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I Don’t Want You To Leave, Will You Hold My Hand

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It all comes to fruition one Sunday morning in late July.

Harry is hot and clammy and naked and there’s a thin sheet tangled around his ankles, but its grey and Harry’s sheets are white and suddenly, Harry is much more awake than he was a minute ago.

He vaguely remembers stumbling out of his flat sometime during the early hours, Nick in tow a few steps behind him, and heading for that new club on the high street, the one all of Nick's stuck-up hipster friends had been banging on about for weeks. And he’s pretty certain he didn’t dream up the conversation he’d had with Nick about not taking anyone back to his flat because honest to god, Haz, you’re gonna catch something if you’re not careful, but then Harry had accused Nick of mothering him and Nick had been offended at that, of course he had, because he’s Nick and Nick’s like that, and he’d stormed off to the bar in a huff and that was that.

He’d seen Nick, about a half hour later, some burly guy with tattoos hanging off his back, a drink in each hand and absolutely zero regard for Harry’s wellbeing which, is, well. A bit ridiculous really seeing as the whole thing was Nick’s idea and like, it’s not that Harry was worried, per se. It was just, Nick had pulled a lot of strings to get him in (Harry knows, Nick hadn’t stopped going on about it) so he hadn’t bothered to bring his ID and when that guy had sidled over to him, Harry had almost shit his pants because he’s only 18 and it was his first time in a proper nightclub and the only person he really wanted to go home with was Nick, if only just for his own safety.

So he’d said no to the free Tequila Sunrise shoved in his face on the mumbled premise of being ‘designated driver’ and the guy had just shrugged and downed it himself before squishing up to Harry in the booth, liquor sticky hand fondling his curls and his hot breath fanning out over Harry’s lips.

And now he’s here, in this stranger’s bed and he knows, he can feel the heat of a body next to him, the slight dip in the mattress beside him and there’s a dull throb starting in his ass and spreading down his legs but he can’t move, his limbs are honest to god not moving and right now all he wants is his mum. Although somehow he's not sure she would appreciate the sentiment.

He doesn’t know how long he lays there, waiting, and he knows he could leave, that he should but by the time he manages to talk himself into it, there’s a small snuffling sound and an arm curling across his stomach, drawing him in, a small hi being whispered into his ear and Harry is at least 150% certain it’s not who he thinks it is and he’s never been so grateful in all his life.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” He whispers, pressing a little kiss in the space beside Harry’s ear and it’s strange, because he’s had his fair share of one night stands, Harry has, it’s just a thing he does, but it’s not usually like this. Yeah, okay so he doesn’t leg it as soon as he’s come but he doesn’t usually stick around long enough for kisses and morning breath, it’s just not a thing (apart from Ben that time but that was different and Ben’s dick was massive and Harry thought he was in love with it). For some reason, though, he doesn’t want to leave now.

“Well, here I am,” He says back, equally as quiet, chancing a glance at his mystery shagger and oh. He sure as hell isn’t the guy from last night (except for the fact that he must be because that’s how people get into these predicaments isn’t it, but Harry sure as hell would remember a face like that, he’s sure.) Except he doesn’t, and he feels guilty, because this guy is gorgeous, breath taking, really, and he’s older, not by a lot, but it still sends a shiver zipping down Harry’s spine because he’s never really been with anyone older than him apart from last night he obviously was and he’s struggling to form coherent thoughts right now, hopes this guy will take over.

“Are you okay, babe?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed. “Something happened? You look worried, do you, um, do you need to leave? I’m sorry, you can if you want.” He rambles, drawing his arm back from where it’s looped over Harry’s bare torso. “Sorry.”

Harry almost swallows his tongue in his rush to reply. “No, sorry, shit, no. No. Nowhere to be.”

“You don’t remember, do you?” The guy whispers, a sad smile on his lips as he runs a finger down Harry’s cheek.

“I uh, ah- I,” He swallows audibly. “I don’t.”

The guy curses quietly, nodding before shoving the sheet all the way down his body and swinging his legs out of bed, a dull thud sounding as his feet hit the floor and Harry’s eyes roam over his body shamelessly, the broad expanse of his back, muscles rippling as he rises to his feet leaving his ass directly in Harry’s line of vision.

He’s going to cry.

