It’s been 45 minutes since Harry arrived at Louis’ house with wine-colored bruises draped around his neck and Louis hasn’t stopped staring once.
They’re sprawled side by side on Louis’ tiny twin mattress – it’s a sad excuse for a bed, really – but Harry’s never exactly resented the size, because it means Louis has to nuzzle up close to him and Louis is small and soft and so so warm and his skin smells like vanilla body wash and Harry’s heart feels funny the whole entire time.
But today is different. Today is a bit uncomfortable, actually. Instead of curling into Harry’s side, Louis’ left a good twelve inches of empty space between them and he’s completely silent, just staring at Harry’s neck. He looks especially meek and small, too, knees folded up to his chest and twisting a loose thread from his sweatpants around his index finger. Harry wishes he could scoop him up in his arms and cuddle him until he snaps out of this state. He also wishes he’d worn a turtleneck, or something.
Because it’s his neck, Harry’s sure of it, that’s making Louis nervous. He’s going to ask about it, Harry’s also sure, because his eyebrows have gone all scrunchy like they always do when he’s wondering.
“Something on your mind, Lou?” He keeps his voice gentle, scooting a little closer.
He fixes his glasses, which have begun to slide down the bridge of his nose, and his cheeks flush a deep shade of pink. Harry thinks he’s never wanted to kiss him more than he does right now. And he thinks about kissing Louis a lot. More than he should, probably.
“It’s just…” Louis’ voice is soft and unsure, “did those hurt?”
He looks like he’s struggling not to hide his face in his hands.
Harry brushes his fingertips lightly over the bruises along his collarbones. “No, they didn’t- well, they did actually, but not like, in a bad way. Feels good, you know?”
Louis shakes his head slightly, and it’s such a barely perceptible movement that it could be mistaken for a twitch. But Harry knows Louis better than anyone else on the planet, he thinks, and that was definitely a head shake. No, Louis doesn’t know.
“Oh, you’ve never…?”
Louis shakes his head again and looks down at his little sock feet. Harry picked them out, they have slices of pizza on them and they’re Louis’ favorite.
Louis is 16, is the thing. He’s kissed girls once or twice, in preteen games of spin-the-bottle that resulted in nothing more than shy, giggly pecks; he’s even had a girlfriend, briefly – a slight, sweet girl with pretty brown hair that fell in soft waves just past her shoulders. He held her hand at school and kissed her lightly in the hallways and all of their friends threw around words like “adorable” and “perfect couple”, but Harry knows he’s never kissed anyone who’s really meant something to him. Harry also knows that Louis wants to kiss a boy. He was 14 and Harry was 16 when he came to Harry with tears rolling down his cheeks because he wanted to kiss a boy but he didn’t think any boy would ever want to kiss him and he dug his fingernails into Harry’s shoulder blades and his eyelashes were wet against his neck and Harry wanted to kiss him so so badly but he was so so young and so so vulnerable and he was afraid he’d ruin everything. So he just held him and rocked his little body back and forth until Louis pulled away and sniffled once and his eyes were watery but he smiled anyway and they ordered a pizza and watched bad television all night.
It’s been two years and they haven’t really talked about it since, but Harry can tell that Louis still feels inadequate. And now Harry’s got hickeys all over his neck and he’s made Louis feel even more self-conscious and that’s just fucking wonderful.
He stretches out his arm, tentatively, so that his hand is resting just above the small of Louis’ back, ghosting gently over the bumps in his spine. Louis shivers slightly, from the contact, and Harry’s breath hitches a bit, at that. He’s so pretty.
“It’s okay, Louis, plenty of-“
“W-who gave them to you?” Louis cuts him off, albeit shakily, but still.
He straightens his back a bit, repeats himself with more conviction. “Who gave them to you?”
Harry opens his mouth but that’s as far as he gets before he realizes that he actually doesn’t have any idea. He was at a party – Niall’s, he’s pretty sure – and he room was dark and smoky and he remembers his back pressed flat against a wall, but he was so far gone all he saw was a tall, skinny blur hovering over him. It didn’t matter at the time, because he had lips at his neck and a hand down the front of his pants and, well. It matters now, though.
He takes his hand away from Louis’ back and laces his fingers together. “I, uh, I don’t really know.”
