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hit me with your sweet love, steal me with a kiss

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Six Weeks Before


“Hold the lift!”


Louis looks up from where he’s tapping out a text to Zayn on his phone, throwing his arm out to stop the doors before they slide shut. He scans the room as the rickety lift doors slowly shudder back open. It takes him a moment to identify where the voice came from, but he soon sees another student rushing toward him. He’s hunched over and holding his chest oddly with a messenger bag hanging off his elbow where it had obviously slipped off his shoulder. Louis steps aside, but keeps his hand in the way, holding the doors until the kid gets in, smiling widely and slightly breathless.


“Thanks, man,” he says, reaching over to shake Louis’ hand before he yelps and starts clutching at his chest again, which is suspiciously lumpy… and moving? Lumpy-chest must notice him staring because he subtly pulls his jacket tighter, hiding most of his chest from view.


Louis decides not to question it. This kid could have some sort of chest deformity, and, if he does, then Louis has already probably ruined his self esteem by staring so shamelessly. “You’re welcome,” he mumbles belatedly, then goes back to texting Zayn, assuring him that no, when he and Liam started snogging in the back of the cab it didn’t bother him, and that, yes, even though he was sitting right next to them he was perfectly fine with it. Louis is honestly the best friend he knows.


“Are you going to press a button?” Lumpy-chest asks, nodding toward the floor numbers. Louis raises an eyebrow. So what if he had forgotten to press his floor? Why couldn’t this guy press his own floor number? He’s about to say something when he notices the guy clutching at his jacket helplessly, trying to hide his weirdly shaped chest.


“Yeah, sorry,” Louis mutters, reaching over and pressing the button for the third level, the number partly rubbed off. And then, because Louis is an outstanding person, even when he’s endlessly annoyed, he asks, “What floor?”


“It’s um- oh, three,” he says softly. Louis just nods and settles back against the wall of the lift, crossing his own arms over his chest. “Thank you,” the stranger adds quietly. Louis just nods.


As the lift shudders to life, slowly climbing up the floors, Louis steals a glance at the person next to him who keeps hissing and swearing under his breath, hands pulling at his shirt. Louis can’t help but stare on, a strange expression on his face. He opens his mouth to ask something, maybe if this guy is alright, but instead, a very high pitched, helplessly adorable meow sounds out into the quiet lift.


Louis’ jaw drops open. “You’re smuggling a cat into your dorm!” he accuses, pointing at the guy, who’s biting his lip in defeat, head hung low.


“Technically it’s a kitten,” he says miserably.


"A kitten? You're seriously smuggling a kitten into your dorm right now?" Louis asks, his expression melting into one of amusement. And he had thought the guy had a deformed chest. (Which, wasn't a really smart idea on his behalf, but excuse him if kitten smuggler hadn't immediately come to mind).


"Please don't tell anyone," the kitten smuggler begs, biting down on his lip. "It just- it was all alone on the street and it didn't have food or anything so I thought... and it's so cute! She's so adorable... and I love kittens," he finishes petulantly.


Louis can't help but chuckle. "Is that so?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "Well, I guess I won't tell, but-" he holds up a finger when the guy gets close to celebrating. "I demand visitation rights."


"Oh! Of course. You can come visit any time," he assures, smile spreading until it's an unashamed grin, now stroking openly at the animal under his shirt.


When the lift comes to a stop, Louis steps out first and glances around to make sure that they're in the clear before nodding and waving for him to come out. "You're good," he says quietly. "Where's your dorm?"


"Second on the right," He explains, following Louis down the hall slowly while the kitten lets out a meow of despair. The woes of being trapped against the chest of an attractive coed.


"You're shitting me, right? I'm the second on the left," Louis shakes his head in wonder. He finds himself questioning why they haven’t met before—why Louis hasn’t even seen this kid, let alone spoken to him. Surely, this far into the year they would have been in the common room at the same time, or walked out of their rooms simultaneously, or something.


"What's your name, then?"


"Louis," he introduces himself, turning himself around and holding his hand out to shake. This time, the kitten is still long enough for them to shake hands, and Louis is pleasantly surprised by his neighbor’s firm grip, his hand practically dwarfed in comparison.


"I'm Harry."


Harry smiles as he unlocks his room, pushing the door open and pulling Louis in. Louis shuts the door for him, since he seems to be too busy carefully detaching the softest, cutest little kitten Louis has literally ever seen from his skin. His shirt is pulled up and tucked beneath his chin, showing off the pale skin of his torso. Louis can just barely catch a glimpse of some tattoos there, the dark ink complimenting his skin tone perfectly, but before he can analyze this too in-depth, Harry is tugging his shirt down again with one hand, the kitten held gently in his other.


The cat is small enough to fit in the palm of Harry’s hand all curled up (although Louis isn’t sure if that says more about the size of Harry’s hands or the size of the kitten), and it’s fur looks soft, even though it’s nearly standing up on end. The kitten's obviously disgruntled. The fur is mostly white, but there’s some black on its back that comes down to just barely touch it’s eyes, which are a lovely golden yellow. Louis coos immediately upon seeing it, moving forward and scratching at his head lightly. The cat turns to look at him and meows lazily, the sound high pitched.


Louis’ heart literally melts. “Oh my god, you’re so cute I’m gonna die,” he breathes out as the kitten nudges up against his fingers to be pet. When he looks up Harry is smiling fondly, his cheeks dimpling, and holy shit no. Harry will be the death of Louis, not this cat.


“I’m naming her Artemis,” Harry informs Louis, “because Artemis is my favorite Greek goddess, and also she’s badass and so is my new kitten.”


“Artemis,” Louis nods, smiling as he straightens up. “I like it.” He adjusts the collar of his shirt, because he had felt it dip low enough to show off more of his collarbones than he’d like while not in a club.


He notices Harry track the movement with his eyes, and then watches as Harry’s eyes asses Louis’ collarbones and the rest of his attire. His cheeks get a little pinker and Louis watches the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. It seems that Harry has just now noticed that Louis is a bit dressed up. (And if he had dressed a bit immodest to go out, who cares? Louis likes looking good and grinding on boys he has no intentions of taking home.)


“Er. I’m glad,” Harry says a moment too late, letting the kitten down to explore the room. Louis explores, too, from where he’s standing, his eyes roaming around the small room. There are little fairy lights strung up around the sleeping area, and Harry’s bed sheets are pink, like strawberry milk. It makes Louis smile. He can’t see what of, but there are pictures pinned to a corkboard hung over a very organized desk, along with papers covered in written words and strips of magazines that were cut out carefully into shapes of hearts or speech bubbles.


Louis thinks it’s a bit much for something no one’s going to see. It’s a bit too flower child bohemian hipster for his liking, but he thinks it kind of fits Harry. It’s believable that a boy he met trying to smuggle a cat into the college housing would live in this dorm.


In the center of the room there’s a couch and a coffin in the place of where a traditional coffee table would go, both facing a small flatscreen TV. Aside from where Harry sleeps, there’s hardly any decorations, other than a few posters or framed paintings on the white walls. There’s a door that probably leads to a bathroom, if Louis’ correct, that has a small sticker on it’s white surface, but he can’t see what of. The room isn’t all that different from Zayn and Louis’ own across the hall. Or from Liam’s, a floor below them.


“Would you like some tea?” Harry asks, pulling Louis away from his examination of the dorm.


“What- oh, um… what?” Louis blinks a couple of times. Smooth.


“Tea? I figured since you were here, you know,” Harry shrugs and pulls his messenger bag up so he can rummage through it, pulling out a plastic bag. He tosses the messenger bag down on the couch and walks around the side of it, pulling out two plastic bowls from the remaining bag and setting them onto the floor.


“But then we’d have to go down to the common room. And I wouldn’t be here anymore. I’d be in the common room,” Louis points out. Harry shrugs as he fills up one of the bowls with dry kitten food that he had kept in a sandwich bag.


“I have to put water in Artemis’ bowl anyway,” he says, pulling out a little feather toy and setting it on the floor before he crumples up the plastic bag and puts it in a small blue bin by the door. Louis notes the recycling symbol on the front of it and is nearly struck down by the pure goodness that is Harry. “Figured we could make tea and come back here. So Artemis can get acquainted with her part-time owner.”


“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait. Part-time owner? Not sure I signed up for that, Curly,” Louis raises his eyebrows.


“Yeah. You don’t get visitation rights unless you babysit her when I need you to,” Harry says, as if it’s just a given. Speaking of the kitten, Louis finds himself absently looking for her around the room. He spots her rolling around on the floor in front of the coffin, biting at the carpet, and smiles fondly. Well, maybe he wouldn’t mind being part-time owner too much.


“Yeah, yeah, alright. But I’ll have you know I am a very busy man. I might not be available every time you need me,” Louis says as if he wouldn’t come running as soon as Harry asked him to. Louis’ always been a sucker for a pretty face. But it’s not just that, is the thing. Harry seems like he has a pretty soul, too, and Louis wants to get know him, badly. This kitten may just be the best thing to happen to him.


Harry’s laughs rings out in the room, bright and unashamed. “Alright,” he agrees, though, and then picks up the plastic bowl not filled with food. “Do you want tea or not?”


“I do,” Louis nods.


“With me? Do you want tea with me?” Harry clarifies.


“I do,” Louis smiles, his eyes shining with mirth. “I would quite enjoy having tea with you, I think.”


“You think?”


“I hope,” Louis teases, grabbing Harry’s wrist and pulling him toward the door.


“Do you think she'll be alright?” Harry asks, face painted with concern as he twists his body back around to locate the kitten. Artemis pounces on her toy and rolls around with it before she spots the bowl of food and runs over to it, starting to happily eat. Louis raises an eyebrow at Harry.


