“So I was like, fuck no, I won’t drink down this watered down swill when I can get a finely matured glass of whiskey instead, yeah? And do you know what he said to me? Do you?” Louis snorted into his headset, waited for his best mate’s obligatory “What?” as he raced up the curve of the LA mountain, wind blowing through his hair and a lit cigarette between his fingers. “He called me a stuck up prick. Can you believe it?”
“Glad I didn’t go then. Sounds like a bore,” Zayn answered.
“You should be.” March was on the precipice of slipping into April and the sun was starting to turn blistering hot again as it beat down on the tar stretching ahead and the newly shined hood of his brand new Aston Martin. “You didn’t miss anything. The music was shit. Poor pickings too. I didn’t even pull anyone.”
“Well, you’re—” Zayn’s voice cut out momentarily, “you don’t anyway.”
“Wait, what? Shit. Hold on a sec.”
The road up ahead was empty. Louis took one last drag and flicked the cigarette onto the road before reaching down to unplug his phone and yanking the headset off, tossing it carelessly to the seat beside him.
“Fucking mountain with its shitty fucking signal.”
He could vaguely hear Zayn’s voice through the earpiece and rolled his eyes as he looked down on his phone, because couldn’t he wait one bloody second?
As he rounded the corner and glanced up, he froze, phone halfway up to his ear.
Harry drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, singing Madonna’s Like a Virgin at the top of his lungs. The AC was broken and the stuffy air made his vest stick to his sweaty back, so he rolled down the window of his car even though he knew it always got jammed and pulling it back up would take effort. Well, the effort of charming Liam into fixing it for him (once again), but still. Effort. When the wind finally burst in through the crack at the top of the window and hit his overheated face, he groaned and turned his face towards the source. Well worth some metaphorical arse licking. Fuck, it was so bloody hot.
He zoomed down the mountain, singing, “Gonna give you all my love, boy. My fear is fading fast.”
It wasn’t until he veered around the corner that a silver bullet of a car appeared seemingly out of nowhere, coming straight at him at a speed well over the limit, a boy with a phone in his hand sitting behind the wheel.
‘Been saving it all for you ‘cause only love can last,’ blared out of the shitty speakers. Harry’s eyes went wide, his grip on the steering wheel turning his knuckles bone white as he jerked the wheel to the side, because if he didn’t, that boy was going to fly right off the mountain.
‘You’re so fine’ barely drowned out by his own deafening scream was the last thing he heard before they collided.
“Louis? Louis!” The phone flew out of his hand as he yanked the wheel to the side to avoid collision, realising too late that he was not on a bloody highway but on a mountain with a drop so high, he would—he was going to die.
He squeezed his eyes shut and felt the impact of smashing into something so hard it knocked the breath out of his lungs.
He wasn’t dead. Numb all over, heart hammering against his ribcage so hard he was waiting for it to jump out of his throat and splatter in his lap, but… he wasn’t flying. Was still on solid ground, shaking so much his grip kept sliding off the wheel and his teeth clattered. His ears still rang with the tinny sound of metal smashing into metal.
He blinked his eyes open, momentarily blinded by the glare of the sun bouncing off the hood of his car, which had been smashed in like a cheap beer can. Fuck. Holy fucking shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He could have died.
He had to fight his way out of the car past the airbags, managed to push past with a surprising burst of willpower, considering he was shaking so hard his knees were about to give out.
He slammed the door shut, the sun too sharp, too bright.
“Hey!” someone called. Someone tall and curly and tan, dressed in nothing but too-tight skinny jeans and a black loose vest and the stupidest hat Louis had ever seen. “Hey you! Are you okay?”
“What the fuck have you done?!” Louis yelled, pulse steadily climbing up. How much before he’d get a heart attack? Or see his too expensive lunch for the second time? Because he was not going to throw up in front of this sad excuse of a hipster. Even if he had better legs than most of the runway models Louis had shagged in the past few years. Maybe especially because of that.
Louis could feel his eyes well up, couldn’t decide whether he wanted to break down in the middle of the road or grab the other bloke by his throat and just… fuck. Fuck him or fuck him up. “You could have killed me!”
