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a virgin to that money

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*


Push it through the limit, push it through the pain
I push it for the pleasure like a virgin to the game
A virgin to that money, a virgin to the fame

--The Weeknd, ‘The Morning’

*

Harry’s made a lot of mistakes during his life. Everybody has. It’s a normal thing; part of human nature. You’re taught exactly that from pre-school all the way through College and then beyond, making mistakes is just the natural process to learning.

Harry’s not sure what he’s going to learn from banging Louis Tomlinson for money, but he’s definitely sure it’s going to be a mistake.

“Drink,” Louis says, and pushes the three shot glasses towards him. They’re topped off with some expensive Vodka remix, maybe. He’s not sure because he was more occupied with the fact that the both of them are standing in front of the study desk in his dorm stark naked.

He takes one of the glasses obligingly and tips it back, resisting the urge to pause as the liquid burns down his throat. He barely has time to place the glass back on the tabletop before Louis’ shoving the next one in his hand, fingers getting wet in the process, and then Louis’ eyebrows furrow and his nose wrinkles as he downs his own three in quick succession, scowling.

He looks a bit like a disgruntled bunny.

Or maybe not a bunny. An animal that’s more deadly than a bunny.

“Alright,” Louis says, hands on his hips as he glares at the half-empty bottle of Vodka, “Are you drunk enough?” He looks at Harry, and then back at the bottle, before grabbing it and mumbling “actually, I’m not drunk enough yet” before drinking straight from the bottle.

“I still don't understand why we have to be drunk,” Harry says, and polishes off his last shot. That is--that is so bad. It tastes so much better when he’s in a club and has already had like, twenty beers.

“Because, honestly, I don't want to remember that I’ve had your cock in my arse,” Louis says, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and pounces.

Louis kisses with bite. Louis is a biteful person, without kissing, always like a manic little piranha, but more biteful with his way in words. How he’s kissing now though finally makes Harry understand why his teeth are razor sharp like that. His wonderful thighs tighten around Harry’s hips, tiny hands tugging straight away at the curls peeking out the bottom of Harry’s snapback. Louis’ own snapback has been long abandoned from the time he shed his clothes off upon stepping into Harry’s dorm.

He insisted Harry keep his own on though, because “bitches love it when boys wear their hats while having sex.”

Harry doesn't even have time to hold Louis up--or cop big handfuls of Louis’ even more wonderful arse--before the backs of his knees hit the bed and they both go tumbling down.

“Fuck,” Harry gasps, and uses his elbows and the balls of his feet to push himself up to the pillows, Louis crawling above him as he goes, staring at him with dark, hungry eyes. “Louis. Louis, don't squeeze my dick--Louis, the iPad, for Christ’s sake.”

Louis blinks and pulls his hand off Harry’s dick, looking over his shoulders for the iPad. Harry can tell when he spots it on the study desk, clambering off the bed and scuttling over to it, snatching it like a child in a candy store. He taps the screen harder than necessary--of course he does, it’s Harry’s iPad--before making his way back to the bed, propping it up against the lamp on Harry’s nightstand.

“There,” he deadpans, and Harry glances at it, only to see himself--and Louis, who has just gone on to nibble at his neck--staring back. Wow. When did the screen resolution get so high?

“You should probably do something sexy,” Harry mumbles into his ear, and Louis keeps sucking and licking at his neck as if he hasn't heard. He did hear though, because a second later Harry’s right nipple is being twisted painfully hard. “Owie.”

“You did not just say that,” Louis breathes against his neck, breath hot against the slick skin. Harry reaches up and pats his bruised nipple, nearly shouting in surprise when Louis presses his hot arse back against his cock, rocking against it slowly.

“Where’s the lube?” Louis mutters against his neck, and Harry doesn't process the question for a moment because there are so many things going on at once, until he does because lube sounds promising. He could probably slick himself up and have Louis grind against him for a little while, make the dry drag more pleasurable.

As soon as he leans over to fish the lube from the nightstand Louis crawls off his lap. He’s about to protest, or cry, but then Louis just leans in the lazy sprawl of his legs, eyes flickering to the iPad, before he ducks down and sucks on the tip of his cock.

He immediately lays back down against the pillows, lube momentarily forgotten, eyes wide as he watches Louis’ cheeks hollow. His small pink tongue darts out to tongue at the tip of the vein running along the underside, but it’s hot and wet and enough for Harry’s hips to buck up. He reaches down and tangles a hand through Louis’ hair, using the leverage to push Louis down, nearly choking him.

