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Harry can’t keep his hand out of his pocket. Fucking reckless, he knows, because the line of it shows through his suit trousers, expensive and perfectly-tailored. But Harry’s hand is in his pocket anyway, despite the camera phones and the paps hundreds of metres away with long lenses, the relatives and the family and oh good, his Mum is over there talking to Niall, as Harry fiddles with the item in his pocket.

It belongs to Louis.

Well, both of them, really, but Louis wears it, so that makes it Louis’, doesn’t it? But then again, it was Harry who bought it. But he bought it for Louis. Harry ponders the ownership problem for a moment, and only realises he’s staring when Niall elbows him rather sharply in the ribs.

“Heeeey!”

“You’re staring again,” Niall says, grinning.

“Nobody can tell,” Harry says, pushing his sunglasses higher up on his nose. He looks away, though. See, the problem is that Louis looks so damn good in his wedding suit. Double-breasted jackets should be illegal, he thinks darkly. And in a completely unsurprising display of cheek, Louis is wearing their shirt, though Harry’s pretty sure this is a new version, seeing as Louis’ was destroyed in an unfortunate kitchen sex accident a year ago.  His suit is a shade that Harry can’t name, not-quite-navy but with enough not-quite-royal-blue that Harry’s almost glad Louis’ ridiculous blue eyes are hidden behind sunglasses. He looks delicious.

He’s tense, though, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Harry knows he’s done everything he can to make his Mum’s big day perfect - as far as Jay’s concerned, this is finally her happy ever after, and Louis has thrown all he can at the task of trying to make her day a fairytale. Harry frowns. Louis should be enjoying the day, but instead he’s watching the servers, checking on his little sisters every five minutes, glancing at the paparazzi and smiling every time someone brings out their phone - as if they might take a sneaky photo any moment.

Harry slips own his phone out, sends off a text that’s only three letters: now.

A whole ten feet away, Louis fishes his phone out of his jacket pocket. His eyes are hidden by those damn sunglasses, but he bites his lip, head darting towards Harry before quickly looking away, not a split-second later. Harry grins. He watches as Louis makes his excuses, wearing his way through family members and heading back towards the hotel. 

Harry gives it another few minutes before he follows, ambling back toward the hotel as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. He crosses Paul’s path on the way.

“Y’alright?”

Harry refuses to blush under the Irishman’s scrutiny. “Yeah,” he says. “Just forgot something in my room.” It’s a piss-weak excuse, and Paul looks too knowing - he’s pretty practiced at keeping an eye on them all by now, and Harry doesn’t doubt that he saw Louis heading back across the grass a few minutes earlier.

“Right,” Paul says, sounding skeptical, but he relaxes. It’s a day off, after all, and the paps are two hundred metres away at the edge of the property - the hotel staff have all signed NDAs for Jay and Dan’s benefit. “Well, H, hope you find whatever it is.”

“I have a pretty good idea where it is,” Harry says, resisting the urge to stick his hand back in his pocket.

“I’m sure you do,” Paul says drily.

Harry grins, and heads inside.

The staff at the venue are excellent (excellently paid, too, Harry imagines) and the only person to react when Harry enters the lobby is a young, pretty receptionist. She catches Harry’s eye as he’s removing his sunglasses, and quickly looks away, going red. Harry smiles to himself. She’ll do nicely.

“Hi,” he says, setting his sunglasses on the front desk.

“Hi,” she says, and to her credit, her voice is even and as close to professional as could be expected.

Harry gives her his best boy-next-door-charm. “I was wondering if you could help me? I need you to point me in the direction of catering.”

“Catering, sir?”

“Yes please.” Harry doesn’t offer any further explanation, and she points him to a hallway on the left, just before the main stairs. “Thanks, love.”

‘Catering’ is a room full of busy servers, a bustling kitchen beyond. It doesn’t take more than a moment to catch the attention of the staff and get what he needs.

The hotel is charming, a beautiful country house that’s a marked difference from the million hotels Harry’s stayed in. He makes his way to the room he knows is Louis’ - the whole hotel is Louis’, really, he’d made sure that his Mum and Jay could book the entire venue to ensure as much privacy as possible - a tasteful “deluxe room.” Harry’s not sure what makes it “deluxe,” but he’s grateful for the big bed with its solid oak bedposts and white canopy. He has plans for those bedposts.

