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watch me apply the pressure, all decked in lace and leather

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It’s been an unbearably long shift; Harry’s feet and hands are aching, and he’s a second away from taking a nap on the massage table and calling it a day. He only has one more client, however, so he determines to keep it together for just another hour, promising himself a large vegan pizza and a nice, long wank when he gets home as a reward.

Harry has been in a crotchety mood all day, suffering from the effects of over-sleeping and rushing his morning routine. He’d barely had time to pet his cat before he was shuffling out the door on the way to the parlor. His appointments that day didn’t improve his mood any; Mrs. Jenkins was still as lecherous as ever, pinching his bum when he turned to grab the massage oil. Two middle-aged men, dismayed that their masseuse wasn’t some young blonde female laid there stiff as a board for their sessions, awkwardly shying away from all of his touches. They didn’t even tip.

So when the knock on the door breaks through his self-pitying thoughts, signaling the arrival of his last client, Harry is less than enthused. “Come in!” he groans, closing his eyes and rubbing his hands over his face.

“This a bad time?” a voice asks. Harry peeks his eyes open to glance at the door and shit. The man standing at the entrance is young, maybe a little older than Harry, and really, really beautiful. His face is all sharp angles and tan skin and stubble and blue eyes the color of the mouthwash Harry uses. His curved eyebrows are raised in question.

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry stumbles. “It’s just been a long day, sorry, I just…sorry.”

The other man just laughs and finally shuts the door, making his way over to the massage table. He hops up onto the edge and dangles his feet, smiling down at Harry. “So what do I do? Never gotten a massage before. This is all very exciting.”

Harry smothers a giggle – why is he even giggling -- and fiddles with the hem of his plaid shirt. “Well, Mr….”

“Tomlinson,” the man offers. “Call me Louis, please.”

“Louis,” Harry nods. “Well, basically you just get naked, and, uh, cover your bits with this sheet.” He hands a white sheet over to Louis who places it by his side and stands, moving his hands down to tug his shirt up.

Harry blushes and spins around quickly. “I can leave the room for this part?” He didn’t mean to phrase it into a question, but, well.

“No, mate, we’re all lads here, aren’t we?” Louis jokes. Lads. Right. Harry can be a lad. He squares his shoulders and tugs the waistband of his yoga pants up a bit. Harry tinkers with the bottles of massage oil, settling on lavender scented one, and finally turns back around once Louis clears his throat.

He wishes he hadn’t turned around.

Louis is—Louis is…so—Louis is…Louis. He’s beautiful; tan and skinny but also kind of curvy. His waist is narrow but there’s the barest hint of a little paunch of belly at the edge of the towel. He’s covered in tattoos and sparse chest hair, and Harry wants to lick him. Everywhere. Especially his thick thighs that he thinks could probably grind diamonds. With a deep breath, Harry spins around again to face his oils. Right. He can do this. He’s had attractive clients before. Not really, but still. If he wasn’t in the dry spell of the century – it had been at least fifty billion years since he broke up with his ex (maybe more like eight months) – he wouldn’t be this affected at all, surely.

He turns again, lavender oil in hand, and levels Louis with an unsure smile. Louis rests with his hands folded on his chest, smirking as he watches Harry.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah!” Harry replies. “Just remembered that I…ran out of my favorite oil. Have to use lavender. Sorry.”

“Ahh, lucky for you I love lavender,” Louis replies.

Harry perks up at the comment and beams widely at the other man. “You do? Lavender is my favorite scent, I use it for everything! Soap, bubble bath, air freshener…I’m even growing a lavender bush in the front of my building. My landlord hasn’t even noticed yet!” Harry spreads the oil over his palms and then looks up at Louis, only to find him barely suppressing his laughter. “What?”

“Never seen someone get so excited over lavender before, darling. It’s quite inspirational,” Louis says.

Harry blushes and looks down at his toes, wringing his oiled fingers together. “Um, I guess we should start now. Arms to the side please.”