Hurt saturates Louis’ eyes, then, and he looks down at his knees again. “Oh,” he squeaks in this choked little voice that makes Harry want to get in his car and take it from zero to ninety straight into a brick wall.
It’s silent for a moment, the only sound a low hum coming from the radiator beneath the window, and Harry feels a tension thick as tar or smog or any number of other things that might choke his lungs. He’s thinking maybe he should just leave before he unintentionally hurts Louis any further, but he feels a lithe hand curls around his wrist and then Louis’ looking up at him through feathery lashes. Harry swallows a lump in his throat roughly the size of a kiwi.
“Give me one,” Louis whispers, keeping his gaze fixed on Harry’s. His eyes are brimming with a level of nervousness he’s never quite seen before, but they’re still sparkly and they remind Harry of swimming pools and that’s a horribly embarrassing cliché but there it is.
“W-what?” Now Harry’s the one stuttering. He can’t have heard Louis right. He can’t.
“Give me one, Harry, right now. I…I want to know how it feels…please.”
Louis wants Harry to give him a hickey. No, Louis is begging Harry to give him a hickey and god, he wants to. He wants to suck a collar of bruises into his soft skin and he wants to kiss him until his lips are swollen and cherry popsicle red and he wants him naked – he wants him naked so he can run his hands over every single inch of that curvy little body and he wants to press him into the mattress and fuck him until he’s flushed and writhing and tears are rolling down his cheekbones.
Fuck. This is not happening. This is absolutely not happening.
Except, maybe it is.
“Please Harry,” Louis’ voice breaks and his lower lip is trembling like he’s afraid Harry’s going to say no, that he doesn’t want him, not like that.
But Harry does want Louis like that. He’s wanted Louis like that for two years, at least, maybe three. Maybe forever.
So he pulls Louis onto his lap – trying desperately to ignore the feeling of Louis’ firm little thighs spread across his hips – wraps both arms around him and attaches his lips to the juncture where Louis’ neck and shoulder meet. Louis gasps and his hands immediately go to tangle in Harry’s hair, and Harry has to bite back an outright moan because Louis’ skin is smooth and hot and he tastes like sugar cookies and there’s a slight tug on his scalp and that’s just, yeah.
Harry sucks and nips and bites along the circumference of Louis’ neck, listening to the soft whimpers that drip from Louis’ mouth and they sound like the Hallelujah Chorus, to him. His cock is starting to thicken in his jeans, then, and there’s a brief, panicked moment where he’s worried he might make Louis uncomfortable. He’s wondering if maybe he should stop when, as he sucks particularly hard at the dip between Louis’ collarbones, Louis mewls loudly and untangles his fingers from Harry’s hair, pressing the heel of his hand to the crotch of his sweats.
Harry falters. Fuck, he’s hard too.
Louis notices Harry’s pause and immediately wrenches himself away, cheeks flushed so so pink, eyes downcast and embarrassed.
“Harry I-I’m s-sorry…I didn’t…”
“Shhh, Lou, it’s okay,” Harry whispers, one hand smoothing down the planes of his back, coming to a rest just above his hips, the other hooking underneath Louis’ chin, tilting it gently upward. “You’re perfect, Lou, d’you know that? Perfect and so pretty and…” Harry’s voice is rougher, now, “god, I want you.”
He leans in, his next words curling over the shell of Louis’ ear. “D’you feel how much I want you?” He grinds his hips up, once, and Louis sucks in a sharp breath.
“Harry…” Louis whines and Harry thinks he never wants to hear his name spoken any other way.
“Can I kiss you?”
And Harry doesn’t need much more encouragement than that, really. The word has barely escaped Louis’ lips before Harry’s covering them with his own, pulling Louis’ body flush against his chest. Louis sighs into the kiss, opening his mouth to let Harry’s tongue curl around his, hands finding their way back to tangle in his hair. He tastes like Christmas, frosted sugar cookies and pumpkin pie and gingerbread and hot cocoa, and it’s making his head spin with LouisLouisLouis. He’s the embodiment of December, Harry thinks. He kisses him harder.