Hipster Dude looked shocked, too big mouth half open, pausing in his step as he screeched, “What? I could have killed you? I saved your bloody life! You’d have flown right off the mountain if I hadn’t smashed into you!”
“You ruined my fucking car!” His voice broke on the last syllable because he wasn’t used to yelling like this. He wasn’t used to people talking back. And he was certainly not swallowing back helpless tears. His car. His baby. “Do you have any idea how much this thing cost? Do you, you bloody ingrate? It’s brand fucking new!” His father was going to kill him. He was going to hire an assassin that would poison Louis when he’d least expect it and then bury his body in their back garden, right behind the golf course. Louis hated golf.
Hipster Dude just… he laughed. Bent over at the waist and slapped his knees as if this was some kind of hidden-camera prank and he’d got Louis good. With the bursts of adrenaline hitting him in waves, Louis was pretty sure he could take the bloke on even if he turned out to be a homicidal maniac.
“Are you seriously laughing right now? What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He was not going to laugh once Louis called his father’s lawyer to sue the boy’s skinnies off.
Louis still couldn’t feel his limbs, could barely register any pain. What was wrong with him?
Maybe he really had died. Maybe they were both just ghosts chatting each other up in the middle of nowhere, oblivious. Louis was not going to go towards the light. Not before he somehow managed to notify Zayn to clear Louis’ Internet history.
“I just,” the bloke wheezed, dropped down to sit on the asphalt road, lifting his gaze to meet Louis’. “I can’t believe I’m not dead. And that you’re not dead.”
That was still up for debate.
Louis strode right over, didn’t break the too weirdly intense eye contact even when he stopped to stand above the guy as he most likely did in every aspect of his life. His car was a rusty garbage bin on wheels. Their chests frantically rose and fell in tandem. “No thanks to you! If you weren’t going down this mountain in the first place I would never have—”
“You weren’t even in the right lan—”
“—smashed into you! The repair is going to cost a fortune. And they’ll take at least a week. What am I supposed to do without a car for a week—”
“Hey, you might want to—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Louis spat out, breathing so hard he was light headed, the bloke’s lids hooded as he lifted his chin, gaze dead set on Louis in a quiet, unrelenting challenge.
“I was just going to—”
“Do you ever stop talking?”
Louis’ hands shook.
“Your car,” Hipster Dude said, licked over his lips, arching his eyebrow as if Louis was some kind of idiot. He was not the idiot here. He was the only one clearly—
Wait. What was that sound?
He broke the impromptu staring contest to glance over his shoulder and froze for the second time within the last five minutes. No. No, no, no!
The wheels of his car slowly started turning and gathering speed. The gravel scrunched beneath the tires. Louis watched dumbly as his 250,000-dollar car with customised leather interior and the sickest, newest gadgets drove itself down the road and off the mountain shoulder.
Dead or not, his life was officially over either way.
“Well, I did try to tell you. Can’t believe you didn’t put your brakes on.”
Louis was unexplainably both half-hard and tearing up. Great. “Fuck off.”
Louis was still staring at the spot where his car used to be when he heard the guy get to his feet behind him. That grunt did nothing to Louis.
His skin had been sizzling ever since he’d got out of the car.
“As delightful as this have been, I have to go.” If Harry’s car still worked. If it didn’t, Harry’s dramatic exit would have turned sour very fast.
He needed to leave, like, right the fuck now. He felt off. Like his heart hadn’t slowed down ever since the impact and his dick hadn’t got the memo that now was not a good time to be acting out. He tried to shake off the shiver of lust slinking down his spine, telling himself it’s just shock, I’m in shock.
“Where are you going?” the boy asked. Who even wore a bloody suit at lunchtime?, Harry thought. With a trench coat? Voluntarily? If there was one thing Harry despised about LA, it was boys like these. With their uppity attitude and money spilling out of their pockets while Harry had to slave away at an organic bakery during the day and bartend at night just so he could scrape by enough to pay for luxuries such as rent and food. When he got rich and famous and played stadiums all over the world, he vowed to never, ever become one of them.
“Home,” he said and climbed back into his car, only to have Rich Boy trail after him like a lost puppy, mouth twisted with self-entitled disbelief. Harry wanted to bite his mouth.
“So what, you’re just going to leave me here?”
