutters to himself. Louis’ flick turns into a pinch. Bravely, Harry winces his way through it.

“Distance isn’t the end of the world,” Louis continues. “I’m fucking needy, though, and I’m not saying that I constantly need all of someone’s attention, but you better be fucking prepared to give me a lot of it.”

Immediately, Harry opens his mouth to say yes, possibly the most empathic yes he’s ever said in his life. Louis slaps the hand he’s not got on Harry’s cock over his mouth before he can get the word out, though. “Don’t you dare ask me out again right now.”

He’s frustrated and huffy, but his cock is still pressing firmly against Harry’s stomach, and Harry’s wanted him for the last five years. None of what he’s just said changes that.

Harry reaches up and tugs Louis’ hand away from his mouth, lacing their fingers together. Slowly, he rolls his hips up, fucking his cock into Louis’ hand. “That’s a fucking compromise,” he whispers. “Can I come inside for the tour now?”

“Absolutely not,” Louis whispers back. He’s got half a smile on his face that practically lights up the entire car, and Harry wants to spend every waking second with him until he knows every inch of Louis’ body. And then probably after that, too. “’m not gonna let you fuck me on a bed until at least our fifth date.”

Harry’s heart swells. That’s as close as Louis has come to admitting that this is actually a date all night.

“I’ll eat you out,” he tries, mouth going wet from the thought of it, of tonguing at Louis’ perfect arse until he cries from it. Harry could make him cry from it, he’s pretty sure. “Really make it worth your while, baby, I promise.”

Slowly, Louis shakes his head. He licks at his lower lip and goes back to jerking Harry off, eyes fixed down between their bodies, watching what he’s doing. “Why do I get the feeling that if I let you put your tongue in my arse you’d do it for hours.”

It’s not a question, but he’s got Harry pegged. “I can be quick,” he insists. His breath is already starting to come faster, pleasure from Louis’ hand so intense it almost feels like his first time all over again. “Just until you come, won’t even ask to fuck you. And you’ll come, sweetheart.”

“I’ve no doubt,” Louis murmurs. “You’re persistent like that.”

As far as compliments go, it’s kind of underhanded. Harry can’t take offense to it when Louis is touching him like this, though, so sweet and familiar, put himself into Harry’s lap because that’s where he wants to be

Okay. Okay. Harry struggles to pull himself together enough to peel Louis’ trackies down enough that he can get his cock out, start returning the favour.

“You’re really very attractive,” Harry says, trying to guide Louis’ head down so they can kiss. “Have I told you that before?”

He thinks he catches a glimpse of Louis’ smile before their mouths meet, brushing together slowly, sensually. “You like my arse,” Louis says between kisses. His rhythm has faltered on Harry’s cock, thighs tense against either side of Harry’s hips.

Harry squeezes said arse a little. “I love your arse,” he confirms. “But Jesus is the rest of you real fucking pretty too.”

He can’t resist rubbing the pads of two fingertips against Louis’ hole again, just for the way it makes Louis shiver, trying to bear down on them despite the fact that there’s no lube. Why did Harry stop keeping lube in the car again?

Because that’s a good way to get his name into headlines for a month straight, that’s why. It’s just a bad idea all around. Doesn’t mean he can’t regret it right now.

“I’m already having sex with you,” Louis says. There’s a sheen of sweat dusting his neck. Harry wants to lick it. “No need to keep sucking up.”

A spark of fondness flows its way through Harry’s chest, not enough to distract from the surging arousal. “You’re terrible at accepting compliments.”

Louis kisses him, deeper this time, tongue slick and sure against Harry’s. He picks up his pace again, stroking Harry faster and harder. Harry’s spine tingles from the force of it, orgasm building. He picks up his own pace in return, jerking Louis off in a way he must like, judging from the sounds he’s making.

“You’re gonna have to get used to it, though,” Harry continues, barely breaking the kiss to say it. “I’m gonna compliment you so much, baby. So many things about you to compliment, I’m never gonna run out of ‘em.”

“Shh,” Louis murmurs, hand twisting at the head of Harry’s cock. Harry has to fight to keep from coming right then. “No talking during sex.”

All the talking during sex,” Harry maintains. “Need you to – ah, fuck – know all the things I like about you.”