“She looks fine to me,” he says dryly, making Harry blush.


“Yeah, okay,” he agrees reluctantly, turning back around and opening up the door. Louis follows him out, and they both make sure that the cat is still preoccupied with her food before Harry shuts the door. He waits for the automatic click of the lock to start down the hallway again, but Louis grabs his hand.


“Hey, I think I’m gonna change first, alright?” Louis says, motioning back to his own room. “Although these jeans make my arse look great, they’re not very comfortable for just lounging around and drinking tea.” He smiles wryly and sees the way Harry’s cheeks color lightly, as if he had noticed that for himself without Louis having to point it out.


“Oh, er- sure. Yeah. I’ll just go put the kettle on,” Harry nods, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the communal kitchen.


“Okay, cool. Meet you there,” Louis turns around then and jogs back to his dorm, struggling a bit to pull his key out of his pocket (the pants are way too tight really). When he finally gets into his room, the door swings shut behind him, leaving him in a nice, Harry-less space. He really needs one of those right now. He’d just met the kid and already he’s planning how he can just randomly run into him without being too suspicious. (The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that he’s definitely not above setting any small fires to get Harry out of his room.)


Louis’ kind of infatuated. “You need to calm down,” he tells himself. “You literally met him like five minutes ago.” After scrubbing his hands over his face, Louis goes to his dresser and pulls out a pair of sweats that cling to his bum artfully and a nice, warm sweater. He likes it because it’s slightly too big, so the neck swoops down to show off his collarbones, one of his better assets, especially now that they’re paired wonderfully with the gentle swooping lines of his tattoo.


Louis changes quickly, then slips on some warm socks, because he figures breaking out the fuzzy slippers this early in the friendship is a bit much. He grabs two mugs from his special stash, because honestly, no one pays attention to or respects labelled things in the kitchen, and Harry probably hasn’t learned that yet since he didn’t bring any of his own mugs to use. After checking (twice) that he has his keys on him, Louis heads out towards the common room.


When he enters, Harry’s head whips up and Louis’ nearly blinded by the sheer force of his grin. He holds up the mugs in response, walking over and setting them down on the counter next to where Harry’s sat. “I thought you’d maybe abandon me here,” Harry admits, ducking his head down and sliding off of the counter so he can walk over and turn the heat on the stove up a bit more.


“My part-time cat owner? Never,” Louis waves a hand, smirking as Harry opens up the cupboard to start searching for his tea. He won’t be surprised when Harry tells him that someone’s stolen it, but will majestically save the day by going back to his room to grab his own. (He keeps things that don’t need to be refrigerated in a special drawer in his dresser. The possibility of ants is worth not having all of his good shit taken.)


“Shh!” Harry smacks a hand over Louis’ mouth, both of their eyes going wide. Harry’s staring at his hand as if he can’t believe that he’s just done that, and Louis’ pretty sure he looks the exact same way. Slowly, Harry pulls his hand away. “Someone could hear. Don’t talk about it out here.”


Louis snorts, shaking his head. “No one’s around,” he says, motioning to the empty common room around them. “And, for future reference, I like to be the one calling the shots, Curly.” He nods toward Harry’s hand so he’ll know what he means, and it’s like a lightbulb cracks overhead, the sparks falling down over Harry and filling him with color, his skin flushing all the way down to his neck.


Louis really wouldn’t mind keeping him around if he gets reaction like this out of him. “Oh, um. I just- Sorry,” Harry mumbles, shaking his head. Oh no, Louis thinks. This is the part where we slip into awful small talk and what classes are you taking shit.


When Harry turns to him again, he looks strangely serious and Louis’ frantically reconsidering all of his actions before, trying to find the moment that he cocked everything up. Maybe suggestive jokes aren’t really Harry’s thing, maybe Louis will have to tone it down in the future. Maybe- “Louis,” Harry says, slowly, reaching into his pocket. “Do you think that if I ate all of these at once, I’d be able to breathe ice?”


When Louis looks down, Harry’s holding out a handful of throat lozenges, the kind that make your mouth feel like Mount Everest if you suck in a big breath after you eat them. The whole thing startles a laugh out of Louis that he didn’t know he had in him after his agonizing night. Harry is like a breath of fresh air that makes him forget about Liam and Zayn’s quiet giggling, like the gentle breeze that blows away their hushed words and deterring body language, shunning Louis for not being as beautifully and complicatedly in love as they are.


Harry is starting to seem more and more like someone Louis would really like to have around all the time and this thought leaves him wondering why he hasn’t talked to him before, why they haven’t even met. “Why haven’t I met you yet?” Louis asks in lieu of a real answer. He thinks the smile on his face may be too telling, but he doesn’t try to hide it. Harry just has this thing about him.


“Ah, but we have met, Louis. Do you not remember? I was in the lift getting my nipples ripped off by a kitten? You thought I was the sexiest lunatic you’d ever laid eyes on?” Harry grins cheekily, nudging Louis’ socked foot with one of his boots.


“Sexy is pushing it, nipple boy. And I did not think you were a lunatic. I thought you had a strange chest deformity and I was trying my very best not to draw attention to it,” Louis sniffs, though he can’t hide the indulgent smile on his face, his eyes tracking the flow of Harry’s arm as he pops a throat lozenge into his mouth. (He’s just got this fluidity about him, yet he’s built so strong, sharp angles of his shoulders contrasting so wonderfully with the gentle curves of his hips. Louis thinks he might need to start studying maths to truly appreciate the slopes and lines of Harry’s body, but he knows absolutely one thing: Harry would make a gorgeous model.)


“Yeah, all the staring really didn’t bring any attention to it at all,” Harry grins, waggling his brows at Louis. He waggles. Waggles.


“Oh, shut it,” Louis laughs, for lack of anything better to say. Harry looks down and chuckles quietly, but he doesn’t say anything else on the matter, nudging Louis’ foot again lightly. He’s still dressed from being out and Louis should feel a bit more exposed, maybe, being this soft and defenseless around him, but for some reason he doesn’t.


A comfortable silence settles over the room, both of them looking down at where their feet are still touching. Louis likes it, the way Harry seems to be too big for himself, his limbs too long and extremities too large. He hasn’t had time to grow into them yet, to grow into himself, but his presence just fills up the entire room, and Louis just. He just doesn’t know what to do with that. He’s never met a person so intense before in his life.


“It’s probably because I’m only a first year,” Harry speaks up after a few more moments of silence.


“Huh?” Louis lifts his head to look at Harry, confusion written on his face.


“Why you’ve never met me before. I’m only a first year. This is my first year here,” Harry explains, pushing himself off of the counter when the kettle starts distinctly steaming. He turns off the stove and Louis grabs the cups, moving behind Harry to set them where he doesn’t have to move across the entire kitchen to fill them up.


Except that Harry isn’t expecting it, so he moves backwards to get to the cups, knocking into Louis and swearing under his breath. He nearly spills hot tea everywhere, too, but Louis steadies him with a hand on his waist, the other one occupied with two mugs hanging very precariously from his fingers. “Alright?” he asks, voice close to Harry’s ear. Louis likes that. They’re almost the same height, Harry’s only slightly taller, but Louis likes it.


He hears Harry swallow and then sees him nod, and he likes to think that his proximity has some kind of effect on Harry, that his touch makes his heart beat a little bit faster. (He likes to think that it’s because he’s exceedingly alluring and not because Harry has problems being close to other people.)


“Alright,” Harry confirms after clearing his throat, turning just enough to startle Louis into action. He steps back and sets the mugs back down on the counter, motioning for him to continue.


“It’s my third year,” Louis says, and he thinks about the two whole years where Harry didn’t exist in his uni life. And now that he’s met him, he wants to make up for that by spending as much time as they possibly can getting drunk and playing video games and going out for brunch maybe and also taking care of Artemis.


Harry makes the tea wrong (who doesn’t put the bags in first?), but Louis doesn’t say anything, just watches his fingers as he holds the tiny paper between them. It looks so delicate compared to Harry’s large hands, his fingers long and slender and probably going to show up in Louis’ dreams tonight. Since his eyes are so focused on Harry’s fingers, he catches it when they snap up by his face, bringing him back to attention.


“What? Sorry,” Louis mutters, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand. “Zoned out a bit.”


“I can tell,” Harry says wryly, wiggling his fingers teasingly at Louis. “Your loss. I was telling an absolutely superb story.” He grins like he’s got a secret and Louis smirks right back. He shakes himself out of the whole ‘holy shit this guy is the most attractive idiot I’ve ever met’ thing and jumps right back into Harry, talking and laughing and teasing him, drinking tea and, when they get back to the room, playing with Artemis, too.


It’s kind of amazing, how easily Louis loses track of time. Sometime between discussing music theory and debating best comic book heroes, Louis finds that maybe his night hasn’t been so bad at all. (Except when he goes back to his own room and finds Zayn and Liam naked on his couch. That’s kind of awful.)

5 Weeks Before


The next time Louis sees Harry he’s already running late, having thoroughly slept through his alarm and then forgotten his books, twice. He doesn’t have time to stop for tea or anything, literally pulling on his jacket as he runs down the steps. It’s not even his nice one either. It’s too stiff and the black has faded so it’s just greyish black and doesn’t match the black of his pants, which are purer, with less red in them. He’d grabbed this one in mistake and it’s too late to go back and change, so he’s going to have to deal with it all day. He’s just reached the bottom of the steps when someone rounds the corner too quickly and slams right into him.