Louis’ eyes flicker up and he glares at him through his lashes, but doesn't pull off or argue. He just keeps going, sucking loudly, slick noises each time he purses his lips tight around Harry. Harry rocks his hips up so the head of his cock nudges the back of Louis’ throat, and Louis whines, more for show probably, grinding his own hips down into the bed. His cheeks are hollowed out like a legit porn star and he’s sucking Harry off and Harry can’t believe this is actually happening.

“Can--Louis--can I come?” he whispers, choked off a little when Louis pulls off to tongue at the head. He feels like he’s nearly there already, and that’s definitely embarrassing, that Louis Tomlinson, bearer of nearly all his day-to-day misery can suck him for two minutes and already pull an orgasm from him.

“On my face, yeah,” Louis murmurs, breathing warm against the hot skin of his prick, and goes down again, sucking with intent. It’s sloppy now, his throat tight, cheeks full, his saliva dribbling down the corners of his mouth, and through the haze filling Harry’s mind quicker by the second, he can see Louis’ right hand wrapped around his own cock, stroking it furiously. He tugs on his hair again, pulls him off his cock, and wheezes “don't come,” before he comes himself, striping Louis’ cheek, nose and redredred lips in translucent liquid. It seeps down his chin to splatter onto Harry’s own thigh, and he lets his head flop back to the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Fuck.”

“I know,” Louis sing-songs, way too pleased with himself. Harry lifts his wrist from over his left eye and hopes it’s efficient enough to use for a glare.

“Did you wash up?” he asks, and Louis narrows his eyes at him before nodding slowly. “Alright, c’mere.”

He angles his index and middle finger in a V around his mouth and sticks his tongue out, winking at Louis, who twists both his nipples this time before shuffling up on his knees. His cock is thick and heavy against his hip, drooling precome, and Harry brushes teasing fingertips over it before he places both his hands firmly on Louis’ narrow hips, thumbs pressing into his sharp hipbone.

He’d never admit this, but he’s never licked a guy out, much less had them sit on his face. Louis’ thighs are soft pressed to his cheeks though, and his arse is nice and jiggly and Harry likes pinching it as he experimentally tips his head up and tongues at Louis’ tight pink hole, getting a shudder out of Louis, and he thinks he can do this. It’s supposed to be amateur porn, anyway.

The strain and the sweet, dull ache in his jaw is reminiscent to having a girl ride his tongue. Actually tonguing Louis though, is a lot different. He can just flatten his tongue for a girl and let them press down against it, slide their clit over it until they come. Louis can’t do that, so Harry ends up doing most of the work, his lips making noises filthier than Louis’ when he was sucking him off.

He’s sure it makes a pretty picture being filmed now, especially when Louis starts shuddering and muttering filthy things as he gently rocks his hips back. He can feel his own cock start to fatten up again when it feels a bit like Louis’ hole is tightening around his tongue, sucking him in, and his lashes flutter against his cheeks as he tightens his jaw and suckles at his rim, one hand smoothing down Louis’ side to spread over an arse cheek, pulling him apart to get at him easier.

His jaw is on fire by the time Louis spits on his palm and reaches down to stroke himself, muttering incoherently as he keeps pushing back on Harry’s tongue for his own pleasure. It’s a bit of a relief and a lot hot when Louis hunches over and comes into his hand, whimpering, hole clenching around the tip of Harry’s tongue before going soft and loose, and Harry sucks in a breath as Louis slowly pulls himself away before flopping beside him on the bed.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and Harry wants to gleefully retort I know but he’s like, one hundred and ten percent sure his jaw would fall off. He settles on giving Louis a consecutive thumbs-up and middle finger.

Louis ignores him. “So. Should I ride you, or should you fuck me on my hands and knees?”

Harry takes a moment to consider it. Both options would look splendid on camera, and having Louis ride him would be little work for his jelly bones, but his back is starting to ache a little. Fucking Louis from behind sounds nice, too, but, like. That’s not a little work. That’s a lot.

He goes with what every man that is about to fuck Louis Tomlinson would go with. “Hands and knees, mate.”

Harry thinks Louis should just go into work as a pornstar, if this whole thing works out. He probably looks good getting fucked in any position; as it is, he looks incredible on hands and knees, pushing back on two of Harry’s fingers with a scowl. Harry scissors his fingers apart and wonders if Louis does anything other than scowl, ever.

He’s only a little hard, his flushed cock bumping against his hip each time Harry shoves his fingers back in, so Harry reaches between his thighs and slides his lube-slick hand over it, before fisting it tightly and stroking it a few times. Louis makes a funny noise, the muscles of his thighs clenching up, and Harry tries his best to keep stroking Louis and fingering him open until he clears his throat and half-whispers, “like that, slut?”