Even the doors are beautiful, white with gold trim and old-fashioned handles, a sleek, unobtrusive card-reader. Harry’s unsurprised, though, when none of that is necessary, and the door opens under his touch. He enters quickly, just in case, sets his stuff down and locks the door. It wouldn’t do to be interrupted - not during this.

Harry steps further into the room, noting the careful way that handsome blue suit is folded over a chair, Louis’ briefs and socks resting on top. Harry grins to himself. Louis is the messiest person he’s ever known, but when they do this, when Louis is good for Harry, he’s neat, hospital-grade corners on the bed and retail-worthy clothes folding. He even sits neatly, kneeling beside the bed, feet flat underneath him and pert little bum resting on his heels. His hands are resting on his thighs, but his fingers are curled, and it’s a good indication that he’s ever bit as tense as Harry thought him to be - that he needs this.

“You look so pretty like that, love,” Harry says, tone affectionate. They’ve learned through trial and error that when Louis is tense - truly tense, when he needs help to be taken out of his head for a while the way only Harry can - that he doesn’t respond well to a harsh tone. It only winds him up more, makes him overthink his actions instead of just obeying, giving in and letting Harry be in charge.

The fingers of Louis’ left hand twitch, uncurling slightly at the praise, but he doesn’t look up.

“Such a good boy for me,” Harry says, pulling off his scarf and taking off his jacket. He lays them carefully over another armchair. “You did such a good job out there today, pet. Everyone is having a great time.”

It wouldn’t necessarily be visible to anyone else, but Harry can see the way Louis’ starts to relax, spine already not as rigid.

“I’m going to give you what you need, Lou, I promise, but first I want you to do something for me. Okay?”

“Okay,” Louis repeats, voice quiet, and Harry can see his frown, the way his fingers curl into a fist again. He’s obviously fighting the need to go under, to slip down into the space in his head he calls “floaty, cloudy gold.”

“Fetch the lube for me,” Harry says, sitting on the edge of the bed, and watches as Louis takes a moment to make sure there’s no more instructions about to follow, before he gets to his feet. It’s not a very smooth movement, and it shows just how much he’s still over-thinking things. Louis disappears into the bathroom for a moment, and there’s the sound of a drawer opening and closing before he returns, little plastic bottle clenched so tightly in his hand Harry almost worries it’s going to burst. He kneels back down just a foot from the bed, in between Harry’s spread legs.

“Thankyou,” Harry says, taking the bottle from his hand. He drops it on the bed, unimportant for now, and lifts Louis’ chin, instead. Louis moves easily, but his eyes stay lowered, embarrassed. Harry thinks he knows he should be more relaxed than he is.

“Look at me,” Harry says, and it’s gentle, but it’s an order nonetheless. Louis’ eyes meet his hesitantly, and Harry smiles, rubs his thumb along Louis’ cheekbone. “Such a good boy,” he says, feels the skin heat under the pad of his thumb. He knows Louis doesn’t believe it, not yet, but Harry’s grip reassuringly firm on his chin, supporting his head, he’s starting to relax. “On your feet, pet.”

This time, when Louis gets to his feet, he’s much more graceful. His cock is showing interest in the proceedings, starting to flush with blood. He’s not far away from semi-hard, Harry knows. “Very good,” Harry says, brushing his hand over Louis’ hip. It’s important, the combination of praise and touch - Louis needs to feel safe before he can let go. He needs to be reassured that Harry is there to catch him when he falls.

“Over by the window, I think,” Harry says, thumb rubbing at a hipbone that’s more pronounced than it has been in previous years. “Hands on the sill, facing the window, bent with your feet shoulder width apart.”

Louis moves, slow and sinuous in the way he only gets under clear instructions, a definite task to be completed, a purpose to fulfil. He stops two feet from the window and bends from the waist, leaning heavily on his hands, cupped around the edge of the windowsill. Harry realises his mistake. If Louis stays like that for a prolonged period of time, it’s going to leaving his wrists aching, and that’s not the point of this. If he moves his hands to rest flat on the sill, it’ll be the same problem. Harry bites his lip, considering. The window sill is wide enough for someone to sit on, so it could work.