“Have a feeling you’re going to tell me regardless of whether it’s during sex or not,” Louis replies breathlessly, shifting on top of Harry like his thighs are starting to get sore.

Harry lets go of Louis’ cock and nudges his hand off Harry’s so he can fit them together, stroking them both off at the same time instead. He grips at the back of Louis’ neck with the other, keeping him close, just in case he had any fancy ideas. “Yeah,” he agrees mindlessly.

It’s becoming too hard to concentrate on talking with how good this feels, the air around them hot, the pleasure intense. There’s not enough room to thrust his hips up without banging Louis’ head against the ceiling, and he’s already getting jostled so much he’s gripping the back of the headrest with tight fingers. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, eyes closed and mouth dropped open, breathing fast. He’s beautiful, lost in his own pleasure, and if Harry could find his voice he’d tell him that.

As it is, all he can do is mouth at Louis’ jaw, skimming his teeth over the curve of his neck before finding a place to suck a mark. Louis shifts again, warm and sweaty against Harry’s chest, and the only thing that could possibly make this better is lube. They don’t have any, though, and it doesn’t matter because Harry is going to come.

“Wanna get you on a bed next time,” he slurs into Louis’ skin, sex-drunk and going out of his mind with it.

“God,” Louis hisses, yanking at Harry’s hair with both hands, pulling his head up from his neck and kissing him again just as he starts to come.

Immediately, Harry follows him over the edge, spine seizing from the force of it, shooting come up Louis’ belly, marking him up there too.

It takes them both a few minutes to come back down from it, still snogging lazily. Harry lets go of their cocks so he can wrap an arm around Louis’ back, shirt damp with sweat.

Louis is the one who tucks their cocks away, fingers gentle, swiping at the mess on his stomach with the end of Harry’s shirt. Harry doesn’t have it in him to protest, despite the fact that Louis is the one who’s going to go into his house and Harry still has to drive home.

“That was so good,” he sighs, dragging Louis back in for another kiss. Louis doesn’t resist, but he doesn’t let Harry turn it deep and dirty, either, fingers knotted in the hair at the base of Harry’s head.

“You’re good at sex,” Louis says, leaning back so far it seems like he might set the horn off.

Harry scoffs, tugging at the hem of Louis’ shirt, trying to get it to lay flat again. It’s all rumpled from his hands. “I’m good at sex? Pretty sure you could have been reading a book with one hand and wanking me with the other and it still would have been the best handjob of my life.”

Weakly, Louis rolls his eyes. “Alright, flatterer. It’s fucking late and I have to actually get some sleep before work tomorrow.”

With that, he reaches over and opens Harry’s door. Instinctively, Harry clutches at Louis’ hips, preventing him from sliding out.

“Wait, wait,” he says. Louis looks at him, raising an eyebrow, a clear What? “Can I call you? Arrange a second date?”

Louis bites at his bottom lip like he’s trying to contain a smile. It doesn’t work very well. “Harry Styles,” he sighs, rubbing a hand across Harry’s bicep, “You know very well that this wasn’t a date.”

It was absolutely a date. Louis wouldn’t be smiling like that if it wasn’t.

“Can I call you anyway?”

Louis leans forward to press one last kiss against Harry’s mouth, a quick, fleeting little thing. “Only if I don’t call you first,” he says, and then he’s gone, off of Harry’s lap and out of the car, banging through the door to his house so quickly Harry barely even has time to look at his arse again.

Harry sighs to himself, tipping his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. He can’t contain his own smile, biting at the edge of his thumb. Louis is – it’s too soon to declare that he’s going to marry him, so. All Harry can say is that he’s incredible.

A couple minutes later, his phone vibrates with a text.

get out of my garage before i call the cops on you

Still smiling to himself, Harry starts the car.



Harry’s flight to L.A. takes off at one. At noon, he’s sitting in the V.I.P. lounge at Heathrow, waiting to board. It’s just a promo trip, so he only has his P.A. and a few of the public relations people with him. He feels a little jittery, a lot excited, and as tired as he is he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to sleep on the plane.

At twelve-oh-five, Helene hands him a phone, call already queued up and waiting.