“Do not try and talk dirty,” Louis says immediately. “Just--just do not.”

“You’re my little whore,” Harry says, but he’s smiling now, trying not to laugh as he rubs his thumb over Louis’ stretched rim.

“I’m editing that out.”

“Cock--er, cockslut.”

“I’m editing that out, too.”

Harry chuckles to himself before he pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the threadbare comforter. He reaches for the condom and rolls it on, pinching the top, and then grabs the lube again and slicks his cock up, glancing at the iPad, which he’d nearly forgotten at some point. The screen is a slightly uncomfortably good shot of him kneeling behind Louis’ arse, Louis positioned on hands and knees. He clears his throat before bending over Louis, the head of his cock catching on Louis’ puffy, fucked-out rim, before he dicks in once, twice, Louis making surprised little moaning noises until his cock’s halfway sheathed inside the clutch of his tight, hot arse.

“Get fucked often?” he asks conversationally.

Louis’ incredible response is to tighten his fingers in the sheets and shove back, Harry making a decidedly not-as-pretty-as-Louis’-weird-noise noise, grinding and clenching his ass as he huffs and fucks Harry’s cock in all the way. If he leans back just a bit, Harry can see his cock slide into Louis’ hole, can see how tightly his strangely pretty pink rim is clamped around its thick girth.

“Wow,” he whispers, and nearly sheds a tear, because that’s true beauty.

“What?” Louis snaps, a lot less nice than directly post-orgasm Louis’ snapping, and Harry leans back over him, bracing his hands by Louis’ before he inhales and starts to fuck him properly. The first thrust has Louis jerking up the bed and keening, and the second one has his head hanging in between his sweaty, golden shoulder blades, his newly grown-out hair toussling down as he pants and pushes back against Harry shamelessly.

Harry gets a bit lost in it because it’s been--a strangely long time since he’s had sex, too busy looking for a job so he won't end up flat out broke and on the street by the end of the month. He’s panting roughly, voice one or  two hundred octaves lower than usual, and he knows he’s hitting Louis’ prostate on every plunge back in but Louis’--Louis’ so good at pretending like he hates it, hates everything.

He angles his hips a bit differently for the next thrust and Louis crumbles, elbows giving out and face smushing into the pillow Harry drools on nightly. Harry’s heart picks up when Louis tries to lift his head again, probably to say something snarky, and his hand lunges out quickly, wrapping around the base of his sweaty neck and shoving his face back into the pillow.

He can feel that Louis’ going to come even before Louis shouts something akin to “going to come you fuckwit” into the pillow, his body tightening up, arse clenching rhythmically around Harry. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and pounds into him, focusing on the heat in the pit of his belly, and he comes a second before Louis’ body clamps down around his cock and he slurs something into the pillow, coming as well.

“Fuck,” he pants, and then wheezes, “fuck,” because he just came inside of Louis Tomlinson, and it’s all a little weird and a lot hot and the alcohol is only just now making an appearance, filling his mind with cotton. “Fuck?”

“Fuck indeed,” Louis mutter, before coughing, and Harry gasps before letting go of the back of his neck so he can breathe properly. “Get out.”

“This is my dorm, though.”

“Get out of my arse!” Louis shouts, and Harry leans back, nodding jerkily as he takes himself from the base of his sensitive cock, gently pulling it out. He tries not to look at the condom as he carefully rolls it off and ties it at the end, because it’s a little gross, tossing it into the rubbish bin by the study desk before flopping down beside Louis.

“Stop the iPad,” Louis says, rolling onto his back. His voice sounds a bit shot as well, like all that Vodka he previously thought was a good idea just came back to bite him in the (admittedly bite-able) ass.

Harry reaches out and drops his snapback to the floor before blindly stopping the iPad from filming their post-sex bliss or whatever. “Gotcha, Cap.”

“Shut up,” Louis says, and then, “I’m taking a nap here whether you like it or not.”

“Be my guest,” Harry says, and gives him a little grin, to which Louis just snorts at before rolling over onto left side and rubbing his cheek into the pillow.

Exactly like a disgruntled bunny.

*

Harry wakes up to rain pounding the windows, his iPhone telling him it’s 6:34 and the left side of his bed empty, sheets wrinkled and slightly damp.

There is also Niall standing by the study desk, a half-empty bottle of Stella Artois in his hand, staring into the rubbish bin with a horrified look, but that’s normal.

“It’s just a condom!” he yells at Niall, before pulling his pillow over his head.

*

Two weeks later, Harry’s gotten himself a proper job at the local bakery with a little bartering and a lot of puppy eyes, and has mostly forgotten about the ‘sex tape’ (for lack of better title). He’s even stopped jacking off to the memories so often, so it’s going good.