Harry turned the key in the ignition, a relieved sigh rolling off his shoulders when the engine sputtered to life. He was vaguely aware that his body should have been throbbing with dull pain, but he couldn’t feel anything. Couldn’t stop the buzz of his skin, his brain whirring so fast it made him dizzy. “You did tell me to fuck off. So… that’s what I’m doing.”
“But I—” Harry watched with interest as the boy’s face turned red. “You owe me!”
Was this boy for real? Was he really so far up his own arse he no longer saw anything or anyone but himself? “I saved your life, which… I still haven’t heard a thank you. I don’t owe you anything more.”
Rich Boy’s jaw clenched. Harry pretended not to notice the cut of his cheekbones or the tendons jumping in his cheeks. No. Just… no. He was done with assholes. One of the reasons he’d been in a dry spell for months now. He deserved better.
“Look, I’m not completely heartless,” Harry said, foot hovering over the gas pedal as he tossed a bottle of water out of the window. It rolled past Louis to the edge of the road. “Happy walking.”
He was pressing down on the pedal when Rich Boy’s hands slapped down on his window, eyes desperate.
“Come on, don’t be a twat! If you give me a ride I won’t sue you.”
“Still not hearing a thank you…” Harry said, stubbornly staring ahead as his car slowly started to roll forward.
“Why are you so— ” Louis started to jog by his car. “Fucking fine. Thank you!”
Harry slowed to a stop, “What was that?”
Louis glared at him through the window. Harry smiled. It didn’t quite sit right.
“Thank you,” he hissed past gritted teeth.
The feeling of triumph should have been enough for Harry, but it really, really wasn’t. Not when there were fireworks bursting beneath his skin, his limbs restless and itching for something.
“All right, get in the Styles mobile and buckle up!”
He probably shouldn’t have disclosed his surname. He really couldn’t afford to get himself sued.
Rich Boy climbed into Harry’s car, nose turned up as if he smelled something funny. Harry wanted to throw him right back out already. For more reason than one.
“Why don’t you just call a bloody cab if you’re so disgusted?” The engine let out this weird clanking sound when Harry stepped on the pedal again. He really hoped it wouldn’t break down somewhere down the road. The fender was already going to have to be fixed.
“I lost my phone,” Rich Boy grumbled and buckled himself up. “It’s probably somewhere on the road all smashed up.” His hand slapped down on the dashboard and Harry almost swerved off the road again.
“What is wrong with you?!”
“Zayn!” Rich Boy said, and was Harry supposed to understand him?
“My mate probably thinks I’m dead, oh my god! He’ll be proper mad!”
Did people like this even have real friends? Harry wasn’t mean enough to ask out loud. “I’m sure he’ll be that much happier when he sees you’re not, Richie.”
He could see the boy’s head turn in his direction, brows pulled in by a frown, “What did you call me?”
“Richie,” Harry said. “Like from that movie Richie Rich?”
“Yes, I know what that is,” he bit out, impatient and tetchy. “My name is Louis.”
“All right, Lewis,” Harry said, just to spite him. “I’m Harry.” And why hadn’t he lied?
“Whatever, Harold. Don’t crash the damn car again.”
Harry considered crashing it on purpose just so he wouldn’t have to listen to Louis’ complaints anymore. He squirmed in his seat instead, popping a spearmint gum into his mouth and chewing aggressively.
It had been twenty-five minutes of bickering and an ongoing battle of changing the radio station back and forth and constant struggle not to be turned on by how much he hated that he wanted to bend Louis over. Damn the adrenaline and Louis’ cheekbones and his sharp tongue that Harry wanted to put to better use. Damn his sexy trench coat and thighs that Louis wouldn’t stop spreading to take up as much space as humanly possible. Damn Harry’s dry spell. Harry had had enough. Enough of Louis and his own inability to calm the fuck down. If he had to spend one more minute in the confined space next to Louis, he’d either kill Louis or throw himself out of the car.
“In what world is this indie bullshit better than Drake? Have you hit your head or something?”
Harry. Was. Going. To. Go. Off. He stomped down on the breaks so hard it threw them both forward.
“You’re a psychopath!”