“I’m being told that we have a very important caller that we need to deal with before we can move onto anymore music,” Louis’ voice says into his ear, the sound of it warm and familiar. Harry closes his eyes and grins, picking at a loose thread in his jeans. “Very important caller, do you care to identify yourself?”

“Hello, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry says. He doesn’t get a sharp intake of air on the other end of the line, which is only a little disappointing.

“Hello there, not so important unidentified caller,” Louis returns easily, and yeah, this flight is going to go by in no time if Harry has this conversation to daydream about. “Are you going to tell me your name, or am I supposed to guess?”

“It’s Harry,” Harry says, and before he can tack on his last name Louis is saying, “Potter?”

Harry laughs, slouching down further in his chair. “Styles.”

“Prince Harry?” Louis continues like he hadn’t heard him. “Am I speaking to a member of the royal family right now?”

As soon as Harry is brave enough, he’s going to take a stroll through his social media and see what his fans are saying about the two of them. Mostly so he can shove it in Louis’ face when he undoubtedly finds mountains of tweets about them dating. The only reason he hasn’t is because he wants to keep this for himself right now. Himself and the hundreds of thousands of people listening to Louis’ show right now.

“Houdini, actually,” Harry says sadly. “I’ve come back from the dead to warn you all about a great danger.”

“You know what, I’m going to cut off this topic at the knees,” Louis says decisively. “I’m not sure I want to know what kind of weird, rambling theory you’d come up with if I let you run with it. Why have you called me live on the radio, Harry Styles? Have you called to talk about your new album?”

Harry makes a mental note to text Louis later and make up some weird conspiracy theory. Just to see what he’ll say.

“That would have been a great idea,” he says, pressing the phone to his ear a little harder. “I didn’t call you to talk about my new album, though. I called you because I wanted to hear your voice.”

From a few feet away, he can hear Helene mutter, “Oh my god, Harry.” Harry ignores it.

“You do realize that you could have just turned on your radio, right?” Louis checks. “I am currently in the middle of my show, after all.”

“I know,” Harry says. “I wanted to talk to you after our – not-date yesterday.”

Louis isn’t the only one capable of completely derailing someone else’s workday. And if he thinks that Harry’s not going to shamelessly flirt with him on the air after that interview, he has no idea what he’s in for. Harry might not be checking what his fans are saying yet, but that doesn’t mean he has any intention of dissuading them from saying it. This relationship started out super public, it only makes sense that some of it stays that way.

“Really,” Louis drawls, dragging the word out. “What did you want to talk to me about, then? Keeping in mind that this is a family friendly show, of course.”

Well, he’s basically just gone and announced to the entire world that they’ve had sex. At least Harry doesn’t have to worry about trying to keep that under wraps anymore. Now maybe Liam will believe him about it.

“I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your company last night,” Harry says, figuring that if Louis can make overt sex references, he can too. “I know they say to wait a few days before you call, but I couldn’t do that.”

“You know, I did figure that much out from the flowers that were waiting on my desk for me this morning,” Louis says, completely casual, and any lingering doubts Harry had that this might not be the greatest idea completely fade. People who don’t want the world knowing about their dating life don’t go around announcing that they’ve received flowers from a suitor to a national audience.

And, to be fair, Harry had arranged that delivery before Louis had even showed up at his house yesterday. He thought he was going to have to put a lot more effort into getting Louis to have sex with him again than he actually did.

It seems like the real hard part is going to be getting Louis to acknowledge that they’re dating. It’s a good thing Harry is just as stubborn as he is.

“Oh, you got them!” Harry says, not downplaying his happiness about it at all. “I’m glad. Do you like them?”

That does seem to throw Louis for a loop. There’s a few seconds of dead air before he responds. “I – yes?”

Oh, he’s flustered. Harry is absolutely delighted by this turn of events. Who knew a surprise delivery of flowers could fluster Louis Tomlinson to this degree?

“Good,” Harry says. “I would have sent you sunflowers, but I couldn’t find any shops that had them so last minute.”

It’s not exactly a lie. He had been browsing for sunflowers this morning. He ended up having to special order them, and they should be arriving on Friday.

“That’s – ” Louis says faintly, before clearing his throat and returning with his radio voice. “Tell us about your new album, Harry Styles!”