Harry feels his skin prickling all over because Louis’ mouth is hot and insistent, a stark contrast to the nervous clenching of his fists, and there’s a little heartbeat fluttering against his own and Louis’ rocking his hips down in tentative little circles and god, he’ so hard. It’s like someone has stuck a vacuum down his throat, then, sucked every last bit of air from his lungs.
Harry’s hands have worked their way up the back of Louis’ white scoopneck, the pads of his fingers pressing into fever-hot skin, lingering just above the waistband, like it’s a line drawn in sand. He wants to stomp footprints into that line until it completely disappears because he couldn’t be Louis’ first kiss but he wants to be his first everything else. But Louis is small and inexperienced and nervous that Harry’s afraid he might overwhelm him, and not in the way that he would like to. It’s cautious ground, he’s treading.
Until Louis bites down on Harry’s lower lip and whines into his mouth and he’s palming himself through his sweatpants again and Harry can’t just not do something.
“Lou,” he pulls back enough to look at the boy in his lap and he almost chokes, then. Louis is- fuck. Harry’s brain scrambles to find an accurate descriptor for how Louis looks right at this moment, but it turns up nothing. There is literally nothing. Because his fringe is tousled around his dainty little face and Harry’s never seen his cheeks flushed such a beautiful pink and he’s staring at Harry with glassy doe eyes, shuddering breaths and kiss-swollen lips parted. He’s absolutely stunning and Harry wants to absolutely ruin him. He reaches up gently, lifts Louis’ glasses from where they’re hooked around his cute little ears, perched over top his cute little nose, and sets them carefully on the nightstand.
“Lou,” he tries again, “tell me what you want…”
“I…” Louis’ voice cracks and he takes a deep breath, a long string of words tumbling from the exhale. “I want you to touch me…want your hands on me…god your hands…want you to use your fingers…want them inside…think about it so much, fuck…tried to do it myself but I can never get it right…think about you when I do it…think about you every time I come…want you to make me come…please…fuck…I…”
Louis trails off and his eyes widen like he can’t believe he’s just said all that and he looks like he might want to leave the country or perhaps the planet.
Harry feels dizzy and everything is blurring and all that’s left is Louis – Louis so so hard in his lap and Louis wanting him to do all of those things and Louis.
“Jesus Christ,” Harry manages to rasp before sucking Louis’ small pink tongue into his mouth and sliding his hands down beneath elastic and fuck, he’s not wearing any pants. He smooths his palms over the lovely curve of Louis’ arse and his skin is prickling because Louis is so warm and soft like velvet it’s criminal, really. He squeezes each cheek roughly and Louis whimpers and rocks back into Harry’s hands.
“Can I take these off?”
Louis nods like he’s trying to give himself whiplash.
Fuck, he’s so eager.
“You’ll have to lay back for me a bit, sweetheart,” Harry whispers and watches as Louis pinks further at the term of endearment. He does lay back, then, and Harry slides gray fabric down Louis’ curvy little legs. And then there’s Louis. There’s Louis kneeling on the mattress in nothing but a thin white t-shirt, his cock flushed and thick and curving up over his belly, already leaking all over the cotton.
“Let’s take this off too, so you don’t get it all messy.”
Louis lifts his arms and Harry pulls at the hem of his shirt and then he’s completely naked and Harry is completely clothed and really, this is his life. Fuck. His lungs are just short of giving up.
Harry marvels at him, for a moment, and maybe it was just a bit too long of a moment and maybe Louis’ gotten a bit of the wrong impression because his eyes look scared, all of a sudden, and moves to fold his knees up to his chest. Harry’s heart clenches because Louis is so small and insecure; he wants to make him feel wanted.
“Hey, c’mere Lou,” Harry whispers, reaching out and gently unfolding Louis’ limbs, pulling his little body onto his lap again. Louis whines and presses himself against Harry’s chest, his face buried in the crease of Harry’s neck. “You’re so- god you’re so beautiful. Wanna make this so good for you, wanna take care of you, will you let me do that?”
Harry feels Louis’ slow nod against his skin and then he’s insistently grinding down onto Harry’s still clothed cock and well, that’s a yes if he ever heard one.