Harry was near tears. He kicked at his door when it wouldn’t open and ran out of the car and onto the empty road. At this point, he didn’t even care if Louis hijacked the car and left him here. He was almost hoping for it. Felt like he was going mad, stuck in this tug-of-war between wanting Louis and severely disliking him.
Louis followed him out. Why? God, why?
“Are you having a mental breakdown?” Louis asked warily. Good. He should be wary. Harry was one step away from slamming Louis against the hood of the car and kissing him quiet.
“Listen, we can listen to the indie shit. It’s fine.”
Harry turned on his heel and walked up to Louis until their toes were touching. Louis smelled like expensive cologne and coconuts and Harry wanted to bite him. This was so fucked up.
“Stop,” Harry said.
Louis arched his eyebrow, “Or what?”
Just this once. He just… he needed.
Harry grabbed Louis by his waist and pushed him against he side of the car, searching his face. With fingers digging into Harry’s bare arms, Louis jumped up until his thighs locked around Harry’s hips. His lips took Harry’s without any preamble. No gentle introduction of lips on lips or the first awkward bump of noses that would make them giggle. He dove straight in, tongue parting Harry’s lips and dancing inside, mouths pressed together in a wet, heated kiss that had his knees wobbling.
“Louis, are you—” he panted into Louis’ mouth, jeans growing uncomfortably tighter as he grabbed the backs of Louis’ strong, muscled thighs. The curve of his bum fit right in Harry’s hands, fuck.
“Christ—” he bit down on Harry’s bottom lip, pulled, “just shut up and fuck me.”
Harry whined into the kiss, gliding his tongue over Louis’ and sucking it into his own mouth, his skin itching, electricity crackling over every nerve ending Louis touched with his hands.
“You were,” they parted, breathed in oxygen, “driving me mad with your fucking,” Louis suckled on his bottom lip, ribbing over it with his teeth, “chewing.”
Louis then pulled back and spat Harry’s chewing gum down by their feet, “You drive me mad.”
Harry just pushed Louis harder against the side of the car and ground his hips into Louis’ in a dirty figure eight, whimpering at the hard cock pressing against his through the fabric of their trousers.
“Fuck me already,” Louis whined, tilting his head back when Harry started sucking over his pulse point.
He somehow managed to open the door to the backseat and climb inside without losing his grip on Louis or bonking his head on the ceiling. Try calling me clumsy again, Niall.
“Let me suck you,” Louis whispered hoarsely into his jaw and Harry did drop him then. The backseat was soft enough though, thank God.
“What?” Harry asked, more than a little dazed.
Louis grabbed the bottom of Harry’s vest and swiftly pulled it over his head. It landed on the car floor, right over the probably stupidly overpriced trench coat Louis had shucked off and tossed there two minutes into the drive.
“Suck. Your. Cock.”
“Jesus, I know what you meant—”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?” He hooked his leg around Harry’s hip and somehow managed to twist them around. Harry found himself lying on his back with Louis hovering over him on all fours and no recollection of how Louis had actually managed that.
“I just… didn’t expect—”
Louis trailed hot kisses down his throat, nimble fingers undoing his jeans. The only sound in the car was the slide of the zipper teeth and Harry’s hitching breath.
“Despite what you might think, I’m not a selfish fuck, Harold.”
“Harry,” he corrected automatically and sucked in a sharp breath when Louis licked the hollow of his throat like a hungry animal out for a kill. “And don’t say that.”
“Say what?” He circled Harry’s nipple with the tip of his tongue. Harry’s hips bucked up, tongue licking shakily over his lips.
“That you’re a… a fuck.”
He’d never liked calling any of his one night stands that. Because yeah, he’d slept with his fair share of people but that didn’t mean he’d taken any of them for granted, as something to be discarded and demeaned, even if he’d never see them again. Maybe a part of him didn’t want Louis to think of him like that. Maybe because a part of him, deep down, had always yearned for something more.
“We almost died and I don’t know about you but all the adrenaline is making me horny as fuck, so… do you want to keep rehashing what we call this or fuck me?”
Harry tipped his chin against his chest, frowning, reply already teetering on the tip of his tongue.