“Aye aye, captain,” Louis returns, letting his arms rest rigidly at his sides like a toy soldier. Harry rolls his eyes but quirks his lips up in a smile, grasping one of Louis’ feet in his palms. He starts making circles with his thumbs on his arch. Louis lets out a murmur of contentment, and Harry sends a silent thank you to the gods that Louis isn’t ticklish. He presses down against the pad of his foot and then switches to the other to repeat the cycle. Harry risks a glance up and sees that Louis has closed his eyes and is resting against the raised headrest with a peaceful expression on his face. Harry moves up to his ankles and runs his fingers along the bones. Harry has never considered ankles to be a particularly appealing part of the body but, as is the case with most of his body, Harry finds, Louis’ are just cute. They’re tattooed (The Rogue, Harry reads. He might ask him about them later.) but delicate. He wants to nibble on them.

“You have nice ankles,” Harry mutters.

Louis giggles and opens one eye to glance down at him. “You say that to all your customers?”

“Nope,” Harry replies, letting his dimple loose. “Just you.” Louis flushes and closes his eyes again, wiggling his foot in Harry’s grasp.

From there, Harry moves onto his calves, massaging his thumbs into the thick muscles, reaching his knees and applying pressure that makes Louis kick up a little bit. Harry presses him back down and lets his hands caress the skin right above his knees. Louis lets out a pleased sigh and spreads his legs slightly. Harry tries not to look into it.

He skips over his crotch, obviously – that would be an entirely different sort of massage, he thinks – and moves to his abdomen, pressing gentle swirling motions into Louis’ hipbones. He can’t resist circling his thumb around Louis’ bellybutton, reveling in the tight clench of his stomach at the contact.

“So, Louis, what do you do?” Harry doesn’t usually initiate conversation, but the heat of Louis’ smooth skin beneath his fingertips is making his pulse race in ways it really shouldn’t. He needs a distraction that’ll keep him from jumping on the table and straddling him to finish the massage. He has an air of professionalism to maintain, after all.

“You’re gonna laugh,” Louis mumbles. Harry tuts and smoothes his hands over Louis’ biceps, murmuring assurances. “I’m a make-up artist.” Harry’s hands freeze from their spot on Louis’ shoulders. Louis opens his eyes just a tad to glance at Harry to make sure he isn’t laughing.

“That’s…unique,” Harry says.

Louis shrugs and closes his eyes again. “I’m good at it. Like figuring out the ways I can accentuate someone’s features. It’s like a puzzle, ‘cept way better than those shit jigsaw ones.”

Harry giggles and slicks his hands up with oil again, moving to Louis’ chest. “You’d look quite pretty with a little mascara and some lipstick, darling,” Louis comments. Harry glances up, quickly, to see if Louis is joking; His face is teasing, but there’s a bit of heat behind his gaze—Harry might be seeing things. Harry twists his mouth in a wry smile and flutters his eyelashes down against his cheeks while he blushes.

“You can flip over now.”

Harry turns while Louis rolls over in case he accidentally flashes him – not that he wouldn’t mind sneaking a peek – and orders himself to calm down for what’s next. When he turns he tries not to gasp at the sight of Louis’ arse beneath the sheet. It hardly covers anything, folded right at the curve of his cheeks, ending right at his upper thigh. Harry shudders out a breath and rolls out his shoulders as he makes his way down to Louis’ legs, repeating his earlier process. When he gets to his knees, he purposely keeps his gaze lowered in order to not flick his eyes up at the edge of the sheet.

The problem is, he’s never had this sort of problem with his clients before. He’s young, yes, and he’s heard some of the elderly women who come in mutter disdainfully about “shameful new-age hippie tree-huggers,” but he’s the consummate professional. He keeps the line between him and his clients firmly in place. But Louis…Louis is his type. Sexy. Sexy is his type, and Louis is it. If they’d met in a club instead, Harry would probably be humping his leg right now. As it is, he’s barely resisting the desire to grind against him on the table.

But there’s a part of him that wonders if Louis might be up for it.

He purposely skips anything close to the towel and moves up, massaging his palms into Louis’ shoulder blades. Louis sighs happily below him, arching slightly into the contact. Harry has visions of him doing the same in a rather different scenario and – he needs a distraction. Luckily Louis chooses then to speak up.