“That’s a pretty sight,” Harry says, choosing his words carefully as he crosses the room. Louis hasn’t made a mistake, Harry has. “But I think I’ll have you on your elbows, love. Forearms flat on the sill. You can shuffle closer if you have to.” Louis takes a half-step closer to the window. He sucks in a breath as he moves, clearly aware of just how close he is to the window as he settles on his forearms. They’re not facing the reception, not really, and there’s trees outside mature enough to be at the level of the second floor window, but anyone walking on the grass could look up and see them - well, they could see Louis, and he knows it, knows how reckless they're being.

“Very nice,” Harry says, palming Louis’ pert arse with his left hand. He sets the lube down next to Louis’ right arm. “Do you know what’s in my pocket, Lou?"

“Yes,” Louis says.

If this were another day, if they were at home, if Louis wasn’t so tense, Harry might tease him, ask him are you sure? But they’re here, up against a window at his mother’s bloody wedding reception, and the line of Louis’ back is stiff.

“I’m sure someone out there got a good picture of it ruining the line of my trousers,” Harry says, tracing the length of that tense spine with his fingertips. “But they don’t know who it’s for, do they. Who’s it for, Lou?”

“Me,” Louis says, and shudders under the touch, head dropping to rest on his chest.

“That’s right,” Harry says, retrieving the item from his pocket. “It’s time you got it back.” 

It’s not much, small and easily mistaken for a hair tie in shape. It’s somewhat thicker, though, the black silicone ring that’s warm from being pressed against his body. Harry moves so he’s flush up against Louis’ arse, reaching around him to grasp his cock. Louis gasps at the touch, cock half-hard in Harry’s grip.

“Shhh,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to Louis’ back. His hands move by touch, left hand cradling Louis’ balls, rolling them in his palm so first one, then the other, are inside the silicone ring. His touch is as clinical as he can make it - the less aroused Louis is when the cock ring is put on, the less uncomfortable he’ll be. Spreading his fingers wide to stretch it out, Harry takes Louis’ cock, hot and rapidly hardening in his hand and tucks it through the silicone ring. He tugs it into place gently, slipping his fingers out of the ring so it doesn’t snap back like a rubber band against sensitive skin. Louis exhales in a grateful sigh, shoulders relaxing another tiny bit.

“Thankyou,” Louis says, voice quiet.

Harry kisses his shoulder. “You’re welcome. Lift your head up for me, baby. I want you to look out the window for me - can you do that?”

“Yes, Harry,” Louis says, and raises his head obediently, in time to see Harry pick up the lube from the windowsill. He shivers in anticipation.

“Good boy,” Harry says, slicking the fingers of his right hand. His touch is gentle as he traces the pucker of Louis’ rim with one finger, caressing the muscle and coaxing it open. He repeats the motion, round and round in circles, teasing the tip of his fingers inside as he rubs. Louis takes deep breaths, and when Harry reaches around to check, he can feel that Louis is almost fully hard - about as hard as he can get with the cock ring on.

He plunges two fingers in, past the eager muscle that only puts up a token resistance, fluttering around his fingers as Harry works them inside. He scissors his fingers, working to stretch the rim of Louis’ pretty hole open. He thrusts his fingers in and out, stroking Louis’ hard cock at the same time as he touches Louis’ prostate for the first time. It’s like touching a live wire to the little gland - every muscle in Louis’ body reacts - his back tenses, his thighs twitch, his rim clamps down on Harry’s fingers.

Harry grins, and does it again, his left hand jacking Louis’ cock. He’s quite good at being ambidextrous when he needs to be. He moves his fingers in small circles, feeling the little gland swell under the attention of his fingertips. When Louis starts making high, whining noises, Harry knows the signal for what it is, and backs off, pulling his fingers out abruptly. Louis sobs, and his hole clenches around nothing but air, seeking orgasm but denied.

“Good boy,” Harry says, palming himself through his trousers with his clean hand. It’s hard to stop at that, but he does, waiting patiently while Louis hangs his head, struggling to control his breathing, so close to coming only to lose the necessary sensation.