“All right, what do you want me to call it then?” Louis suckled the nipple into his hot, wet mouth and tugged with his teeth, deft fingers sliding into the flaps of Harry’s undone jeans to curve over his hard cock through the pants. He was overwhelmed, short of breath and sweating. “Making love?”
Harry moaned and tangled his hand in Louis’ immaculate hair. It was soft, so soft and lovely to touch it almost surprised him.
Louis released his nipple, his grip tightening. “Romantic talk turns you on then? Wouldn’t have guessed.”
“K-keep talking.” He combed through Louis’ hair, mouth dropping open because he just couldn’t seem to pull in enough air.
“Do you want me to make love to your cock then?” His breathy voice trailed on a laugh, hand slowly rubbing up and down, up and down, sliding the cotton fabric over Harry’s increasingly swollen cock.
He sucked bruises down Harry’s torso, little red spots that would turn purple by tomorrow, and Harry wanted that. Wanted to get into the shower tomorrow and remember the indents of Louis’ teeth on his hipbones and the slide of Louis’ clever mouth over his V-line.
“Fuck, you’re leaking already.”
Louis tugged his jeans and pants under his bum and halfway down his trembling thighs. Air hit Harry’s overheated skin, cock slapping up against his abs with an obscene sound that had him biting down on the inside of his cheek.
“Shit, you’re big. Not circus big, just,” Louis’ voice turned quieter, hungrier, “perfect big.”
Just as Harry opened his mouth to answer, hot, wet tongue dragged up from the base of his cock right to the leaking tip. Jesus, fucking Christ.
“Mmm,” Louis hummed, lips pursing around the head and suckling as if it was a lollipop he’d been craving for hours. “You taste good.”
“I, uh… I eat a lot of… fruit stuff.”
Louis wrapped his hand around the base and looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. His fingers barely met around the girth. Harry knew he’d write a song about this. Maybe even two.
“Want me to do it? Want me to suck you?”
Harry whimpered and wriggled his hips, thumbing behind Louis’ ear. Louis’ eyes slipped shut for a second. He liked it. Liked having the little spot behind his ear touched. If he wasn’t so far down, Harry would have kissed it.
Louis rubbed the tip over his open mouth, the sight of it so fucking obscene Harry knew he’d be dreaming about this for years to come. That and the sight of Louis licking out to swipe at the bead of precome and pulling it into his mouth, moaning as he finally parted his lips around the head and sank down, down, down. The drag of his lips turned Harry’s ability to speak into nothing but desperate, keening noises trickling out of his arched throat.
“L-nhg,” he managed as Louis rubbed his tongue over the sensitive underside, fingers caressing Harry’s balls. Harry had never felt himself surrender to someone this fast. To a stranger. And he just… he needed to give back. To touch and taste and see what would happen when Louis lost control.
The cock slipped out of Louis’ mouth with a loud pop. He looked almost unsure. It was the most human and vulnerable Harry had seen him look since he’d met him. It did things to Harry he’d rather not think about right now.
“Turn… turn around. Take your clothes off.”
Together they managed to peel off Louis’ perfectly tailored suit, even though Louis kept distracting him by sliding his hand loosely over Harry’s spit-slick cock. The suit finally joined Harry’s vest on the car floor and Louis looked… fuck.
“You’re perfect.” Harry slid his palms over the curve of Louis’ small waist and rested them on the slight flare of his hips, mesmerised. He was masculine; strong muscles and flat chest with sparse hair, but feminine too. All velvety skin and a bum that fit in Harry’s hands just so. Harry had to have a taste.
“You don’t need to woo me,” Louis said, cheeks flushed.
Harry wanted to. It was so, so wrong and against everything he believed in, but… God did he want to. “You clean? Down there?”
“Do you mean if I washed my bum?” Louis asked, eyebrow raised, back into the comfort zone of teasing, “Yeah. Quite thoroughly, actually. Why?”
Harry grabbed his hips and turned Louis around, pulling his hips back until he was inches away from Harry’s salivating mouth, knees perched on either side of Harry’s ribs. Louis was melted caramel and soft baby pink and Harry couldn’t wait for Louis to get a hint, so he clutched at his hips and pulled him hard down on his open mouth.