“Do you want me to go?” Harry asks, trying to remain impassive when the guy turns around and gives Harry a face full of wang. Beautiful, beautiful wang.

“Do you want to go?”

Shaking his head, Harry sits up, draping the sheet over his waist, slightly embarrassed but mainly horny. “Not, um,” He coughs. “Not really. If-if that’s okay?” He tacks on.

Shrugging, the guy walks over to the wardrobe, swinging it open. “No, course not. Make yourself at home, I guess.”

“Can I, um, can I take a shower?”

Dipping into the wardrobe, the guy comes back up with a couple of purple towels, holding them out for Harry to take, which he does, thanking the guy profusely. “First one on the right,” He smiles, nodding towards the door. “There’s stuff in there for you to use.”

“Are you-um, can I, are you mad at me?” Harry asks, picking at the gold embossing on the top towel.

He tries not to smile too much as he feels a finger hooking under his chin, bringing his face up to meet the guys eyes. “’Course not,” He smiles, pressing a dry kiss to Harry’s lips. “Fancy some breakfast when you’re done? How do eggs sound?

“Yeah, um. Yes please, eggs sound great. Thank you,” Harry smiles bashfully. “I’ll be quick.” He tells the guy, before skittering off down the hall way.


He re-emerges about twenty minutes later, after a quick wash and a long wank, steam billowing out into the hallway and he lets out a little involuntary shiver, wrapping the towel tighter around his shoulders as he wanders back to the bedroom.

Its dark in there, lights off, curtains drawn, and it smells a little bit like sex and a lot like man which Harry is sort of used to, because he spends enough time at Nick’s to know when someone’s just been shagged, except this time it’s different because this isn’t Nick’s house, in fact, Nick could be comatose in a ditch somewhere for all Harry knows.

There’s a pile of clothes on the end of the bed, waiting for him, folded neatly, unlike the rest of the clothes thrown onto the back of the chair in the corner, and Harry’s clothes from last night have vanished.

Dropping his towel, he shimmies into the pair of boxers left for him and plonks himself down on the end of the bed. He reaches mindlessly for his phone, thrown carelessly onto the bedside table, and is only mildly worried when he thumbs it open and his inbox is empty. He can call Nick later.

Tossing his phone back onto the bed, he sets about making himself presentable enough for breakfast; the joggers left out are a little short on the legs and a little baggy on the bum but they sit low on his hips, enough to show off the little sliver of skin where the bottom of the slightly too short vest doesn’t quite meet the waistband. It’s not great but it’ll do and really, Harry is just grateful he hasn’t been murdered yet.

The kitchen is bright and open, windows lining the majority of one wall, morning sunshine painting the room in golden stripes, tiny little dust mites floating around in the air like glitter. The guy is sat at the table, Daily Telegraph spread out in front of him, something about the World Cup and England’s chances but Harry isn’t really focused on that because the guy is still shirtless and his arms are earth shattering. It’s quite terrible really. There’s an old Shania Twain song rattling through the tinny speakers of the radio that’s propped up against the fridge, the words slightly muffled by the sound of the extractor fan humming quietly in the corner of the room.

“Hi,” He smiles up at Harry, gently closing the paper. “Nice shower?  I made you some tea, wasn’t sure how you liked it, sorry. Just done, yano, milk no sugar.” His eyes are soft as he drinks Harry in, a small smile playing on his lips as him eyes roam over Harry’s body. “I um, clothes are in the washer, from last night. Hope you don’t mind?” He asks, watching intently as Harry pulls out a ratty old stool and plonks himself down opposite the guy.

“Tea looks perfect,” Harry tells him, long fingers wrapping tightly around the mug the guy pushes towards him, warmth seeping through his body quickly, warming his chills limbs like a bush fire would warm a glacier. “Thanks.” He smiles, taking a long sip, purposefully ignoring the way it’s scalding the roof of his mouth. “For the tea,” He clarifies. “And the washing, my clothes.” He tacks on after another sip of tea.

He smiles, “No problem,” and downs the dregs of his orange juice. “So, do you know how to cook eggs?”

Harry glances up at him, eyebrow raised. “You offered me eggs,” He starts, “but you don’t know how to cook them?”

A blush creeps on to the guys’ face, cheeks flushing a deep pink colour, as a sheepish expression spreads across his features. He shrugs a little, gaze dropping to where his bare feet are shuffling around on the checkered print linoleum. “Oops?”