Until there’s a loud knock on the door of his dorm one evening, loud and familiar and a little stomach-twisting. Niall’s not around, so he pushes his textbook off his lap and slowly makes his way to the door.

“Hiya,” Louis chirps as soon as he opens it, and then pushes his way into the room.

His laptop is tucked under his arm and he’s scruffy and soft-looking and Harry almost pulls him in for a hug until he remembers that they aren't friends. Quite the opposite, actually.

“What is it?” Harry asks, shutting the door behind him. He follows Louis back to his bed, watching the way Louis’ ass moves under the threadbare material of his sweats.

“Do you remember the recent endeavor me and you took?” he asks simply, and Harry freezes, because--he’d actually forgotten about that. It’s a little strange, now that he thinks about it. Who makes a sex tape and then forgets about it? Who makes a sex tape?

“What about it…?” he asks slowly, shifting from foot to foot as Louis perches on the side of his bed and places his laptop on his knees.

“This,” Louis says, and holds an envelope near-bursting full. Harry doesn't even know where he pulled it out from.

Harry nearly stumbles over his feet lunging at it. He’s a little surprised Louis doesn't just yank it out of his reach with a shit-eating grin, but easily lets go of it as soon as Harry touches it. He slides his index finger through the paper, peering inside as it opens up.

It’s money. A whole lot of money. He gapes at it, and then gapes at Louis, who nonchalantly flicks his fringe and smirks back at him.

“It did well,” he offers as the only explanation, and Harry slowly sits down beside him on the bed, one hand wrapped tight around the envelope, the other pinching at his bottom lip. “And it gave me an idea.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at him. That’s scary. “What…?”

“You like sex, I like sex,” he says, leaning back on his hands, and oh. “You dislike having to look for people to have no-strings-attached sex with, I dislike having an actual job.”

A) how did Louis know he dislikes looking for no-strings-attached sex, and B) he already knew Louis didn't like having an actual job, duh. “So you’re saying we… should do this again.”

“And again, and again. Basically until we become ugly.”

“Are you calling me hot, because--”

“I’m not calling you hot, I’m calling you not-ugly.”

Fair enough. “But I have a job now.”

“At the local bakery,” Louis scoffs. “You’d rather do that than fuck me?”

“Actually--”

“Say yes and I swear to God no one will ever know what happened to you.”

Harry clamps his mouth shut.

“So?” Louis asks, and there are so many things to consider here. Harry thinks about asking Louis for a little time to think about it, but Louis’d probably murder him. He then thinks about his dick. The answer becomes so clear when he thinks about his dick.

“Sure,” he says.

*

Meet me at the library after class, encyclopedia section.

Harry stares at the text, until Zayn leans over as if he’s going to look at it. He shuts his phone before he can. He doesn't answer it, but he obeys it, hitching his bag over his shoulder when the class is done and heading to the library.

The tables and computers are crowded with students, but the rows and rows of books are void of human life. He finds Louis all the way at the end, pacing back and forth and totally. He looks annoyed when he glances up and sees Harry. “You’re three minutes late.”

“Sorry, I was getting some crisps from the ve--” he’s cut off when Louis grabs him by the collar of his shirt and pulls him in, kissing him roughly. His lips are soft and wet, tongue forceful as he pushes it into Harry’s mouth, and his scruff rasps against Harry’s skin lightly.

“Uh--” he mumbles against Louis’ mouth, and then Louis kisses him more forcefully. One of his hand drops from Harry’s collar and grabs his own hand, bringing it back to rest on his arse, and, like. Harry will grope Louis’ bum. He will. He does.

He might not know why he and Louis are making out like they’re lovers of decades worth that are about to be torn apart when they’re really just two horny, broke uni dudes who aren't a fan of each other, but it doesn't stop him from pushing Louis up against the shelf and making Louis tiptoe to keep the kiss going. He’s going to milk this for all it’s worth, hands squeezing Louis’ full arse, pressing his semi against Louis’ lower abdomen.

That makes Louis pull his mouth back, panting hard, lips red and eyes half-lidded. “Don't make it too obvious if you look, but my phone’s right there,” he whispers. Since Harry is the worst actor on the planet, his un-obvious look has him leaning back and staring at Louis’ phone, nestled between a pile of books.

“You’re filming this,” he says slowly.

“Obviously,” Louis replies, cupping his hand over the back of Harry’s neck before pulling him back in again.

It is, sadly, the best kiss Harry has ever experienced. He’s about to hoist Louis up and grind against him but Louis pushes him away before he can, and Harry watches, slightly in horror but mostly in interest, as he pushes his sweats down his hips, already naked underneath them.