He’s so – god. Harry’s definitely in lust with him, and lust goes way beyond Louis’ looks.

“Sure, self-titled, out May 12th, pre-orders available,” Harry says. “How has your day been so far, Louis?”

Louis’ sigh is entirely too dramatic. Harry grins at the hole he’s made in the denim, playing with the loose thread on his jeans.

“Harry,” he says reprovingly, and if Harry gets to hear him say his name like that for a long time to come he’ll consider himself a very lucky man, “I don’t have time for your terrible flirting right now. Is there anything you’d like to say to our nationwide audience before I unceremoniously hang up on you?”

“To the listeners of your very fine show?” Harry asks, pretending to think it over. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Helene making a vaguely irritated face at him. Once again, he ignores it. She doesn’t understand the very delicate process of courting Louis Tomlinson. “No. But hey, do you want to go on a date with me on Friday?”

To his surprise, Louis doesn’t immediately hang up on him. Instead, he scoffs, even louder and more dramatic than his sigh, and demands, “Do you really consider two bouquets of flowers and a box of chocolates to be wooing me?”

“It’s definitely a start,” Harry responds. “Just wait until you see what I’ve got planned for the rest of the week. Now, about that date.”

“There’s no date,” Louis tells him. “Remember what I said about not agreeing to date people who ask me out live on the radio? Yeah, I meant that.”

“Okay, I’ll call you on your mobile later to ask,” Harry says agreeably. “In the meantime, I sent a little something to your house. It should be there by the time you get home.”

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, was Harry Styles, calling to harass me at my place of work because he likes my arse,” Louis says, and then the line goes dead. Harry clutches his phone between both hands, heart practically fluttering in his chest, and nearly misses the boarding call for his flight.



When he touches down in L.A. eleven hours later, he’s got a barrage of messages from Louis. He waits until he climbs into the car beside Helene before he reads them, even though it feels like his phone is burning a hole in his pocket.

had to stop taking phone calls cause of you
hope you appreciate what you’ve done
never gonna trust grimmy again tho
know he had something to do with setting that up
tomorrow i’m gonna go on air and announce that the two of you are fucking
so look forward to that
thank you for the flowers
call me once you land
wanna yell at you in person

Yeah, Harry feels more confident than ever in his decision to date Louis. It’s going to be one of his better decisions, he thinks.

He waits until the car has dropped him off at his house before he calls Louis, though. His brain is fuzzy from the flight and he can’t manage to sort out the time difference, so he figures if Louis picks up he picks up, and if he doesn’t Harry’ll just call him later.

Louis does pick up. “I can’t believe you,” he answers, sounding out of breath and exuberant. “My siblings keep calling me to ask if I’m dating you. I’m considering changing my number.”

“What did you tell them?” Harry asks, interested.

“I told them that we’ve been secretly married for the last two years and that the reason I never told them was because I didn’t want them to like you better than they like me,” Louis says dryly. “What do you think I told them? I haven’t even picked up any of their calls!”

“You can tell them that if you want,” Harry says easily, taking the stairs up to his bedroom two at a time. All of a sudden he’s feeling energized again. “I’ll go along with it.”

Louis huffs out a breath in his ear, the sound supremely unsexy and not nearly as irritated as he’s probably aiming for. If he offered, Harry would still have phone sex with him right now. “That better not be your way of telling me that you’re going to go around saying we’re secretly married in every interview you have for the next four days,” he warns.

Honestly, if Harry thought he could get away with it without a five hour lecture from his PR people, he might do it. Just to see what Louis’ reaction would be. Getting mouthed off at for it would be fun, but there’s also a part of him that suspects Louis might go along with it.

“Fine, fine,” he says, chucking his bag onto the bed without turning on any of the lights. It bounces once and then falls off the side. Harry winces, suddenly grateful that he hadn’t put anything breakable in it. “How many are there, again?”

He’s heard Louis talk about them on his show a bunch of times, and he knows there’s a lot of them, but he can never quite remember the actual number.

“My siblings?” Louis asks. “No, nope, we’re not having this conversation while I’m naked.”

Harry’s heart tries to leap out of his mouth. He swallows hard, stumbling to the bed and falling onto it gracelessly. “You’re – why are you naked?”