“Tell me an interesting story, Harry. The silence is unnerving.”

Harry thinks. He’s not much for interesting stories, as his morbid tone usually puts people off for some reason, so he’s at a loss. In a moment of panic he blurts, “I saw this thing on the internet the other day, right? Okay so this guy just unzips his pants and pulls out the most massive cock I’ve ever seen. Terrifying."

"Do you usually regale your clients with penis stories, Harry?" Louis asks, voice muffled against the pillow.

"No," Harry starts uncertainly. "Penis jokes on the other hand…"

While he moves his hands down to Louis’ spine, he asks, “So how’s life being a makeup artist then? Done anything glamorous?”

His attempts at changing the subject don’t go unnoticed as Louis laughs softly and shrugs his shoulders. “Nothing too glamorous, no. Certainly no penis stories being told. Mostly teenage girls and the like. Why, are you interested, Harry?”

Harry giggles nervously and shakes his head, although Louis’ eyes are closed. “Don’t think so, mate.” Maybe.

Louis smiles and opens his eyes to wink at Harry briefly before he settles down into the table again. “I didn’t expect the massage to be like this, actually. Quite relaxing.”

Harry barks out a laugh and claps and oiled hand over his mouth quickly to muffle the sound. Louis’ eyes open in alarm as he twists his head around to glance at Harry worriedly. Harry mutters out apologies and pushes him back down. “I mean, what did you expect from a massage if not relaxation?”

“Dunno, really,” Louis answers. “From the porn I’ve watched I’d assumed we’d be fucking by now.”

Harry’s hands still from where they’re positioned on Louis’ lower back, thumbs pressed into the little dimples above his arse. There’s a beat of silence and then—

“That was awkward wasn’t it? Shit,” Louis curses quietly. “Sorry, sorry. Just…pretend I didn’t say that.”

Harry can’t pretend he didn’t hear that. Now he can do nothing but think about that, and he wasn’t succeeding in keeping pure thoughts before that. He bites his lip and trails his eyes down from his hands to Louis’ bum and – okay. Time to be seductive.

“Would y-you,” he stutters, “Um, would you like…for me…to…massage your arse?” He punctuates the sentence with a crack in his voice he hasn’t heard since he hit puberty. Smooth Styles, he is.

There’s a pause and then: “Yes.”

Harry wastes no time; he grabs the edge of the sheet and yanks it away from Louis’ body, letting it fall onto the floor. With every ounce of self-restraint, Harry manages to not let out an audible gasp. Louis has quite possibly the nicest arse he’s seen on anyone. His skin is paler, but not by much; Harry wonders if Louis’ skin is that naturally tan or if he sunbathes nude. He hopes he’ll be around to find out the answer someday.

He gulps and grabs the oil, pumping the top twice and slathering his hands. He presses the palm of each hand against both cheeks and squeezes once, testing the waters. Louis hitches his breath and spreads his thighs apart subtly.

Harry works him slowly, pushing his cheeks together and swiping his thumbs along the slope of his curves, and then pulling them apart, biting his lip at the sight of him spread out beneath him. He works his fingers into his flesh, squeezing lightly with each caress. Louis spreads his legs further apart and moves his arms from where they were pooled under his head, bringing them up the grip along the edges of the table. He turns his head to the side and watches Harry, his eyes dark and watery. With every touch he lets out a breathless sigh, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

He just looks so obscene, with his face flushed and his eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones. He parts his mouth again and moans lowly, “Harry, please…”

Harry doesn’t give his next action much thought – he just leans in and licks. Louis whines above him and jerks his body in surprise, but Harry clamps his hands around his hips to keep him in place. While his thumbs keep Louis spread open, he buries his face in between his cheeks. He starts bold – wide, messy licks over Louis’ hole and the cleft of his arse – and then finesses his movements into deliberate, slower strokes of his tongue. Louis holds himself up on one elbow and reaches his other arm behind him to twine his fingers in Harry’s hair, tugging him closer to his arse.