Louis must have made some kind of startled sound from the way he jolted in Harry’s hands, but Harry was too busy. Too busy pulling Louis’ cheeks apart with his thumbs and licking over the flushed rim of Louis’ hole. He tasted clean and musky and rich.
“Fucking fuck, Harry.” His hand tightened around Harry’s base so hard he wouldn’t have been able to come even if he wanted to. That turned him on even more. Made him moan into Louis’ flesh and pull him harder down on his face, tongue breaching the rim. Louis’ knee slipped off the backseat and forced Harry’s tongue deeper in. He vaguely felt Louis’ fingers digging into his thigh, Louis’ quick bursts of breath hitting his leaking cock. Louis licked over him, just small, distracted kitten licks that drove Harry mad and left him so needy that he couldn’t stop making all these grunting noises.
“Harry, Harry, Harry,” he slipped Harry’s cock back into his mouth, just suckling at it lazily as though he couldn’t properly focus on anything more, “Please.”
And that was it, wasn’t it? Louis saying please in the softest, most delicate way. So far from the better-than-you, hate-your-hipster-guts tone he’d been using all day. Harry loved it. Wanted to hear Louis say his name like this over a candle-lit dinner and during quiet mornings. He was so fucked.
“Please, just… do you,” Louis panted, keening little noises trapped in the back of his throat, “have stuff?”
Harry pulled his tongue out, watched Louis’ hole flutter and felt like he’d have come if Louis hadn’t been squeezing his base so hard. “Stuff?”
Harry licked the taste of Louis off his lips, his brain foggy. “Yeah. Yeah, um…” He reached behind him into the little compartment built into the side door and managed to wrestle both items out. Not his first backseat tumble. But. The best one. Definitely the best one. And he hadn’t even shagged Louis yet.
Fitting themselves around each other should have been more of a struggle. Harry expected to be elbowed and kneed at every turn, but they managed easily. As if they were able to anticipate each other’s next move. He bit down on Louis’ bum cheek as he settled behind him on his knees and pressed his lubed-up finger in, forever grateful he’d invested in a bigger car. Louis slapped his open palm on the car window and arched his sweaty back, a ray of light slanting over his spine. He looked like he had a handful of diamonds spilled across his skin. Harry pushed in the second finger, stretching and scissoring until Louis was shifting his legs open as far as they would go.
“Yeah,” Louis breathed out, fingers curling into the glass helplessly, his other hand wrapped around his straining cock. Harry didn’t think he’d last.
He took his time, stretching Louis open slowly and patiently with three fingers, fingertips rubbing over the little swollen gland that made Louis get really fucking loud.
“In, fuck, Harry… get in me. Now.”
His slippery fingers fumbled with the condom, trembling and unsteady because he wanted, needed Louis so much he was shaking with it. When he finally ripped the condom package open and rolled the condom down his length, he could have cried. He slicked himself up so much it dripped down his balls and rubbed his length up and down Louis’ crack. When he let the head catch on Louis’ rim on the downward slide several times, he didn’t know whom he was torturing more -- Louis or himself.
“I swear to God,” Louis panted, reached behind and took Harry’s cock and then just… pushed it right in. It was such a tight, tight fit that Harry’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, hips stilling.
Nothing had ever felt this good. Nothing. Maybe he’d write an entire album just about Louis.
Louis wriggled back on him with a drawn out moan and sent him a heated glance over his naked shoulder. “Come on then. Show me what you’ve… got.”
Harry had always liked a challenge.
He smoothed his hand from the nape of Louis’ neck down to the little dimples at the bottom of his spine and rocked his hips forward. He felt every shiver running over Louis’ skin under the palms of his hands, felt his ribs expand on a deep breath as he met Harry halfway.
“Big,” Louis said and dropped his flushed forehead against the forearm he’d propped up against the car window.
Harry went even slower, hands massaging circles into Louis’ hips. “Too much?”
Louis shook his head, paused then nodded. “In a good way though. Don’t you dare stop.”
Harry nodded even though Louis couldn’t see him. A drop of sweat ran down his chest, trickled down his torso. At the sight of where they were joined, his hips flush against Louis, just rocking forward slowly and grinding in deep, he had to close his eyes. Had to bend over Louis and wrap his arms around him. Had to kiss the nape of his neck and the little spot behind his ear that made Louis push back against him harder. Had to.