“Don’t go getting excited. I just got out of the shower.”

It’s too late – Harry’s cock has already started stiffening just imagining Louis being naked. And, he thinks, Louis wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t want Harry to be interested in him being naked. What a tease.

“Okay,” Harry agrees. “I – what did you eat for dinner?”

Stupidly, it’s the only thing he can think of that doesn’t involve asking questions about Louis’ state of nakedness. If he’s wearing a towel. Whether he’s still damp from the water. If he’s walking around in his bare feet or if he’s got slippers on. If all the lights are on and making his skin glow. Whether he was out of breath because he ran to catch his phone before it stopped ringing or if he was touching himself in the shower.

Louis laughs, sweet and light in his ear. Harry has to roll over, shove his face into a pillow so he won’t reach down into his jeans and grip at his cock.

“Wow,” Louis says. “You’re really good at this whole small talk thing.”

Harry groans, rolling onto his back, belatedly kicking his shoes off so they won’t get the bedspread dirty. “You’re the one who just declared that he’s not wearing any clothes out of nowhere,” he protests. “You had to have known that I’d get a little distracted by that.”

“Sure,” Louis agrees. “You are obsessed with my arse, after all.”

He has an incredible arse on him. Harry can’t be blamed for that.

“Can we please talk about something else?” Harry asks desperately. As much as he’d love to wax poetic about the beauty of Louis’ arse, doing that would only make him start wanking, and he doesn’t think Louis would appreciate that.

“Bet you kind of regretted that you didn’t get a chance to finger me in the car,” Louis continues. Harry groans out loud, throwing an arm over his face. “Kind of regretted it meself. Your fingers felt – ” he stops to swallow, the noise quiet in Harry’s ear, “Felt incredible, that first time.”

Harry has a hard time ignoring the heavy weight of his cock in his jeans. “Don’t,” he says feebly, the picture already stuck in his head. “Don’t tease me like this, baby.”

“Who says I’m teasing?” Louis asks quietly. “You might be better at sex than you are at music, darling.”

“You have a real talent for underhanded compliments,” Harry says, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach that have nothing to do with the sex talk and everything to do with the way that darling sounds coming out of Louis’ mouth.

“Yes, I’m aware,” Louis says. “I’m going to hang up now so you can jerk off in peace. Send me pictures, please.”

Louis doesn’t actually look that innocent, but Harry didn’t expect him to have a mouth this dirty. He might actually beat Harry out in that department, and that’s pretty fucking hard to do.

“God,” Harry sighs, but Louis has already hung up.



He doesn’t think he’s going to actually send Louis anything, but he finds himself snapping a few pictures of his cock in his fist as he jerks of. Then he still doesn’t plan on sending any of them to Louis, but after a few minutes Louis sends him a series of pictures of his own fingers buried in his arse, and well, how can Harry say no to that?



On Wednesday, Harry has a series of radio interviews. Mostly, the day involves a lot of being shuttled from one radio station to another to answer the same set of questions over and over again. It’s not a bad thing, necessarily, even if it does get a little stale. He doesn’t have to think too hard about any of the questions, and there’s plenty of coffee to go around. So it could be worse, that’s for sure.

He’s not even sure what radio station he’s at now, chatting with a couple of interviewers named Marcia and Steve, and it’s about as easy as all the other interviews he’s already done today.

“We’ve noticed lately that the internet has been abuzz about you and a radio DJ named Louis Tomlinson,” Marcia says, leaning forward with her elbows on the desk like she knows she’s going to get the scoop, “Is there any truth to the rumours that the two of you are dating?”

It’s the first time Harry’s been directly asked about it, but he doesn’t have to stop to think about his answer.

“Well, he won’t let me call it dating yet, and I really want to get to that point, so the answer to that has to be no.”

“So when you told him that you were trying to woo him on his show, you meant that?” Steve chimes in, mirroring Marcia’s pose.

“Oh, I’m definitely trying to woo him,” Harry agrees. Then, unprompted, he adds, “He’s very particular, though, y’know? And I want to treat him right, so it can’t be just any kind of wooing. Has to be tailored specifically for him.”

“This is a first for you, no?” Marcia asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you being linked to someone for more than a day or two at a time.”