Louis needs help letting go, he always does, but ultimately he trusts Harry to get him there. Harry had been a little terrified of Louis’ seemingly limitless trust, at first making him second guess himself every time they played. They’re better at it now, have defined boundaries and hard limits and rules - they every scene starts with Louis on his knees, and it ends with him getting cuddles. To set play apart, they don’t kiss on the mouth during, and Harry never uses Louis’ full name, always calls him Lou or love or pet, makes sure to say what a pretty boy he is. Sometimes Louis gets off, sometimes he doesn’t - Louis likes being denied, and Harry is pretty good at judging how much is too much, how often Louis actually needs to come.

When Louis takes a deep breath and lifts his head again, Harry knows he can touch again without setting Louis off instantly. Louis can still come with the cock ring on, of course, even if it is painful, restricted blood flow causing an orgasm that’s ultimately more pain than pleasure. That’s not Harry’s goal, though, nor is it what Louis really wants, despite the way he’s moving his hips minutely, trying to get Harry’s fingers back on the swollen little gland that’s his only form of direct stimulation.

“Harry,” Louis says suddenly, “I’m going to-“

Harry’s fingers stop moving, and Louis lets out a low groan. Harry waits almost a full minute, Louis’ back muscles flexing and relaxing under his gaze. When they’re mostly relaxed, Harry starts again, grazing his fingers over Louis’ prostate so lightly he’s almost not touching it at all, scissoring his fingers so they’re rubbing against the slick muscle of Louis’ hole. Every time he brushes his fingers over the swollen gland he presses harder, flicking his fingers in little circles, harder and harder until -

“Harry,” Louis says, voice high and panicked, and Harry has edged Louis enough times to have an idea of what’s coming, hooks his arm under Louis’ belly as his boyfriend wobbles on his feet, knees trembling. They stay like that for a minute, Harry carefully not touching Louis’ prostate, letting him rest his forehead against the window pane and breathe.

When Louis is supporting all of his own weight, somewhat steadier on his feet, Harry nudges him upright and lets go of his waist.

“To the bed, Lou,” he says.

Louis waits, and Harry smirks, even though there’s no-one to appreciate it. “C’mon, then,” he says, and his voice is almost perfectly normal. Louis takes one shaky step, turning towards the bed, and Harry follows, two fingers still buried in the clenching heat of Louis’ arse, a third teasing at the rim. Louis manages another step, and Harry brushes his prostate in reward. Louis moans, his hands curling into fists by his side, but the muscles in his back remain relaxed. He’s determined, not tense. Another step, followed quickly by another this time, as if to try to outrun Harry’s teasing fingers. It doesn’t work, of course, and Harry keeps pace, amused.

Another step, and Louis is close enough to the bed that he stops, waiting for instructions. Harry feels a rush of pride. He’d said to the bed, not on the bed, and Louis is clever enough to know the difference.

“Get on up,” Harry says. “All fours.”

Louis takes a deep breath and moves. He falters when he realises he’s moving away from Harry’s fingers, but settles on all fours nonetheless, facing the headboard. Harry fumbles to undo his trousers one-handed, cursing himself for not having the forethought for dealing with this problem before he covered the fingers of one hand in lube. He manages to get them off without too much trouble, throwing them over another armchair and shimmying out of his pants in a clumsy little movement he’s glad Louis can’t see. Sometimes it’s hard to stay in control when you look as ridiculous and uncoordinated as Harry occasionally does.

Palming his own hard cock, now flushed and straining up towards his belly, Harry sits himself on the bed, one knee hooked beneath him so he can sit comfortably facing Louis’ arse. He wastes no time, thrusting three fingers straight into Louis’ pretty hole. The rim clenches around his fingers, and Louis moans, a sound that turns into a yelp as soon as Harry drives them directly at the rough, swollen gland. Harry keeps his fingers there, a constant , unyielding pressure. He backs off for a moment, fingers still in Louis’ arse but not touching his prostate. His left hand rubs at Louis’ hip, trailing around to pet at his stomach. 

Harry shifts on the bed, leaning forward to get the right leverage - there. He flicks three fingers back onto Louis’ prostate at the same time his large palm presses up on Louis’ belly. 

Fuck!"