“What are you doing,” Harry asks dumbly.

“I didn't finger myself for twenty-five minutes to have you grind on me,” he replies, and bends down to pull a condom and a packet of lube from the right-side pocket of his sweats, handing them over to Harry.

“Louis--” Harry says frantically, even as he clutches the condom and lube like they’re his lifeline, “Louis, this is a fucking library.”

“Public sex is totally in,” Louis informs him, before turning around, bracing his hands on a mid-air shelf, and bending over. All rational thought flies out the window for Harry at that moment, his eyes widening at the sight of Louis’ hole, slick and loose.

He looks both ways, strains to listen for any footsteps, before hesitantly reaching out to brush the pad of his thumb over Louis, roughened from wood shop courses. Louis shudders a little, and even though he tries his best to keep his composure, Harry can still see the quiver in his thighs, the way his hands tighten on the shelf.

He thinks that since his life has come to this, he should just fuck it and do it. Fuck Louis, do Louis. He shoves his jeans down along with his briefs, occasionally looking around as he tugs the rubber on and slicks himself up, and then he’s taking a small step forward, licking his lips as he presses his thumbs into the dips of Louis’ hips to anchor him as he slides his cock inside.

“I’m going to blame you if someone finds us,” he says into Louis’ shoulder when he’s bottomed out, hips pressed to the underside of Louis’ arse, hands holding his waist so tight there’s bound to be bruises. He likes that thought quite a bit.

“No one’s going to--ngh--find us,” Louis huffs, when he slowly draws halfway out before pushing back in, “no one uses library for books anymore, fool.

“Nerds do!” Harry argues, and as if on cue, Marcel, the head librarian’s assistant and resident on-campus nerd, comes wheeling the book cart into their aisle.

The three of them stare at each other, and Harry watches as Marcel’s calm face bursts into flames. Not literally, just, like, super red. He feels sorta bad. “Marcel, I think it’d be best if you go,” he says, in the nicest voice he can muster up while balls deep inside of Louis’ tight ass.

“Don't be rude!” Louis scolds, though he totally wasn't. He looks at Marcel and gives him a soft smile. “Darling, you saw nothing.”

“I--” Marcel breathes, and he’s so red. Harry might have to stop Louis’ phone from recording and call the hospital if this continues. “I s-saw nothing--”

“Good. Now of you go, love.” Louis waves his hand at him dismissively, and Marcel’s hands are shaking as he wraps them around the handle of the cart again and wheels it away. They wait until his footsteps disappear.

“What if he calls the cops?” Harry asks, and grinds his hips forward. Louis shudders and keens as he comes.

“He--he won't,” he breathes, clenching maddeningly around Harry. Harry gasps a little, one hand sweeping under Louis to pet over his wet belly.

“You came already?”

“I just told you I fingered myself for twenty-five minutes, and you were--grinding in me.”

“But still--”

Louis at least has the shame to flush a little at the tips of his ears when he mutters, “I’ve got a bit of an exhibitionist kink. Also, shut up.”

Harry grins. “You are a slut.”

“No, I’m not. I’m just sexually sensitive or summat, you shit machine part.”

“Shit machine part! I’ve never heard that insult. How creative.” He grips Louis’ hips tight again and starts fucking him in earnest, chasing his own orgasm. If he’s honest, which he’s not, he’s near ready to shoot off as well now, the whole situation hotter than he thought it’d be. “Admit it though, you are a bit slutty. Just a bit.”

Louis clenches around him, and breathes, “just a bit,” and he presses inside of him deep as he starts coming, cursing under his breath. “And you’re easy as fuck, Harold.”

Harry’s not going to deny that. He presses a lazy, excusable-as-post-orgasm-haze kiss to Louis’ neck before he gingerly pulls himself out. He hastily handles the sticky condom as Louis pauses his phone from recording. “Going to have to edit that quite a bit.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, and then pulls his sweats up, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Wanna grab lunch?”

Harry glances at him in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

“No?” Louis says, and raises an eyebrow. His shirt is so tight, showing his biceps and chest nicely, and his sweats cling to his thighs and bum so well, and his long hair is toussled and he’s flushed and his mouth is so red and Harry could probably go for another round instead of lunch.

His stomach grumbles. Maybe he has to listen to parts other than his dick. “I really don't want to spend money on things I don't have--”

“You’re not going to spend money,” Louis tells him, and grabs his checkered Vans backpack from the floor. It matches him crazy well.

“You’re gonna pay?” Harry asks slowly, doing up his flies. He doesn't really understand Louis’ intentions here, and he’s not going to let himself think for a minute that there are no intentions. Contrary to popular belief, he’s not that stupid.