The first thing Louis thinks is shit, hot, and the second thing he thinks is shit, really hot, when he looks up and sees Harry, swearing and shaking out his hand that also got boiling hot tea on it. His other hand is holding the offending paper cup gingerly with the tips of his fingers, and then Louis thinks fuck really, really hot as the tea sets into his shirt and starts burning his skin. They both seem to notice this at the same time, because Louis starts swearing and Harry grabs him by his shirt and pulls. Louis’ first instinct is to step closer, but then he realizes that Harry is probably saving him from pretty nasty burns by holding his shirt away from his body, so he stays put, distancing himself as much as he can from the hot clothing.


Once they both catch their bearings, Harry starts pouring out words, his mouth running a million miles a minute. “Louis! Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you, I can’t believe I- God, I’ve ruined your shirt, oh my gosh I’m really sorry like really really sorry. Please- Let me... Um. Let me get you a shirt, you can wear one of my shirts. I’m so sorry, come on, come up to my room,” Louis is helpless to just watch as Harry seems to never run out of breath, stumbling over himself like a baby fawn to pull Louis up the stairs. Louis prays that he isn’t a singer or something. He’s pretty sure that he would actually combust. Harry with his red lips and large hands (still holding onto Louis’ shirt!) and deep voice performing would just literally be devastating.


“I hope you weren’t on your way to something important,” Harry says as he shuts the door, turning around. His eyes flit around Louis’ face (still stuck on one of surprise) before they travel down to where his hand is still fisted in the fabric of Louis’ shirt.


“Just my photojournalism class,” Louis sighs, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the doorknob so as not to forget it when he leaves.


“Oh.” Harry uncurls his fingers and then flexes them, and Louis watches as he rubs out the stiffness in his knuckles. Harry’s eyes seem to be focused somewhere else, though, and Louis follows his line of sight to his own chest. The fabric has settled back down, and of course Louis is wearing a plain white tee, so anyone--namely Harry--can see the plains of his chest, his nipples hard from the shirt, which had cooled down and is now just chilly on his skin.


Louis smirks, letting Harry continue for a moment before clearing his throat. “My eyes are up here, Curly,” he says pointedly, just to watch the way Harry completely flushes, going red all the way up to his ears. If he were a kettle he might be steaming.


“I-” Harry fishmouths for a good few seconds before shaking himself out of it. “Let me get you a shirt.” He doesn’t even apologize for his shameless staring, just turns on his heel and walks into his bedroom area, going to the dresser that’s stuck in the corner and overflowing with accessories and hair ties. (Louis even thinks he sees a bit of makeup next to a styrofoam head with a hat on and moustache stuck just below it’s nose.)


A quiet mewl comes from the bed and Louis looks over to see Artemis sticking her little head up from where she’s curled up atop a pile of blankets. The way she yawns and then stands up to stretch tells Louis she just woke up from a nap, so he walks over to scratch between her ears. She rubs up against his thigh, her loud purring filling the room. “Hello,” Louis greets her, then scrunches his nose when she leans up to start licking at his wet shirt. “I thought better of you.”


He sighs and moves Artemis back to her pile of blankets, and when he turns around Harry is holding out a grey t-shirt that looks a bit too big for him. “I think this is the smallest I’ve got,” he says, licking his lips. Louis tracks the motion with his eyes, then reaches out and takes the shirt from him.


“Thank you,” he says quietly, completely ignoring the fact that he lives just across the hall and he really could've gotten his own shirt in favor of getting to wear his hot neighbor’s shirt all day. "Um... I'm going to go to the bathroom and change."


"Oh. right," Harry's eyes flit all over his face, down to his chest, over his legs, and then back up to his eyes. "Sorry again."


Louis waves him off on his way to the bathroom. "It's alright, I don’t need the credits for that class anyway," he sighs heavily, shutting the door before Harry can say anything else just to make him feel bad. He snickers to himself a bit as he tugs off his shirt, flinging it to the sink and then wincing at the wet slapping sound it makes.


Looking around, Louis can’t find a towel anywhere to wipe himself off, and it's cold in the bathroom. Which doesn't make a difference to him because his skin is already pretty chilly, but he doesn't want this new shirt to cling to him, or smell like tea. He looks down at the dry shirt and then at his damp chest, sighing a bit. After wiping his hand over himself a few times, he starts shaking himself like a dog as a last ditch effort, then freezes, staring at himself in the mirror. His expression seems to say you idiot, which is pretty inline with his thoughts, as well.


“Do you still take your tea with milk?” Harry calls through the door, knocking once and scaring Louis into covering himself with the shirt.


“Uh, yeah!” Louis calls back, then pulls the shirt over his head, ignoring the way it bunches around his shoulders and clings to his torso. It’s soft enough and as soon as he gets it hanging the right way, it’s a bit loose and flowy, the collar dipping to show off his collarbones quite nicely. Louis has half a mind to think Harry planned that.


When he exits the loo, Harry isn’t anywhere in sight. He’s making the tea, probably. Louis wanders over to the desk pressed up against the wall, running his fingers over the wood as he takes in the corkboard hanging above it. He isn’t doing anything wrong, necessarily, but his heart still beats a little faster, and he keeps glancing over at the door to make sure Harry’s still gone. He scans the board quickly, eyes darting around but never landing on any one thing. It’s completely filled from corner to corner, scraps of papers and pictures pinned strategically.


He sees a bunch of pictures of Harry next to this blonde kid, their cheeks pressed together and smiling most of the time when they’re looking at the camera. When they’re not, they’re either playing guitar or drinking, with the pictures just on the hipster side of blurry that Louis despises. But he can admire a good profile, which Harry does possess. The papers are mostly filled with the same handwriting (Harry’s, most likely), little quotes written out thoughtfully, or just reminders scribbled on the back of receipts. There is a phone number on one of the receipts, seven digits written in black ink with a winky face next to them.


Something ugly and foreign flares up in Louis’ chest, and he immediately grabs the offending piece of paper, crumpling it in his hand and stuffing it in his pocket. When he turns around, Artemis is staring at him unblinkingly, her paw lifted midway to her mouth, where her tongue is posed to clean herself. Louis freezes. Caught. Her expression, laced with disappointment, pins him to where he’s standing.


“Alright, alright,” Louis sighs, rolling his eyes as he turns and takes the paper out of his pocket and smooths it back out. Luckily, it had been a bit crumpled before so it doesn’t look too bad, but the trick is pinning it back in the exact spot where it had been before. Louis remembers the general vicinity, and he just wings it, pinning it back artfully. He turns around again and grins at Artemis. “Eh? Perfect, right?”


She’s less than impressed, returning to grooming herself carefully.


“Who asked you anyway?” Louis mutters, turning around and jumping when he sees Harry standing in the doorway, two cups of tea in his hands.


“Are you talking to my cat?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. Louis notes how even the way he blinks is adorable, and then feels like throwing up at his own sentimentality.


“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, Curly. I am talking to my cat. Part-time owner, remember?” he taps his nose and then winks, walking over to take his cup.


Harry nods, considering this. “So you’re essentially only talking to part of the cat, then. Which part?”


“Do you want me to divide the cat up into sections, Harold? I may be British, but I won’t march into places and start claiming things willy nilly. What kind of person do you think I am?” Louis rolls his eyes, amused. He brings the mug to his lips, pausing to let the steam curl up into his face, all warm and sauna-like. A face sauna. Someone might have to invent that.


He takes a big sip before Harry can properly inform him that that is not his cup of tea, his insides churning at the sugary sweetness that floods his tastebuds. “Jesus christ, Harry! That’s nearly as sweet as you.”


Harry makes this weird snorting sound that he covers with an unconvincing cough, hiding behind one of his giant bear paws. “Is that an insult?” he asks, still snickering. When he pulls his hand away, Louis is practically punched in the face by the sheer force of his smile, dimples digging into his cheeks.


“I’m not entirely sure,” Louis shakes his head, eyes closing briefly. God, just looking at Harry he needs a break. The only thing Louis’ entirely sure of at this point is that Harry will 100% be the death of him. And that before that happens, Louis will be damned if he doesn’t get Harry in his bed at least once.


“Well, I am entirely sure that wasn’t your tea,” Harry offers him the other mug, taking the sweetened one from his hands.


“Oh really?” Louis asks dryly, accepting the switch and taking a much more modest sip of his new tea. It’s... definitely not as sweet as Harry’s. He can tell that Harry tried, though, and that’s the point. It’s not Harry’s fault that Louis makes the best goddamn tea out of anyone. Ever.


“That’s how you like it, right?” Harry asks, his brow furrowed in worry. “Milk, no sugar? I thought I remembered from last time.”


“Yes, that’s how I like it, H. Thank you,” he murmurs, nodding appreciatively at him. He moves over to the couch and sits down, sighing out as he lounges and putting his feet up on the coffin. He figures he should probably ask about it at some point, but decides against it at this moment in time. “Well, might as well make a day of it. What have you got to do for uh-” he pretends to check his watch, “let’s say... the next ten hours?”


Harry laughs as he walks over and plops himself down next to Louis, probably a bit closer than just bros would. Or is Louis reading into it too much? “I have two more classes today, actually. Sorry to disappoint,” Harry shrugs as if he really isn’t that sorry.


Louis huffs. “And you should be,” he grumbles, fixing Harry with a sour look. “I am an absolute pleasure to be around.” He sips at his tea haughtily.


Again, Harry laughs. Louis tries not to take offense to that. “I’m sure you are, Louis,” he murmurs. “However, that class I mentioned? It happens to start in about... ten minutes?”


“Well then you better be going, yeah? Wait. Are you kicking me out?” Louis looks over at Harry, his mouth dropping open. “You’re kicking me out! I can’t believe it, no one kicks me out!”