“Fuck, that feels so good, Harry,” he moans. Harry hums in response, letting the vibrations tickle over Louis’ skin, making him gasp and tighten his fingers in his hair. Louis whines and lets his head fall forward; Harry eyes the ripple of his muscles in his back and groans, prodding his tongue forward to flick at Louis’ entrance, the taste of Louis filling his senses. There’s a touch of lavender on his tongue from the oil, but the rest is all Louis, sweaty and musky and so, so good. He brings one of his thumbs down to press at his entrance while he lays kisses all over his arse, nibbling at his skin.

“You taste so good, Louis,” Harry whispers while Louis heaves out heavy breaths. He moves back down and kisses his entrance, rolling his tongue along the outside his thumb. He kneads the skin of Louis’ thigh with his other hand, digging his nails into the soft flesh as he pulls his thigh out from his body to give him a better angle. It’s uncomfortable, hunching over to reach him, so after a minute he pulls away, wiping his mouth with his hand.

“Roll over,” he says.

“Am I a dog now?” Louis pants in jest. But he does as he’s been asked, turning so his back lays against the table. Harry spreads his legs apart and leans back, licking in the crease of Louis’ hip, lapping up the salty taste. He bites at the soft flesh at the inside of his thigh, making Louis groan and grab at his hair again.

“Come on, Harry, please,” he says.

“Please what?” Harry asks while he trails small, wet kisses along Louis’ hipbones.

“Your mouth—I want—I want your mouth,” Louis begs.

Harry gives into Louis’ plea and leans further down to lick once more at Louis’ rim. He fits his hands underneath Louis’ arse to hitch him upwards and get a better angle, licking broad stripes over him. He watches Louis from between his thighs, taking in every change of expression – the furrowing of his brows, biting his lower lip and tugging it into his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut when Harry fucks into him with his tongue. He’s the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen.

Harry grips his cheeks harder and spreads them apart to get his face closer; he slowly presses his tongue inside of him, the tight heat of his arse clenching around it. Louis whines and pulls at his hair, shoving his face closer and tightening his thighs around his head. Harry watches as Louis brings one of his small hands down to grip his cock, squeezing around the base and then stroking up in one slow, languid movement. Louis locks eyes with Harry, keeping his dark gaze trained on the movement of Harry’s mouth as he licks him open.

“You look so good like this, Harry,” he whispers.

Harry gives him a particularly forceful jab of his tongue in response, watching as Louis’ eyes flutter momentarily.

“Like this, don’t you?” he questions. He trails his eyes down to where Harry’s crotch is pressed against the edge of the massage table. “Getting me off without anything in return.” Harry moans and aims a solitary thrust at the table -- more of a grind than anything -- purely to stave off the pressure on his cock that he hadn’t given much thought to until now. It’s not like Louis’ wrong – Harry has always been way more interested in giving his partners pleasure than receiving. There’s something undeniably sexy about watching someone he cares about fall apart because of him, watching them gasp his name as they come. A part of him thinks he’d be satisfied at the end of this if Louis just walks away and leaves him in this state.

He moans and clenches his eyes shut, flicking his tongue out and spreading messy licks all over Louis’ arse while Louis breathes heavily above him. Louis grabs the massage oil and spreads it along the length of his cock to ease his strokes, jerking faster as Harry’s licks get more and more uncontrolled.

When Harry moves his tongue back down to go inside once more, easing it in further than he did before, he feels a sudden clench around his tongue. Louis gasps above him and cries out as he comes onto his stomach, jerking himself through his orgasm slowly. Harry doesn’t want to give this up; he eases his tongue out and keeps licking around his hole, sucking at his rim until Louis whines weakly and squeezes his thighs shut, pleading for mercy.

Harry pulls away and peers down at Louis’ shaking form, reaching a hand out to slide along Louis’ belly. He swipes at his come and brings it to his mouth, moaning around his finger. He tugs at his pants with his other hand, determined to just fit one palm around his cock to get himself off quickly. Louis has other plans though, as he shoots out his arm lightning quick to slap at Harry’s hand.

“No,” he orders. Harry whines and nods, placing his arms nervously behind his back while he waits for direction. “Your turn.”