Normally, Harry would worm his way out of any questions about his dating life. He generally likes to keep his private life private, allow his partners to keep a sense of anonymity that partners of a celebrity don’t usually get. This is Louis Tomlinson, though, one of the most well-liked radio DJs in England, and he might not be a household name in the States, but there’s no denying that he’s got his own amount of celebrity attached to his name.

Plus he’s the one who made their relationship this public in the first place, so if he wanted it to be anything other than this he really should have thought about that before.

“He’s special,” Harry says. “He’s – he’s very special to me, y’know? He’s the first person I’ve ever wanted to do this right with, so that’s what I’m trying to do.”

“So tell us about this wooing thing,” Steve says. “What kind of things are you doing for him?”

Harry hesitates, but only for a second. “I’m going to keep that private, I think,” he answers. “They’re meant for him, and if he wants to talk about them that’s fine, but I think it should be his choice, y’know?”

“And that way if he doesn’t like them you don’t end up looking like a complete tool to the rest of the world,” Steve adds.

Harry’s smile is a little more genuine than some of his other media-trained ones. “That too,” he agrees.

“You’re here promoting your new album and upcoming tour,” Marcia says, changing the subject, “Why don’t you tell us about that?”

The rest of the interview flies by, and Harry manages to stop thinking about Louis. For a while, anyway.



Louis doesn’t call until late Thursday evening. Harry gets a few texts from him before that, mostly gibberish and random keysmashes that he can’t decipher, and no matter how many question marks he sends in return Louis refuses to elaborate.

When he calls, Harry is just finishing a shower. He has to lunge for his phone before it stops ringing, picking up with a breathless, “Louis?”

“I wish you were here so you could fuck me,” Louis says abruptly. “I hate that I love all the shit you keep sending me.”

Harry’s knees go a little weak. He drags a chair out from underneath the table and sits down on it heavily. “You like it?”

“Don’t,” Louis says sharply. “People have been asking me about you all week. You set the internet ablaze with that interview you did.”

Despite the sharpness of his tone, he doesn’t sound displeased by it.

“I said that we weren’t dating,” Harry feels compelled to point out. “I didn’t tell anyone about the night you spent at my house. I hope you appreciate me lying to my fans, sweetheart.”

“Dating someone requires them actually agreeing to be dated,” Louis says. “Which I haven’t. In case you forgot.”

Harry lets out a deep, mournful sigh, pushing his hair out of his face. “I’m gonna tell our kids all about how disagreeable you were at the beginning of our relationship.”

“Darling, if you think I’m going to get anymore agreeable over time you should probably find someone else to woo,” Louis shoots back.

He says absolutely nothing to dissuade the notion that they’re going to have kids together, and something about that makes Harry’s heart swell. He’s still pretty sure that it’s too early to decide that he’s in love with Louis, but fuck if it doesn’t feel like something close to that.

“I have my heart set on you, sweetheart,” Harry tells him. “I’ll woo you for as long as it takes for you to agree to a date. Or until you tell me to stop. Just know that if you do that it’ll make me very sad.”

“Mm,” Louis hums softly. “I’m beginning to get that impression.”

The fondness in Harry’s chest flutters and grows some more. He clears his throat. “So what did you do today? You had the day off, right?”

They talk for an hour before Louis says he has to go and hangs up abruptly. Harry’s left smiling at his phone like a complete lunatic, sitting in his kitchen all by himself.



On Friday, Harry goes straight from the airport to the Radio1 station. He has to talk Helene into letting him do it, using every ounce of charm he has in his repertoire, but it’s worth it when Louis is the second person he sees when he walks into the building.

During the ten hour flight, Harry had a lot of time to second guess this plan, wonder if maybe he was coming on too strong, or too fast, or if maybe it might be better to ask Louis to go to his house instead. All of that fades away the second he sees Louis, loitering in the lobby of his own workplace, waiting for him despite the fact that he has a desk upstairs.

Harry drops his bag, strides right up to him, slides his hands around Louis’ waist and kisses him right there for everyone to see. He doesn’t even have time to worry about whether Louis will kiss him back before he does, wrapping his arms around the back of Harry’s neck and stretching up onto his toes to make the angle even better. It’s a surprisingly gentle kiss, sweet and easy, and it only makes Harry want him more.