“Yeah? Well, believe it bub,” Harry sighs, setting his tea down and getting up. He stretches his arms up over his head, and when he does, his shirt rides up to show off his hips, a slight layer of baby fat pillowing over his jeans. But when Louis lets his eyes travel up, he also has a very nice stomach area. Like... he definitely has abs. And a bit of a treasure trail. That Louis would definitely like to lick.


When he moves his eyes back up to Harry’s, the kid is smirking, his arms crossed over his chest. “My eyes are up here, yeah?” he grins, winking down at Louis, who responds with a sarcastic laugh.


“As if I could forget,” he mutters and sets his tea down as well, standing up so he’s level with Harry. “Also. Would you like to come get drinks with me and a few friends tonight? Or do you have night classes, too, Mr. Overachiever?”


“So we’re name calling, now?” Harry raises his eyebrows, a smile worming onto his face. Louis raises his eyebrows right back until Harry’s dimples make an appearance, showing up on the left side first. He makes a note to commit that to memory, the way when Harry smiles, his left cheek dimples first, then his right.


“That’s right crater-face, got a problem with that?” Louis shrugs, stepping closer, so they’re face to face. He still resents that tiny half inch that Harry has on him, and he refuses to let it grow any more.


“Oi, craterface? Really?” Harry pouts, but his dimples don’t go away. They’re still there, daring Louis to do something stupid, like kiss him silly or punch him in his stupid face.


“Yes, really,” he mutters, bringing his thumb up and pressing it right up against Harry’s left dimple until he smiles again.


“Fine. Yes,” Harry bites down on his lip, nodding at Louis.






“Alright, elaborate here, Curly, because I’m lost.” It takes a lot of willpower not to add ‘in your smile’ or something equally as awful and absurd. Harry pulls Louis’ hand away and then turns his arm so he’s pressing his thumb into his own cheek.


“Think about it on the way back to your own room, Straighty,” he says, walking around Louis and planting his hands on his back to push him out of the room.


“Oh, trust me, love. If there’s one thing I am, it is not straight,” Louis scoffs, only resisting a bit as Harry pushes him, just to be a pain. Harry laughs behind him, so close that Louis can feel his breath puffing out on his neck.


“Shut up. Yes, I will have drinks with you and your friends later. Now, get out of my home,” Harry groans as they get to the door.


“How will you contact me later, I don’t even have your number!” Louis digs his heels in just inside the threshold.


“You live directly across from me!” Harry chortles.


“What if you’re not home?”


“I will be, and I will give you my number later, when you haven’t made me late to my favorite class. Because as it is I’m a bit annoyed with you. We’re studying marine mammals today,” Harry huffs exasperatedly, as if any of that means anything to Louis.


“Not annoyed enough for a hug, right?” Louis turns and opens his arms up, a cheeky grin on his face.


“You are utterly ridiculous,” Harry laughs, shaking his head and planting a hand in the middle of Louis’ sternum, pushing him backwards so he can get out and shut the door behind him.


“You just did that to grope my chest. Don’t think I forgot your staring, Curly.” Louis backs up easily, his shit-eating grin directly linked to the fact that Harry takes about point four seconds before lighting up like a fire truck, his whole face hot. “Did you cop a nice feel, huh?”


“Oh my god, I didn’t- I wasn’t-” Harry exhales on a sour note and just rolls his eyes, turning on his heel and walking away, messenger bag slung over his shoulder, which really? When did he get that?


“I know you liked it!” Louis calls after him, grinning when Harry flicks him off without turning around. He rounds the corner for the stairs (a brave choice, considering what happened the last time they were there), probably avoiding the awkward waiting for a lift at the end of the hall, and then Louis leans back against his door. He doesn't realize that he’s smiling dumbly until Zayn comes round the corner and fixes him with one of his signature looks.


“Liked what?” he asks, still eyeing Louis wearily as he unlocks the door to their room. As he pushes the door open, he steps aside for Louis, who hums in thanks as he steps inside.


“Nothing. Hey, completely unrelated, but I’ve invited a friend to Bevs tonight. His name is Harry. He lives across from us,” Louis shrugs, going to his couch and sprawling out on it. Zayn walks over and sits directly on his stomach, just because he knows Louis hates it. “Oi, get off.”


“Is he gonna be on top of you all night? The last time you invited someone to Bevs with us-” Zayn starts, always one to bring up Louis’ past mistakes and rub them in like salt in wounds.


“How can he be on top of me if you’re already there. Arsehole?” Louis cuts him off by rolling over, effectively dumping Zayn onto the floor. “Look, I am a smarter man than in the past. Don’t you have faith in me?” He rolls onto his stomach to see Zayn down on the floor better. It’s not a lie; generally speaking, Louis is smarter than he was two years ago. Then, he brought that asshole Jim to have Bevs with the guys, and ended up handcuffed to his own bed without the key or anyone to let him out. Now, he’ll bring Harry to Bevs with the guys and, god willing, end up with Harry in his bed—handcuff free. (At least for now.)


The principal is still the same, now, he supposes. Louis had brought Jim purely as a prelude to having lots of hot sex with him, and he definitely wants to end up in bed with Harry very soon this time around. He knows it will go better with Harry though; Harry isn’t a complete arse. Harry’s softer than Jim had been, sweeter… more docile.


“How hot is he?” Zayn sighs, rolling onto his back and fixing Louis with a look. He’s always doing that, just looking at Louis. It’s uncanny, is what it is. They should have a firm talk about it one day, especially because it’s the sole reason why Louis can’t keep any goddamn secrets. From Zayn, at least.


“Zayn!” Louis pushes himself up with his hands, exasperated. Let no one say Louis doesn’t put his very best into pretending he has very upstanding morals. “I am appalled that you think that physical appearance is the only source for me bringing someone to Bevs with us! Harold is my friend.”


“His name is Harold?” Louis is personally offended by the look on Zayn’s face. And he definitely doesn’t like that, the way his nickname for Harry sounds coming out of someone else’s mouth.


“You don’t get to call him that. His name is Harry, you’ll call him Harry.” Already, Louis’ laid claim on certain aspects of Harry. Maybe he’s more British than he’d originally thought. They’ve only talked twice but Louis’ fucked himself (figuratively). If he thinks Zayn will ever let him out of this, he’s wrong.


“Oh, Harry? But you get to call him Harold? So Harry is your special friend,” Zayn smirks, even as Louis gets up and walks over him to his side of the room.


“Would you shut up, Z? I have nicknames for all of my friends. Point is, he’s coming to Bevs and you will not embarrass me. If you do anything other than canoodle with Liam and make pleasant conversation, I will end you.”


“Oi! I don’t canoodle, I’ll-”


“Alright sure, whatever, just leave me alone!” Louis flops down onto his bed much like a disgruntled teenager (his own sheets are white and clean, because they always look best when his bed is unmade and sometimes Zayn lets him take pictures of him shirtless on top of them. Zayn is Louis’ best friend for many reasons.) and stares up at the ceiling. It’s smooth and plain, just like the walls around him. He had put up some posters when he first got his own room, but he always had to take them down whenever he needed to use his own room for projects, which happened more often than not. The boyish Beckham posters just didn’t look right when he had models half naked posing next to them. Eventually he just never put them back up. It’s easier in the long run.


He thinks about Harry in his sheets. And the thing is that he’s so big; big smiles and laughs and hands, an even bigger personality. Louis wants to see how small he can make him in this bed, folded up and bent over and panting. He wants to take pictures of Harry naked all twisted in his bedsheets, still sleep rumpled and worn from sex. Wants to show them to everyone so they’ll know. They’ll see Harry and know that he’s Louis’. Or, on second thought, he wants to keep them to himself. Those moments will just be theirs. To hoard and then take out every couple of months. To say ‘hey remember the time...’ and then be too caught up kissing and fucking again to even remember to reminisce.


“I can feel you dreaming about marrying him and having ten kids from over here,” Zayn says from the living area, probably still sprawled on the floor. Louis flicks him off without even looking.




Louis would like to know when his life became a huge romantic comedy, because he’s starting to get tired of being the butt of every joke. Harry’s already at the club when he, Zayn, and Liam arrive. He’s got on the tightest jeans Louis has ever seen in his life (including his own), and this flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off, the buttons mostly undone to reveal the majority of his chest and a few tattoos. Louis’ eyes are first drawn to the big butterfly inked above his abs, then to black lines drawn on his shoulders, partly hidden by the edge of his shirt. He can’t help staring, his eyes clinging to Harry’s exposed skin.


The second thing Louis’ eyes are drawn to is the blonde boy that Harry’s dancing with, one hand resting surely on Harry’s hip. Harry’s own hands are up over his head, his hips swaying to the beat pounding out of every speaker in the joint, his eyes closed and mouth open in a laugh. He’s gorgeous, the way the club’s lights are illuminating his face, casting shadows that only accentuate the natural structure of his bones. He’s so gorgeous, and obviously too preoccupied to notice that Louis’ arrived. “That him?” Zayn’s voice right next to his ear makes him jump, his hand flying up to clutch at his chest. “He’s cute Lou, I see why you like him.”


Louis doesn’t even have it in him to question Zayn’s tone, too caught up in the battle going on in his head. He’s got that feeling again, the one that feels like a fire burning in his chest, and he’s torn between walking over and claiming Harry as his in front of everyone, or ordering strong, fruity drinks for himself and burning holes in the back of that blonde guy’s head.


Zayn decides for him when he gets a firm grip on Louis’ bicep and tugs him away from the dance floor, probably with the strong eyeroll that he reserves only for Louis. “You can’t just stop in the middle of a goddamn room,” he mutters, shoving Louis into a booth next to Liam and then sliding in after him. Louis pushes thoughts of Harry from his mind, instead steeling himself for a night of poorly concealed googly eyes and love stares, along with gross whispers and giggles. He knows from personal experience the way Zayn sounds when he’s trying to convince Liam to have a quickie in the toilets, and he doesn’t want it to happen right over his head this time.


