If Harry were in his right mind, he would have asked why Niall had the number of a gay sex line programmed into his phone in the first place, but given that he’s pissed off his head and has been sexually frustrated by couples grinding in front of him for the past three hours (not to mention the past seventeen years), asking questions is pretty much the last thing on his mind when a soft voice says into his ear are your jeans getting tight for me?
It’s Niall’s fault, as always. “You need to get laid.”
“Youuuuu,” Harry says, knitting his eyebrows together and poking Niall repeatedly between the eyes, “need to mind your own business, mister.”
“You’ve been out for, what, six months?” Niall continues unabated. “And you haven’t even hooked up with a guy.”
“I’m still reeling from your rejection.” Harry stirs the dregs of his drink around with his little pink umbrella. The cup used to be a pretty green, now it’s almost empty. Harry pouts.
Niall finishes off his beer and throws the can over his shoulder. “You offering yourself up for a threesome with me and my boyfriend doesn’t count as putting yourself out there.”
That’s not exactly fair, since Harry did also give Niall a celebratory coming-out blowjob in the school toilets, but that’s not something Niall likes to bring up when Zayn is milling around nearby. “You know, we used to be friends.” Harry picks the umbrella out of his drink and sticks it behind his ear. “Friends don’t off and get fit older boyfriends without even telling their friends they’re bi and then not share those fit boyfriends.”
“Was that written down in our year three friendship code?” Niall says as he scans the crowd. “Because otherwise, I can’t recognize that rule. Oi, Zayn!”
Niall’s (extremely fit, Harry thinks glumly) boyfriend makes his way through the crowd of gyrating bodies (most of which Harry has known since before they hit puberty) to the little loveseat in the corner that Harry and Niall have sprawled themselves over. “‘Sup, loves?” Zayn sits on the arm of the couch and kisses Niall’s temple before hooking his foot around Niall’s. Harry thinks he might vomit up his green drink.
Niall grins up at Zayn softly and gives him an awkward one-armed hug that mostly ends up with him shoving his face into Zayn’s abs. “Give me my phone back,” Niall says, making grabby hands.
Zayn seems distressingly sober as he looks down on Harry and Niall with a touch of paternalism. “Do you promise not to call Barbara like last time?”
“Last time I was still heartbroken.” Niall pinches Zayn’s nipple and the older boy winces. “Now I have you, don’t I?”
“You do,” Zayn concedes, ducking his face down to hide his grin as he roots around in his pocket for Niall’s phone. (Harry sees his grin anyway. Vomiting keeps seeming like a better and better option.) “What do you need it for, anyway?”
“Harry needs a certain number I have saved.” Niall waggles his eyebrows up at Zayn.
“What—oh.” Zayn suddenly starts smiling wickedly and Harry wishes he would go back to fawning over Niall from across the room at crowded parties like this, because this smile can’t mean anything good. Harry groans dramatically and throws his forearm over his face. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Niall?”
“I’ve never had a better idea in my life.” Niall pats Harry’s knee. “Just needs to get over his shyness, then our Harry will be out blowing guys in the toilets before we know it.”
“Heyyyy,” Harry says, although that doesn’t sound like such a bad thing, actually. He kicks his foot out and hits the table instead of Niall. Possibly the second margarita was a bad idea, but Harry’s seventeen, he needs to stop being such a lightweight sometime, doesn’t he?
“Well, we’ve certainly seen how phone sex can draw people out of their shells.”
Harry laughs a little. Phone sex. That’s funny. What is even happening? Zayn is whispering something in Niall’s ear and Niall is giggling and pushing a bunch of buttons on his phone and that’s so silly, why would Niall be sexting when Zayn is practically in his lap already. Sexting is so weird. Phone sex must be so weird.
Then the phone is being pushed into Harry’s hand and he suddenly feels drunker and more sober than ever at once.
“Wait,” Harry says, staring down at the phone in horror and looking around like one of his drunk classmates hanging off each other’s shoulders in the name of dancing might have an answer, “wait wait what is happening—“
“Pick it up!” Zayn slides into Niall’s lap and they both laugh with their foreheads pressed together. Harry has Niall’s phone in his hands and he needs better friends, but it doesn’t look like Niall and Zayn are very interested in hearing that at the moment, so he pulls the phone up to his ear.
Harry’s eyes widen so far it feels like they might roll out of his head. Zayn and Niall are watching him and giggling into each other’s lips. This is definitely a violation of the friendship code, at least in spirit.
“Umm, hi?” Harry pulls his eyes away from Niall and Zayn, squeezes his eyes shut, and starts to focus on the call—until he realizes that’s a terrible idea. “Hi, oh, I’m, um—sorry, I just—“
“Nervous?” The person—man, Harry thinks, that is a man’s voice, a soft and slightly giggly man, but a man—on the other end of the line hums. “That’s all right, pretty boy. Why don’t you start by telling me what you’re wearing?”
“I—“ Suddenly the party seems really loud and hot and the way Niall and Zayn are laughing at him feels like too much, and Harry stands up, plugging a finger in the ear he isn’t holding the phone up to. “Um, just jeans and a shirt.”
“Are your jeans getting tight for me?” The voice on the other end is low, confident, sexy, everything that Harry is not feeling while Niall stares at his face and slaps his knee. Harry’s face burns as he pushes past a bunch of people on the dance floor and makes his way to the back porch, muttering just a sec while his ears ring. He can’t tell if the man on the other line says anything else until he closes the door behind him.
There’s a straight couple making out against the back wall of the house, and Harry squawks when he sees them. He is too drunk for all of this. He stumbles down the steps. “Sorry,” he says, feeling bad for keeping the other person waiting. “Sorry,” he says again when he remembers the person is a phone sex operator. What. “Sorry.” Harry stumbles into the passenger’s seat of Niall’s car and groans, leaning his head back against the seat and then banging it a couple times for good measure.
“’S all right, love,” the man says. “Everyone has a little trouble getting it up now and then, take your time.”
Harry groans again. He’s literally never had that problem; it’s that his dick never has a place to go once it’s up that’s gotten him into this situation. “I didn’t mean to call you,” Harry says to the fuzzy dice hanging over Niall’s rearview mirror. “’S just a bad night.”
“Let’s make it better, then.” The man sounds unperturbed, and Harry can appreciate that quality in a person, really. “Are you gonna ask what I’m wearing?”
Harry could hang up, is the thing. He probably—he really should hang up. He’s sober enough to know that these sorts of things cost money, and that he’s on Niall’s phone, and that Niall’s parents probably won’t appreciate this particular bill.
Niall is also a fucking tit, so.
“Tell me,” Harry mumbles. His hand goes automatically to adjust the growing bulge in his jeans (he’s seventeen, he’s never more than ten seconds away from being half-hard), and then he hears the operator hum and he squeezes himself. The thrum of the bass at the party feels far away now. “I don’t know what to do, what to ask, just—tell me what to do.”
“Touch yourself for me,” the operator says automatically. There’s a little more authority in his voice now, a little less… soft kitten. Harry likes kittens, he thinks hazily, but he really likes the thrill that goes up his spine as he palms himself through his jeans obediently. He must let out some kind of sound he doesn’t notice, because after a moment the operator is saying, “Yeah, pretty boy, you like that?”
“Yeah,” Harry exhales, thumbing over the outline of the head of his cock through his trousers. It’s stupid—of course he likes touching his dick, he’s a seventeen-year-old boy—but that’s not the question he’s answering, really. He likes this, likes having strange men on the phone call him pretty and tell him to touch his dick.
“You’re hard now, aren’t you, pretty boy?”
“Harry,” Harry says without thinking, any semblance of concern about using his real name erased as his cock comes out of his jeans. “‘M Harry.”
“Are you hard for me now, Harry?”
“Yeah.” Harry just stares at his own cock for a moment, full and pink and hard and leaking, before wrapping his hand around it, finally, the almost-pain of his hardness giving way to something delicious. “Yeah, please, ‘m hard.”
“Wish I could see your big, strong hand around that cock, Harry. Touch yourself for me, yeah? Imagine it’s me. I want you so bad.” The voice comes slightly tinny through the phone, but it’s also smooth and sultry and a real person is saying those things to him. Harry’s fist works over his cock pretty much the same way it does every day (sometimes more than once a day because Harry is a teenager and he has needs) but something about this whole situation makes him feel a little floaty, out of his head, and he can imagine that it isn’t the same old hand twisting over him and rubbing at the precome leaking from his slit, that the man on the phone is really the one jerking him off.
“What do I call you?” Harry asks breathlessly.
“Anything you like, pretty boy.” Harry can practically hear the smile in the voice over the phone, and it feels like the operator might be making fun of him a little, but it’s definitely not a turn off. “Sir. Master. Daddy.”
“Daddy,” Harry repeats as he starts to pump his cock faster. Something swirls in Harry’s gut, but he snaps himself out of it. “Your name, I mean. I want to call you your name.”
The voice falters for half a second before saying, “Liam.”
“Liam.” Harry exhales. “Liam, what do I—tell me what to do now.” Liam can probably hear the slap of Harry’s skin as he jerks himself off quickly but not quite efficiently, waiting for something to happen that’ll spur him towards the edge.
“What do you want to do, Harry?” Liam speaks so breathily into his ear Harry can imagine him here, whispering into Harry’s ear, sitting Harry on his lap and jerking Harry off while Harry squirms back against his cock. That’s all he wants, really, for someone to work him over until he’s a wreck, but if he can’t have that right now—
“Come.” It’s embarrassing how quickly Harry’s been reduced to this, from drinking and dancing with his friends to writhing around in a passenger’s seat desperately fucking his own hand. “Please, wanna come.”
Liam doesn’t say anything for a moment, just listens as Harry starts whining and working his cock as fast as he can. He’s so close, all he needs is another word from Liam and he’ll be spilling over the edge—
But then. “Stop.”
Harry chews on his lip and falters from a moment from the rhythm he’s worked up to. “No, ‘m close, I—“
Liam sounds stern. “Do you wanna be a good boy for me, Harry?”
“I—“ Harry’s rhythm finally falters as he blurts out another heavy bead of precome. It occurs to him that anyone could come and find him like this—that Niall and Zayn might even be looking for him by now, that they could find him hard and wet and fucking his fist like he can’t help himself—and he can’t, not while Liam’s voice is in his ear like this, so. “Yeah, I wanna—good, ‘m good.”
“Then stop for me.”
Harry drops his hand from his cock and in that moment, it feels like it might be the hardest thing he’s ever done. He brings his thumb into his mouth to clean off the precome that’s gathered there. His hand shakes and he just smears it over his lip. He’s a mess. “Stopped. Liam—please.”
“Do you have any lube, kitten?”
Kitten. Harry feels like he’s downed a whole other margarita. There’s no way he can be held responsible for his actions. “N-no.”
Liam hums in dissatisfaction. Harry’s gut plummets—he said he’d be a good boy—but then Liam says, “You’ll have to get your fingers wet another way, then.”
“I—okay. Yes.” Harry licks the precome off his lip and keeps looking between his hand and his cock, wondering for a second if this is worth it.
Then Liam continues. “You want to fuck yourself for me, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Harry agrees quickly, closing his eyes and sighing a little. God, he’s only done this a couple times, and he had a ton of lube and a big bed to spread himself out in and pillows to prop his hips up on to reach the right angle, but if Liam asks him to, he feels like he could do it right now.
“Suck on your fingers, then.” There’s an insistence behind Liam’s curt command that makes this feel like it’s either important to him in the extreme, or not at all.
Harry likes it. He shoves three fingers in his mouth at once, not really realizing how big they are until he’s trying to lock his lips and swirl his tongue around them. He moans a little at how full it feels, and tries to push his fingers even deeper even while he gags a little around them.
Liam hums into the phone. “I’ll bet you look lovely with your mouth all full for me.”
Lovely, Harry thinks, closing his eyes and sucking hard on his three fingers, swirling his tongue around them and wondering if Liam really thinks so, if he would, if he could see Harry like this. Harry feels a little—okay, a lot ridiculous, with a hard edge of turned-on, and just the faintest shadow of lovely.
Liam’s not saying anything anymore, but his breath is still heavy in Harry’s ear. Harry laves his tongue over his fingers, fucking them in and out of his mouth until they’re sopping wet, and then he hums, the sound muffled around his fingers.
“Gonna finger yourself for me now, kitten, aren’t you?” Liam asks. “For Daddy?”
“Yes.” Harry nearly chokes as he tries to speak around his fingers. He sputters as he pulls his fingers out of his mouth roughly. “Yes, nngh, can I—“
“You can touch your cock,” Liam says softly, as if he’s doing Harry a favor, as if Harry couldn’t just touch his cock regardless (he could, Harry tells himself, he would, if he wanted to), “as long as you don’t come.”
“I won’t.” Harry’s voice feels high and small and foreign in his throat, but it feels good, feels unashamed, like right now he’s maybe more of himself than he’s ever been. “Daddy, won’t.”
“Of course not, pet,” Liam coos, and Harry keens as he fumbles to put the phone on speaker. He shoves his wet hand down the back of his pants roughly, trying not to unbalance the phone from his shoulder. “You’re my good boy, my pretty boy, does just what Daddy asks.”
“Yes,” Harry hisses as he rubs his fingers over his puckered hole, whining in the back of his throat at how easily the tip of his middle finger slides in while he gets his other hand back around his cock. It seems impossible, to be able to really ride his own fingers while he keeps bumping his knees into the dashboard, but Liam keeps muttering encouragements in his ear like keep going, kitten and that’s my good boy and Harry feels like he could maybe do anything, honestly. Maybe he’s just drunk. Drunk and horny and jerking himself off and feeling his arse up at the same time, circling the rim with his wet fingers and dipping just the tips in until Liam says, that’s right, my pretty boy, fuck yourself for me, and Harry whines Daddy and starts to sink his finger in deeper, his grip on his cock tightening reflexively.
It’s an accident, honestly—but with the pressure on his cock and the feeling of just breaching the second ring of muscle in his arse with his middle finger, and—and just, being called Daddy’s pretty boy—it puts him over the edge faster than it has any right to, and Harry’s whimpering and clenching around the tip of his finger and coming onto his jeans faster than he can even think to gather the come up in his hand. His head thunks back hard against the seat again. He’s almost forgotten about the phone wedged between his shoulder and the seat until a voice comes asks, “Did you—“
“Sorry,” Harry says quickly, swallowing and sweating and fuck he needs to drink some water, his head is spinning. “Sorry, I—I had to.”
“It’s all right, baby, I’m not mad,” Liam says gently. “’S long as you had a good time.”
“Good,” Harry echoes thoughtlessly. His eyes are getting droopy. “Really good time.”
When Niall and Zayn find Harry curled up asleep in the passenger seat half an hour later, with Niall’s phone clutched in his hand, that’s all they need to know.
“Just like that, baby—yeah, god, you fuck me so good—“
Something hits the side of Louis’s face. The something, Louis knows without looking, is a bright green stuffed frog with one of the eyes pulled off that one of his sisters left in the apartment on their last visit. Louis knows this because Zayn has thrown the frog at him the last four times that he’s come home to find Louis laying sprawled on the couch in sweats moaning his heart out for a client on the phone. He doesn’t even miss a beat in the heavy breathing pattern he’s established as he picks the frog up and throws it after Zayn just before he manages to get his door shut.