“Yeah,” Louis says, and smirks.

It’s actually not all that dangerous as his smirk suggests. Harry had briefly thought they’d be doing this illegally, but it’s just something boring--Louis’ mates with Danny and Ant, who work at a shawarma shop downtown, and he gets two sandwich and soda deals for 50% off. Harry wonders if he sucks their dick for that deal.

“It’s good, innit,” Louis says, swinging his legs back and forth. He’d insisted they sit on the tall chairs at the front of the shop, and Harry’s pretty sure it’s just because he wanted to do that. He’d been hilariously annoyed when Harry’s feet had still touched the ground.

“It really is,” he says, because it really is. He’s halfway finished already; forgot how good they are. The last time he had one was with Zayn a few months ago. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Louis says, and shifts in the chair so he’s sort of facing Harry. “Tell me something about yourself.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, and Louis makes a motion like he’s threatening to kick his ankle. “Okay, Christ. I...enjoy knitting.”

“We are never having sex again,” Louis says, and Harry snorts. “Tell me something better. Scandalous. That I can blackmail you with, if it ever got to that point.”

“Uh…” Harry scratches the back of his neck. “I’m a good boy, honestly.”

Louis’ face clearly reads Really.

“Minus the whole--” he flaps his hand around to signify the Thing. “Y’know. But it’s your turn now.”

“My turn for what?”

“Your turn to tell me something about you. Something scandalous. Maybe I could even blackmail you with my knowledge later on.”

Louis smiles and wipes his mouth with the napkin. “Well, one time I woke up hungover in an airport.” And that’s how their ‘my experience was cooler than yours’ conversation starts. Louis definitely ends up winning when he yells “I’ve had sex with a bloke and a girl at the same time before,” to which everyone in the restaurant turns to look at him.

He’s only aware of how long it dragged when he makes it back to his dorm at seven, and Niall flings a pillow at him. “Where’ve ya been?”

“At lunch with Louis,” he says before he can process it. He flinches when Niall sits up completely straight.

“Louis? Tomlinson? Louis Tomlinson? Why? Are you tryna make ‘im Louis Styles?”

Harry throws the pillow back at him. “First, shut up. Second, shut up.”

“No, honestly,” Niall says, flopping on the side of his bed as Harry drops his bag by the study desk. “Why Tomlinson?”

“Because,” Harry shrugs.

“Because?” Niall prods, raising an eyebrow, and Harry barely resists the urge to groan. Obviously, the only night Niall’s around is when he gets back suspiciously late.

“Because we’re working on something together,” he says. “That’s it, honestly.” He pulls the chair for the desk out and sits down, back towards Niall in a ‘I really don't want to talk anymore’ sort of way.

“Pinky promise?” Niall asks, totally not getting the hint.

“MIddle finger promise,” Harry says, and winces. “Uh. How was your day?”

“Eh,” Niall shrugs. “Same old. Hey.” He perks up a little, propping himself up on his elbows. “Did you bring me leftovers from the bakery?”

Harry pushes his earbuds in and pretends he didn't hear him.

*

The first time Harry sees Louis’ dorm room is when Louis decides they should have sex in it.

It’s a lot more different than he imagined. There aren't any dead bodies, or battered people inside of cages begging to be let out. There isn't even the faintest hint of blood. There’s just one bed and a whole lot of Vans shoes scattered about.

“No roommate?” Harry asks, a little surprised.

“I pulled some strings,” Louis says, and winks. That’s...not as surprising.

Harry shakes his head a little and smiles as Louis slides his fingers into the belt loops on Harry’s jeans and pulls him in close. This way Louis always has to lean up to kiss him, and it makes him huffy and it’s so, so cute. Harry’s favourite thing, honestly.

Louis’ kisses have gotten less bite-y recently, and even though that was fun, Harry likes his slow, filthy kisses a lot more. He backs Louis up without parting their mouths until Louis hits the bed, falling back on it and pulling Harry down on him.

Harry waits for him to shuffle back until his head is resting on the pillows, nipping at his soft neck before he goes back to kissing him. He lowers his hips to press against Louis’ as they get into actual, proper making out, tongues sliding against each other’s hot and wet, Louis’ hands tightening at the long, fine curls at the nape of Harry’s neck.

Harry nudges a thigh between Louis’ legs, pressing in against his balls through his sweats. Louis makes a noise that he’s come to realize is him being pleased, grinding down against his thigh. When Harry pulls back to kiss down his collarbones, digging his teeth into the sharp juncture, he can see Louis’ cock tenting through the soft material of his sweats, the head rubbing slick and dampening a spot. He almost asks Louis for the lube, so he can jerk him off smoothly, but he realizes Louis’ panting into his ear hard and grinding against his thigh like his life depends on it now.