And Zayn wonders why Louis is always trying to find new people to come to Bevs with them. “I don’t want to sit in the middle,” Louis whines loud enough for both Liam and Zayn to hear, pouting childishly as he crosses his arms over his chest.


Before either of them can reply there’s a loud yell of  “Louis!”, and then a very giggly, very clumsy Harry is practically crawling over the table to get to him, hugging him and smacking a big kiss on his cheek. “You’re here!” he cheers, as if he were the one to invite Louis tonight, instead of the other way around.


“I am,” Louis confirms, chuckling a bit. He brings his hands up to steady Harry and also hug him back a bit. “Are you drunk?”


“No, just happy,” and then he’s moving away, being pulled back by the aforementioned blonde boy, who also looks ‘just happy’. “Niall!” Harry cheers, turning and wrapping his long, long arms around Niall’s neck. Louis squints once he gets a better look at Niall’s face, thinking that he looks vaguely familiar. Before he can consider it too much, Harry’s back in his ear, voice loud and slurred. “Lou! Wanna dance? Come on, dance with me Lou!”


Liam and Zayn are both quick to lean in with a teasing, “dance with me Lou!”, and Louis is just as quick to shove them away. “Oh, piss off,” he mutters, pushing at Zayn’s shoulder until he lets him out of the booth. He’s not even steady on his feet before Harry’s grabbing his wrist and tugging, tugging, tugging him away from the booth, toward the dance floor he had just come from.


Louis feels his heartbeat pulsing in his wrist where Harry’s touching him, feels a little drunk on the way Harry looks tonight, the way he’s already dancing before he even reaches the floor, hips swaying as he walks. Louis feels a little drunk staring at the swell of Harry’s pert little bum, moving back and forth, back and forth. Normally, he would try to be less of a pig around guys he likes, but tonight he feels like he might dive head first into the filth and roll around in it. “Harry,” Louis’ voice comes out steady, firm, even, when he speaks (much to his surprise), stopping Harry right in his tracks.


“Yessss?” Harry smiles in a cheshire cat-esque fashion, turning around so quickly that he stumbles right into Louis’ space, long arms flailing like an air dancer. Although, Louis supposes he wants to sleep with an air dancer considerably less than he wants to sleep with Harry.


“I know you’re well on your way to fucked,” he tries so, so hard not to pay attention to the big glaring double entendre there, “but I am very much sober right now, and I came here to drink.”


Harry nods concisely, steadying himself with hands on Louis’ shoulders. (Louis firmly ignores the way his hands fucking engulf his shoulders, fingers stretching down to just barely grip at his back. Instead, he carefully focuses on a small mole just below Harry’s left dimple. For a moment he imagines a baby Harry, giggling joyously as an infinitely less gorgeous baby angel kisses him right on his cheek.) “Yes,” he agrees, prompting Louis to try to even remember what he’d said in the first place. “Alcohol, right. To the bar, then.”


Alcohol, right. He lets Harry turn him around and lead him to the bar, his whole hand spanning the small of Louis’ back. This is how Louis knows he’s in. Bros don’t touch bros lower backs. Butts are fine, shoulder are free reign, but lower backs are uncharted bro territory. There’s a line between bros and bros that might wanna kiss and love each other a bit and Harry’s just jumped over it hands first.


When they get to the bar, shoving through a throng of hot bodies to get there, Harry presses right up against his back, staying close. His fringe tickles Louis’ ear a bit, but he holds Louis fast when he tries to jerk away, an impish grin on his face. “You little shit,” Louis elbows him in retaliation, glancing back to grin at him before the bartender makes her way over to their side of the bar. She’s about to skip right over them, go to a different person entirely, but then she spots Harry and beelines directly to them.


“Harry!” she grins, her voice low and sultry and absolutely gorgeous. Louis would date her if he weren’t, you know, strictly into cock. “Back already? Who’s this?”


Louis assumes that she means him, since he’s the only thing between the two of them, Harry draped over him like a very warm and intoxicated jacket. “I’m Louis,” he introduces himself, smiling politely at her. He’ll have to remember to ask Harry how they met later.


“Well, Louis, our special tonight is the Pink Panty Dropper. Would you like to try it for half off?” She asks, seemingly ignoring the way Harry rocks forward precariously at that.


“Mm. Although that sounds lovely, I think I’ll just have a Long Island Iced Tea. But Harry here would love to have his pink panties drop. Wouldn’t ya, H?” Louis grins and turns around to see the way Harry gapes at him dumbly for a few seconds. His eyes are wide and so so green and Louis just wants to kiss his cute, embarrassed face. What the hell.


“I, erm...” Harry looks down, his fringe falling down into his eyes. Louis smirks and makes sure to wiggle as much as he can on his way back around.


“Yes, he’ll have the panty dropper one. Thanks,” Louis smirks when he feels Harry press his burning face against the back of his neck. Harry’s bartender friend nods and walks off to get those, so Louis turns back around and nudges Harry’s foot with his own. “Alright?”


When Harry looks up his lips are bitten red, pupils blown wide, and god, his cheeks are still red. Louis likes seeing Harry all flustered. “Did you look through my things?” Harry asks, prodding hims in the stomach. “How did you- How did you know?”


Louis raises his eyebrows, settling his hands on Harry’s hips to keep from being jostled too much by the careless people around them. “Wait, wait, what?” The music is loud and thumping, the bass line buzzing in the soles of Louis’ feet. It’s just the music, attacking him from all sides. It’s just the music because he definitely didn’t hear right. Harry didn’t just inadvertently admit that he owns a pair of panties. Pink, nonetheless. God, pink would look so lovely against his skin, soft and pale like Harry is.


Harry leans in closer, apparently too drunk or too turned on to be ashamed anymore, putting his mouth right by Louis’ ear. “Did you go through my underwear drawer, Louis?” he asks, placing his big hand on top of Louis’ on his hip. His hand is big and warm and big and Louis hasn’t even had a drop of alcohol, but his head is spinning.


“Would you have liked me to?” he shoots back, turning his hand over and squeezing a couple of Harry’s fingers. “What would I have found in there? Surely not just panties, huh? Bet you’ve got all kinds of toys in there, don’t you?”


“No,” Harry’s voice is slow and deep, pinning Louis right to his spot, “that’s what my coffin is for.”


Louis doesn’t know whether he chokes on a laugh or his own spit. It’s funny, is the thing. To think about a bunch of sex toys hidden away in a literal coffin, but this… this electricity between him and Harry isn’t even remotely funny. It’s hot, and it sparks and Louis has chills.


“So, one Long Island Iced Tea and one Pink Panty Dropper,” the bartender is back, and Louis almost whimpers when Harry pulls his hand away to reach over his head and take the drinks from her. He still feels hot where Harry’s thighs are pressed up against his own, can still feel Harry’s breath on his ear, his hair tickling at his temple. He almost wishes Harry would spill a drink on him again so this burning would go away.


When Harry’s bartender friend asks how he’s paying, he just tells her to open a tab, already pushing Harry away toward the dance floor. He has to work not to bump into anyone to keep their drinks from spilling, and Louis likes it like that--likes making Harry work for him.


It’s as if right now, even though they surrounded by hordes of people, there’s some sort of bubble surrounding Harry and him. No one else exists except for Harry. Harry, when he turns around and hands Louis’ drink over, when he starts sipping at his own drink, pink like the color of his bed sheets. Pink, like the color of his lips.


“You know, this is actually very delicious. I like it!” Harry yells over the sound of the music, moving closer to Louis as they get sucked further onto the dancefloor. Louis isn’t even sure when he ever agreed to dancing, but watching Harry swing his hips and get so lost in the music that he sloshes his pink drink all over his hands is definitely the most important moment of Louis’ life up until this point.


It’s soon replaced in the next second, when Harry switches his drink to his other hand and then starts sucking the sugary drink off of his slender fingers. “Fuck,” Louis mutters, taking a long pull from his own drink. Harry meets his gaze over a smirk, eyes lit up. He’s well aware of what he’s doing to Louis.


Louis decides enough is enough when Harry hollows his cheeks out around two of his fingers, drawing the attention of more than one of the guys writhing around them. “Jesus Christ, Harry. We’re at a nightclub, not a sex club,” he hisses, grabbing Harry’s wrist and pulling it away from his mouth. Harry complies easily enough, stepping even closer to Louis, biting down on his lip. “Don’t. Why do you do that so much? S’not good for your lips.”


“Mm. Habit,” Harry mumbles, tilting his head sideways. He covers his teeth again, lips curling into a small smile.


They’ve stopped dancing, standing still in the middle of the floor, just watching each other. That electricity is back, but despite that, it’s not how they say it is in stories or movies. Neither of them mention that even though your world has stopped momentarily, no one else’s does. There are still hot, grinding bodies pushing up against them from all sides, jostling them around endlessly.


It’s not an ideal situation to be in when trying to decide if now is the moment to kiss the literal boy of your dreams. Finally, someone shoves Harry hard enough to send him toppling into Louis, both of them stumbling to try and catch their balance. “Let’s get out of here!” Harry yells, and Louis agrees wholeheartedly. He takes Harry by the hand to lead him back to the table Liam and Zayn were sitting at. His fingers are still wet.


“Oi, there you are! We were worried that we wouldn’t get to meet your friend!” It’s solely Liam that keeps him from dragging Harry to the loo and snogging his face off in a fit of temporary insanity. Or brilliancy.