Louis stands on shaky legs and grips the hem of Harry’s shirt to pull it over his head. Next he fits his fingers around the waistband of Harry’s yoga pants and pulls them down to his thighs. He moves his palm around Harry to run along his back, tickling the vertebrae in his spine, until he reaches his arse. He pulls his hand back and then slaps it sharply, making Harry hitch his breath and clench his fists.

“On the table, please,” Louis says.

Harry scurries forward and moves to lie on his back. He keeps his arms rigidly at his sides, legs spread slightly apart, as he watches Louis with keen interest. Louis circles the table once, watching Harry’s body from every angle. Harry feels like he’s on display; it’s more arousing than he thought it would be.

Harry expects Louis to start right in on the sexy stuff, hopefully getting him off quick before he explodes. But much like this entire massage session, Louis surprises him. He grabs the lavender oil and pumps it onto Harry’s chest. Harry hisses at the cold sensation, but then Louis’ hands are immediately there, massaging the oil into his collarbones. He seems displeased with the angle, however, his thin mouth scrunching up in distaste, so he moves away after a moment to hitch himself on top of the table. Thank god they have sturdy tables.

Louis inches himself over on his knees until he’s kneeling on top of Harry’s body. Harry watches as Louis debates his next move, letting out a quiet moan when Louis settles his arse on top of Harry’s cock. Louis leans forward and smirks, placing both of his palms on Harry’s chest to spread the oil around. He purposely skips his nipples, slicking up his ribs and his abdomen with slow caresses. His movements aren’t as practiced as a massage therapist’s would be, yet they’re somehow more deliberate, with Louis’ goal being to slowly drive Harry crazy, apparently.

Without any warning, Louis’ hands shoot up to circle Harry’s nipples with the pads of his fingers. Harry gasps and arches his back in response to the jolt of pleasure; Louis pushes him back down again and keeps going, circling his nipples until they’re hard and perky. He feels a sting of pain and then pleasure when Louis pinches them in between his fingers and tugs, repeating the action until they’re swollen and throbbing.

Harry’s whimpering now, grinding his hips beneath Louis as best he can in order to gain some kind of friction on his aching cock. Louis coos and scoots back, to sit on Harry’s thighs, rubbing his hands all over Harry’s hips.

“What do you want me to do, babe?” he asks.

Harry’s mind blanks, because – honestly? He wants everything. He wants Louis’ mouth on his cock, his mouth on Louis’ cock, Louis’ cock inside him. How is he supposed to choose?

“Eat me out,” he blurts.

Louis looks surprised for a second, but then he shoots him a filthy grin, shimmying his way down the table and pushing Harry’s legs up so that his thighs press against his chest. He leans down, letting his breath tickle over Harry’s thighs as he peers up at him through his lashes.

“Eat you out?” he asks. Harry whines and thrusts up, but Louis keeps his hips pinned down to the table. “Want me to--,” he breaks off, giving one leisurely stroke of his tongue over Harry’s hole, “Lick you out, baby?”

“Please, please, please,” Harry begs.

Louis grins once more and then gets to it, working his tongue all over Harry’s entrance. Harry watches for as long as he can, but when the sensation gets to be too much he throws his head back and closes his eyes, breathing deep. This isn’t something he’s used to, really. He’s not one for casual sex, let alone casual rimming, and his ex was never big on this particular act. But it feels amazing, the slippery warmth of Louis’ tongue inside him, the scruff of his stubble scratching at his thighs.

With his eyes clenched shut, Harry focuses on the sound of it all, the wet noises of Louis’ tongue and the smack of his lips against his hole, the whimpering cries that he soon realizes are coming from himself, which is extraordinarily embarrassing. Harry weakly thrusts his arse forwards, and Louis pulls away with a gasp to catch his breath, ignoring Harry’s protests. He rubs the pads of his fingers against his entrance in apology while he pants against Harry’s knee.

“Feel how good you made me feel, Harry?” he questions. Harry nods quickly and spreads himself as wide as he can with his thighs pressed against his chest. Louis’ fingers dance around the cleft of his bum; he bites his lip as he looks down at his hand. “Can you turn over for me? Wanna try something.”