“Fuck,” Louis pants, “you’re gonna make me come.” Zayn sticks his hand back out the door to flip Louis off while Louis settles back down into the couch. It’s more comfortable to work out here, since the AC doesn’t reach either of their bedrooms, as Zayn very well knows since he leaves invoices from the tattoo shop out here on the table all the time. The client comes and while Louis talks him through it, he reminds himself to stick the frog in the drawer where Zayn keeps his condoms the next time Niall comes over.
“This is the last time,” the client insists. “I’m getting married.” He hangs up before Louis gets a chance to say anything, and Louis just sighs and puts the phone down next to his head on the couch. He gets a lot of one-off clients in his line of work. Closet cases, uni kids, people away from their partners on business—all too ashamed by the fact that Louis’s voice gets them off to ever call back. He doesn’t mind, so much—there are always new people calling him up, and it keeps things interesting. Even being asked to shove a chicken egg up his ass and let the whites drip out gets tedious after the seventh or eighth time.
It’s not that Louis really begrudges his regular clients. Trying to act out an egg-laying fetish in any other context would probably lead to salmonella, and it’s not like he even has to take his pants off for the guy to come screaming his—or, well, Liam’s—name. It’s just that Louis very rarely gets clients who are interested in the same things he is. Subby younger boys apparently don’t need to resort to phone sex lines to get off. Or at least not more than once. When the phone rings again, Louis steels himself for another quarter hour of describing how egg white feels dripping out of his arse and wonders if he shouldn’t go back to uni.
“Hello, sexy,” Louis says, just as Zayn was starting to open his door to come out. He slams it shut again quickly. “W—“
“Hiiiii, it’s, um, Harry,” the person on the other end says before Louis can even ask his name. “Sorry, you probably don’t remember me, you must talk to so many people—“
“I remember you, Harry.” Louis’s lips curl up in a smile. He may be a sex line operator, but not that many cute teenagers have called him Daddy. He’d probably like the job a lot more if they did. “Harry who came without permission. Naughty boy, did you come back to be punished?”
“Ummm…” Harry sounds like he might be panicked. Shit, too strong.
“Or d’you just need Daddy to take care of you?” Louis coos. He sits up and cups his semi through his trackies. Maybe he should go into his room. He actually had a bit of a jerk-off after Harry fell asleep on him last time, and as much as he likes annoying Zayn, getting come out of the couch is a pain.
“Please.” Harry sounds relieved. Good. Louis can be a nice daddy. Well, he can be anything, but he might even enjoy this. “I, um…” Harry coughs a little awkwardly. “I have lube this time.”
Louis grins more widely than he’s done at work since his least favorite regular was caught with his pants down by his wife. “Let’s see what we can do with that, hmm?”
Harry remains curious about why Niall has the number of a gay sex line programmed into his phone—much less the number of a gay sex line with a little note attached that says “L ex. 144”—but he doubts it’s a good idea to ask him while he’s frantically trying to figure out how to use a fire extinguisher.
“Motherfucking shower of useless bollocks motherfucking how do I use this piece of shit?”
“I’m googling!” Harry says in what he thinks is a very good imitation of a panic. Keeping Niall busy was, in fact, the entire point of Harry starting a small kitchen fire. He copies the number into his own phone quickly, but that’s not to say he’s a little nervous as he considers the potential for his small kitchen fire to become a large fire fire. He types out the extension, shoves Niall’s phone back onto the table, and says, “Pull the pin, you’ve got to pull the pin out—“
“What fucking pin?”
Because Harry is a responsible arsonist, he manages to wrestle the extinguisher from Niall and put out the fire properly before it moves past the counter. Niall’s parents are remodeling the kitchen next week anyway. The half-burnt dish rag and smelling like smoke for a day and a half are totally worth it after Harry comes harder than he ever has in his life with Liam whispering good boy in his ear.
…Harry does feel a little bad about how Niall was grounded, though. To make it extra worth it, he decides to call Liam a third time. (And a fourth. By the fifth time, he doesn’t need any excuse beyond how delighted Louis sounds every time he hears Harry’s voice on the other end.)
“Don’t get many cute teenagers calling me up on the regular,” Liam says cheerfully. He’s started being a bit more friendly since Harry admitted he’s planning on calling him pretty regularly, and he’s usually in the mood to chat before he gets Harry to fuck himself. “Mostly middle-aged men embarrassed by their fetishes. You’re one of a kind, sweet cheeks.”
Harry blushes. “You don’t know what I look like. You don’t know I’m cute.”
“Aww, Harold.” Harry has a feeling that if Louis were here he’d pinch his cheeks or ruffle his hair or something. Which is sexier than it has any right to be, honestly. “I know you’re cute because you insisted on buying a shiny vibrator.”
“’S less intimidating, I told you.” Harry pouts a little as he turns the toy over in his hands. It’s a good seven and a half inches long, and just a hair thicker than three of Harry’s fingers, which a week ago Harry would have been extremely intimidated by, but it’s also purple and flecked with bits of silver glitter.
“Intimidated?” Liam tuts gently. “Need Daddy to talk you through it, baby?”
Harry chews on his lip and turns the vibrator over in his hands a few times. He probably should have chosen something smaller, or less—veiny, but he’d had to run to the sex shop on break from his shift at the restaurant, and he’d pretty much just picked up the first dick-shaped thing he saw that had a little sparkle to it.
“Please.” Harry thumbs over the little ridge on the head of the vibrator. “Want it so bad.”
“I know, baby. Gonna give you everything you want.”
“Want you.” Harry eyes the lube sitting on the edge of his bed, but he can’t stop touching the plastic cock. “Please.”
Liam’s breath is coming in hard pants through the phone. “Are you already naked?”
“Yes.” Harry speaks in the small, soft voice that he finds himself slipping into when he’s talking to Liam. To his daddy. (He’s grateful that he’s never called his stepfather that, because if he had he’s not sure he could look him in the eye these days.)
“Good, baby, perfect. Did you prep yourself for me?”
“No. Like it better when you tell me to.”
Liam lets out a long hum before he cuts himself off and says quickly. “Anything you want, princess.” He continues more slowly. “You’re hard for me, aren’t you? Hard and wet?”
“Yes.” Harry puts down the vibrator and spreads his legs out a bit more, straining his thighs a bit with the effort to remain upright on his knees, and strokes over his cock, smearing precome on his hand.
“Good boy, I love how wet you get.” Liam grunts quietly, and Harry pictures him fucking his own hand with his phone held to his ear while Harry whimpers for him. “Get your fingers wet, baby, and sink them into your tight little arse for me.”
“Yes, Daddy.” Harry drizzles lube over his fingers and lies down, keeping the phone tucked under his ear while he turns onto his side and stretches one of his legs into the air. It’s almost a routine, now, but each time feels even better than the last because each time Harry reaches behind himself and pushes between his arse cheeks to settle his fingers against his hole, it gets a little easier for him to push them inside. It’s like his body is learning how to get fucked, Harry thinks as he pushes two fingers in straightaway.
He whimpers a little as his knuckles stretch around the tight rings of muscles, then pulls back and fucks into himself all the way with one finger. “Go on, kitten, I want to hear you,” Liam encourages in Harry’s ear. Harry clenches down on his middle finger and moans at how his arse grips around him like vice, but still opens up enough for him to work a second finger in, coaxing it past the tight muscles so that he can fuck himself on two fingers, grinding his hips back onto them and letting out staccato uhs as he manages to sink in farther, scissor his fingers out more.
“You like that?” Liam’s voice is gruff with a trace of admiration. “Like being all stretched and ready for me to fuck you?”
“Fuck.” Harry clenches down hard around his fingers, his outstretched leg shaking with the effort to keep himself as open as possible. “Fuck me, please, Daddy—“
“You’d be so tight around my cock.” Liam starts to sound farther away, like he’s set the phone down, and Harry whines loudly to compensate as he fucks himself on his fingers faster, meeting each thrust halfway with his hips.
“Yes,” Harry whines, nudging a third finger against his entrance and pretending it belongs to someone else, “yes, I’m—god, Liam—“
“Louis,” the voice interrupts quickly, close to the phone again. A spark runs down Harry’s spine as the voice speaks directly into his ear. “Call me Louis.”
Harry slows as he pushes his third finger inside himself. “Louis.” Harry exhales shakily. He can’t move much, like this, he’s too full, but he only wants more and more. “Is that—?”
“That’s my name, baby, I’m Louis.” The voice on the phone inhales sharply, then says, “Gonna take my cock now, princess?”
Harry lets out a high-pitched mhmm and shudders as he pulls his fingers out of his hole, groping for the vibrator. “Nice to meet you,” he says, feeling a bit dizzy with how hard his untouched cock is.
“Slide it in slow, baby.” The voice—Louis—sounds belabored, and when Harry stops rustling around pouring lube over the vibrator, he hears what he’s sure is the sound of Louis twisting his hand over his dick. “Let me feel you.”
Harry’s breath catches in his throat—he’s imagined Louis getting off with him before, but in the most distant part of his mind from where he is right now, he’s always figured that Louis isn’t actually getting off on this, is actually just really good at his job. Now, though, he’s sure that he hears Louis jerking himself off while Harry lines up the vibrator with his arse, nudging it against his stretched entrance, and the idea that he’s being good for Louis, not just in doing what he says but actually getting him off, is overwhelming. “Louis,” Harry breathes out shakily, his breath hitching as he sinks the vibrator into himself, pausing every now and then to fuck it back and forth. “Louis, Louis—“ He cuts off with a high-pitched moan once he’s fully seated on the plastic cock.
Louis lets out a moan of his own—a real, honest-to-goodness moan that Harry pulled out of him. “That’s it, love, doing so well. How does it feel with me inside you, baby?”
“Please.” The thought that the vibrator is Louis, like a real extension of Louis’s cock, makes Harry feel twenty times fuller and harder and more desperate. He won’t move until he’s given permission, but he shifts his hand a little and bumps the head of the vibrator against his spot. Harry shouts—his thighs are actually trembling, he didn’t even know that was a real thing, oh god. “So good, good, I need more please.”
“Turn it on.” Louis says it quickly, like he’s holding back a moan. Harry swears he hears a little snick through just before the vibrations start, before he’s completely overwhelmed by the buzzing that seems to fill up every part of him, radiating out of him through his belly, down to the tips of his fingers and toes, making his head churn and his hips buck so that he brushes against his prostate again.
“Li—Daddy.” Harry’s fingers clutch at the handle of the vibrator, fumbling for a good grip.
“That’s it, darling, you sound so sweet for me.” The unmistakable sound of skin slapping against slick skin comes through the phone. Louis’s lubed up and is jacking himself off, and that itself leads Harry to let out an incoherent sound as another wave of pleasure sweeps over him. He’s barely even touched his prostate yet, oh god. “You can move now, sweetheart. Fuck yourself on my cock.”
Harry keens in response. He only pulls the vibrator out an inch or so before thrusting it back in, but it’s enough to make him see stars. “Fuck,” Harry says, sounding so high-pitched and desperate he only turns himself on more, so that his next thrust is with almost the entire length of the purple cock. His legs fall open impossibly wider and he digs his heels into his bed frantically, barely suppressing a shout. Then he fucks into himself again and hits his prostate dead on. The vibrations shoot through him like lightning, making him scream and arch his back and fuck himself faster and faster, hitting his spot every time, until he can’t help but get his hand around his cock and whine, “Can I—I’m gonna—“
Louis doesn’t say anything, leaving Harry whining and squirming his hips, until Louis lets out a harsh groan. Harry can hear the slippery sound of Louis working over his cock faster and faster, until he keens and says, “Now, baby, come for me now.”
Harry comes in long, thick ropes over his stomach, with the vibrator still pressed against his spot. He comes forever, so much stickiness covering him that it feels like it’s draining the life out of him. When it’s over, Harry lets out a shuddery breath and falls back against his pillow. “Thank you,” he whispers.
Louis lets out a breathless chuckle. “Any time, pretty boy.”
Harry pulls the vibrator out of his arse slowly, setting it down on his nightstand. Neither of them say anything for a moment while Harry catches his breath and wipes the come off his tummy with a baby wipe. Eventually, once he can focus again, Harry clears his throat.
“Liam’s a stage name,” Louis explains. His voice goes casual again incredibly quickly. “He’s an old friend of Zayn’s, actually. Bit of a tosser. But he’s got a great porn name.”
“And you want me to call you by your real name.” Harry tries not to let his voice sound hopeful, racking his brain for something that might mean other than I like you and would let you suck my real live dick.
There’s a bit of crackling over the phone, like Louis’s fidgeting. “Well, you earned it. You should hear how good you sound, honestly. And I’ve heard pretty much all the competition.”
The way Louis moves so seamlessly between talking like they’re best mates and talking like he’s the first real live person to hear Harry come makes something hot twist in Harry’s gut. “I don’t even know what you look like,” he says, a little sadly.
“Bit short.” Louis yawns a little. He definitely just came. Harry would suck his real live dick so hard. “Arm full of tattoos. Radiant blue eyes, brown hair soft like a feather. But, you know, a rugged and manly feather.”
Harry shakes his head a little, smiling so hard his face might split in half. “Are you actually the protagonist of an adult romance novel?”
“Do you actually read adult romance novels?” Louis asks seriously.
“Heeeeey.” Even though Louis can’t see him, Harry puts a hand to his face to hide his smile. “My mum used to keep them in the car and I’d get bored.”
Louis hums like he doesn’t believe him. “Don’t need to ask what you look like, little kitten.”
“Fluffy.” Harry glances in the mirror and frowns. He seems to have gotten lube in his hair. Oh well. “Reckon my hair’s a bit of a poofball, actually.”
“That’s just ‘cause you’re skittish,” Louis explains. “Only need someone to scratch behind your ears and you’ll calm down.”
Harry giggles. “Thank you,” he says for what feels like the twentieth time today. He sinks down into his mattress. “You know, I wish I could do something for you.”
“Sweetheart,” Louis says, and butterflies emerge in Harry’s stomach. “You do.”
Harry really has stumbled into a romance novel. He hides his face in his pillow. “I mean more than pay your electric bill,” he mumbles.”
“Hey, I’m pretty attached to having a working fan, mate, and you’ve already put me halfway there for the month,” Louis teases. “Don’t put yourself down.”
“You’re funny.” Harry yawns and rubs his cheek up against the pillow, his grin finally reducing to human size. “I would probably buy you flowers or something if I knew you for real.”
Louis pauses for a second, then says, “Reckon it’s a good thing you don’t, then.”
“Bit embarrassing,” Harry agrees. He yawns again. “G’night, Louis.”
“Sweet dreams, love.”
Louis waits for Harry to hang up. Harry lingers a few seconds longer than he should, just to listen to Louis breathe.
“Have you got yourself a fucking boyfriend or something?”
Louis snorts and throws the stuffed frog at Zayn’s head. “Please. When was the last time I even went on a date?”
Zayn catches the frog and throws it at Louis’s lap. “When was the last time you ever took sex calls in your room like a normal fucking roommate?”
“How do you know that was a sex call?” “
“Because it was a call you took between the hours of four and midnight.” Zayn crosses his arms. “Besides, I know what you sound like when you come, dumbass.”
Louis throws up his hands. “He gives me a mediocre blowjob once,” he explains disparagingly to the stuffed frog, “and suddenly he’s the expert on what I sound like in bed—“
“Best blowjob I’ve ever given.”