“Right.” Louis puts his hand on the small of Harry’s back, leading him to the table that his friends are in. They’re exactly how he left them, except now Liam is almost completely hidden by Zayn, who’s situated halfway in his lap, drink cradled close to his chest. For someone so effortlessly cool all the time, Zayn is grossly into public displays of affection. And Niall’s now sitting next to them, looking way too comfortable next to a couple that’s probably been sharing the same beer for the past ten minutes.


“Liam, Zayn, this is Harry,” he introduces them, then motions to the half Liam half Zayn glob of limbs occupying half of the booth. “Harry... that’s Liam and Zayn. Contrary to what you’re seeing right now, they’re not actually one person.”


Harry snickers into his hand, waving with his other one. “And that’s Niall,” he points over to the blonde sitting next to them, beer in one hand and phone in the other. “He’s Irish and my best friend.”


“How lovely,” Louis observes, eyes dancing over Niall for a moment before going back to watch Zayn detach himself from Liam long enough to shake Harry’s hand. Liam does the same, his hand nearly as large as Harry’s. Huh.


Harry’s smiling dumbly like meeting Louis’ friends is the best thing he’s done all night, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. “It’s really nice to meet you guys! I like your tattoos, and I think you guys are cute together,” he says, leaning into Louis’ side as he does. “Wanna do shots?”


“Louis, keep him,” Liam says as he flags down a waitress. Harry’s entire body perks up, as if that’s a thing he would like, and then he promptly throws himself into the booth on Liam’s side. They slide over to accommodate while Louis grabs a chair from another table and sits at the end.


This is when the night gets fun. Harry’s foot nudges his own as the first round of shots come out, only sliding higher the more they take. Liam and Zayn actually detach from each other long enough to make conversation, Zayn engaging Louis in banter way too witty for how drunk they are until Liam distracts him and they devolve back into blob form.


Niall turns out to be loud and hilarious and extremely Irish, and Louis finds it gets harder to understand him the drunker they get. However, Harry seems to have no problem, nodding vigorously along with whatever he’s saying and even offering his own thoughts on the situation. Louis is almost sure they’re talking about how sentient octopi really are when Harry stands up abruptly, flailing his arms at Louis. “Bathroom!” he slurs slightly, grabbing Louis’ hand and pulling him to his feet.


Louis agrees easily, long past the point of questioning why Harry wants to go to the bathroom with him and instead just leading him to the back of the club. Harry waves to the bartender as he goes, a small smile on his face, which reminds Louis that he’d been meaning to ask about her. “How did you meet her?” he asks, pausing at the swinging door to look back toward the bar.


“Hm? Oh, she served me drinks. You were there, remember?” Harry shrugs, as if it’s normal to make friends with bartenders. “Oh wait, not the first time. She said I looked cute in my ID picture. We’re friends.”


“Oh, well, of course,” Louis nods, rolling his eyes as he pushes the door open.


Harry follows him inside and then promptly slams right into Louis’ back when he stops in front of him. “Lou, what the-”  


Louis turns around and slaps his hand over Harry’s mouth, his other curled around the back of his neck so he can’t move away. “Listen,” he mouths to Harry, biting on his lip giddily as the hushed moaning coming from the disabled toilet continues to grow louder. It’s hard to hear over the muffled music bleeding in from the club, but finally someone lets out a loud moan that makes Louis grip Harry’s neck tighter.


Harry’s brow furrows in confusion and he curls his fingers around Louis’ wrist. Louis isn't sure if it's to pull him away or hold him close, but then his eyes widen and his whole body stills when he realizes what’s going on not even a couple of meters away from them. They stay standing close like that for a few moments, quietly listening to the couple that doesn’t even know that they’re there yet.


Their eyes meet and immediately Louis starts cackling so loudly his whole body shakes with it, Harry following with this loud and embarrassing and so, so endearing honking laugh. Louis only sticks around long enough to hear a muttered “shit” come from the stall, already tugging Harry back out. The door swings shut behind them and they’re leaning on each other as they continue laughing. Harry straightens up first, wheezing into Louis’ face until he shoves him away. “Gross,” he mutters, though he’s still smiling, Harry’s still got his fingers wrapped around his wrist.


“I really did have to pee,” Harry says then, still giggling. He stumbles a bit when Louis starts moving, letting go of his wrist a moment too late. They worm their way through the crowd, back toward their booth. Harry hooks a finger through Louis’ belt loop rather than risk pulling his arm out of place, but when they get back to the table, Niall is gone and Liam and Zayn are too busy whispering into each other’s mouths to even notice they’ve come back.


“Lou, I really have to pee,” Harry whines, nudging him in his back. Right. Louis turns around, fixing Harry’s fringe from where it’s sticking to his forehead.


“How okay are you with public urination?”


Five minutes later Harry’s giggling as he leans up against up against the rough brick wall of the alley, and Louis is firmly ignoring the faint tinkling sound coming from his direction. “You’re such a good friend, Louis,” Harry sighs.


Louis’  back is turned, but he’s sure Harry’s smiling dreamily or something equally as Harry-like. “Any friend would make sure no one catches their friend peeing behind a building, Harry,” he assures, swaying a bit on his feet. The fresh air had helped to clear his spinning head a bit, but he’s still pleasantly tipsy, rocking back and forth as he waits for Harry to be finished.


Louis hears the zip of Harry’s jeans, and then he starts talking. "Can I come back to your house? Mine’s so far,” he says, stumbling back to Louis and nearly tackling him to the ground when he flops his arms all over him. His chest presses up to Louis’ back, all warm and firm. He’s draped over him like a cape, wrists coming together just below Louis’ chin.


“Harry, you literally live three centimeters away from me,” Louis sighs, grabbing Harry’s wrists and walking with him around to the front of the club again.


“Three centimeters too much,” he mumbles. He waits until Louis has his phone out to call a cab before he realizes his mistake. “Oh! Many. It’s too many, not much. Why didn’t you tell me?”


“I knew you’d get it,” Louis mutters absently, holding Harry still by his wrists when he starts fidgeting behind him.


Harry spends the next ten minutes telling Louis about the eating habits of orca whales, which tailspins into a lecture about sea world and how awful they are to their animals. Louis listens dutifully as they wait for the cab, as he packs Harry into the car and buckles him up, and then as he pulls him out and up into their building.


By the time they get up to the third floor, Harry is draped over him sleepily and Louis doesn’t have the heart to send him off to his own room. So, he doesn’t.


When he wakes up in the morning, Harry is all but on top of him, drooling into his hair like a dope. He very delicately shoves him away, sitting up to scrub the sleep away from his eyes. When he looks back, Harry is blinking up at him, rubbing his own eyes with a dopey smile on his face. Louis wants to kiss his dopey face. Jesus. “Morning,” Harry rasps, his voice rough from sleep and probably from having to yell in the club last night as well. It’s unfairly sexy.


Louis yawns and crawls out of bed, peeping out of his door to see if Zayn and/or Liam is around. He definitely doesn’t want either of them to give him shit about Harry sleeping over. Especially since nothing happened. (Sadface.) “Morning.”


“I think I might’ve drooled on your pillow,” Harry says, sounding a bit apologetic.


“Harry, you drooled in my hair.”


“Oh. Well I guess that means we have to be best friends now.”


Louis scoffs. “I guess.”


Three Weeks Before


They do become best friends. Louis puts his number in Harry’s phone while he’s cooking breakfast and two days later Harry starts texting him purely in the form of pictures of kittens and the snail emoji. Plus whenever they both have free mornings, Harry comes over and makes breakfast for the whole lot of them, Liam and Zayn piling on top of each other on the couch “to make more room.” Sometimes even Niall joins them. It’s good, being friends with Harry. Even if not being able to kiss him makes Louis want to die a bit.


“So what’re you studying? Why did you take photojournalism?” Harry asks one day as they sit on his cozy couch, legs tangled together and Harry’s coursework spread out around them. Well to call it actual coursework wouldn’t be right; it’s mostly just doodles of kittens and a bunch of pictures of the anatomy of animals. Harry wants to be a veterinarian or like a zoo keeper or something that means he literally just studies animals day in and day out. (“See, so having a cat is just me being a good student they can’t make me get rid of her!”)


When Louis lifts his head from the random book he had picked up (which talks about the mating habits of dolphins) Harry’s just staring at him. Louis nearly starts at how intense Harry’s gaze is. Self-consciously, he reaches up and touches his face. “Have I got something on my face?” he asks, rubbing at his jaw a bit.


Harry’s gaze gets more intense for a second before he shakes his head and relaxes, slumping back onto the couch. His legs slide up to rest on Louis’ lap and his focused expression dissolves into a timid smile. “What are you studying?” he asks again, sliding his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and pulling out some lip balm. Louis’ eyes track the motion of Harry’s hand, then focus on Harry’s lips as he moisturizes them. Harry rubs his lips together and they get a pale white before the color floods back, returning the skin to it’s normal shade of just-kissed red.


“Photography,” Louis mutters absently, eyes still focused on Harry’s mouth. Such pictures he could take of those lips. Those lips, red and parted on the downward lilt of a moan. The way they would look stretched out so perfectly around Louis’ cock as Harry sucks him down.


“Really?! That’s so cool! I’ve always liked photography! My mom bought me this digital camera for my birthday once, and for months I just walked around and took pictures of everything I could. It was so cool. I had this really old, beaten up stuffed bear that I-” Harry cuts himself off, a strange look taking over his features. His cheeks heat up and he looks down. “Uh- nevermind. Anyway. I’m sure my pictures are nothing compared to yours, but. The point is, I really like photography.”


Louis raises an eyebrow, nudging Harry with his foot slightly. When that doesn’t work, he digs his big toe into Harry’s thigh, forcing the younger boy to look up at him. “Come on, Curly. You really think I’m gonna let you get away with that shit?” he just looks at Harry, because come on, really? And Harry just looks back like ‘I know you’re right but I really don’t want to tell you.’