The pressure stimulates his boyfriend’s prostate from all sides, and Louis bucks his hips with, as if unsure whether to move into or away from the sensation.

Louis’ arms abruptly give out, and he falls to one elbow, forehead almost touching the bed. It’s the signal for Harry to pull out, and he gives Louis a moment, watches as Louis braces his head on his forearms, arse in the air, and tries to ignore the bobbing of his flushed cock, purple-red and almost fully erect.

“On your knees, for me, love,” Harry says eventually.

Louis makes a noise that would ordinarily be a grumble, possibly even a fuck off, but he slides off the bed, loose-limbed and languid despite the way his cock is flushed with blood, straining to rise up against his belly. His eyes are glossy wet, but no tears have fallen yet. It'll be a while yet before Louis reaches that point. He sits neatly between Harry’s thighs, lacing his fingers together behind his back without even being asked. That’s Louis’ choice, not Harry’s - unless he instructs otherwise and they’d figured out another signal, he likes Louis to have a way of safewording out, of tapping out if he needs to. Harry could quite easily cut off his air supply entirely, and he’d rather not choke his boyfriend to death on his cock. Louis is greedy for it, though, likes the feeling of Harry pushing at his throat, will work his way down the shaft and force himself that last inch-and-a-bit.

Harry takes himself in hand, giving his hard cock a few decent strokes, watching Louis’ eyes follow the movement. He taps his dick against Louis’ lips, bites back a moan at the way the pretty pink lips part easily, warm breath on sensitive skin followed by a hot tongue.

“You’ve been so good for me,” Harry says, watching Louis suckle at the head of his cock. Fuck, but this isn’t going to take long at all. “Such a good boy, all week.”

Louis makes a noise at that, obviously thinking over the events of the last week.

“Hey,” Harry says, tapping Louis’ cheek where it meats the seam of his lips, the pretty skin bulging around his cock. “None of that. Focus on me, yeah?”

Louis nods as best he can with a dick in his mouth, and takes a deep breath in through his nose. He opens his mouth wider and begins to work his way down Harry’s considerable length.

“Fuck,” Harry swears, watching as Louis just takes it, that beautiful mouth pouting around his dick. When the head of his cock bumps the back of Louis’ throat, his boyfriend pauses for a moment, then swallows, taking Harry in until his bottom lip is brushing Harry’s balls, as deep as he can possibly go. Harry pulls Louis back after a moment, pulls him all the way off so he can take in a deep, shuddering breath, and then pulls him back down.

Louis gags, unprepared for Harry to thrust all the way in, but he swallows around Harry’s cock, doesn’t unlace his fingers. Harry pulls back for a moment, before thrusting back in, cock sliding in easily alone Louis’ tongue, twitching in the welcoming heat.

“God, you’re amazing,” he pants. “So fucking good for me, baby.” 

Louis moans around his dick at the praise, and Harry fucks back into the vibration, feels the tremors race up his shaft and make him shudder. 

“Looked so good in your suit,” Harry manages, trying to keep his voice even as he loses his rhythm, bucking his hips up into warm heat without any finesse at all. “So fucking good, Lou, so perfect-“

Harry threads a hand through Louis’ hair and pulls him off his cock. Louis goes, closing his eyes in anticipation. Harry is careful, though, doesn’t want to get spunk in Louis’ hair, so even as he’s jacking himself and starting to come, cock jerking in his fist, he has enough presence of mind to aim for Louis’ open mouth, come landing on his tongue, his slightly-puffy lips. Louis leans in further to catch the last of his come, licks at the sensitive head of Harry’s cock until it twitches, oversensitive, and Harry nudges his head away.

“Thankyou, baby,” he says, smiling down at Louis, who is wiping stray come off his chin. “You’re perfect,” he says, and Louis licks the come off his fingers.

“Come up here,” Harry says, patting his thigh, and Louis sits on his lap carefully, trying not to brush his oversensitive cock against Harry’s belly. HIs effort is for naught, though, because Harry wraps his lube-slick hand around Louis’ hard cock and strokes the length of it, jacking him a few times. His fingers tease at the head, circling the crown before sliding back down to fist him again. Louis’ head drops to Harry’s shoulder with a slap of skin on skin, too heavy for him to hold up on his own, and his cock jerks in Harry’s hand. His breath hitches, and Harry's shoulder feels damp where Louis' closed eyes are leaking hot tears.