“Oh my god,” Harry laughs, pushing to his feet and padding the four steps across the tiny kitchen. “Yeah, yeah I can make eggs. What do you want?” He asks, still giggling a little as he pulls open the fridge door.

The guy is warm when he presses up against Harry’s back, hooking his chin over his shoulder and nuzzling into Harry’s neck. His cheeks are rough with stubble and his breath is loud next to Harry’s ear, his arms tight around his waist. “Don’t really mind, scrambled maybe? With some bacon? And toast, obviously.”

“Jesus,” Harry mutters, turning in his arms.

“Nah,” The guy grins, “Just Louis will do fine.”

Inhaling sharply, Harry reaches up to run a thumb over the slope of the guys’ eyebrow, down his cheek, fitting it into the dip at the corner of his mouth. “Louis,” He mutters, laughing a little, before surging forward to press their lips together.

It’s hot and desperate and hopeful and Harry prays it isn’t their last.

“Alright, alright,” Louis laughs breathlessly as the two of them separate for air. “God, anyone’d think you were up for another round.”

Harry giggles into Louis’ shoulder, arms tightening around his neck as he fits his legs around Louis’ thigh, bearing down a little. “Maybe I am,” He whispers, voice muffled even more against Louis’ skin.

Fuck,” Louis curses, watching as Harry lifts his head to glare at him with big green eyes, lashes fanning out across his cheeks as he blinks. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” He laughs, hip checking the fridge door shut as he wrangles Harry up onto the table, morning paper discarded in a pile on the floor. “Eggs can wait I guess,” He grins, settling between Harry’s legs, wrapping them around his waist.

“Eggs can wait,” Harry mirrors, hitching up his hips enough that Louis can shuffle the joggers down his legs.

Harry lets out a breathy groan as Louis attaches his lips to the juncture of his neck and bites down a little, just enough to leave a mark that Nick will ask him about later.

“Eggs can definitely wait.”


“So I, um, I’ll see you around I guess,” Harry mutters awkwardly, one hand stuffed halfway into the back pocket of his jeans, the other toying with the cool metal of the chains slung haphazardly around his neck.

Louis nods, his chest resting against the door. He’s naked except for the pair of tight black briefs clinging tightly to his hips and he’s half hidden behind the door, but Harry can still see some of the thick black lettering etched across his chest, standing out impressively against his tanned flesh, and it takes every ounce of his self-control to stay where he is rather than nuzzling back into Louis, mouthing over his tattoos, covering him in marks, not letting him go for a considerable amount of time. “Guess so.”

“Alright well I’ll just,” Harry cocks his head in the direction of the stairs to the ground floor, taking a small step backwards before he offers Louis a small smile and spins on his heels.

“Wait,” Louis calls out from somewhere behind him and Harry hears the door bang shut and the patter of bare feet on the linoleum flooring, only just has time to turn his body around before he’s being shoved up against the grubby nicotine stained wall of the hallway, his head narrowly missing the fire alarm as Louis crowds up into his space, hot breath falling out onto his lips. “Let me just, one more. I-”

Harry cuts him off, surging up onto his toes to press his lips against Louis’, steadying himself with a hand on Louis’ hip, the other reaching up to thumb at his jaw, fingers fitting along the column of his throat, vibrations spilling down his fingertips as Louis hum’s into his mouth.

He pulls away a moment later, eyes glassy as he stares down at Harry, the dim hallway lights casting long shadows across his cheekbones, along his nose and it’s crazy the way Harry’s breath catches in his throat.

Louis lets out a breathy laugh, dropping his head to rest in the dip of Harry’s collar bone, pressing a small kiss there. “Text me, yeah?” He whispers into the skin there, dropping another kiss before he lifts his head to meet Harry’s gaze.

He nods, thumb running along Louis’ jaw, across his bottom lip. “Yeah, promise,” He grins, rising up to press a chaste, dry kiss to Louis’ lips before he steps away. He watches as Louis pads back to his flat, glancing back over his shoulder once to smirk at Harry before he opens the door. He waits until Louis has waved him off three times and closed the door before bouncing down the stairs, a spring in his step and a grin on his face.

He doesn’t, however, wait until he’s left the building to text Louis.

hey, its harry free for dinner tonight? how do u feel abt home cooked meals?