“Seriously?” Louis picks up the stuffed frog and throws it back at Zayn’s crotch. “Remind me to send Niall a condolences card. Maybe some flowers.”
“So you’re saying you didn’t just jerk off with whoever was on the phone with you?”
“I’m saying it’s none of your business what I jerk off to, all right?” Louis crosses his arms and looks back down at his phone just, like. In case the ringer wasn’t working or something. “But if you must know, that was the sound of me faking it. Typical man, can’t tell the difference.”
“Then why’re you running around all secretive, like you’re expecting a call from your secret boyfriend?” Zayn collapses on the couch across from Louis, still looking skeptical.
“I don’t have a secret boyfriend.” Louis drums his fingers on his thigh and glances at his phone again. “Trust me, if I had a boyfriend, I wouldn’t be able to shut up about him. I just decided to stop treating you to an earful all the time, like you’ve been begging, yeah? Now if you want to benefit from my expertise, you’ll have to pay up like everybody else.”
Zayn rubs his temples. “I hate you. I wish I’d never sucked your dick.”
“Don’t worry, it was very forgettable.” Louis’s phone rings and he darts up quickly. “Work!” he says, running towards his room.
“Wanker,” Zayn mumbles as Louis slams his door shut.
“Hello,” Louis says, a little breathlessly after launching himself onto his bed from across the room. He hopes he still has a bit of smolder.
“Hi, Louis!” Harry says brightly.
“Harry, baby.” Louis beams. “I was worried you’d forgotten about me.”
“Never,” Harry says, with a disarming degree of sincerity. Especially for someone who’s still in school. No, especially for someone who is a client. “Sorry, just got held up talking to my mum.”
“It’s fine, baby,” Louis says, settling himself down into the nest of his blankets. “I’m just happy to hear your voice.”
“Me too. I m—“ Harry cuts off. “Me too,” he says again.
Neither of them say anything for a moment. Louis turns over in his bed so he doesn’t have to see his smile in the mirror.
“I wanna—wanna try the vibrator again, please,” Harry says in a rush after a minute.
“Anything you want, kitten.” For a quarter of a second Louis is disappointed that Harry doesn’t just want to talk, but that disappointment disappears as soon as he hears Harry hum like he’s already taken the plastic dick into his mouth.
“Beautiful,” Louis says quietly, and he means it. Harry’s so fucking beautiful. Louis has no idea what he looks like, but it’s beautiful how open he is, how trusting, how he lets out these soft little whimpers like no one’s ever told him it’s not okay to want so loudly.
Possibly no one ever has. Possibly Louis’s the first person who’s ever been in a position to. Louis wants to keep him like this—whining and unapologetic and shouting Daddy as he comes around the vibrator Louis convinced him to buy—forever. Even moaning back at Harry, telling him how hard he makes Louis come, how Louis can’t stop himself thinking of anything but Harry’s little whimpers while he comes—even that seems like it might spoil him. Like it would make him no different than any of the other clients for whom “Liam” has moaned. Louis’s actually gotten off on a few calls with other clients before, but when he comes with Harry, spilling wet over his fist and biting his lip white to keep from making a sound, it’s different. It’s important.
“Thank you,” Harry mumbles sleepily after he’s come. He is nothing like any other client Louis’s ever had. “Couldn’t wait to try it again.”
Louis hums as he listens to Harry clean himself. “Didn’t touch it without me?” he says, teasing slightly.
“No. Actually…” Harry yawns loudly directly into the phone, and a chill goes down Louis’s spine. “Don’t think I’ve gotten off at all without you for a week. Is that weird?”
Fuck. Louis’s had at least one other client who he knew didn’t get off except while he was talking to Louis. But that was a sixty-something who had to pop a Viagra and listen to Louis suck off his fingers for at least twenty minutes before he could even pop a boner, not a seventeen-year-old who seemed to get hard from a slight breeze.
“Not weird at all, babe.” Louis hopes he sounds more soothing than delighted.
“Sorry I’m so sleepy.” Harry’s voice is muffled, like his face is half pushed against his pillow, and Louis wants to see him like that: while he’s holding Harry down and fucking him to hell and back, but also after, when Harry is soft and sleepy like this and just wants Louis to hold him. “Sorry I come so fast. You deserve more, like. Minutes. Or talking. Money talking.” Whenever Harry starts babbling, it sounds like a verbal blush.
“You talk plenty,” Louis assures him. He finally finds the strength to get up and grab a Kleenex to wipe off his hand. “In fact, for a kitten, you’re rather long-winded.”
“‘M not a kitten,” Harry says, completely unconvincingly. His hum feels almost like a purr. Louis wants to pet him. “That would be illegal, ‘f I was a cat.”
There’s a chance this is illegal anyway, if Harry is as young as Louis thinks he might be. He seems to still lives with his parents, and once or twice he’s mentioned college, but—well, Niall is still in college too, and he’s legal. Besides, if neither of them bring it up, there’s no reason Louis’s boss needs to know that.
Harry yawns again. Usually, this is the part of the call where Louis would as subtly as possible (i.e. not very) try to keep the client on the phone and possibly rack up enough cash to order take-out later in the week.
“Go to sleep, kitten.” Louis lies back on his bed and tries to shut out the thoughts of all the other clients he’ll have to deal with tonight. “‘M sure you’ve got a big day of licking yourself and playing with catnip ahead of you.”
“I’ll lick you,” Harry mumbles. Louis shakes his head and falls back onto his own pillow, covering his face with his hand. “G’night, Lou.”
When the phone rings next, Louis doesn’t answer. It’ll get redirected. If his boss asks, he’ll say he was in the bathroom. Which he was, staring at himself in the mirror and wondering when a teenage virgin got him so whipped.
“You’re coming out tonight.”
“I have plans,” Harry says automatically. Niall and Zayn look good, in their shiny shirts and tight trousers, and Harry likes going out, usually, but. He also does have plans, plans that he likes quite a bit more than drunkenly looking for random men to rub off against in toilets.
“You have plans to wank off alone in your room with you new dildo,” Niall says, pointing an accusing finger at Harry that pokes into his nose. “We have better plans for you.”
Niall’s… not wrong, but he doesn’t get it. “I don’t want to go to some straight bar and fend off older women again, Niall,” Harry whines. “Remember last time, when one of my mum’s friends almost recognized me?”
“We’re not going back there,” Zayn says confidently. His hand is resting on Niall’s hip, and Harry stares at it, flushing a little with jealousy when he sees how easy and physical the affection between them is.
“It was pretty funny, though, seeing him hide behind that potted plant.” Niall grins as he glances at Zayn, who squeezes his hip.
“Not helping your case, babe.” Zayn turns back to Harry “You’re coming with us to a gay bar.”
Harry worries his lip. “I don’t know…”
“Don’t act like you weren’t begging us to go with you a few months ago,” Niall says. His pointed finger makes a reappearance. Harry covers his nose.
“That was before you were dating.” Harry pouts at both of them. “If I’m the third wheel at a gay bar, it’s going to be obvious I’m desperate to get laid.”
“You are.” Niall slings an arm around Zayn’s neck, as if to remind himself that he is not in Harry’s predicament. “You’re so desperate to get laid that we’re desperate for you to get laid. Put on your tight jeans and let’s go.”
Going out was a good idea for about forty minutes. Harry gets a little drunk, laughs at Zayn getting a lot drunk, dances provocatively with Niall while Zayn is taking shots and ogling go-go dancers, and singing along loudly to the boy band anthems that Zayn is embarrassed Niall and Harry both know the words to.
Around ten o’clock, though—just around the time he’d usually be calling Louis—Harry finds himself in the middle of the dance floor, having been separated from Zayn and Niall by the current of people. He’s a little disoriented and a little lonely and surrounded by a lot of bodies, pressing in around him and each other like they want nothing more in the world, and at least one of those bodies seems to want him.
“Hey,” the guy says into Harry’s ear, before immediately nuzzling at the nape of his neck.
“Hi,” Harry says back. His voice gets lost in the music.
“What’s your name?” the guy shouts into his ear.
“Harry,” he shouts back. His throat feels dry.
The guy mumbles something—probably a name—and Harry doesn’t catch it. The next thing he says, though, is loud and relatively clear.
“You wanna dance, Harry?”
Harry doesn’t get a good look at him before he nods. The guy’s hands settle on Harry’s hips and he kisses Harry’s shoulder before Harry even steps back into him. Then Harry does step back into him and the man’s chest is solid behind Harry’s back and his cock is half-hard and nestled against Harry’s arse. It’s the surprise of it as much as the rhythm of the music that has Harry grinding back against his cock before he thinks about what he’s doing.
There’s nothing wrong with this guy. He’s warm and here and he wants Harry and that should be enough—it is enough, to get Harry hard and rocking back against the guy because he can’t help but want to feel more. He can feel himself clench just from suggestion, from the guy’s cock grinding against the cleft of Harry’s arse. The friction of Harry’s cock just against his jeans is slight, but maddening—it reminds him of the time Louis made him come just stroking over his cock with two fingers.
It’s no surprise that Harry’s thoughts fly to Louis while he’s hard—he’s been coming to Louis’s voice every day for more than a week now—but what is a surprise (though maybe it shouldn’t be) is how strongly his thoughts jar him out of the moment, making him feel almost sober, even as the thrum of the music carries everyone around him in its thrall. Harry takes a step out of the guy’s reach, rubbing his forehead.
“It’s getting, um, hot in here,” Harry says, not even hearing himself over the beat. He turns to face the guy. “I think I’m gonna—“ He jerks his head in some direction that is away.
The guy doesn’t take his hand off Harry’s waist. “I’ll come with,” Harry reads on the guy’s lips. His head feels like it’s going to split in half from the music.
“I—oh. Oh, no, sorry, I’d love to—but I actually wouldn’t, sorry, I’m just—“
Harry pulls away from the man and sets off in what he thinks is the direction of the bathroom, though he’s gotten a little disoriented by all the spinning and grinding and… fuck. Harry stumbles into the bathroom and only then notices that standing up straight is a little more difficult than usual. He splashes some water on his face and feels… marginally better but still mostly like shit, to be honest. He’s sweaty and hard and doesn’t know where his friends are and he just wants to close his eyes and have someone take care of him until he’s tucked into his own bed.
Oh, and fuck him. He’d really like somebody to fuck him right about now.
Not just any somebody, though. Harry doesn’t have time to wonder if he’s going to regret this before he dials Louis’s number.
It’s eleven-thirty, an hour and a half past the time Harry usually calls Louis, and Louis’s getting a little more despondent with every middle-aged man he pretends to spread his legs for. He thought nothing could be worse than going back to taking other calls after spending half an hour on the phone with an actual cherub crafted specifically for him in sex heaven, but going without talking to Harry proves to be worse by far.
“Hello there,” Louis says as he takes his third call in ten minutes. Everyone seems to get more desperate as the night goes on. Louis thinks his toenails could use a trim.
“Louis,” the voice from the phone whines, and Louis straightens up immediately. “D-Daddy.”
“Harry?” Louis gets up and goes into his bedroom, sitting cross-legged on his bed. “Thought you’d forgotten about me, little love.” He tries not to sound too disappointed.
“Didn’t, I didn’t.” Harry’s—a little more sincere than necessary. Like he’s drunk.
“Are you all right, baby?” Louis’s not one to judge possibly-underage alcohol use, but his chest still tightens a little.
“I’m—“ Suddenly a loud burst of club music blasts over the phone, ending as quickly as it came, and Harry sighs. There’s a thud like he’s banging his head against a wall.
“Where are you?” Louis’s sexy phone voice is totally absent, replaced with worry, but Harry doesn’t seem to notice.
“I’m… at a club.” Harry hiccups. He’s clearly been drinking, though he’s not slurring his words. “They—my friends, they thought I needed… sorry, I didn’t mean to—“
“Did you—“ Louis cuts off. He’s really not in any place to be asking if Harry hooked up with anyone. It’s absolutely none of his business, but—Harry sounds so apologetic, and a little bit of punishment would go well with this Daddy thing they’ve got going on, and Harry would never have to know that Louis might (might) be jealous of the idea of Harry, his Harry, letting strangers put their hands all over him.
“I’m so hard.” Harry sighs like he has no idea what to do about it. “Daddy.”
Well. Louis is only human—he’s hard as fuck hearing Harry call for him like that, and he grips his cock through his trackies to relieve a little bit of the pressure. Still. “How much have you had to drink, baby?”
“Two…” Harry hums like he’s thinking and trails off. “Fruity things? Dunno what they’re called. Bunch of hours ago. ‘M okay now, I promise.”
“All right.” Refusing service to clients who are obviously intoxicated isn’t a rule anyone his company cares about, but Harry is different. Louis doesn’t want Harry to regret anything they ever do together. “Touch yourself for me, baby,” he says, and Harry immediately says mhmmmm. “Get your hand around your cock.”
“Thank you,” Harry breathes, and Louis can hear him shuffle his feet a little. He must be in the club bathroom, as there’s a bit of an echo as Harry undoes his jeans and starts to pump his hand over his cock. “Th-thank you, Daddy, I’m sorry.”
Fuck. Harry keeps apologizing and Louis just has to know why. “Have you been a slut, Harry?” Louis bites his lip and starts to stroke himself faster as Harry whimpers at the word. “Letting strange men touch you?”
“No,” Harry says quickly, too quickly. “No, I—“
“Tell me the truth, Harry.”
“Sorry.” Louis can hear the pace of Harry’s jerking off quicken, skin slapping loudly against skin. “‘M sorry.”
“It’s okay, baby,” Louis says, and he means it, because it means he gets to do this. He settles back onto his mattress, cradling his phone against his ear while his hand works around his cock. “Tell me what they did to you.”
Precome dribbles from the slit of Louis’s cock as he listens to Harry’s breath hitch, over and over, like he keeps forgetting to breathe. Louis swipes it up with his thumb and then smooths it over his shaft as Harry answers, “Danced. We danced.”
“Where did they touch you?” Louis lick a stripe up his hand, tasting his precome before returning his hand to his cock with a grunt.
“Hands.” Harry lets out little ah and starts humming in time with his strokes. “Hands, on my—hips, he kissed my neck, and my—“
“Did you grind back against his cock, baby?” Louis pictures it. In his mind, Harry’s all slight angles and soft curves and curls. Well—in his mind, Harry is also his, but the picture of him bent over with chewing on his lip while his little arse grinds back against any stranger behind him isn’t the worst in the world.
“I—“ Harry lets out a choked off-sound as there’s another blast of music, like the bathroom door’s swung open. The door closes again, but Louis can hear the distant echo of voices, and can’t hear Harry working quickly over his cock, but. Something about the minute whimper coming over the phone tells him that Harry hasn’t stopped entirely. God, he’s so eager with Louis, Louis can’t help but buck his hips up, his cock fucking through his fist, and moaning unabashedly.
“Tell me the truth, baby,” Louis says, voice deep with arousal. “Tell me now and maybe I’ll let you come.”
“I did,” Harry whispers, urgency rising in his voice even as Louis hears people laughing in the background and knows there’s a good chance Harry will be overheard. “It felt so good I couldn’t stop—“
“Did you let him fuck you?” Louis says back, matching Harry’s low tone. He drops his cock for a moment, letting his hand drop down to circle around his rim. “Did you come with his hands all over you?”
Another short blast of club music, then Harry says louder, “No, no, Daddy, thinking about you. Couldn’t—couldn’t, without you, please.”