Harry lets go, and Louis takes great, shuddering breaths, so very, very close to the edge. “So fucking hot,” Harry says, tracing the puffy rim of Louis’ hole with a finger. He only teases Louis with one finger this time, hooking it inside and searching for the familiar gland, now swollen and sensitive. Louis wails when Harry finds it again, clenching around the single finger. Harry’s dick twitches, signalling his body’s willingness to come a second time, but Harry just palms himself absentmindedly, focusing on the way Louis is tight around his finger but lax everywhere else, limbs heavy and still.

“You’ve been so good this weekend, Lou,” he says, tracing over Louis’ prostate once, twice, three times. “So good for me.” He stills his finger and presses up hard.

Louis’ cock twitches, dripping precome, and Harry pulls his finger out. Any more stimulation and Louis will actually come, regardless of how much he’s trying not to, Harry knows.

“Lay back, head on the pillow, and close your eyes, Lou,” he says, getting up off the bed. It only takes a moment to wipe his hands in the bathroom, to collect the item he left by the door. He has to walk back to the bed with extra care, so it doesn’t make any noise.  He leaves it on the bedside table, before moving back onto the bed. This time, however, Harry straddles Louis, pushing his thighs together so Harry can settle on them. There's tears slipping out of his eyes, screwed shut because he's a good boy, even as overwhelmed as he is.

Harry leans over to the bedside table, to where the silver ice bucket is resting, cupping his hand and retrieving a handful of ice cubes. They’re still mostly intact, only a few gone all melty. He cups his other hand underneath, collecting the drips as he settles his weight back across Louis’ thighs.

“You can open your eyes,” he says, and watches for the moment Louis does - and he opens the fingers of his bottom hand, letting the freezing water rain down on Louis’ abdomen and his poor, abused cock.

It’s clear from the way Louis jerks underneath him that he really, really wasn’t expecting it. He makes a choked sound, eyes wide and almost all pupil, tears welling up in his eyes and slipping down his cheeks.

“Do you want to come?” Harry asks, trying to keep his voice even. It’s hard, watching Louis pant underneath him, hair plastered to his head, completely wrecked.

“Yes,” Louis sobs.

“Are you going to come?” Harry asks.

Unintentionally, a few more drops of cold water fall from Harry’s hand where it’s clenched around the ice, landing on Louis’ cock, purple-red and oversensitive. Louis hisses.

“N-no,” he manages. “Harry-"

“Shhh,” Harry says. “I know.” He shifts the ice from his right hand to his left, and takes Louis’ hard cock in his freezing hand. Louis cries out, instinctive, and it’s loud enough that Harry’s left hoping there’s nobody in the hall. His abs tense and his shoulders rise off the bed, an unconscious clenching motion that Louis puts a stop to as soon as he can, sinking back down onto the bed.

“There you go,” Harry says, holding the hand with the ice above Louis’ cock so the icy-cold water drips directly onto it, so he can trail freezing fingers against overheated skin.

“Please,” Louis begs, voice hitching. “Please, Harry.” It’s not a yes, and it’s not a no, it’s a plea for Harry to take control.  

Harry takes his hand off Louis’ cock, splitting the ice between his hands before carefully, ever-so-gently, cupping them around sensitive flesh. Louis’ cock is softening under the sensation, and he shivers, whines. One foot kicks out, instinctive, almost unseating Harry, who moves with the motion.

“F-fuck,” Louis groans, as Harry starts to move his hands, ice trailing along hypersensitive skin, frigid water slicking the way. His face is shiny and wet now, rosy spots high on his cheeks. Louis shivers, eyes watering as his cock wilts under the attention. Harry rubs a melting ice cube right under the crown of his dick, watches Louis’ face as he squeezes his eyes shut, body lax against the bed as if he doesn’t have the energy to move any more. Harry shifts all the ice to his left hand, drops it in the vague direction of the ice bucket. Most of it makes it, but Harry pays no mind to the mess. Instead, he’s cupping his freezing hands around Louis’ cock, almost fully soft now, holding his hands still until he can feel the cock ring loose where previously it had been confining.