Louis considers respecting that for about point two seconds before rolling his eyes and getting off of the couch. Harry’s feet flop onto the cushions and Louis grabs them, pulling Harry down so he’s laying flat on his back. This makes it much easier for Louis to plop himself down onto Harry’s stomach, perching there and crossing his legs prettily. “Oi! Get off, mate,” Harry pushes at Louis’ thigh. This only makes Louis slide down so he’s sitting just above Harry’s hips, and they both seem to realize this through a shared look.


Luckily, Louis is a master of distraction and avoiding awkward situations. “No. I’m sitting here indefinitely until you tell me about your old bear,” he announces loftily, even goes as far as pulling out his phone and shifting around as if he’s settling in to sit for a while when Harry stops him.


“Okay, okay!” He rushes out, sitting up with red cheeks and pushing Louis over so he’s laying down over his legs. This seems to be the opposite of what he wanted, because he grabs Louis by his arms and pulls him back so he’s laying the other way, their bodies chest to chest. Louis meets his flushed face with a look of surprise, eyebrows raised in a silent question. What the hell are you doing? Harry’s cheeks flush even darker and he just shakes his head. “So. My bear. Um, right. It was just- I got if for like... my tenth birthday from my uncle who was kind of crazy but also my favorite? And I loved it. Like… I would take it everywhere with me. And then when I got the camera, I would...” Louis watches as Harry’s eyes dart around. His cheeks are dusted a light pink and Louis figures he’d be looking down if he could, but with their faces this close together. There’s nowhere to hide.


“I would take pictures of it? Doing things? As if it were a real person,” Harry mutters, turning his face toward the back of the couch, obviously trying to get away from Louis’ stare. Louis wasn’t having any of it, though. He brought both of his hands up and put them on either side of Harrys’ face, making him look straight at him.


“You know what I think?” Louis asks, stroking his thumbs right over where Harry’s dimples would be if he were smiling.


“That I was a weird kid with no friends?” Harry mumbles, smiling a bit. But it’s not right, not in the right way. Louis can tell it’s not a happy smile.


“No, I think that you sounded like a really cool child photographer. And I would love to meet your model someday,” Louis told him, pressing his thumbs in and watching as Harry’s smile spread. It was a bit embarrassed, but it was a smile. There were dimples to prove it. “What was his name?”


“Reginald Huntington Grant The Third,” Harry mutters, his cheeks growing hot beneath Louis’ palms. Louis can’t help but bark out a laugh.


“Well. I’d love to see some headshots, maybe I’ll hire him one day,” Louis smiles, kissing Harry’s nose. He sits up after that, his bum planted firmly on Harry’s stomach, and it’s only after he sees Harry’s face that he realizes what he’s done. This time it’s Louis’ turn to blush.


“Oh, wow. I’m really sorry, mate, ah-” he laughs nervously, looking down and rubbing a palm over the back of his neck. He’s only met with the long expanse of Harry’s chest, though, which fuck. “I’m sorry, um. I don’t know why I... sorry.”


Louis carefully extracts himself from Harry and the couch altogether, rubbing a hand over his face. “Er,” Harry starts to say something, but Louis waves a hand at him, cutting him off.

“I should go. I’m gonna go, alright? I have a class in... soon, and. Yeah. I’ll text you later,” he turns to make a run for it and nearly trips over Artemis, who hisses loudly and dashes off in the other direction. “Shit! Sorry.” Louis winces and chances a look back at Harry. He’s just now sitting up, this look on his face like he’s still not too sure what’s going on. “Okay, bye!”


Louis turns back around and closes the gap between himself and the door, flinging it open and stepping out into the hall. A few guys glance over as they walk by, but they don’t pay too much mind, especially since Louis is gone in the next seconds, already in his own room across the hall. When the door clicks shut behind him, Louis can hardly hear it over the rush of blood in his head, the pounding of his heart. Everything is too quiet when all Louis can feel is loud, loud, loud.


“What the hell are you doing? Get yourself together, man,” Louis whispers to himself, hiding his face in his hands. “You can’t just go around kissing cute first years willy nilly.” It’s one thing to tease about sex toys in a club, but kissing noses in the light of day is so not on.


“Oh, god. What have you done?” When Louis looks up, Zayn is watching him from the couch. Before he can help himself, Louis startles, then groans and covers his face.


"Nothing," he says, taking a breath and then when Zayn just fixes him with a look. "Nothing!"


Louis groans again and thumps his head back against the door. "Why did I do that?" he asks himself out loud.


"Do what?" Zayn asks again, though he sounds bored already.




45 Minutes Before


Louis isn’t sure where he went wrong. He’s very used to cute boys, nights out clubbing,  and lots and lots of tea. He’s very not used to Harry Styles. Somewhere between 2 AM texting and cat sitting every other day, Harry becomes a fixed part of their Bevs nights, and Louis falls in love. It’s about as awful as it sounds. So naturally, he runs from his feelings. Literally.


Liam is giving him continuous concerned looks as they run side by side, Louis occasionally trying to chime in with chipper conversation until he starts panting too hard to say anything. (Louis doesn’t blame him; he doesn’t run, or exercise, or do anything inherently physical, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t find the looks annoying.) “Left turn,” Liam says, making Louis sigh out in relief. Every time Liam opens his mouth it’s like Louis can literally see the inevitable concerned questions sitting on the tip of his tongue, ready to jump out and attack Louis when he’s at his most vulnerable: exercising.


As they reach the corner, they turn left together, the end in sight. Louis’ apartment building is at the end of the street. Granted, it might be the longest street he’s ever seen, but his judgement might be a bit skewed at this point. “Jesus Christ, why did I agree to this?” he groans, swiping his hand across his forehead to get rid of the sweat that’s gathered there.


“Because you’re having some weird freakout that has you volunteering for things you never want to do just to get out of the flat,” Liam slows to a jog as he speaks, definitely so he can elongate this run and consequently, the conversation that Louis got himself trapped in. “I’m guessing this has something to do with Harry. Spill.”


“Did you just say spill? This isn’t a mainstream high school movie set in the 90’s, Liam, god. Do you even-” Louis is cut off when Liam punches him in the arm and effectively makes him run into a pole. Even though it doesn’t hurt badly at all, Louis is ready to flip his shit over it, but the clear look of dread on Liam’s face makes him have mercy. He’ll shave half of his face later or something to get even. “You will pay for that.”


“You’re so dramatic. Why aren’t you a drama major?” Liam sighs. He has the lung capacity to sigh even as they’re finishing up a 3k run. Louis is truly impressed.


“Piss off. Okay. Because you’re the only sensible friend I have, I’m going to tell you. If you tell Zayn, I swear you will regret it, Liam!” he threatens, slowing his jog. He has to grab Liam’s forearm to get him to stop as well, and then they’re just standing there, staring at each other like knobs in the middle of the pavement.


“Well?” Liam prods, raising his eyebrows at Louis in question. “I won’t tell Zayn, okay? What’s going on?”


Louis sighs in defeat. This result was inevitable, Louis knew it the second Liam announced he was going for a run and Louis offered to go with him--knew it in the way both Zayn and Liam stared at him like he had grown a second head for a good five seconds. “I think I’m probably, most definitely in love with Harry,” he sighs miserably. He looks up to see Liam straight up giving him the fondest look in the history of his expressions, which is ten times worse than any scenario Louis had imagined when he’d thought about having this conversation. “And before you go off on this is lovely, why are you upset about this bullshit, let me explain. I think Harry knows. And that he doesn’t like me back. Love me back, whatever. I keep catching him staring at me? Like really… intense staring. And um... I’m pretty sure he’s gonna tell me to piss off soon because I can tell that whenever I’m around him I just- ugh.”


Liam opens his mouth to say something, probably to embarrass Louis even further, but before he can, Louis cuts him off. “Okay, wait! I don’t... Listen, I’m pretty sure I don’t love Harry, I mean I’ve never been in love before, but I’m sure it’s not- Okay. I just... We have a kitten together,” he finishes lamely, not ready to acknowledge the fact that that doesn’t support his logic of ‘I’m not really in love with him I just said that for dramatic effect.’


When Harry farts in front of Louis, he still gets red and then makes him leave the room so he won’t smell it. And the worst part is Louis isn’t even grossed out by it or anything. He just lets Harry push him into the other room and gives him shit about it until he gets all squirmy and needs to be cuddled into oblivion. Louis loves cuddling Harry into oblivion. Louis loves Harry. God, he’s in way too deep.


“...and I think you just need to talk to him honestly, Louis. Heart to heart, just tell him the truth. I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you think.” Liam is finishing up saying something altogether too practical that Louis wasn’t even listening to, his eyes soft and concerned in the only way Liam knows how to be.


“Yeah, okay. Thanks, Liam,” Louis mutters, turning back toward the building they live in and starting on their jog again. His legs are already sore and he hadn’t even listened to a word Liam said. He decides he’ll just talk to Zayn later, because he always ends up talking to Zayn. It’s a trait he posses that he resents deeply; the inability to keep any secrets from Zayn. Honestly, Zayn probably already knows. He’ll probably be waiting in the room with an intervention sign hung above his head when Louis gets back.


Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea, to take a break from Harry. Maybe he’s not in love with him, it’s probably just a side effect of spending nearly every day with him, locked up in Britain’s tiniest single dorm room. That’s probably it, combined with the fact that Harry’s the single most attractive person Louis’ ever met (aside from Zayn), and he has this uncanny habit of becoming really soft and pliant when Louis pets his hair, or scratches his back, or just does anything really. Harry’s just unfairly obedient, letting Louis boss him around and just taking his shit like no one usually does, getting Louis drunk on power, making Louis want to kiss his stupid red mouth until he can tell how turned on Harry is just from the way he kisses back. It’s unfair that the only part of Harry Louis’ kissed is his nose.