“Couldn’t come without me, baby?” Louis no longer tries to keep his voice steady, letting Harry hear how much he’s getting to him. “Need my voice? Or is it my permission?”
“Both.” Harry is loud now, desperation overcoming fear of discovery. Louis can hear his wrist working quick over his cock. “Both, please, let me—“
“Keep touching yourself,” Louis says, and Harry lets out a frustrated nngh but doesn’t stop jerking himself off frantically. “Should I let you come, baby? Do you think you deserve it?”
“I—“ Harry groans pitifully. “I don’t know, I wanna, please—“
“Couldn’t even wait ’til you got home?” Harry loves when Louis teases him like this, and Louis can tell it’s pushing both of them closer and closer. “What if I made you wait ’til you’re home?”
Harry mewls and pants for a second, like he’s trying to figure if he can, but. “No, can’t wait anymore, I need you Daddy please—“
Louis holds onto the moment before he comes as long as he can, his mind swimming in Daddy and please and need you, before he gasps out, “Come,” and spills over himself just as Harry cries and uh uh uhs through his own orgasm.
Harry’s aftershocks keep him whimpering after Louis’s already finished. “Thank you,” Harry whispers, and then keens again.
Louis inhales deeply, flexing his come-covered hand over his torso and, after only considering it for a moment, says, “Don’t stop jerking yourself off.”
Louis’s not sure what he expects Harry to say, but—okay, he expects him to say, no or fuck off or maybe please don’t make me because he’s a good boy for Louis, but in spite of that Louis absolutely does not expect him to just… do it.
But Harry does. Louis can hear him jerking himself off with even more clarity, with the lubrication provided by Harry’s first load of come. He keeps jerking himself off slowly, methodically, even as he whines, “Hurts.”
Louis is overwhelmed by his affection for this boy. “You know you can say no whenever you want,” he says gently. God, he can’t even think about touching his own cock right now, not even to clean it off, but Harry’s making arousal stir in his gut against just by being so good. “But it’d make me really happy if you kept fucking your hand until you come again for me.”
“Yes.” Harry sounds a little miserable—god, his dick must feel like it’s on fire—but then he clears his throat and speaks a little more clearly. “Yes, Daddy, whatever you say.”
Louis just listens to Harry for a while, fucking his hand slowly, like he’s trying to relish it, not like Louis’s putting him through some kind of torture. For a while, Louis’s lost for words.
“Should punish you worse than this,” he says eventually, as Harry’s whimpers of pain start to seem more like pleasure. “Should take you over my knee and spank that slutty little arse.”
“Oh god.” Harry picks up the pace of his strokes and Louis wishes his own dick would stop aching, Jesus, but instead of touching himself he just sucks the come off one of his fingers.
“Would you like that?” Louis prompts, and Harry hums. “Would you like being bent over for me, so I could smack you like you deserve, make your arse all tingly and red?”
“Oh—oh, please—“ There’s a thunk, like Harry’s banged his head against the wall again, and Louis swirls his own come around in his mouth for a moment, wishing he could see his boy now.
“You’re impossible to punish,” Louis says, with a small sigh. “You’ll love everything I do to you.”
“I do.” Harry whines as he fucks into his hand desperately. “Daddy, I do, I love it, I love—“ He breaks off, panting. “Can I—fingers—“
Louis tuts. “Don’t hurt yourself, darling.”
“Lube,” Harry mumbles, “‘ve got lube.”
Louis frowns as he’s reaching for a tissue to clean off the rest of his come. “Were you planning to get fucked, baby?”
“No,” Harry insists, as if it’s important to him that Louis knows. As if they have any kind of agreement that would make that not okay. “Just—I keep it in my pocket.”
Louis’s cock is still sensitive as he wipes traces of come off his head. He can’t imagine how Harry must be feeling, on so many levels. “So you can fuck yourself in club bathrooms, hmm?”
“Wherever,” Harry whines desperately. He bangs his head back against the wall again. “Daddy, want you wherever, please—“
Louis considers it for a moment. “You’re all dirty,” he says, shaking his head to himself. “You can fuck yourself later, when you’re showered and tucked in bed. Now I just want you to make yourself come again.”
“Still hurts.” Harry doesn’t say it like he can’t do it, just like it’s hard. “‘M sticky.”
“But it feels good, doesn’t it?” Louis glances over at his clock and realizes with a bolt of pleasure that this will be his last call of the night. Good. “Working to please your daddy.” Nothing will top this, he thinks, for a long time.
“Yes,” Harry agrees miserably. He works himself up to the wicked pace that brought him over the edge the last time. “Yes, I feel—please—“
“Come for me again, baby,” Louis says gently. “Whenever you can. Let me hear you, pleasing me so well.”
It takes another minute or two—Louis’s just starting to think he might be able to go again, hearing Harry whimper in pleasure as he fucks his hand—but then Harry’s crying out Daddy and choking off moans, and Louis knows he’s done just as Louis asks, just like he always does.
“Thank you,” Harry breathes out, as soon as his moans pass. He sounds the soberest he has all night.
“Thank you,” Louis replies, quietly. He wonders for a moment what on earth he did to deserve this. Then Harry sighs happily and Louis clears his throat. “Are you all right to get home?”
“Yeah.” Harry inhales shakily. “Yeah, Niall’s cousin is giving us both a ride.”
“So you’re going straight home?” Louis’s never been much of a worrier, but… here he is, worrying.
“In like, fifteen minutes, I think.” Harry swallows. “He texted me while… um, a few minutes ago.”
Louis nods to himself. “Make sure you drink some water.”
“Will do, Daddy.” Harry giggles good-naturedly, and Louis smiles reflexively, then lets out a hmmph.
“What, so I don’t end up drunk and covered in come in the toilets?” Harry giggles again, then sucks his finger into his mouth, Jesus. “Bit late for that.”
Louis was wrong. Harry isn’t his sex cherub, he’s a devil. He shakes his head. “Text me when you get home.”
Harry is quiet for a minute. “I didn’t think I could text this line.”
“You can’t. I’m giving you my number.”
Louis could technically get fired for this, he realizes as he reads out the digits to his cell phone number to Harry. Well, not technically. He could definitely get fired for this. Or, perhaps more pertinently, Harry could turn out to be an elaborate cover for one of his creepier old clients and Louis could be inviting himself to get harassed or stalked. He knows that, and he knows changing his number is such a fucking hassle, but if anyone ever asks him what on earth he was thinking, giving his personal number out to a client, he’ll just play this call back for them and ask what he was supposed to do. Harry is vulnerable and precious and Louis just—anyone would feel the need to keep him safe.
An hour later, after his shift has ended and a thousand scenarios of terrible things that could happen to drunk teenagers at clubs and in cars have gone through Louis’s head, Harry texts him: home safe, daddy, you can stop worrying.
Louis replies with two xs. Harry responds with an emoji of an ant before going offline. Louis stares at the ant for a full two minutes before feeling the strong urge to wake Zayn up and have a drink himself.
H: sorry about last night… don’t really remember, I was pretty drunk
L: it’s all right, little one. No bother . Xx
H: must’ve sounded a right mess to make you want to check in on me
Harry means to send a frog emoji, but instead he hits Call Contact and his eyes bulge out of his head as “Calling… Daddy <3 <3 <3” pops up on his screen.
He should just end the call, but… hanging up on Louis feels wrong, even like this. Harry is way too attached. The call connects
“Oops!” Harry fumbles as he pulls the phone up to his ear. “Um—“
“Hi,” Louis says. He sounds significantly more chipper than he usually answers his work phone. Something churns in Harry’s gut as he wonders what other things about Louis-off-work he doesn’t know.
“Hiiiii,” he says, glancing around his room frantically like one of his band posters might be able to solve his dilemma. “I didn’t mean to call you. Sorry, I’ll—“
“I’m glad you did.” Louis continues to sound chipper. “How are you?”
“Good.” Harry’s voice has never been this mangled in his life. He’s giving himself a headache. “I’m—well, hungover, you know.”
“I’m sure,” Louis says with a bit of a laugh. “Did you have a good night, anyway?”
Harry frowns at his The Script poster. “It… well, it ended all right. You know.” Has Louis forgotten what happened? What is even happening?
“Hmm.” Louis’s tone becomes a bit more guarded. “I’ve got a shift starting in five—“
“Of course,” Harry says, even though his subconscious screams ignore those people talk to me instead, “I’ll just—“
“You’ll call later, though, yeah? Our usual time.”
Harry bites his lip. Like there was any doubt. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
“Thought we might try something different. If you’re up for it.”
“Yes,” Harry says, before realizing what he should have said. “I mean. What is it?”
“Well, you seemed pretty into the idea of me spanking you.”
Louis doesn’t laugh. Harry does, a little.
“I—“ He cuts off his nervous giggle. “Um. Yeah.”
“You think you’d like to do that for me?” Louis’s—not teasing, but it’s like he’s trying to coax the answer he wants out of Harry.
“Yes.” Harry closes his eyes and pictures himself bent over with his arse all red for Louis. “Yes,” he repeats, and tries to think of something more to say, but he can’t.
“Great,” Louis says, softly. There’s silence for a moment, then Louis clears his throat and adds, “If you’ve got, um, some kind of lotion on hand, it’ll be better.”
Harry looks down at his hands, imagining what they’d look like laying into his arse. “I’ll look.”
“And a wooden spoon, if you want,” Louis adds as an afterthought.
“Just if you want,” Louis says off-handedly, like the idea hasn’t made Harry start to get uncomfortably hard in his work trousers.
Harry swallows. “I… let’s try?”
“Great.” Harry can hear Louis’s smile. “Talk to you later, Harry.”
“Thanks.” Harry grins to himself, then fumbles, “I mean—bye, Louis.”
Louis laughs. “See you, babe.”
Babe sounds a lot like baby, Harry thinks in a daze as he finishes getting ready for work.
Harry’s already hard by the time he calls Louis that night. In itself, that isn’t that unusual. What’s unusual is how he got that way while rooting around in his mother’s cutlery drawer.
“Hello, sexy,” Louis says, his generic opening.
Harry frowns. He knows that Louis isn’t just his, he just… doesn’t like the reminder. “Daddy.”
“Hi, baby.” Louis’s voice softens immediately, becoming warm and fond. “Did you bring what I asked for?”
“Yep.” Harry taps the flat end of the spoon against his palm nervously. “Um, some of my mum’s hand lotion, and… the spoon has slots, is that all right?”
“Should be fine.” Harry hears Louis shuffle around—it seems like he always does that when Harry calls, which Harry likes to think makes him special. “How are you feeling?”
Harry considers it for a moment, worrying his lip while he taps the spoon against his hand again. “Naughty,” Harry decides eventually, slipping into his small, soft voice. “Like… like I need to be punished.”
“We can do that for you, kitten,” Louis says reassuringly. “Are you naked for me?”
“Mhmm.” Harry’s clothes are strewn all across the room, he was so eager to get out of them before he called Louis. He kneels on his bed and runs a hand nervously up and down his thigh until Louis’s instructions come.
“Want you to stand up, lean against the wall a little with your arse stuck out. Bring the spoon.”
“Okay,” Harry says, relieved, and he rushes to obey. “Okay, I am.” He clutches the spoon in his hand and glances over at his closed door, even though no one will be home for hours. It feels like something big is about to happen.
“Can you put me on speaker phone?”
“Y-yeah, hold on.” Harry puts the phone down on his nightstand and returns to his position quickly.
“Good boy,” Louis praises, and Harry blushes a little. He feels like he hasn’t earned that yet, but… he’ll take it. “Listen, I know you like being good for me, yeah?” The nonchalant way Louis acknowledges it deepens Harry’s flush, but he hums his agreement. “But this is something we haven’t tried before, so if I tell you to do something you don’t want to do, I want you to tell me, yeah? You can say safeword if you want.”
“Okay,” Harry says. His head spins a little at the knowledge that what they’re about to do requires a safeword, but it’s an exciting spin, just as exciting as everything always is with Louis. He leans his forehead against the wall and breathes deeply.
”Put the spoon down next to the phone and knead your arse for me.” Louis’s commanding voice is firm but not unkind, like he’s setting Harry a task he knows he can complete. Harry nods to himself and complies, leaning his cheek against the wall as he works his fingers over the swell of his arse, sighing.
“Feels good,” he says, barely loud enough for it to reach the phone, then moans loudly when he accidentally brushes up against his puckered hole.
“Wish I could get my hands on that tight little arse,” Louis says, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “You moan so pretty for me, love, even over the phone.”
“Daddy.” Harry spreads his legs and moans again as he grips his arse cheeks firmly. “Want you to touch me.”
“Are you hard yet, kitten?”
“Mhmmm,” Harry says, his voice going high. He pushes his arse out a little more and feels his cock bob against his thigh. “Really hard. Can I touch?”
“Not yet, baby,” Louis says apologetically. He clears his throat. “Now, why do you need to be punished?”
“I was bad.” Harry closes his eyes and turns his face into the wall. “Let the other man touch me.”
“Give yourself a spank on each cheek.”
Harry releases his arse and then spanks both cheeks roughly at once. “Shit.” It feels better than Harry thought it could, just one spank—surely he’s hit his bum that hard before, some way or another—but the purpose of it, the intention, makes Harry’s nipples harden and precome dribble down the shaft of his rock-hard cock.
“You were a slut,” Louis says, more matter-of-factly than angrily, and Harry whimpers and nods into the wall. “I want to hear you say it.”
“I’m—“ The word gets stuck in Harry’s throat. He’s way more turned on by this than he ever thought he would be, even given his recent discovery for his love of fucking himself at the command of strangers on the phone and calling them Daddy. “I was a slut,” he whispers, and his arse clenches. “I’m sorry, sorry, I didn’t want to be bad—“
“Spank yourself again,” Louis says, cutting him off. “Harder, one on each cheek.”
Harry hits himself first on the right cheek, and it’s even better than the first time. “Oh,” he says, leaning heavily against the wall. The spank on his left cheek sends a thrill up his spine that leaves him desperate for more. “Oh, D-Daddy…”
“You’re not bad, baby.” Louis’s voice is kind. “Just need to be reminded who you belong to, right?”
“You.” Harry grinds his arse back against nothing, as a kind of penance. “Yours, just yours.”
“That’s right, baby.” Louis doesn’t seem cross, just soothing. “Gonna show Daddy how good you are?”
“Please.” Harry’s palms itch to make contact with the soft skin of his arse again. “Please.”
“Three more times on each cheek, starting soft but getting harder.”
Harry nods to himself, and reaches around to tap lightly at his right arse cheek. “One.” He barely feels it, then goes considerably harder on the next. “Two,” he says, choking up a little and swiftly landing his hardest spank yet, “three.” He exhales long and slow.
“See, love?” Harry can hear Louis let out a little grunt, like he’s started jerking off. “You’re not bad, doing so good for me. Daddy’s so pleased with you.”
The next three strikes are consistently harder than the last. “One.” Harry’s arse clenches and he bites his lip. “Two.” His hand is starting to sting a little with every spank, not to mention his arse. “Three, fuck.”
“How’s that feel, love?”
“Daddy,” Harry whimpers. “Stings, but… not a lot.” He pauses before deciding, “More, please.”
“Of course, baby.” Louis sounds delighted. “You want the spoon now?”