“Shhh baby, slow down,” Harry’s kissing down Louis’ warm, slim chest, words vibrating against his sternum. He slides his tongue over one of Louis’ nipples and the younger boy makes a loud, choked sound, his back arching so that his cock is pressed hotly against the fabric that drapes over Harry’s stomach. Shit. Harry digs his fingernails into Louis’ lower back.
Louis’ skin is hot under Harry’s palms and he doesn’t want to let go of him, but he definitely doesn’t want to stay clothed, not with Louis all warm and pliant and needy. So he presses a chaste kiss to Louis’ forehead, sweat-salt on his lips, and lays him gently back against the pillows. He rises from the mattress and makes quick work of shucking his t-shirt – it goes sailing across the room and ends up draped over the lamp on Louis’ desk. The room is dimmed, suddenly, and Harry’s fingers work over his zipper as his eyes work over Louis. He’s pulling off his jeans and Louis is laid out, lean and bare, bleeding molten gold onto stark white sheets. His eyes are wide and glossed over like blown glass and his mouth is slack and he’s pumping his cock slowly, little hand working over himself while he stares and Harry’s feet get tangled in the denim at his ankles and he almost topples over.
Actually, he does topple over.
He lands face-first on the mattress and gets a mouthful of fleece blankets but Louis giggles and it sounds a little less nervous so it all evens out, really.
Harry struggles a bit as he rights himself, clambering the rest of his long floppy limbs up onto the bed, and Louis giggles again and his voice sounds all tinkly and soft like a musicbox and god, Harry’s so fucking in love with him. It’s warm and it feels like smoke billowing up into his chest cavity, swelling against his ribcage, and he thinks it could lift him into the air, float him away.
“Harry…” Louis’ voice is hoarse and wanting and it gravity comes back to his floaty body. He’s staring up at Harry with big doe eyes and a little sheen of sweat making him all shiny and he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, then, and that’s it.
“C’mere baby,” he pulls the younger boy onto his lap so that Louis’ thighs are bracketing his waist. Louis mewls and tips his head back; he wears the bruises like a strand of pearls.
He brushes his lips lightly over the marks he’s made and they look sort of like ink blots, spanning beautifully across Louis’ throat. (He likes to think they are ink, that they’ll remain permanent fixtures in Louis’ lovely skin.) Louis’ entire body is trembling then, anticipation tangible in what little space is left between them, soft sounds tumbling from his lips as he rocks against Harry’s pelvis.
“H-Harry, please…” his sentence breaks off in a drawn-out, breathy moan when Harry wraps a hand around his cock, stroking him slowly, almost languidly. His breathing quickens, though, at the feeling of Louis, hot and slick against his palm. It’s intoxicating. Louis is intoxicating.
Louis whines and tries to fuck up into Harry’s fist, but Harry stills him with one hand to the curve of his left hip.
“Shhhh, Lou,” he nips lightly at Louis’ earlobe and feels him shiver against his chest and it’s lovely. “Gonna make you feel so good baby,” his hand leaves Louis’ cock and he slips both around to grip his bum, spreading both cheeks slightly. Louis inhales sharply. Harry continues. “Gonna let me? Open you up, get you all ready for me? Fuck you nice and slow, right like this, with you in my lap? Gonna be good for me?”
Louis looks like he may very well be having a stroke. Harry knows the feeling.
He spreads Louis’ cheeks a little wider, brushes a finger over his hole. Louis makes a sound sort of like a squeak, at that, and Harry’s hands move up to the small of his back, tracing gentle circles there. Gentle. Everything has to be gentle because Louis wants it – Harry knows that much – but he’s never done this before. Harry kisses him softly, sweetly, then, and when he pulls away he notices that Louis’ still wearing his socks with the little pizza slices on them. He smiles and chuckles to himself because that’s just so achingly adorable.
Louis must have heard because he looks at Harry with eyebrows knit. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong silly, it’s just…” You’re definitely the cutest boy that ever existed. “Don’t you want to take those off?” He points to the socks.
Louis blushes furiously but shakes his head. “No, I…they remind me of you. Want them on when we…this.”
Harry plants a kiss on the tip of his little nose before he says, “Do you…have anything?”
Louis nods and points to the nightstand, looking mildly embarrassed.