He rolls his hips up and slides a hand underneath Louis’ back, cupping his right arse cheek and squeezing, using it as leverage to pull him close. Their hips are moving like they’re already fucking, Louis whining when his cock snags on the material of his clothes and he comes.

Harry kisses him through it, slow and wet and lazy, his hand moving lower to rub over Louis’ hole through the sweats. He can feel his body tighten up, hole clenching, and grins against his mouth. “Wanna?”

“I--” Louis says, and clears his throat. “Yes.”

Harry clambers off the bed and starts shedding his clothes as Louis wiggles out his sweats before reaching for the lube. He realizes that he barely notices the camera anymore, and that it’s more fun like that. The first few times they did this all he could concentrate on was looking okay in the camera’s eyes, but it’s better this way.

Louis’ already pressing two fingers into himself when Harry knees back onto the bed, thighs spread and knees bent, feet flat on the mattress. He looks effortlessly incredible for the camera, Harry thinks, and slicks up one of his own fingers before sliding it in against Louis’.

“You did this before I came over, didn't you,” he says after a moment, because Louis’ too slick and loose. He has to reach down and squeeze the base of his cock for a bit of relief.

“I refrained from fingering myself for years until recently, and quite frankly, I’ll do it whenever I want,” Louis sniffs, pulling his fingers out and wiping them on the sheets before pushing his hips down against Harry’s. “C’mon, I was thorough.”

“Huh,” Harry says, and pulls his finger. He lets Louis push him down against the bed and roll the condom onto his cock, slicking him up before sinking down.

“D’you wanna get high after this?” Louis asks, pressing his hands down under Harry’s pecs and slowly building up his pace. Harry’s cock is a warm and heavy heft in his arse, and he clenches, thrilled at the feeling of being so full it makes his toes tingle.

“Is that a normal question you ask people?” Harry asks him, eyes focused on the erotic space between Louis’ slick thighs, watching his cock slide into Louis each time he rocks his hips down again. Louis’ half-hard cock slaps against his belly wetly each time, and Harry blindly grabs the lube to wet his palm up before reaching out and grasping it, jerking him. Louis twitches a little in sensitivity, huffing.

“I want to do something fun,” he says. “What about the uni bar?”

Harry ponders it, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the slit of Louis’ cock. He watches it flex and dribble out a blurt of precome. “I’m not opposed to getting drunk, so. Sure.”

Louis’ back arches and his thighs spread out in the most slutty, desperate way when he’s near, working himself down onto Harry’s cock fast and hungry until he comes. Harry strokes him through it and makes a mental note to have Louis ride him more often as Louis slides off, tugs the condom off and has him come over the perfect round flesh of his arse.

“Meet me at the bar,” he yawns when Harry’s busy pulling his clothes back on. “At ten. Look for the most crowded group.” He gives Harry a crooked grin with that.

Harry smiles back at him and nods, and it’s only once he’s left the room that he realizes he never saw the camera, that Louis never even mentioned it.

*

Niall somehow coerces Harry into telling him why he’s spending so much time trying to formulate an outfit when he only has jeans and ugly shirts, and that ends up with Niall saying that he’s coming to the bar as well. That ends up with Harry grudgingly bringing along the whole group, courtesy of Niall.

Louis’ sitting alone at the bar, busy tapping away on his phone when Harry approaches him. He looks up with an annoyed look, and his eyebrows raise up under his shaggy fringe when he sees the whole entourage. “Good evening.”

“Hi,” Harry says, and shoos them away. He knows they’re curious, and that Niall will tell them some twisted story about how he and Louis are dating, but he can deal with that later. He just wants to get drunk now and maybe squeeze Louis’ arse a couple times as they attempt to dance to loud house music.

“What was that?” Louis asks him with one raised eyebrow, pocketing his phone. Harry smiles sheepishly as he waves the bartender down.

“Uh, some friends.” He watches as Louis sucks on the straw in his drink, his cheeks hollowing and lashes fanning out on his cheeks. “How are you?”

“Good, I think,” he furrows his eyebrows. “Do you wanna dance?”

He pulls Harry out before Harry can answer him and presses up close to him somewhere along the edge of the floor. On closer inspection, Louis is a lot more drunk than Harry had originally thought, and he’s so surprised when Louis teeters on his toes before kissing him he doesn't have time to move back any. His mouth tastes a bit like rum and a lot like fruit, and it’s a nice, sweet combination, so he doesn't end up pushing him away, just holds him by the hips to keep him close and kisses him back.