Harry complies obediently, scrambling around quickly to get himself onto his hands and knees. The table gives a weak groan in protest beneath him, but Harry thinks it’ll stay sturdy for whatever they’re about to do.

Louis grabs the bottle of oil once more and pumps it between Harry’s cheeks. Harry’s skin is so overheated at this point that the oil feels like ice, but Louis doesn’t give him time to dwell on it. Immediately his hands massage the oil in between his arse and down to his hole, slicking him up evenly.

Harry expects Louis’ fingers to move down to his entrance next, hopefully to finger him open like he’s been thinking of since he caught a peek at his nimble fingers, but instead he feels the blunt head of Louis’ cock edging around. Harry stiffens for a moment, worried that Louis is just going to plunge right in, but instead Louis pushes Harry back down until he’s lying against the table in a modified downward-facing dog yoga pose. Then, Louis lays his cock in between Harry’s cheeks and squeezes them together until -- oh.

The first thrust is odd, just the slick slide of Louis’ dick against him, and Harry can’t figure out why it feels so good for him. The second thrust is better, the thought that they’re basically fucking without fucking making Harry cry out. But the third is the best, when Louis finally drags the head of his cock over Harry’s rim on the way up; Harry gasps and groans, arching his back so that his arse settles more firmly into Louis’ hands. Louis squeezes him harder and hits his stride, every thrust of his cock catching at Harry’s entrance.

Harry can feel the build-up of tears in the corner of his eyes, frustrated because he feels so much and it’s so good, but it’s not enough. He needs more.

“Louis, please,” he pleads. “Fuck me, please.”

Louis’ motions stutter. His nails dig into the flesh of Harry’s bum. “I—I can’t,” he says.

Why,” Harry complains. He turns his head to level Louis with a watery glare. “I want you.”

“We just met, Harry,” Louis argues. “I think I should at least take you on a date before I go sticking my cock in your arse.”

“But why,” Harry fights. “I want you to fuck me.” Harry knows his voice sounds petulant, and the wiggle of his arse he does to catch Louis’ attention doesn’t do him any favors, but he couldn’t care less. He thinks he’s going to die if he doesn’t get Louis inside him.

But it doesn’t come to that, because then Louis mutters out curses and grabs the bottle once more to slick up his fingers. He fits one hand between Harry’s cheeks and eases a finger in while he leans over to fit his mouth along Harry’s ear. He licks behind the shell of it and then tugs the lobe into his mouth, giving it a little suck and a nibble. Harry gasps when he feels Louis add a second finger, curling them immediately in search of his prostate.

“You’re so desperate for this,” Louis whispers. His hot breath breezes over the moisture on his ear, sending a tingle down his spine. “Are you always this fucking needy, Harry?”

Harry babbles incoherent words while Louis supports his head with one hand under his chin, forcing him to keep his head up. Louis adds a third finger and sends three quick thrusts of his fingers into his prostate. Then he lets them stay pressed up against the sensitive bump, working in circles against the nerves surrounding it. Harry whines as his entire body seizes up, overwhelmed at the stimulation attacking him in waves.

He hears a low thrum of noise and realizes it’s him, pleading for Louis to fuck him. Louis pulls his fingers out and wraps his fist around his cock, pressing the head of it against his hole. First he just rubs it against him, teasing him but not giving him what he needs. Harry pushes his face into his hands and wipes at the tears leaking from his eyes, frustrated but so, so hot.

“Please, please, please,” he begs.

Louis finally gives in, pressing inside in a slow glide, easing in inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt, hips pressed firmly against Harry’s arse. He sits there for a moment, letting Harry adjust to the intrusion. Harry breathes in deep, the twinge of discomfort slowly ebbing into a dull ache, one he knows will get better once Louis moves. Louis moves his other hand so that he’s gripping both of Harry’s hips tightly, and then he begins to move.

His first thrusts are slow, seemingly designed solely to drive Harry insane. He punctuates each one with an upward grind of his hips that makes Harry moan brokenly and grip the edge of the table in front of him while he tries to work himself onto Louis’ cock. Louis picks up the pace, sending his thrusts faster and harder into him. Harry jolts forward with each movement and whines, digging his nails into the padded cushion to keep himself still.