After a minute, Louis sinks back down onto the ground, pushing Harry away with a gentle hand against his cheek. Harry doesn’t go too far, keeping his hands on Louis’ waist, feeling the curves of his hips even through the big sweater he has on.

“Hi,” Louis whispers, cheeks gone pink.

“Hi,” Harry murmurs back, sweeping the pad of his thumb across that sweet little flush, unable to tear his eyes away from Louis’ face. “Are you going to knee me in the balls if I say I missed you?”

Louis swallows, throat bobbing so attractively it’s hard to resist the urge to bite at it. “Maybe,” he says, sliding his hands under Harry’s shirt, cold little fingers stroking at Harry’s sides. Harry is having a hard time minding. “You wanna find out?”

Actually, Harry kind of does. He thinks it could go either way, depending on what kind of mood Louis is in.

Helene coughs pointedly from behind him, though, reminding him of where they are. Harry doesn’t step away, but he does say, “You wanna continue this conversation upstairs?”

“Okay,” Louis says. “You’re going to have to give Gary an autograph first, though, he’s been blocking the doors since you came in.”

Harry laughs, cupping Louis’ face with both hands and kissing him again, firm and chaste, before he lets Louis lead him to the elevator.



“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, you’re listening to the afternoon show with Louis Tomlinson,” Louis says into his mic, sleeves of his jumper rolled up to his elbows, showing off his tattoos. It’s intentional, has to be. He must have known that Harry wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off them. “We have a sort-of-special guest in the studio with us today, Mr. Harry Styles! Say hello to all of your fans, Harry Styles.”

“Hello,” Harry says. “Thank you for having me, Louis Tomlinson.”

He means that so much deeper than it sounds, and Louis flushes a little like he hears it.

“You’re welcome,” Louis says, clearing his throat. “So, Harry, you’ve just come home from L.A. You’ve been doing some promo over there, right? What was that like?”

“Louis,” Harry says, putting his elbows on the desk and lacing his fingers together, “Do you mind if we talk about something other than my career?”

“Well, I don’t think that’s the best move considering you’ve got an album to promote,” Louis says, narrowing his eyes. “What did you want to talk about, then?”

Louis agreed when Harry asked if he could come to the station from the airport, but Harry didn’t tell him what his intentions were. He probably already knows.

“You know how I spent the last week wooing you?” Harry asks. “I wanted to find out how that was going.”

Louis laughs like that somehow hadn’t been what he was expecting, covering his mouth with his hand for a second. “Are you really asking me that on the radio?” he demands.

“Absolutely,” Harry says. “Figure that you’ll have to give me an answer if I ask you on the radio.”

He shoots Louis his most winning smile from across the desk, watching as Louis flexes the fingers on his right hand before curling them into his palm.

“Alright, alright, you bloody charmer,” Louis mutters, grinning back at him like he’s pleased by it regardless. “It’s not going terribly, if you must know.”

“Not terribly or good?” Harry checks. “Because there’s quite a difference between the two, you know.”

“Are you always this needy or is there something about me that brings it out in you?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, it’s definitely just you,” Harry says, fiddling with a cord running underneath the desk. “You’re just so kind and handsome, it makes me weak.”

He makes sure to say it without an iota of sarcasm in his voice, just so Louis can’t think he’s being anything other than completely genuine. Because he is.

“Alright, darling, thank you,” Louis says, trying to roll his eyes and mostly failing. He doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s said it again, and on the radio no less. There’ll be no denying it after this. And if there is, Harry will contradict him. “It’s – you’re very good at this whole wooing thing. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t working.”

That’s an admission. That’s a fucking admission.

“Good,” Harry says, smiling, unable to contain his dimples, “I’m glad. I really like you, Louis Tomlinson, and I’m very invested in dating you.”

Louis blinks at him, eyes big and blue, mouth pink and wet, and Harry isn’t going to give him a chance to wiggle out of it this time.

“So will you go on a date with me, Louis?”

Slowly, Louis exhales. “Harry Styles,” he says solemnly, “I will go on a date with you.”

That’s a yes. He said yes.

Harry can’t fucking wait.