“Yes.” This is a new feeling, but Harry knows he wants more. He retrieves the spoon and positions it just over his arse, and his cock twitches just from the feeling of hovering, waiting for it.
“Tap it lightly, just to see how it feels.”
Harry hits himself with the spoon a bit harder than Louis asks, once on each cheek. Each thwack sends a tingle shooting through his body, going directly to his cock. Wow. Harry gasps out loud. He can’t remember every enjoying his arse hurting so much, but maybe it’s just never happened while his cock was already aching. He spanks himself once more, automatically, thrusting his arse back into it before fucking his cock back forward into nothing. “More,” he gasps. “More, more—“
“On my count, Harry.”
“Yes, sir.” Harry wets his lips and rubs the spoon over his arse for a moment. His arse jiggles under the touch of the wood, and he wants. “Daddy. Please.”
“Want you to alternate, kitten. Not too soft, but not as hard as you can, until I tell you to.” Louis’s voice gets a little more rough, and Harry thinks he must be jerking off to this, to the sound of Harry spanking his own arse for him, and that’s half of the reason he chokes on air when he spanks himself firmly on one.
“Thank you,” Harry says in a daze. A delicious thrill runs through him, but it’s over all too soon.
“Two,” Louis continues, and Harry smacks his other arse cheek with the spoon, letting out a hnnngh and bracing his forearm against the wall. “Harder, kitten, I need to hear you. You tell me before it gets to be too much, right?”
“Yes,” Harry croaks, flexing his fingers against the wall. “Not too much. More.”
The flashes of heat accompanying three and four last a little longer, and Louis praises Harry for how good he’s doing, how clearly Louis can hear him through the phone. He keeps up a swift counting page, so Harry can’t really work himself up to a proper hard swing, just hitting himself so quickly he can barely react to the smack of one spank before he’s landing the next. His whole arse is starting to feel warm and red, and so that eventually each spank starts to make him tense and clench even while it adds to the growing pool of heat stirring in his stomach, making little drops of precome bead out of his slit and down his untouched shaft. The spoon hurts, and his shoulder is starting to get sore from maintaining his position, but it also gets more and more satisfying as Louis starts dropping in things like thirty-five, doing so well baby, thirty-six, keep your red little arse thrust out for me. Around fifty, just when his arse is starting to throb a little even without laying into it any more, Louis stops counting.
“How are you feeling, kitten?”
“So good.” Harry closes his eyes and rubs the tip of the spoon between his cheeks, rocking his hips back and forth so that his hard cock rubs up against his tummy. His arse continues throbbing dully and Harry doesn’t know if he wants to stop or if he wants to ask for more, but Louis will tell him. That alone has him pumping his hips forward again. He keens as he gets a smear of precome on his tummy. “Can I touch, Daddy?”
“Not yet, baby.” There’s a click and rustling over the phone, like Louis’s just put Harry on speaker. “Want you to open yourself up for me, though, can you do that?”
“Yes.” Harry drops the spoon in his excitement and winces as he bends down to pick it up, arse stinging. “Are you going to fuck me, Daddy?”
“Yeah, kitten.” Louis lets out a strained breath. “Gonna fuck you while your arse is all red and hot for me, how does that sound?”
“Please.” Harry scrambles to get the lube and his vibrator out of the drawer over which the phone is perched, and he can hear every single heavy breath Louis takes into the phone.
“Just fingers, for now, love,” Louis says, as if he can see Harry’s mouth water as runs his hand down the shaft of the toy. “Want you to spank yourself a little more before I fuck you.”
“Yes, Daddy.” Harry pouts a little as he places the glittery dick next to the phone.
“Back in the position you were. Keep the spoon handy.”
Harry presses his head against the wall, drizzles lube over his fingers, then tosses the lube back to the drawer and thrusts his arse out. “‘M ready.”
“You know what to do, baby. Open yourself up for my cock.”
Harry whimpers as he slides his first finger in to the knuckle. It gets easier every day for him to sink his fingers into his arse, without needing to coax his rim open gently first with soothing little circles. Part of it’s that he’s fucking himself so consistently, he knows, but he thinks it’s also got something to do with how Louis manages to turn him on more and more every single day. Bracing himself against the wall with his head, Harry gropes his arse with his free hand, pulling the reddened cheek back so he can thrust into himself easier, plunge his two fingers in and out and twirl them around and stroke the tight heat around him. It feels so fucking good just around his fingers, he thinks as he scissors himself open. He’s absolutely greedy for the warm smoothness against his fingertips, the friction against his rim. He can’t imagine how good a real cock would feel, how good he could make Louis feel by being so tight and open for him at the same time.
He tries to imagine anyway, and ends up moaning and riding back against his fingers until Louis tells him to stop.
“Pick up the spoon again, kitten, and give yourself twenty as hard as you can. Count for me.”
The pain in Harry’s arse has gone down enough that he doesn’t expect the first spank to hurt as much as it does, and he gasps, pressing his cheek against the wall and rubbing over his arse gently with the spoon a moment. “One,” he croaks. The second he lands just as harshly, even knowing how bad it’ll hurt. “Two.” All the heat that had been building in his bum blossoms anew and is joined by the fresh sting of the wood. Harry has to go slower than before, because it takes time to wind up to a good smack, but it’s even better to feel the aftershocks of each individual spank, the way his arse clenches
“Twenty,” Harry gasps, and he drops the spoon. “God, oh god,” he feels like he’s on fire and now that there’s no fresh pain to distract him from the old, it just washes over him like a wave, so that he’s crying into the wall and kneading his arse cheeks with both hands while they sting and throb.
“Good boy, my good boy, Harry, I’m so proud of you, love, are you all right, baby? Talk to me.”
Harry lets out two more sobs before he straightens up, cock bobbing as hard as it’s ever been between his legs in spite of the burn of his arse as he goes to the phone.
“Fuck me.” Harry’s voice is high but mangled in his throat. “Please, fuck.” He puts his wet hand on the vibrator but waits for Louis’s word.
“‘Course, baby, yes.” Louis sounds relieved. “Lube up the toy for me, Harry. Want you face down, arse up on the bed, phone by your ear.”
“Yes,” Harry says, half submission, half excitement, as he grabs the shaft of the toy and smears the lube on his hand over it. He squeezes more lube down the shaft and then goes to the bed, putting the phone by his pillow while he kneels and coats the lube around the toy. With every slight change of position his arse stings afresh, and the pain and satisfaction of what he’s just done has him scrambling to get his arse up in the air as quickly as he can, whispering ready as he positions the dildo between his spanked-red cheeks, nudging at his stretched hole.
“Go on, baby,” Louis encourages. The phone is still on speaker so his voice is loud near Harry’s ear but Harry likes how he feels that much closer to him now, while he’s breaching his rim with the toy he’s come to think of as Louis’s cock.
“Daddy,” Harry whines, rocking his hips back and forth to push the dildo deeper inside of him and searching for any friction on his cock, but his leaking tip only just barely glances against his stomach and that just makes the tension building up inside him harder to bear. He’s not going to be able to last, not when he can feel how bruised his arse is beneath his hands as he pushes in to the hilt, the hot and sensitive flesh making him clench down hard around the toy.
“Turn it on and go slow.” Louis’s voice feels distant but close, like it’s the decision-making part of his own brain, pushed far away. “Let me hear you while you fuck yourself for me.”
Harry yelps as the toy bumps against his prostate just as he turns on the vibrations. He wants so much to be good but he can’t help but fuck back onto the vibrator in short, quick spurts, pressing the tip against spot over and over until he’s already moaning so loud he’s almost shouting, burying his face in his pillow as he pushes his arse higher into the air, groping at the cheeks while he fucks himself closer and closer to the edge.
“Please,” he begs, not to touch his cock, he doesn’t need it, he just needs Louis’s word, “please I’m so close—“
Louis’s own belabored breathing comes to a head when he hears Harry beg. “Just—now,” Louis pants, “come now, baby,” and that’s all it takes, Louis’s command, the thought that Louis was waiting until he was close, that has Harry shouting and spurting untouched onto the bed while Louis groans through his own release in Harry’s ear.
Before he’s fully come down, while he’s pushing his messy sheets aside so he can collapse onto the bed, Louis’s voice prickles in his ear. “How was that, love?”
“Good.” Harry flips onto his back and squirms a little. His arse feels hot against the cool sheets, and it reminded him what he just did, and that’s almost enough to make Harry want to go again in itself. “The best, Daddy, you’re the best.”
“Wish I was there to look after you,” Louis sighs. “I’m so proud of you, baby. Best boy in the world.”
“Your boy,” Harry mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Mine,” Louis echoes.
Louis talks Harry through applying lotion to his arse, then lets him play with his hole and rut into the sheets until he comes again. Even after that, Harry lingers on the line. He doesn’t hang up until he’s almost fallen asleep. Louis fusses, says he’ll stay with Harry as long as he needs but will he please call back on Louis’s regular number, Harry doesn’t need to be wasting his money. Harry might be stubborn, but he refuses to hang up while Louis keeps muttering such a good boy for me in his ear.
He’s draining his savings for this fantasy, he figures. He should be allowed to pretend it was real from the start.
Harry doesn’t call the next night at his usual time. Or later. Louis’s whole shift is taken up pretending to jack off with middle-aged men who come within two minutes. He spends most of that time debating whether or not it’s appropriate to call Harry himself and ask what’s up that when his shift finally ends and he dials Harry’s number in frustration, he realizes he’s forgotten to come up with something to say.
“Louis?” Sheets rustling. Harry sounds like he’s just woken up. Louis barely knows what Harry sounds like out of bed. This was a bad idea.
“Hi,” Louis squeaks. What the fuck? Louis talks on the telephone for a living, there’s no reason for him to get so choked up. “I just—“ He swallows and wishes he’d thought to keep water next to him, like he does when he’s on a shift. “Just wanted to see if you’re all right. After last night.”
Harry yawns and takes a minute to respond. “‘M good. ‘M really good.”
“You didn’t call.” God, Louis must sound so petty.
“No, I had my parents’ anniversary party.” Harry sounds apologetic. That’s either relieving or mortifying, Louis can’t decide. “Sorry. I should’ve told you. I didn’t think it’d go this late, but I just got home, and like. I figured you were off already.”
“No, of course—“ Louis cuts off. Yeah, Harry didn’t have to tell him he was busy that night, but. Louis doesn’t want to make it seem like he doesn’t care. “I was just worried it’d gone, er, too far. That you were cross with me.”
Harry laughs out loud. “My bum’s a bit cross with you, to be honest.” Louis thinks about Harry’s arse covered in red marks Louis told him to put there, then rubs at his temples while his cock twitches in his pants. God, he’s in this deep. “It was nice, though,” Harry continues.
“Nice.” Louis scoffs. “That’s all?”
“Incredible,” Harry says. He yawns again, but comes back sounding more awake. “Mind-blowing. Never want to sit down without feeling like death again. I’m a changed man.”
Louis hums. “That’s more like it.” He pauses. “Does it really still hurt though?”
“Nah. ‘Cept when I give it a bit of a swat, it’s a bit tender still.”
“You been doing a lot of that?” Louis finds himself saying before he can think better of it.
Harry swallows. “Just a couple times. See if it felt as good as I remember it.”
“And?” Louis prompts. He’d honestly called just to see if Harry was all right, but. If Harry’s in the mood to talk about his arse, Louis isn’t going to deprive him of the opportunity.
“Can we—“ Harry cuts off before continuing, his voice sounding a little rougher, though still kittenish. “Can I call you back on the other line?”
“Sorry, kitten, I’m off for the night.”
“Oh.” Harry’s voice falls audibly. “Oh, of course. That’s fine.”
Louis rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you sound fine.”
“I am fine.” Harry lets out a hmph. “I’m not an animal.”
“‘Course not, kitten. You definitely don’t get hard just from my voice.”
“Shut up.” Harry’s voice is muffled, like he’s speaking into a pillow. Louis was totally right. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and doesn’t wipe the obscene smile off his face.
“You want to come for me, baby?” Louis rests his hand on the bulge of his cock in his briefs, just holding it, waiting for Harry to give him to go-ahead.
Harry mumbles something unintelligible.
“Gotta speak up, kitten.”
Harry clears his throat. “’S always for you. When I come. Always thinking about you.” Harry pauses, then adds, “Idiot.”
Louis’s completely hard in an instant, palming his cock and barely repressing a grunt. “Aren’t you precious.” Louis inhales sharply and pulls his dick out of his pants, gripping it firmly and reminding himself to calm the fuck down. “Don’t want to leave you hanging, then.”
“I—“ Harry cuts off. Louis takes the opportunity for Daddy to cut in.
“Are you touching yourself for me, baby?”
Harry inhales deeply. “Not yet.”
“Waiting for permission?” Harry’s sure to say yes either way, but Louis smiles at the thought.
Harry sounds sheepish. “Feels better when you tell me to.”
Louis’s heart leaps into his throat. “You can wait, then.” Harry hums softly. “What are you wearing?”
“Off.” Louis says the word, and Harry immediately shuffles to comply. Fuck, it’s such a rush, to be trusted like that—Louis’s always had a bit of a thing for sexual power trips, he wouldn’t be so good at being a sex line operator if he didn’t, but it’s been ages since it’s been like this.
“Want you to feel up your arse for me, baby,” Louis says, and Harry immediately breathes yes. A moment later, Harry’s whimpering into the phone. Louis can imagine him spread out on his bed, fingers digging into the flesh that may no longer be red, but is surely still sensitive. “Feel good?”
“Yeah,” Harry sighs. “Please.” He always says that, like he’s helpless for what to do about how good he feels unless Louis tells him what to do with it.
Fortunately, Louis’s not lacking for ideas. “Give yourself a good spank for me, darling.”
Harry doesn’t say anything, but the next thing Louis hears is a harsh slap and a low mmm. “How’s that feel?”
“Good.” Harry breathes in and out deeply before continuing. “So good, please.”
“Are you alone at home?” Louis always asks now, since the threat of Harry being walked in on is always much more appealing than it actually happening, as that one incident with the dog proved.
“N-no.” Harry sighs.
“Can’t give you more, then, you know that.” Harry lets out a hmmmph. “Another time, kitten. For now you can fuck yourself for me.”
“Yes, please.” Harry sounds so fucking pleased, what else is Louis supposed to do but tug on his cock roughly? “Please, I want to.”
“Get your things out,” Louis instructs, reaching for his own lube. Before Harry he’d usually jack off dry, but when he can hear the wet sound of Harry working a plastic cock into his own arse, it feels so much better to get his hand wet and pretend that the pressure of his fist is a remotely suitable substitute for how tight Harry’s arse would feel around him.
Harry hums. “Already got it.”
“Good boy,” Louis says, and Harry preens. “Want you to suck the vibe first, yeah? Get it nice and wet, I want to hear you.”
“Yes, Daddy.” Harry licks up the sides of the vibrator first, like Louis taught him, so that when he wraps his lips around the plastic, it slides into his mouth easily, and he hums around it like he’s already got several inches inside him. Louis grip on his cock tightens, and he struggles to keep his strokes slow so he won’t blow his load just from hearing Harry struggle with choking himself on a plastic cock
“You like that?” Louis bites back a moan as Harry says mhmmmmm and gags a little, like he’s trying to go farther than he really can. “You sound so good, princess, got me so hard hearing you.”
Harry pulls off with a wet smack of his lips, and says, in a fucked-out voice, “Wish it was you.” He hums as he takes the cock back in his mouth and Louis grasps his cock firmly to keep from coming right then.