“I’m glad I ran… into you,” he mumbled into Louis’ ear.
“Sap,” Louis said with a snort, but not unkindly. But maybe Harry wasn’t in the position to make any assumptions. This was just sex. Nothing else.
Harry bit down on the curve of Louis’ neck, felt him jerk in his hold and choke back a moan.
“Can you… faster?”
With as many kisses all over Louis’ upper back as he could manage, Harry straightened back up as much as he could in the confined space and pulled almost all the way out before he slammed back in.
Louis cried, loud and needy, thighs straining as he met Harry’s every thrust, harder and deeper and faster, his fingers digging into Louis’ hips. The pleasure of it crashed over him like ocean waves, one after another, pulling back only so a bigger one could take its place. He found himself chanting Louis’ name, almost a plea, as he pounded into him with enough force to rock the car.
“Yeah, fuck, yes,” Louis whimpered, voice rough, “’M close.”
Harry could feel it cresting too, pooling in the bottom of his belly like a deluge about to burst through the dam. He watched a bead of sweat roll down Louis’ arched spine and rest in the dip of his lower back. The mirror was fogged up with how hard he was breathing and Harry had to grit his teeth at the dirty soundtrack of skin slapping against skin.
“Louis, please,” he reached around, fingers fisting over Louis’ thick cock. He was dripping precome on the backseat and Harry didn’t even care.
Louis slammed back against him with little ah-ah-ahs, shaking. He knew this was it. When Louis’ body jerked forward with a groan and he bit down on his own forearm, shooting and shooting over Harry’s fist, clenching down so hard around Harry it only took him four more thrusts before the wave crested over and dragged him down with it. His vision whited out for a moment, hips moving on their own volition until he was so oversensitive and spent it was beginning to hurt.
He slumped over Louis’ back and licked the salt off his caramel skin. He could feel the aftershocks crackle trough Louis’ veins.
“So, this is me,” Louis said, feeling things. Once he’d come down from the high, his whole body had come crashing down with it, sore and trembling and banged up. He was still tingling now though, weirdly attuned to Harry’s every movement and the way the tendons in his forearms shifted every time he turned the wheel. He was not bloody attracted to Harry even after getting him out of his system. He did not hesitate when Harry parked in front of the gate to his house, mouth cherry red and swollen from Louis’ teeth. Fuck. If Zayn knew he’d probably take the piss out of him for days. Louis didn’t want Harry to stay. He didn’t.
He’d just been an exceptional shag, both of them spurred on by the spike of adrenaline, that’s all.
They sat in the car in front of a monstrosity of a house Harry was sure could house a small town, dishevelled and flushed.
“Are you going to sue me?” Harry asked as he looked at Louis, his shirt half unbuttoned and hair a mess.
Louis frowned, something unsure and nervous flickering over his face before he pulled the mask back on, “Is that why you shagged me then?”
“No!” He almost reached for Louis’ hand then thought what the fuck am I doing? He’d sooner bite me than hold my hand. And maybe he’d do both at the same time, and that was almost worse because Harry had always had a weakness for people who couldn’t be tamed. “No. Was just wondering. Sorry.”
“’S all right.” He slung the jacket over his arm and opened the door. Harry felt a brief flash of panic, an urge to keep Louis in the car, even if they’d spent the next four hours arguing over the bloody radio. He didn’t even like Louis, because he’d only ever drive Harry mad, but he just… he wasn’t quite ready to let go.
Don’t fool yourself into thinking this was more than it was.
“Goodbye, Harry Styles.”
With that, he hopped out of the car and slammed the door closed, leaving Harry alone with nothing but his thoughts and Michael Jackson’s ‘you’ve been hit by, you’ve been struck by, a smooth criminal’ for company. Ten paces away from the car, Louis paused and looked over his shoulder, their eyes meeting through the windshield.
Harry was a mess. A raw nerve.
They couldn’t have been more different, more wrong for each other.
He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles went white and turned away before Louis could, trying to tell himself he’d forget Louis by tomorrow.
Harry could still taste him in his mouth.
“Goodbye, Louis Tomlinson.”
It wasn’t until he parked in front of his own flat building that he realised Louis had left his trench coat in the car.