“You want it harder, angel?” Louis asks. Harry nods his head as best he can, and then Louis starts to slam his hips into him. He pistons in and out, shaking the table beneath them. The bottle of oil falls off the table and lands on the floor, spilling its contents onto the tile. Harry watches it distractedly until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore, squeezing them shut as a few tears leak out again.

“God, you’re perfect, Harry. So good for me,” Louis hisses. Each snap of his hips makes Harry whimper louder, and there’s a nagging thought in the back of his head that says that the parlor might not be empty, that someone might be hearing him right now. But this idea only makes him louder; he starts to scream sharply with every plunge, his sounds spurring Louis on.

But then, right as Harry can feel his orgasm begin to build, Louis pulls out. Harry panics, too caught up in his own pleasure to understand why Louis would stop. He twists around onto his side and reaches for Louis, begging him to come back. Louis shakes his head and sits on the table, scooting over into the middle and gesturing for Harry to get in his lap.

Harry catches on quick and scrambles onto him. Louis lies down and places his hands on Harry’s hips, watching as he grabs his cock and directs it into his entrance. Harry sinks down quicker than he should, shouting when his arse meets Louis’ thighs.

“Get yourself off, sweetheart,” Louis croons. “Want to watch you work for it.”

Harry whimpers and nods, balancing himself with his hands on Louis’ chest as he starts to ride. He raises himself up a few inches and slams back down, settling into a rhythm built on short, hard grinds. He’s being selfish with his movements, desperate just to get himself off, because he’s so, so close. Louis doesn’t seem to mind, though. Harry watches as Louis stares at the spot where they’re joined with dark eyes, biting his lip and rubbing his hands over Harry’s hips. He sits up suddenly and kisses Harry, tangling their tongues together messily. He starts to help Harry, using his strength to raise him and slam him down onto his cock. Harry breaks their kiss to rest his forehead on Louis’, staring into his darkened eyes while he picks up the pace feverishly.

It only takes a few more grinds and then Harry feels it, feels his stomach coiling abruptly as he comes. He stiffens and wraps his arms around Louis, burying his head in his neck as he spills in between their chests. Louis sucks marks into his neck and soothes him as he comes down, but keeps his hips moving at the same time until he finally stills and empties himself inside Harry.

They stay locked together for awhile, just breathing into each other’s necks as they come down. They’re both sticky and sweaty and gross, but obviously sated; Harry’s the first to look up and give Louis a shaky grin, which Louis returns easily. Harry leans down and kisses him sweetly, too sweet considering what they’ve just done, but it’s lovely. He’s filled with a sudden surge of affection for the other man, different from before.

As they untangle themselves and put their clothes back on, Harry feels a sad sense of disappointment settling in. For all the confidence in which he fucked Louis, he has no idea how to ask him on a date.

“Will you,” he pauses to consider his words. “Will you come again?”

Louis shoots him a dirty grin. “I certainly hope I’ll come again.”

Harry groans and throws the sheet at Louis who dodges it deftly while he giggles. “You know what I mean!”

Louis walks over and throws his arms over his shoulders. “If you’re asking if I want to do this again, then yes, darling. Put my number in your phone while you were changing.” Harry smiles wide, attracting Louis’ eyes to his dimple. Louis pokes it curiously as he continues, “Maybe not in the massage parlor the next time.” He casts his glance at the messy table, covered in come and sweat and god knows what else. “Bit of a mess, that.”

Harry groans and hangs his head low. “Do you know how long it’s going to take me to sanitize everything in here? Will you help me?” he pouts.

Louis gives a dramatically long-suffering sigh, but nods anyway. “Anything for you, Peaches.”

“Peaches?” Harry quirks his eyebrow up in question.

Louis grins and saunters past Harry to the table, aiming a sharp smack at his arse on his way. “Got a bum like a peach, darling.”


Every time Harry gives the lecherous Mrs. Jenkins a massage now, he blushes as he thinks of what he and his boyfriend did on that very table. He should feel ashamed.

He doesn’t.