“I know, princess.” He squeezes himself harder, until it hurts, listening to Harry and imagining him slurping like that around Louis’s cock, teasing the head with his tongue and letting his saliva dribble down his shaft while he stared up at Louis with innocent eyes. “You’d suck me so good.”
“Wanna.” Harry breaks off the toy again, panting. “Wanna please you. Make you feel as good as you make me feel.”
Louis’s breath hitches and he drops his cock from his hand, letting it bob down between his legs. He’s not going to fucking come yet, Jesus. “You please me,” he says, trying to push down the hysteria rising in his voice. “Make me feel—“ Harry slurps and hums as he takes the plastic dick into his mouth again and Louis can’t help but get his hand back around himself immediately. “So proud, baby, to hear you taking cock like that, you know what that does to me? Knowing you’re doing that for me?”
Harry whines, high-pitched and muffled. “Empty, I’m—please—“
“You can have two fingers while you keep sucking,” Louis concedes, and Harry sighs like in relief. “Lube up, no touching your cock yet.”
“Hard.” Harry’s voice is scratchy as he puts down the dildo. Louis hears the snick of a lube bottle. “‘M so hard.” He’s not even asking for anything, just telling. Louis’s played with lifestylers in BDSM clubs who were less naturally submissive than Harry. He’s so fucking beautiful.
“But you won’t touch until I say so.” Louis smirks to himself as Harry hums. “My good boy.”
“‘M a good boy,” Harry echoes, then starts whining slightly before muffling the sound with the dildo again. The wet smack of Harry’s lips sends another thrill through Louis’s cock, held loosely now in his hands.
“Feel how tight you are for me?” Louis prompts, and Harry lets out an mmph of agreement. Louis lets his own hand trail beneath his balls to nudge at the puckered skin around his hole, closing his eyes and imagining having Harry spread out and opening himself in front of him. “Fucking perfect, just know your arse was made for my cock.”
This time, when Harry breaks the suction of his mouth around the dildo, his voice has an edge of desperation. “Ready, I’m ready, can I—“
Louis will never be ready for this, probably. “Go on, baby,” he says anyway, “fuck yourself.”
“Yes.” Louis can hear Harry drop the phone in his excitement, but he picks it up again quickly. “Thank you, thank you—“
“Arse up, phone down on the pillow.” Louis moves down so that he’s lying facing his ceiling, cradling his slick hardness gently in his hand, knowing that once Harry gets started it won’t take him long.
“Thank you,” Harry says one more time, as the sheets rustle and he thrusts his arse up in the air for Louis.
“Spread your legs wide for me,” Louis instructs. Harry preens at the command. He’s the prettiest thing Louis’s never seen. “So eager to please, kitten, I love it.”
“Daddy.” Harry whispers his words, either out of hoarseness or concern for the other people in his house. “I’d be so good for you, please, want your cock so bad—“
Louis’s hand spasms around his cock, and the jolt of pressure feels so good Louis’s back arches with it. He starts to pump himself again slowly and says, “Push in all the way, kitten.”
Harry whimpers as he fucks into himself with the vibrator, and Louis finally starts to fuck up into his slick fist like he’s been dying to for ages, imagining those little sounds coming from beneath him while he grips Harry’s hips and fucks him like Harry’s been begging every night for weeks.
“How’s it feel?” Louis asks, breathlessly. Harry can surely tell he’s going to come—but fuck whatever Louis’d convinced himself was important about maintaining some distance, because Harry deserves to know how fucking hot he is like this.
“Big,” Harry pants, “full, please, can I—“
Harry deserves everything. “Turn it on,” Louis commands.
Harry mewls, and it totally defeats the purpose of avoiding spanking so he won’t wake up his family, but Louis can’t bring himself to care very much. His hips are fucking up into his fist so fast Harry (not to mention Louis’s whole building) can probably hear the creak of his mattress, but Louis doesn’t care about anything but the deep sounds Harry lets out as he squirms, waiting for Louis to let him move.
“Fuck yourself for me now, kitten,” Louis says, barely keeping his voice steady as he slows his own strokes to a reasonable pace. “Slow, don’t be greedy.”
“Won’t.” Harry starts to let out little uh, uh, pleases while Louis swipes the precome bubbling out of his slit down his cock, actually wincing at how good it is. “I’m your good boy.”
Harry is. He is. “My boy,” Louis confirms, letting slip a brief hnngh before continuing, “the absolute best.”
“I wish—“ Harry doesn’t stop making his sounds but—something comes over him, maybe, from hearing exactly how Louis is getting off on this, and he starts talking. “Wish you’d—ahh—just take me. Find me and—tug my hair, like, wherever we were—tell me Daddy’s come to claim his boy—“
Well, fuck. Louis doesn’t hold back his moan, arching his back and jerking himself off frantically. “Keep going,” he urges, even as Zayn throws something at his bedroom door. “Keep going, fuck.”
“Mark me up and bend me over for you.” Harry gasps and Louis swears he can hear Harry’s mattress creak, just like his own. “Hold my wrists down and fuck me ’til I can’t remember my name, can’t remember anything but—hnngh—Daddy…”
Louis is so turned on he can’t stop himself from fucking rough and fast into his fist. He’s sure Harry can hear the slap of his skin as well as he can hear every little hitch of Harry’s breath, the faintest hint of vibrations (it’s probably just Louis’s own ears ringing). This isn’t going to last much longer. He’s about to tell Harry he can touch himself when Harry whimpers, “Close.”
“Yeah?” Louis whispers. He closes his eyes and yeah, he’s close too. “Gonna come just from my cock, Harry?”
“Yes.” Harry’s voice stays low, but he sounds close to sobbing. “Daddy, please—“
That’s what does it for Louis. At the very moment he starts spurting up his chest, he chokes out, “Come for me,” and less than a minute later Harry’s echoing his groans and the thud of some other projectile against Louis’s door with his own uh uh hnnnnnngh.
They don’t say anything for a few minutes, but it doesn’t feel silent. Louis doesn’t move to wipe the come off his torso, treasuring it like a sign that this was real. This happened.
“Thank you,” Harry says, eventually, inevitably.
Louis rubs his cheek against his pillow and wishes he had a warm body to curl up next to. “Thank you.”
“Did you—“ Harry cuts off, then giggles a little. “Am I not supposed to ask that?”
Louis laughs, wiping his hand through the puddle of come on his tummy and sucking a little off the tip of his finger loudly. “Wouldn’t fake an orgasm just to make you feel good, love.”
Harry’s quiet for a minute. Louis continues sucking come off his fingers. Salty. He should remember to eat more fruit. “That’s what you do, though,” Harry says. “Fake it. Isn’t it?”
Louis humphs and splays his sticky hand back out over his stomach. “Well, I’d like to think there’s a bit more artistry to it than that.”
Harry sounds a little panicked. “No! Of course, sorry, I meant—“
“I’m an actor, you know.” Louis puffs himself up and tries to sound offended, to keep making Harry apologize, but Harry sees through him and laughs.
“Is that how you got roped into this?”
By the time Louis gets the whole story out, they’ve digressed at least a dozen times, and they don’t stop. By the time Harry starts yawning into the phone, it’s three-thirty in the morning.
“Think you should get some sleep, kitten,” Louis says. He regrets it a little, but his own eyes are drooping.
Harry hums in agreement, then pauses. “I feel bad. Like, you—we, um. But you didn’t get paid.”
Like Louis hasn’t already given that matter quite a bit of consideration. “We’re friends, yeah? It’s fine.”
Harry shuffles around like he’s adjusting his blankets. “None of my other friends make me come for free.”
“Does that mean you pay them?” Louis jokes, and Harry lets out a loud snort that makes Louis’s heart clench.
“No,” he says, with an audible smile. “None of my other friends make me come.”
Louis worries at his lip for a minute, looking at himself in the mirror, all curled up and sleepy and sated. “Maybe we’re not friends, then.”
Harry considers it for a moment. “Okay,” he agrees after a minute, then yawns. “Well. As your not-friend… ‘m kind of half-asleep already.”
“Since we’re not friends,” Louis says, “I don’t feel bad at all about telling you that makes you a fifty-year-old man. The night is young.” He starts yawning halfway through the last bit, and Harry snorts again.
“Since we’re not friends… fuck off.”
“I will,” Louis says solemnly. “Since we’re not friends.”
“Not.” Harry’s voice is muffled through his pillow.
“Good night, my darling enemy.”
“Worst enemy,” Harry mutters. “Very menacing. Not darling.”
“Very darling,” Louis insists, and he’s rewarded with a sleepy giggle. “Sleep now.”
“Sleep,” Harry echoes, then he yawns. “Darling. G’night.”
Louis stays awake another half hour wondering if Harry was mocking him or calling him darling. If it could be both.
Things are extremely good with Louis until everything goes to complete shit.
Harry still calls him every night on the phone sex line, but he also texts with him in the mornings and whenever a grown adult says the word Daddy at work and when Louis’s at Tesco and can’t choose a cereal. Harry’s not sure, but it feels like it might be something that people in real relationships do, and that makes it way more exciting than any conversation about corn flakes has a right to be.
On the morning of The Disaster, Harry wakes up with a serious case up morning wood.
H: wish you were working so I could take care of this
L: but you’re gonna wait for me, aren’t you
H: ha if you want me to daddy x
Louis doesn’t reply to that. Harry spends fifteen minutes staring at his phone and wondering if he’d gone too far, if he should apologize, if it’s weird to call him Daddy when they’re just friends. Is it weird to text someone about your boner when you’re just friends? Harry decides to ask Niall when he sees him later today at work. They’re both working the post-lunch shift, so they’ll mostly be serving old ladies who are hard of hearing, anyway.
“If you ever text me about your dick, I’ll kill you,” Niall says solemnly while he pushes a glass of water to Harry over the bar. Harry gulps half of it down while Niall fixes Mrs. Z’s afternoon martini. “Well, maybe if it’s like… stuck somewhere, and you need me to… call somebody else to help you get it out. That’s my upper friendship limit, mate.”
“Where the fuck would I get my dick stuck?” Harry says. “And—hey. Who would you even call?”
“Your mum, probably.”
“You’re not calling my mum to tell her about my dick.”
“Fire department, then, I don’t know.”
“They get kittens out of trees, like.” Harry wrinkles his nose. “I’m not gonna get my dick stuck in a tree.”
“Tell that to Mrs. Z.” Niall pushes the martini towards Harry. “And give her a kiss for me.”
“You’ll have to give me a kiss first.” Harry leans over the bar and puckers up his lips. Niall tries to shove an ice cube up his nose. Harry’s still sputtering a little when he heads back into the dining room and hears.
“—great to see you too, Nan, sorry it’s been so long since I’ve been able to take you out—“
Harry doesn’t know how he knows with such overwhelming certainty that that’s the voice that told him to shove his fingers in his mouth while he was fucking himself with his dildo last night. Most people sound sort of different over the phone, right? Harry can still barely recognize Zayn’s voice through the electronic filter, and he’s been a part of Harry’s life for six months. It’s been less than a month since Harry started draining his future tattoo fund to spend his evenings with that voice in his ear, but he just. He knows.
Harry tries to keep his focus on Mrs. Z and her friends while he walks the cocktail over to her table, but the people who have just walked in are sitting at one of Harry’s tables and fuck. Shortish twenty-something guy with an arm full of tattoos. Brown hair swept into a fringe. Blue eyes that meet Harry’s as the man slides into a booth across from an older woman. He smiles, shortly but kindly, and looks like every wet dream Harry has ever had. He’s absolutely positive this is Louis.
“I wish you’d quit it already with that blasted telephone,” Louis’s nan says. “I might not live much longer, you know.” And wouldn’t that make sense, that Louis’s family is sassy as hell. He has to get it from somewhere.
“Sorry, nan, it’s work.” Harry chances another glance while Mrs. Z tries to kiss him on the cheek. Probably-Louis’s face is so expressive, his fond amusement shining off him. “And don’t kid, you’re gonna live forever.”
Work, Harry thinks. He worries at his lip as he turns away and makes a beeline back for the bar. He’s got to tell Niall—
But he can’t tell Niall something without telling him everything, and Harry doesn’t think his Louis has a job other than the sex line, so maybe this is just a dreadful mistake.
Then Harry’s phone buzzes in his pocket.
“Mrs. Z ready for another already?” Niall says with a grin, oblivious to Harry’s crisis. “That’s my kind of woman, let me tell you.”
“No, that’s not—just shut up a minute.” Harry gets his phone out, glancing over his shoulder quickly to make sure no one else can see. He’s really not supposed to have it on at all, but sometimes Louis texts him during his shift. He’s sure if his boss knew the situation she’d understand.
Sure enough, there’s a text from Louis.
L: talk dirty to me
So this might be happening. Louis—Louis the star of all Harry’s sex dreams, Louis the person Harry’s been daydreaming about taking to a classy restaurant (not this place, somewhere they actually have a wine list) and getting wine-drunk and soft until he agrees to kiss Harry, Louis Harry’s Daddy—might be at the low-end Italian restaurant Harry works at for lunch with his grandmother and he might be sexting with Harry at the same time. Oh god.
Harry types out a quick response but doesn’t send it immediately. He goes into the kitchen (ignoring Niall’s cries of oy pay attention to me you wanker) and grabs water to bring to maybe-definitely-probably-we’ll-see Louis’s table. He sends the text right before he goes to Louis’s table.
H: cheeky. where are you sending me these inappropriate messages from anyway
“Thanks,” Louis says, only making brief eye contact with Harry before his phone buzzes and he looks back down at it.
“Will you turn that damn thing off?” Louis’s nan wraps her cane against the table. Louis doesn’t respond today.
“Hi, my name is—um, Ben,” Harry says, suddenly trying to make his voice deeper than it usually is, “and, um, I’ll be your server today.” Harry stares at Louis’s phone and tries to make out what he’s doing, but all he can see is that it’s a text.
“That’s be great, thanks,” Louis says to Harry, without looking up as he types out a response. “Sorry, Nan, I told you, I’m listening, I just have to take care of this thing at work. What did Mrs. Robinson say to that?”
Harry barely makes it away from the table before his phone starts buzzing. Not that it would matter if Louis noticed, Harry reminds himself. Louis has no reason to suspect that Harry is who he is.
L: If it’s so inappropriate ask me to stop
L: I’m out for lunch
L: what are you wearing ?
Harry hides back in the bar again to check his messages and his heart stops. Niall rolls his eyes.
“Are you texting your secret boyfriend or what?” Niall asks, but Harry dashes away before he can answer. He’s at work. He has to bring them the menus.
H: my work uniform
It wouldn’t matter that much if Louis did know who he was anyway, would it? It’s not like Louis’s some huge executive who would look down on him, Harry thinks. He’s just nervous. Maybe he should even tell Louis what he suspects… joke about it, just in case he’s wrong, in case he’s hallucinating on account of being too eager to see Louis in his real life. Next change he gets, Harry thinks.
“Nan, things today aren’t like what they were, I’m telling you,” Louis is saying while Harry gives them the menus. “It takes a lot more to keep your clients satisfied. I’m always on the job.”
Keep your clients satisfied.