That is probably the moment he realizes that there’s a problem here, and pulls back so quick he goes stumbling into a couple behind him. The guy glares at him and he mutters “sorry” quickly before grabbing Louis’ wrist and tugging him through the crowd.

Louis’ pink-cheeked and squinting when they push into the loo, hiccuping before looking at Harry. “What?”

Harry runs a hand through his hair, squeezes his eyes shut, swallows, contemplates calling his therapist, and looks at Louis. “Why did you invite me here?”

“To have fun,” Louis hiccups.

“Why do you want to have fun with me?”

Louis narrows his eyes like he’s starting to get suspicious, and opens his mouth, but Harry beats him to it, because he was suspicious first, so. “Where’s the money from the last two films? How did you find out I was broke in the first place? Why do you hate me?”

Louis tugs at the hem of his shirt, eyes wider than Harry’s ever seen them, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. He doesn't say anything, and Harry suddenly feels more of an idiot than he ever has. He pushes past Louis and heads back out, mind blank and hands shaking until he stumbles outside.

Louis’ right behind him, which he hadn't been aware of before. He shoves at Harry’s back, and when Harry looks over at him, his face is screwed up furiously. “God, you’re an--you don't know anything, so--”

A guy, presumably drunk and wanting to take Louis home, comes up behind him and says something so utterly disgusting to Louis that Harry steps forward to maybe punch him and drain himself of the sudden anger that’s suddenly brimming inside of him, but Louis’ one step ahead, his arm swiping out to backhand the guy’s jaw so hard blood spatters out before he even pulls back.

Harry stares at him in shock, and Louis doesn't continue what he was saying, just spits at the guy before wheeling back to Harry. “Don't ever--look at me. Or talk to me. Don't--”

He’s doubling over then, and Harry looks away from him as he throws up, watching the cars go down the street. Too many people stare out their windows at Louis, and Harry bites his bottom lip before undoing his headscarf and slowly stepping over to Louis.

He leads him away from the club, looking both ways hastily before crossing the street with one arm resting on Louis’ shoulder, leading him back to the dorms. Louis’ holding the headscarf to his mouth, looking pale. He looks like that all the way until morning time, when Harry wakes up with him pressed against his side, snuffling into the pillow.

“You had to land on my bed,” Niall sighs, swinging his backpack on before he leaves the room. Harry leans up on his elbows and blinks groggily, suddenly grateful for not having anything to drink the previous night.

He’s showered by the time Louis wakes up, all bedhead and wild-eyed and bloody knuckles. He flushes red when Harry sits beside him on the bed.

“Good morning,” Harry says pleasantly.

“I hate you,” Louis mumbles, but he’s smiling a little bit as he falls back onto the pillows. “God. I feel like we have a lot to talk about.”

“Do you not like that?”

“I generally like ignoring problems until they go away, so. Yeah, I hate it.”

Harry nods slowly. “Do you want breakfast, or a shower…?” He pauses when Louis shakes his head. “Alright. Where should we start?”

“I published the first video,” Louis blurts, “but not the other one. And the third time I didn't even film it.”

“I gathered that much,” Harry shrugs, and settles back against the pillow. “Why?”

“Because I wanted to have sex with you.” He smiles and flutters his lashes. “Do you have Advil?”

Once Louis’ had an Advil and some water, he’s easier to force information out of, and while the whole ‘I actually like you and wanted to bang you, but you thought I hated you so I had Niall--bless his big mouth--tell me you’re broke and I got the idea to make a porn video with you’ thing is actually flattering, there’s just one thing.

“You made me quit my job,” Harry mumbles into Louis’ mouth, and Louis rolls his eyes, kissing him one more time before leaning back.

“Shh,” he says, and rocks his hips back so Harry’s naked cock is resting in the warm, soft cleft of his arse. “Don't act like they won't hire you again. The owner loved you.”

Harry considers it. Louis’ actually pretty right.

They fuck on and off for the rest of the afternoon, no cameras anywhere in sight, and when Harry’s pulled his laptop out so they can take a short break and watch a movie, Louis rests his chin on his shoulder and pokes his side. “I think we should stop having no-strings-attached sex.”

Harry glances at him. “That could mean something terrible or something brilliant.”

“I’m talking brilliant,” Louis says, and pats his side.

“Brilliant strings-attached sex?”

“No, we never have sex again. That’s brilliant.”

Harry rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, he knows--Louis reaches up and pokes his dimple, before nipping the lobe of his ear and whispering, “kidding. Brilliant, brilliant strings-attached sex.”

At the moment, Harry couldn't ask for more.