“Good boy,” Harry says, pulling his cold hand away, and Louis sobs harder. They’re sobs that start in his chest and make him tremble. Harry slips a finger under the silicone ring, gently pulls Louis’ balls out from where they’ve been confined. He eases the cock ring off Louis’ dick slowly, tosses it aside as he lays himself out on the bed next to Louis.

“Come here, baby,” he says gently, and Louis launches himself at Harry, taking deep, shuddering breaths as he buries his face in Harry’s chest. “It’s okay,” Harry says, holding him close. One hand makes it’s way up to card through the mess that is Louis’ hair. Not for the first time, Harry's overwhelmed by Louis’ trust, the way he gives himself up to Harry and just surrenders. Harry spends a good twenty minutes murmuring I love you and you’re so good, Lou, you’re such a good boy, listening to the way Louis’ breathing returns to normal.

Eventually, Louis makes a noise of contentment, stretching like a cat against Harry, arching his back. He kisses the butterfly under his mouth, smiles against Harry’s skin. “Hi,” he says.

“Hey,” Harry replies, amused. “Where are you?”

“Wentbridge House,” Louis says, after a moment. “Room … something. Fuck, I don’t know the room number, Haz, it’s a tiny little gold thing on the door.”

Harry grins into Louis’ hair, taps Louis’ temple with two fingers. “Where are you here?”

“Good,” Louis answers immediately. “Golden. Liquidy. Relaxed.” Liquidy is good - it’s relaxed, but still self-aware enough not to be too suggestible.

“Floaty?” Harry asks. He doesn’t think Louis is down that far, not really, but if he is, Harry will have to work to bring him back up. He’s not sending him back out to his mother’s wedding reception with his head in “floaty, cloudy” subspace.

“No,” Louis says, looking up, and his smile is brilliant, wide and relaxed and happy. He looks exactly like he should on such a happy day. Well, Harry thinks, maybe not exactly like he should look. He’s still naked.

Harry makes his voice soft. “Are you ready to be presentable again?”

“Yes,” Louis says.

“Come on, then,” Harry says, kissing his temple. “Let’s get up and dressed again, hmm?”

Louis stretches, climbing off the bed without any further prompting, going in search of his clothing. It’s a sign that he’s mentally where he says he is. Harry clucks his tongue as Louis reaches for his underwear, still on top of the chair. Louis pauses, but doesn’t look as if he thinks he’s about to be punished for something. He doesn’t even look like he’s waiting further instruction, raising an eyebrow at Harry, curious but not anticipatory.

“I don’t think you need those, Louis,” Harry says.

Louis’ lips twitch, a tiny little smirk that curls up one side of his mouth. “No,” he says, moving them aside so he can get at his trousers. “I don’t.” His smirk turns into a fully-fledged grin, one that’s much closer to normal, looking put-together and relaxed and happy. He’s going to be exhausted in a few hours, but right now he’s starting to ride the endorphins, practically buzzing with energy. Harry has to bite his lip against the swell of emotion that hits him with all the force of a tidal wave. This gorgeous, sassy little shit, this man who trusts him so implicitly and loves him with all of his heart - Harry is going to spend the rest of his life with this man.

Harry waits in the room until Louis is fully dressed again, until he’s fixing his hair in the bathroom with Harry leaning against the doorframe watching. He’s never left Louis alone after a scene until he’s entirely sure that Louis is fully up, that he’s aware and as close to his normal self as he can be.

“I love you,” Harry says, apropos of nothing.

Louis’ face softens, and he turns to meet Harry’s eyes. “I love you too, Haz.”

“I can’t wait,” Harry says, stepping forward so he can take Louis’ hands in his, “until that’s us out there, dancing on a lawn somewhere, proper spouses.”

“Me either,” Louis says, and tilts his face up. The kiss is hot and urgent, and a little desperate, a promise of things to come. When Louis pulls away, Harry’s breathing hard, and he drops his head to Louis’ shoulder. They’ll get there someday. Some day they’ll stand up in front of all their friends and family and repeat promises they’ve already made, recite the proper vows and throw a big party and have sloppy, drunken sex after.