Harry says a quick, silent prayer to whatever gods of creation gave him such abnormally long limbs because he’s able to keep one arm wrapped around Louis’ slim waist while the other reaches for the drawer. He pulls it open and inside there’s a sealed bag of crisps, a few rogue Skittles, and three bottles of lube in varying stages of emptiness. Harry’s breathe hitches, then, because there are three and Louis has used them so much they’re almost fucking empty and Christ, all he can see is Louis spreading himself open and riding his own fingers until he’s sweaty and writhing and coming all over his tummy. While he’s thinking about Harry. Fuck.
He uncaps the fullest bottle and Louis watches with glassy eyes as it drips down his fingers and Harry can feel his little heartbeat fluttering. Louis looks so absolutely beautiful that Harry pauses; he wants to take a picture of him, blow it up to poster-size, and tack it up just above his bed so that the last and first thing he sees every day will be his (?) stunning boy. God, he’s so fucking cheesy.
Louis mewls softly and shifts his hips in Harry’s lap, impatient. Oh. Right. He’d almost forgotten the task at hand.
“Ready, princess?” Harry’s voice is barely a whisper as he grips Louis’ bum in both hands and brushes one finger over his hole.
Louis nods and inhales and Harry can’t believe this is even happening right now. But it is and it’s real and Harry nudges his index finger against Louis’ rim and pushes in slowly, just past the first knuckle. He immediately clenches around him and grinds his little hips down onto Harry’s finger - god, he’s so hot and slick inside and Harry’s so hard he could cry.
“Harry…please…all the way,” Louis chokes out in a voice that’s a full octave higher. Jesus.
And well, it’s not like he’s going to say no.
So he does and Louis whines, loud and long, and he’s really hoping they’re alone in the house.
“You can…more…I’ve done three…’ Louis’ words are punctuated by short, breathy gasps as Harry crooks his finger inside him.
He adds a second finger, then a third, and Louis’ eyes widen, hands moving up to twist in his own hair. He looks pointedly at Harry before he tugs lightly, little mewls dripping from his lips and Harry gets it, knows what he wants, so he replaces one of Louis’ small hands with his own and yanks, hard. Louis cries out as his head is pulled back and Harry surges forward, biting into the soft skin of his neck, adding another bruise to the repertoire. Louis is riding his fingers shamelessly now, circling his hips and squeezing his thighs around Harry’s, and Harry can barely breathe, needs to be inside him for real or he might crumble.
Louis’ pretty pink mouth is hanging open and Harry takes his bottom lip between his teeth, pulls him in for a messy kiss.
“Ready for me, baby?” Harry leans his forehead against Louis’, sweat in their hairlines, and brushes against his prostate. Louis sobs.
“Yes, yes…m’ready Harry…need it…”
Fuck, he sounds so desperate that Harry feels like this isn’t even real, like it’s all a dream and he’s going to wake up in ten seconds, sprawled on the unmade bed back at his flat, alone and hard. But Louis’ there. Louis’ there and tangible and writhing in his lap, whining when Harry pulls his fingers out and everything is very real and he’s definitely going to wank to this for the rest of his life.
Harry slicks himself up and they haven’t got a condom but he’s clean and Louis is a virgin so it couldn’t have worked out better, really.
Louis is a virgin.
“Lou, wait,” he looks up at Louis hovering over him, knees bracketing his thighs, “I’m about to…I mean…are you sure?”
Louis nods and the corner of his lips pulls up into a nervous little smile. “I know. Want it to be you. Always wanted it to be you.”
Harry’s heart feels fluttery and warm and he’s so in love with this beautiful boy in his lap and really, he might as well.
He settles his hands on the curve of Louis’ hips and his thumbs are rubbing soft circles into the smooth skin stretched across his hip bones. “I’m quite in love with you, Louis, you know. Think I always have been.” He says it slowly, softly, leaning up to press a light kiss just above where Louis’ heart is knocking against his ribcage.
“I…I’m in love with you too,” Louis whispers and his voice cracks on the last syllable and Harry wants to say it one million times, kiss the words into his skin until they’re permanently etched there. Louis’ eyes are wet and his cheeks are flushed and he’s never looked more beautiful, so Harry tells him, whispers it gently into his already kiss-swollen lips. They kiss like that for a moment, softly, smiling into each other’s mouths, Harry’s fingers brushing over Louis’ jaw. Louis is the first to pull away and Harry looks at him with one eyebrow quirked.