Harry’s head spins as he ducks back into the bar. Niall doesn’t even ask what he’s up to now, even though he probably looks slightly manic. It’s not like he has any more tables now that Mrs. Z’s crowd is slowly nursing their afternoon drinks, so no one but Niall takes notice while he leans back against the wall and starts texting, glancing back at Louis over his shoulder occasionally.
L: sexy. Do you want to know what I’m wearing?
H: tell me
Harry’s hands shake. A client. He’s a client that Louis is trying to keep satisfied.
L: Jeans and a jumper haha. But I’m starkers underneath xx
L: been thinking about your little problem this morning… want daddy to make it better?
Work, Harry thinks frantically, not sure if he’s trying to convince himself or unconvince himself, this is just work for Louis, it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything that Louis’s texting him dirty things from his personal number. It doesn’t mean anything to him except that Harry’s cock stirring in his pants is business for him. For all Harry knows, it could be his work phone. For all Harry knows, Louis might not even be his real name.
H: are you trying to get me to wank off at work
L: do you not want to?
Harry falls for it, even knowing all that. Harry’s getting hard in his trousers from Louis’s teasing, no matter why he’s doing it. This is so fucked.
H: I do I just can’t
Harry goes back to the table. Louis keeps texting while Harry takes their orders, doing his best to keep his voice low and unrecognizable. Nevertheless, Louis keeps taking long looks at him—but then, Harry supposes he would look at his waiter funny if he was sporting a hard-on inches away from his face. Harry’s phone keeps vibrating right next to his dick, which is becoming an increasingly hard problem to ignore in his trousers, and he hates himself a little for getting off even on this, just the thought that Louis doesn’t care that Harry’s at work, only cares about Harry being good for him.
Harry will hate himself a lot if he ends up being good for Louis, even if Louis only cares because it’s work.
L: been thinking about how pretty you sound for me all day
L: just want to take care of you, baby, don’t want to keep you waiting
Harry doesn’t even get to the sanctuary of the bar before he’s pulling out his phone, though. He can’t wait. He’s addicted to Louis. He can’t even force himself not to respond while he waits for their drinks.
Louis texts back immediately, just as Shoshana, the other waitress on duty, goes on a smoke break so Harry can’t ask her to cover for him.
L: well my waiter’s pretty cute… sounds a bit like you… maybe /he’ll/ get off with me in the loo
Does he know?
He couldn’t, Harry thinks. Could he? Oh god. Fuck, he’s done with this. Harry decides to give the table their drinks as quickly as possible and then—fake a stomach bug or something, let Shoshana take over, because serving food to the phone sex operator he’s in love with while sporting a boner is way over his pay grade.
Harry keeps his gaze low as he returns to Louis and his nan’s table. Louis is weirdly silent as Harry puts his coke down in front of him. Maybe God is finally going to give Harry a bit of a break.
Harry turns automatically. Louis closes his phone and Harry’s buzzes in his pocket. He reaches to get it without thinking, then closes his eyes as a smile of recognition forms on Louis’s face.
Harry’s thought not an inconsiderable amount about what it would be like to meet Louis face to face. He’s got several scenarios worked out. In Harry’s mind, they’ve met at a coffee shop, a carnival, a fancy restaurant. His favorite one involves them both wearing red roses pinned to their lapels and meeting at a masquerade. Not one of them involved him sporting a boner in his loose work trousers, looking like a stupid pimply teenager. Like a client.
If there’s one good thing about being a teenager, it’s that no one expects Harry to be able to handle any serious shit. Harry does not disappoint in this way. He turns and marches immediately to the bathroom, locking himself in a cubicle and leaning his head against the wall, breathing hard and waiting for his heart to stop feeling like it’s going to pound out of his chest. Preferably because he’s died and will never need to face anyone in this restaurant again.
Fate is not on his side, though, it seems. His phone keeps buzzing, and he can ignore that, instead replaying the words it’s just work it’s just work it’s just work in Louis’s voice in his head over and over (how could I be so stupid stupid stupid), but he can’t ignore when the door to the men’s room swings open and someone says, “Harry?”
It’s Louis. Fuck. Harry groans and fists his hands in his hair and wonders if Louis would still recognize him if he yanked it all out.
“Is that you, Harry?”
There’s silence for a minute. Harry thinks Louis might have given up on him, but then his phone buzzes in his pocket and he finally digs it out.
L: are you freaked?
L: talk to me please?
Harry doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound, until he hears a sigh, a bang like Louis’s kicked something, and the bathroom door swinging open and shut again.
Harry waits a good twenty minutes more in the loo, waiting for his boner to go away (which takes an annoyingly long time, in spite of his public humiliation, fuck his kinky subconscious to hell, honestly) frantically texting Niall. Eventually, Niall assures him that he’s made up an excuse for their boss, and that Louis and his nan have left. He then waits a few minutes more, staring at himself in the mirror and adjusting his fringe so that it covers the big pimple on his forehead. Just work, he thinks as he heads back into the dining room, his phone turned off in his pocket.
“I can’t believe that you’re the reason Harry’s barely gone out in a month. Zayn and I just thought he finally bought a vibrator.”
Louis takes a drag of his cigarette. If it were anyone else, he’d inform Niall that that was, in fact, no small part of what happened, but. What he and Harry had is private.
That’s why he’s completely miserable now that it seems to be gone. This is the second night in a row he's been third wheel with Zayn and Niall, and normally that'd mean he'd be pissed enough to get anything off his mind, but Harry just won't go away.
“I can’t believe you put him on the phone with me as a joke," Louis sighs. "I run a serious business, you know.”
“Serious like a heart attack,” Niall says, nodding. “I think he’s gone into some kind of withdrawal, mate. Have you got some kind of hypnotic power over his dick?”
“I wish,” Louis sighs. “Maybe then he’s answer any of my dozens of messages begging him to talk to me again. I don’t even know what I did to make him so angry at me!”
Niall takes a deep drag from his cigarette and then drops it, grinding it into the ground with his heel. “You didn’t hear this from me,” he says, looking over his shoulder back at the door of the pub, whence Zayn will emerge momentarily and insist that they talk about some other fucking thing for a change. “But he’s angrier at himself, mate. He’s got it in his head that he let himself get too attached, think you two might end up as something more, when it was all just a job to you.”
“That’s—“ Louis starts shouting, drawing the attention of passersby. He might be a little too drunk. Oh well, he’s broken-hearted. Let the people stare. “Bollocks.” Louis kicks at the ground. “Of course I cared about him. Yeah, it’s my fucking job, but that doesn’t mean I’m immune to his charm and his eagerness and his—“
“Do not tell me anything about my best friend in bed,” Niall says firmly. “I dunno, mate. He’s still angry I didn’t tell him the phone sex guy was Zayn’s roommate, but he’ll get over it once he calms down and realizes I’m the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to him. All you can hope for is that he’ll grant you second, I reckon.”
Zayn comes out and Louis stomps out his cigarette. Fortunately, he’s not quite coordinated enough to text Harry you’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me before Zayn and Niall link arms on either side of him and drag him off to the next pub.
It’s been a week and Louis has finally cut back to one pining text a day by the time Harry calls him while he’s at work, squeaking out hi while obviously in the middle of jacking himself off.
“Harry.” Louis gets up off the couch and goes into his room, leaning against the door and trying to keep himself from getting distracted by the sound of Harry fucking his wet hand. God, Louis has missed Harry’s sounds in his ear. “I’ve been trying to—“
“Can we just—“ Harry cuts off, slowing the rhythm of his hand to match the pace of his speech. “I just want to get off, please.” He sounds small and desperate and Louis might be in love with him, actually.
“Okay,” Louis whispers. Then he clears his throat and cups his semi through his trackies. “Okay, we—I want to talk to you, but.” Louis exhales and palms himself roughly. Even now, the thought of not getting off with Harry panting like this for him is just unthinkable. “Where are you?”
“Already close,” Harry whimpers, and then—then there’s a wet sound, like Harry sucking precome off his fingers, god. “Always get so hard and so close when I’m thinking about you, come over and over but it’s not—fucking—enough.” Harry starts tugging at his cock again roughly, whining deep in his throat like he’s being denied something that Louis’s been trying to give him for ages.
Louis closes his eyes and takes his cock out. He’s already fully hard—he’s been imagining this every time he’s gotten off for the past week, not to mention the past month. “Need me to make it good, baby?” he says roughly.
Harry keens and hums mhmmmm. Then he pants for a minute and mumbles, “‘M not a baby.”
Louis starts to jerk himself off in time to Harry’s little uh sounds and grits his teeth as the pleasure threatens to overwhelm his focus. “But you’re my baby.”
Harry makes a soft sound and licks his lips. “Baby,” Louis repeats, and starts jerking himself faster to match Harry’s redoubled efforts. “Sound so good, you’ve already got me so hard, wish you could feel me, baby.” Harry whimpers and Louis’s insides churn because Harry wants him, Harry wants him, Harry can’t stop thinking about him and surely they can make the rest of it work, then, if Harry wants Louis a fraction as much as Louis wants him like this. “Can you come, for me? Want to hear my boy come for me.”
Sometimes Harry comes with a whimper, sometimes with a shout; this time, it’s more of a desperate cry. Louis hears him keep pumping himself through it and fucks his own hips up into his fist a few times more. He’s not too far from coming himself—of course hearing Harry’s voice again would get him there—but he stops stroking his cock as soon as he hears Harry sputter through the aftershocks.
“Thank you,” Louis says quietly. With his hand still and Harry no longer sniffling, there’s silence.
“Sorry.” Harry’s voice cracks and he clears his throat. “I shouldn’t have—like. I’m just a kid, right? Just a dumb teenage client who works a dumb teenage job and is desperate to get off. I’ll leave you alone now.”
Louis drops his cock from his hand, squeezing it into a fist and shaking his head. “I’ve been trying to call you for a week, Harry,” he says, “I don’t want you to leave me al—“
Dial tone. Louis throws the phone down on the bed curses to himself and his angry red cock. Dumb teenage clients and their dumb teenage jobs is right. If he'd chosen any other restaurant to bring his nan to that day, they wouldn't be in this mess.
On the other hand, though...
Louis smiles as he picks up with his next client, already picking out what he's going to wear.
Harry knows something is up when Niall tells him to wear a headband to work.
“You’ve spent literally half of the time I’ve known you asking me what that mess on my head was about,” Harry says as he looks into his closet and stares at the little pile of scarves on the shelf. “In fact, you asked me about it yesterday and laughed your arse off even though I haven’t worn it in a month. What are you up to?”
“Zayn has taught me the error of my ways,” Niall says solemnly. “Wore one in bed last night and I get it now. I’ve reformed.”
“I’m not gonna suck your dick just because you like my headband, Niall.” Harry picks up a scarf from the closet anyway, a nice black and purple ombre one. “That was a one-time thing.”
“I’m gutted, really,” Niall deadpans. “Only one way to make it up to me. Wear the damn scarf in your hair. That blue and pink one that’s your favorite.”
Harry drops the scarf in his hand. “How on earth do you know that?” The only person Harry ever remembers discussing his scarf preferences with is Louis, on one of the nights he’d convinced himself Louis cared about more than emptying his wallet. He hasn’t been in much of a mood for feeling pretty since then.
“You, uh, told me.” Harry frowns but Niall continues quickly. “Look, mate, I know you’ve been feeling like shit lately, I just think you need to do something for yourself that’ll cheer you up, you know?”
Harry sighs. “I swear to god, if you give me shit about this…”
“No shit-giving,” Niall swears. “If anybody gives you any shit, I’ll suck your dick, how’s that?”
“Tempting.” Harry ties the scarf into his hair. “See you in a bit.”
It only gets weirder when Harry gets to work. Niall is constantly on his phone. He’s so distracted that he gives Harry the wrong drink three times in a row, the likes of which has not happened since the week he and Zayn got together and Zayn was sending him a dick pic every hour or so. When Niall does pay attention to Harry, he spends a long time scrutinizing Harry’s outfit—a ridiculously long time, given that it’s the same black shirt and trousers he wears to work every day.
“Shouldn’t you be wearing something with a collar?” Niall says, frowning at Harry’s shirt. “Isn’t this a classier establishment than that?”
Harry raises his eyebrows. “You didn’t wear shoes for a full week until Lydia caught you.”
“Nobody sees my feet, though,” Niall says, waving his hand. “At least, nobody important.” He cocks his head and looks over Harry’s outfit once more before turning back to his phone.
Whatever. Harry’s always known Niall’s a bit of a weirdo, but he’s chosen to remain friends with him anyway, so he agrees to stay a while after his shift while Niall covers for the evening barkeeper, who’s running late. Still, Niall starts acting even weirder, visibly fidgeting and constantly offering Harry breath mints.
“When are you going to tell me why you’re acting so weird?” Harry asks, swirling around in the bar chair after refusing the fifth mint. “Is my breath that bad?”
“‘M always a bit weird, aren’t I?” Niall’s obviously looking at someone over Harry’s shoulder while he speaks. “Quirky Niall! That’s me!”
Harry turns to look over his shoulder and Niall suddenly takes both of Harry’s hands into his.
“Harry,” Niall says. His voice suddenly takes on a very serious tone, though he still sounds slightly hysterical. “I just want you to know that I really, really love you mate.”
“Love you too, mate.” Harry frowns down at their enjoined hands. “Is, er… is something wrong with Zayn?”
“Nothing’s wrong with Zayn.” Niall drops Harry’s hand and takes a step back, putting a hand to his hair. “Wait, do you think something’s wrong with Zayn? Why would you ask me if something’s wrong with Zayn?”
“Because you’re acting like either you’re dying or you want me to suck your dick.”
“I don’t.” Niall huffs and steps back forward, resting his hand on top of Harry’s again. “I just want you to know that I’d support you no matter what, yeah? Even if you wasted several hundred pounds paying a sex line operator to get you off when if you were really that desperate, mate, Zayn would’ve said yes to the threesome.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry mumbles. He eyes the scotch on the counter and decides he should really make Niall buy him a drink. “You know, for the next time I let someone break my heart.”
Niall makes a noise like a dying cat. He’s looking over Harry’s shoulder again, and just as Harry turns to see what the fuck he is looking at, Niall shouts, “Commence stage three!”
The first thing Harry sees is Zayn jogging towards the bar like he’s escaping the scene of a crime. He ducks behind the bar and kisses Niall on the temple, and Harry’s about to ask what the fuck is going on when he turns back to see what Zayn was running from and sees an elaborately set table in the window niche, four times fancier than any other table in the restaurant, with a light blue tablecloth that matches the color of Harry’s scarf, little pink tealights scattered all around the table, a bouquet of fresh flowers in the middle, and Louis sitting on the far side, wearing a blazer over his fitted band shirt and fiddling with his perfectly-styled fringe nervously, staring at Harry.
Who marches directly over and kicks him in the shin.
“Fuck, you’ll do anything to keep a client, won’t you,” Harry hisses. “I work here.”
Louis doesn’t bristle. He barely even winces as he rubs at his shin. He shakes his head. “You’re not just a client to me, Harry,” he says evenly.
“Why?” Harry throws up his hands and switches from whisper-shouting to speaking in a hushed tone, hands shaking as he glances between the elaborate table and the rest of the restaurant. People are staring. Fucking let them, Harry thinks. He's let Louis fuck him over often enough in the privacy of his own bedroom, they might as well have the fallout in public. “What’s so special about me? You must talk to hundreds of people every week.” Louis laughs loudly and rolls his eyes. “Well, whatever, a lot of people. Not to mention how you look like the literal god of sex and pretty much anyone in this restaurant would spread their legs for you.” Louis glances around and snorts. It’s not really attractive, but Harry would still suck Louis’s dick this very second, which he figures only adds to his point. “Why on earth would you pick somebody like me?”
Louis waits for a moment to see if Harry is done ranting. Harry takes a step back from the table and tries not to let Louis see his hands shaking when Louis says, “You’re sweet.”
Harry rolls his eyes. Please. “You are,” Louis insists. He looks like he’s trying not to get up and shake Harry by the shoulders. “You’re kind and you’re funny and you’re a huge dork but you own it and—and you always say thank you after you come.” Louis lets out a strangled laugh. “I like you a lot, Harry, and I’d like to get to know you better, without anybody paying for it.” He pauses. “Well, I’ll pay for the meal. Reckon I owe you a couple hundred quid by now.”
Harry takes a few deep breaths before answering. He can barely think anything except I’m going to kill Niall and look at his fucking thighs in those jeans, this is way too good to really be true. “Isn’t that what everybody does?” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Grunt thanks and leave?”
“I don’t want you to leave,” Louis says. Harry looks down at his feet and shakes his head slightly in disbelief. “No, Harry, really—think whatever you want about me, but don’t think for a second that if you leave this table I’m not going to break this vase over my head and wallow here in my sorrow until they drag me out by the hair. I don’t want you to leave.”
Harry chews on his lip and considers the flowers in the vase on the table. It’s a rather lovely collection of pink and orange plumerias. His shoulders slacken a bit. It’d be a shame for them to go to waste—especially all over the even lovelier man wringing his hands across the table.
Harry sits down. “Okay.” Louis sits up straighter than he ever has, so that his eyeline is level with Harry’s. Harry takes a deep breath and looks around, taking in the ambiance of the restaurant as a date setting and not just work. Candles and flowers notwithstanding, it’s not ideal, but… it’s where they are.
Harry catches Niall and Zayn staring at them from the bar. Niall gives him a thumbs-up and Harry gives him a middle finger before adjusting his headscarf and turning back to Louis. “Okay,” he says again, his mouth curling into a smile that mirrors the one he sees breaking over Louis’s face. “I’m not leaving. Make it worth my while.”
Louis throws his own middle finger up at Zayn and Niall, whose giggles Harry can hear from half a room away. “I fully intend to,” Louis says, and takes Harry’s hand in his.
They’re shitty conversationalists for the evening, since both of them keep stopping in the middle of sentences to giggle and stare and rub circles into each other’s thumbs, but Harry doesn’t leave. Not when Louis knocks over the water pitcher while leaning over the table to give him a tentative first kiss. Not when Louis has to pause in the middle of their relationship talk to yell at his boss on the phone about taking the night off. Not even the next morning, when he wakes up next to Louis hours before Louis stirs from his sleep. He drapes Louis’s arm over his waist and curls up into the heat of his body and stays.
Two years later
“It’s a pilot program, babe. The company’s considering targeting female clients. I’m getting paid triple.”
Harry frowns at Louis and walks his fingers up his thigh. “But it’s our night.”
“Every night is our night.” Louis places his hand over where Harry’s is resting on his stomach. “That was kinda the point of you moving in with me.”
Harry wraps his arm tighter around Louis’s torso. “I like it like that. ’S why I said I’d move in with you in the first place.”
“You moved in with me because you’re madly in love with me,” Louis points out. Harry can’t argue with that, really, but Louis’s also madly in love with him, so he fixes him with his best pout.
Louis glances over his shoulder and laughs. “Stop making that face, you look like you’re having a stroke.”
Harry sighs, his face softening. “I also moved in with you for the sex.”
“I’m sure it won’t take that long.” Louis flips over to face Harry and threads his fingers through Harry’s hair. “And we can play afterwards, all right? Whatever you want.”
“I always get whatever I want,” Harry points out, which isn’t strictly true—even now that Louis doesn’t have a financial incentive to keep him from coming as long as possible, he still likes to tease Harry longer than Harry would ever be able to imagine doing to himself. Harry wouldn’t have it any other way, though. Louis sits up and sighs, continuing to play with Harry’s hair.
“It’s just a job, Harry.”
“You weren’t saying that when you made me spank myself on the job.” Harry wrinkles his nose. “Takes a lot out of the shoulder, y’know.”
“That’s because I fell in love with you the moment I heard you say, um, hi?” Louis bops Harry on the nose and Harry scrunches up his face. “Which I doubt will happen with the woman I’m scheduled for a call with in five minutes.”
“You never know.” Harry crosses his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrows. He knows he’s being ridiculous. Louis knows too. He chortles.
“Good thing I’ve got my anchor here with me then, hmm?” Louis traces over Harry’s wrists lightly. “Keep me grounded?”
Harry doesn’t say anything. Louis’s right, of course. It happens slightly more often than Harry would like. Just his luck, falling in love with the most sensible sex line operator who also has given his real name and number out to clients.
“Babe.” Louis sighs. “You know this isn’t forever.”
Harry waits a moment, then nods. “We’re forever,” he says quietly. It’s something they’ve always said, but it’s starting to mean more, lately, as evidenced by the way Louis’s face lights up.
“Yeah,” Louis whispers, and kisses Harry sweetly, sucking on his lower lip but pulling away when Harry starts to open into it. “Listen, if you’re really—“
“No,” Harry says firmly. He rubs his temples and grins up at Louis. “No, I’m just being an idiot. Take the call. And afterwards tie me up and ride me with a vibrator in my arse.”
“Anything for my baby,” Louis coos. He gets his phone from the side table, then runs his hand down Harry’s side. “Stay and cuddle?”
Harry doesn’t usually just sit around and watch while Louis’s working. That would be pretty weird, regardless of what his job was. (Well. There was that one time Louis tied him to a chair and put a vibrating plug in Harry’s arse while Louis went about unpacking boxes, but that was a special occasion.) Usually he goes out with his friends or sits on their bed writing songs while Louis’s out fake-moaning for his clients. Now that he knows what Louis really sounds like, he’s not too bothered by it—except for the occasional twist in his gut when Louis goes a little breathless.
He’s nineteen now, though, and as a grown-ass adult he’s capable of dealing with his jealousy when it crops up without throwing a fit. It’s made significantly easier by how Louis is so in love with him that he keeps trying to bring him breakfast in bed even though he keeps burning himself making pancakes.
Still, it’s a bit awkward when Louis finally answers the phone while he’s wrapped up in Harry’s arms.
“Hey baby, what’s your name?”
Harry pulls Louis against him as his little spoon while Louis sinks into his phone persona and nuzzles his nose against Louis’s free ear, letting Louis’s scent overwhelm him.
“Well, Ronnie, what are you wearing?”
Right to the point then. Harry huffs a little, tucks his chin over Louis’s shoulder, and rubs circles into his hip. Louis doesn’t pull away this time, like he usually does, rolling his eyes and mouthing Hazza I’m working. This time, he actually leans back into Harry’s touch. It’s just one call, Harry thinks. Then he has his Louis back.
“I’d like to get my hands on that lace,” Louis says into the phone. “Feel how wet you are for me through your panties.”
As soon as Louis says the word lace, Harry’s mood brightens immediately. He shoots up and out of bed. Louis makes a small displeased sound that the woman on the other end of the line probably thinks is a moan for her, and that’s half of why Harry’s smiling as he roots through the sock drawer until his fingers brush over fine silky material.
There’s something like half a dozen panties stowed away in that drawer. Harry’s favorite pair is actually a white cotton number with pink polka dots that his cock just barely peeks out of when he’s fully hard. But Louis’s favorite is this red lace pair that he says makes Harry’s arse look good enough to eat. Harry’s intention is to get him to do exactly that.
“Touch yourself for me.” Louis speaks into the phone but his eyes are on Harry. Harry obeys immediately, pushing his briefs off his hips and circling his cock with his hand while he shimmies out of them. God, Louis gets him so fucking hard. Louis’s attention shifts from Harry back to the phone when Harry ducks down to step out of his briefs, and that just will not do.
“Yeah, I wanna hear you,” Louis says as Harry pulls the panties up around his thighs. They feel cool against Harry’s flushed skin and Harry lets out a little half-whimper that has Louis’s eyes dart towards him in alarm more than anything. He puts a finger to his lips and Harry nods. It’s one thing to actually get off while you’re with a client, like Louis did with Harry—that’s arguably what the client expects, anyway. It’s quite another thing to hear the person you’re paying to focus on getting you off be with somebody else.
Harry figures he’ll just have to make Louis do the whimpering, then.
He pulls the panties up around his hips and takes his time tucking his cock to the side in them, closing his eyes and relishing the feel of the silk around him.
“Yeah, get yourself all worked up for me,” Louis says. “Fuck, you’re getting me so hard.” Harry bites his lip while he thumbs over the head of his cock through the panties. Usually that’d be an outright lie, but Louis really is sporting a semi now as he keeps glancing between Harry and the ceiling, drumming his fingers on his thigh in something like anxiety.
Harry doesn’t have that much time to effect his plan—Louis’s clients usually don’t stay on the phone with him half as long as Harry did, as Harry was slightly embarrassed to find out before Louis assured him that taking longer than three minutes to finish was a good thing—but since this is a woman, not some grumpy old man who just wants a voice in his ear while he comes, maybe she’ll have a bit more discerning taste. Take advantage of everything Louis really has to offer.
Of course, actually thinking about the woman on the other end of the line makes Harry bristle a bit. “So wet, I can hear how wet you are.” Harry imagines the woman lying spreadeagle on a bed, fucking herself on three fingers while fumbling to keep the phone held against her ear, just like Harry used to do. He blurts out a little precome at the memory, just remembering how desperate he was for any scrap of Louis he could get.
How desperate he still is, really. He tugs on Louis’s arm until he’s sitting upright. Harry climbs on top of him, straddling Louis’s lap with his legs spread out wide, his cock just barely brushing against Louis’s through the thin silk of Harry’s panties and the thick cotton of Louis’s trackies.
“Yeah? You want to suck me?” Harry nods vigorously, his hands tracing over the lines of Louis’s shoulders and searching his face for recognition, for permission that, for a moment, just doesn’t come, Louis’s focus on his client. That gets to Harry more than it maybe should—Louis just ignoring Harry while Harry is hard and waiting in his lap, wearing the panties Louis picked out for him, makes Harry feel wanton and slutty, makes him want nothing more than to drop to his knees for Louis. The only thing he wants more is to stay like this, rocking his silk-clad cock up against Louis’s thigh like he can’t help himself until Louis gives him permission.
“That’s right,” Louis says, his eyes sliding into focus with Harry’s at last, “I want to hear you choke yourself on my cock.” His eyes are dark and commanding. Harry whimpers a little even before Louis gives him a curt little nod that sends Harry scrambling down to his knees. He tries to push Louis’s legs apart and pull down his trackies at the same time, all while licking his lips and keeping his gaze fixed on Louis’s face, but he only manages to get a faceful of Louis’s trackies until Louis takes pity on him and lifts his hips up enough for Harry to pull them down, revealing Louis’s cock, red and thick with just a hint of precome peeking out the tip. Harry licks over it immediately, humming loudly in satisfaction and suckling on Louis’s head greedily until Louis tugs on his hair harshly.
Without pulling Harry’s head off his cock, Louis shushes him with a finger. Harry can’t nod with Louis’s cock in his mouth, so instead he moves to take several inches more of him at once. This time, it’s Louis that lets out a little grunt.
It took Harry weeks of gagging on bananas until he was able to relax his throat enough to deepthroat Louis, but it was worth every taunt from Niall for the satisfied hum Louis lets out when Harry’s nose settles against his pubic hair, Louis’s heavy and hot cock on his tongue overwhelming all his senses. “Good girl,” Louis says, scratching behind Harry’s ear. Harry figures that that should make him jealous, remind him that Louis’s not really talking to him, but—Louis is talking to him, he’s talking to both of them. Harry is his good girl, Harry is his everything, and all Harry can do to show him that Louis is his everything too is bob his head and swirl his tongue around the underside of his cock..
Louis recognizes his efforts by tugging on his hair. “Want me to fuck your throat?”
Harry digs his fingers into Louis’s thighs to say please while the woman on the phone moans loud enough for Harry to hear clearly, even with his focus somewhat compromised by the cock nudging the back of his throat. Louis holds Harry’s head still with one hand and fucks into him while Harry sputters and balls his hands into fists so that he doesn’t scream it out, yes yes yes.
“You want me to come on your face?” Louis says, and it takes everything Harry has not to moan. He pushes himself even farther down Louis’s cock, so that he has to close his tearing eyes for a moment. He tries not to choke when Louis says, “Mark you all up, my come all over your pretty lips and flushed cheeks, so everyone will know you’re mine.”
Harry lets out the tiniest of whimpers. Louis fucks into his throat against harshly once more before grunting. “Fuck, ‘m close. You ready for my come?”
Harry keeps his lips parted slightly as he nods up at Louis, not breaking eye contact as Louis pulls out of his mouth and starts jerking wildly over Harry’s face. Louis stares down at him and whispers perfect before he comes in short spurts over Harry’s face, coating his lips and striping up his cheek, over one of his daintily closed eyes, reaching all the way up to his fringe.
“Yeah,” Louis breathes in the aftermath of his orgasm. His hand shakes slightly as he fists his free hand back in Harry’s hair, keeping his come-covered face upturned and on display for him. “Yeah, come for me, make yourself come for me.” He tightens his hand in Harry’s hair and Harry knows this command isn’t for him. These days it takes a lot more than a blowjob for Harry to earn his orgasm. And, as tempting as it is to just rub off on Louis’s calf through his silky panties, Harry knows nothing in the world feels as good to him as earning it.
“No, thank you, babe,” Louis says into the phone. He finally lets go of Harry’s hair and swipes up the come on Harry’s cheek with his thumb, pushing it into Harry’s mouth. Harry suckles obediently, blinking his eyes open again and staring up at Louis while Louis focuses his attention back on the caller. “The pleasure was all mine. Hope I’ll hear from you again.”
When Louis hangs up, Harry lets out a loud whimper, glancing down at his cock before looking up at Louis again with pleading eyes.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Louis curls his finger around the bit of Harry’s hair covered with his come, then puts it to his own mouth and tastes it.
“No.” Harry’s voice is completely wrecked. Louis sounds—cheerful. Not like he’s about to make Harry come. Harry swallows and smiles up at him placidly. “Thank you, Daddy.”
“I’ll even tie you up, still, like I promised,” Louis says. He tugs Harry up onto the bed, jostling Harry’s cock where it’s pulling tight at the panties. Harry whimpers and Louis kisses him on the forehead. “But first,” Louis says seriously, standing up and kissing Harry again, this time a peck on the lips, “I’m gonna make us some tea.”
Harry grins dopily as Louis pulls on a pair of Harry’s briefs as he heads out to the kitchen (“Zayn and Niall get enough of a free show from us these days”). Miraculously, he might be fonder than he is horny. He falls back onto their bed with a sigh. For someone with a painful hard-on and come sticking in his hair, who’s probably less than halfway through a sex marathon, he feels incredibly satisfied.
He’s ready to call this a success. Not Louis’s pilot program, necessarily, but… all of this. The apartment, the panties, the boyfriend, everything. He’ll save up enough money for tattoos again someday. Louis was worth every pence.