“So um, could you fuck me now?”
The words go straight to his cock and yeah, Harry can definitely do that.
“Whenever you’re ready, baby. At your own pace, s’gonna hurt a bit at first.”
Louis whimpers softly and positions himself over Harry’s cock, the head just brushing his rim. Harry holds his breath and fixes his gaze on Louis’ as the younger boy sinks down, slowlyslowlyslowly, Harry’s hands at his hips to steady him. The way Louis’ expression changes as he takes more of Harry is breathtaking, really, and by the time he’s fully seated, arse nestled against Harry’s hips, his mouth is hanging open, eyebrows furrowed and lashes fluttering. It’s stunning.
“Jesus, Lou,” Harry hisses through his teeth, waiting for Louis to adjust to the stretch. He hopes to god that happens quickly because he’s so hot and tight around him that Harry can’t see straight. Everything is blurring and kaleidoscoping and he feels sort of like he’s drowning but it’s the most wonderful sensation and he can’t decide if he wants it to end or not.
Until Louis starts moving his hips and that’s just – Harry can’t even properly describe it. He just feels so fucking good stretched around him and his lithe body is all shiny with sweat, muscles contracting beautifully as he works himself up and down.
“Riding me so good, babe – fuck – feel so good…” Harry’s words devolve into a long, deep groan as Louis slams down particularly hard, sending the headboard knocking into the wall.
Louis slows down for a moment and Harry takes his hands off Louis’ hips, then, moves them to spread his arse cheeks and squeeze, drawing himself deeper inside. He thinks if he goes deep enough, he might be able to reach Louis’ heart. (He also thinks that might be the dumbest thing he’s ever thought, and he thinks a lot of dumb things.)
Louis grips at his shoulder blades as Harry pulls out halfway, only to thrust back into him roughly. He must’ve hit the right spot because Louis’ cock spurts pre-come onto his tummy and his resulting breathy moan sounds almost pornographic in the quiet room and Christ, Harry’s not going to fucking last. He can’t bring himself to be embarrassed about it though, not with Louis bouncing on his cock like he’s done it five hundred times before, needy and filthy and loving it.
“Oh my God, Harry…love having you inside me…feel so full…fuck I love you,” Louis manages to choke out between his chorus of ah ah ahs. His thighs are shaking and he sounds like he’s about to cry and Harry can tell he’s close.
“Close baby? Need to come?” He mouths at Louis’ neck again, his thrusts slightly more erratic.
“Yeah…fuck…so close, please…”
“Jesus Christ Lou, I love you,” Harry says into Louis’ skin, hot and velvety smooth. He hits his prostate one last time and Louis clenches around him, coming with a sob, thick white ribbons painting his tummy and chest, all the way up to his collarbones. Harry fucks him through it, Louis’ little body collapsing into his when he’s finished. He buries his face in Harry’s neck, then, whimpering softly as Harry continues to pound into him, chasing his own orgasm.
He’s just toeing the edge when he hears Louis’ voice, raspy in his ear. “Come inside me…please…want you to fill me up…love you…”
And that’s it. Harry’s vision is whitewashed and he comes harder than he has in his entire fucking life, spilling into Louis with a groan.
They lay still for a moment, Harry’s arms wound tightly around Louis, come-sticky chests heaving. Every exhale feels like iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou. Louis smells like sex and cinnamon and Harry never wants to leave.
They come down eventually, and when Harry slips out of Louis gently there’s his fucking come dripping down Louis’ curvy, tanned thighs and that’s definitely the hottest thing he’s ever seen. His boy is the hottest thing he’s ever seen.
Harry smiles. They professed their love for each other so it’s a thing now, he’s pretty sure.
They’re both sweaty and covered in come and Harry knows he really should go get something to clean up with, but Louis is snuggled up against him and he’s warm and soft and lovely and Harry’s legs feel like jelly anyway.
“My boy, my beautiful boy,” Harry whispers into Louis’ hair, his eyelids slipping closed.
“Yours,” Louis whispers back, barely a sound at all.
If they wake up the next morning crusted in dried come, well, Harry thinks it’ll be worth it.