When Louis finally stumbles through the door to Zayn’s and his room, he’s ditched Liam on the floor below them, and he’s still thinking about kissing Harry. Instead of finding Zayn perched on their couch reading fucking Keats or whatever, there’s a goddamn Harry Styles sprawled out on his bed, head hanging off the edge. Louis groans as he walks over, prepared to tell Harry it’s just because he’s tired. If he even asks. (He doesn’t.)


Instead, Harry sits up slowly, looking very morose as he flops over to the other side of the bed, face hidden in Louis’ seven pillows. Louis isn’t even surprised by the way his own body reacts to this, sadness and concern flooding into every muscle he has, feet automatically changing course from his dresser to his bed, to Harry. “What’s happened?” he asks, near frantic, his heart pounding audibly in the quiet room. “What’s going on? Harry? Are you okay, love?”


Harry only moves when Louis starts petting his hair, turning his head to the side and making a noise similar to a sad meow. “Oh, love,” Louis frowns and pushes Harry’s fringe back from his face, gently lowering himself down to lay by his side. “Won’t you talk to me?”


Harry just shuffles closer until his face is pressed into Louis’ neck, his sniffles loud in the quiet that’s settled over them. His arms wind around Louis’ middle like vines, their legs tangling until he’s not sure where he ends and Harry begins. And it’s not a bad thing, being cuddled close to Harry, comforting him the only way he can right now, but he does wish he knew what was wrong, wishes he knew how to make it better. For right now, he settles with petting Harry’s curls, whispering sweet nothings into the wisps of his hair and tucking them behind his ear to keep for later. “You smell,” Harry mutters, but he doesn’t move away from Louis’ sweaty body.


“I just ran quite a bit, my little snail,” Louis explains, staying close to Harry even though his sweat is starting to dry on his skin. He hopes they cuddle long enough for it to be comfortable again.


Harry hums thoughtfully at this news. “M’not a snail.”


“You talk like one.”




Louis smiles, squeezing Harry’s hip. “Are you ready to talk about what happened?”


“Think so. Just... need a minute.”


A minute. Louis can do a minute.


After an agonizing ten minutes, Harry finally pulls back, looking up at Louis with the saddest, most defeated expression on his face. “Lou,” he sighs heavily, blinking slowly as if it’s a hardship to even open his eyes, “do I really look like a frog? Everyone keeps saying that I- that I look like a frog, and they’re all joking, really, but… I dunno. I feel silly, but I don’t want to look like a frog, I want to look like a Harry.”


At this point, Louis isn’t even sure what expression is on his face. But despite him wanting to laugh at the absurdness of the question, it has Harry upset, so he immediately fixes his features into a frown, leaning forward and kissing Harry right between his eyebrows. The frown lines there don’t go away, though, not until Louis leans in close and rubs Harry’s back. Not until he assures him, “No. You don’t look like a frog. You look like the most amazing boy in the world. You look like my favorite boy in the world, and I wouldn’t want you to look like anything else. Who said you look like a frog? I’ll beat them up right now, love, just say the word. I bet I’ve got like... at least three inches on them.”


Louis smiles when Harry laughs, a real smile spreading over his features. It’s not a big, dimply grin, but Louis will take it for now. “Oi,” he squeezes Harry’s hip until he giggles again despite himself, trying to hide his smile against his shoulder. “What are you laughing for? You don’t think I’m taller than your bullies, is that it?”


Harry keeps giggling, trying to pull away or roll over, but Louis holds him steady, making sure he has nowhere to hide. “Oh, that is it, huh? You don’t think I could beat them in a fight because they’re taller than me? You’re taller than me. Do you think I could beat you?” The things Louis admits to make Harry happy. Someone should write a biography about how selfless Louis Tomlinson is.


“Dunno,” Harry mumbles, biting down on his smile and trying to squirm away again. Louis is quick to roll with him, sitting on his hips and pinning him down, keeping their faces close. He notices the way Harry’s expression changes, his lips parting and his cheeks flushing. He notices it, and he likes it. He’d like to keep Harry looking like that for hours.


“Guess I’m just gonna have to fight you, aren’t I, H? Are you ready?” Louis keeps Harry’s wrists pinned just above his head, not firm enough that he couldn’t get out of it if he wanted to, though.


“Mm,” Harry makes an aborted sound, squirming underneath Louis, his teeth digging into his lip hard. Louis moves one hand to Harry’s mouth, thumb brushing over his abused lip.


“Don’t do that,” he mutters, making up for having a free arm by tugging Harry’s hands completely above his head, holding both of them together with one of his own. Below him, Harry is quick to obey, blood rushing back to color his lip an even darker red than before. “I don’t think you’re ready for this fight, Harry. Are you ready? You don’t look ready.”


“Jesus Christ, Louis, I’m ready, just-” Harry’s cut off by his own shriek when Louis digs his fingers into his ribs, squeezing Harry right where he’s most ticklish. Immediately, Harry starts squirming and thrashing, loud laughs and squeals filling the air. He tries bucking Louis off of him, but Louis keeps him pinned, tickling him up and down his sides, over his stomach, right on his neck. (That last spot has Louis laughing at the way Harry scrunches his shoulders up to his chin to try and keep Louis away from it, giving himself a double chin and seemingly no neck.)


Their tickle fight is cut short however, when Harry stops being a willing participant, his laughs dying in his throat as his flushed cheeks become a painter’s dream. Louis stills his hand, head tilting when Harry starts trying to break free of his grip for real, his whole demeanor closed off and uncomfortable. He’s about to say something probably too harsh or revealing, but then he feels it pressed right up against his bum, hot and big.


There’s no way that Harry couldn’t have noticed Louis noticing. His mouth literally drops open, his own cheeks going a bit red at this point. Harry closes his eyes and groans, turning his head away in an effort to hide, his hands still pinned above his head by Louis. “Harry?” Louis asks softly, letting go of his wrists and sitting back. This only puts more pressure on Harry’s erection, and he quickly grabs Louis by the arse to haul him back up, making him sit up on his knees, bum away from his pelvis area completely. “Harry.”


Louis ignores the way his voice wavers in favor of watching Harry’s expression. The boy’s cheeks are still so bright it looks like it hurts. He sighs softly when Harry still won’t meet his eyes, pursing his lips. “Harry, look at me,” he says, dropping the soft voice and pitching it low, the way he speaks when he intends to be heard, to be listened to. The way he speaks when he intends to be obeyed. Harry seems to catch onto this, because it isn’t even a second after Louis speaks before he turns his head to comply, eyes darting over Louis’ chest and then up to his face.


Waiting until Harry meets his gaze completely, Louis slowly lowers himself back down to sit on Harry’s lap. Harry makes this noise in the back of his throat that does things to Louis, his fingers digging in where he’s still gripping Louis’ arse. “Lou-I...” Harry starts, stops, tries to gather his wits about him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t... I mean. I’m really-”


Although he isn’t too sure of where they stand right now, Louis leans forward a bit, lets himself look down to Harry’s red, red lips. As expected, Harry’s got his teeth digging into the soft skin there. Whether he’s trying to keep himself from saying something or if it’s just out of embarrassment, Louis doesn’t know. He does know, however, for how embarrassed Harry still seems to be, his dick hasn’t gotten any softer. If anything, he’s even more erect, pressed hot up against Louis, which is. Interesting. “Harry.” Louis doesn’t know where they go from here, if this ends in humiliation or glory.


In the end, when he looks back on it, this will be the turning point. In the movie of his life, this is the climax. This is where Louis Tomlinson gets his shit together and gets the guy.


Except in the movies, Zayn fucking Malik doesn’t barge into his room and ruin his life. “Oi, Lou, ‘ve you got- Oh, shit.”


Louis twists around to look at Zayn, eyes wide. He hears Harry groan pitifully from his spot beneath him. “Shit, sorry, Louis. Didn’t mean to... interrupt.” Zayn is a coy bastard and Louis will punch him one day.


“Get out!” Louis squawks, lifting himself off of Harry to chase Zayn away. “It isn’t like that!”


By the time Louis is shutting the door behind Zayn, Harry is up and reaching around him to open it again. He looks a bit hurt, eyebrows pinched in a way that makes him look even more upset than when Louis first laid eyes on him a while ago. “Harry? What-”


“I should go,” Harry mutters, dodging around Louis in lieu of explaining himself, walking a beeline straight to the door.


“Harry!” Louis calls after him, but he’s already gone, the door clicking quietly behind him.


Fifteen Minutes Before


Louis gathers his bathroom things in a stupor, still reeling over what happened with Harry. He doesn’t know what he did, but poor Harry practically ran out of there, not pausing to give him an explanation or even a goodbye.


He can feel Zayn’s confused stare on him as he shuffles out into the living area, but he doesn’t have the motivation to indulge him. “Gonna shower,” he calls to Zayn, pushing his dirty hair back off of his face so he won’t break out.


He’s about five minutes into his shower when it clicks in his head, that last puzzle piece that he needed to push him in the right direction, the direction that leads to Harry. It’s glaringly obvious in his head now that he’s thought of it, the thing he’s needed all these weeks. If he really wants Harry, and not just to flirt shamelessly with him after a few too many drinks, he needs to go out and get him.


He needs to march over to Harry’s room and come clean. Just come right out and say “Hello, I know we’re mates and I’ve just felt your cock but I’m kind of in love with you so it’s okay.” Maybe not exactly like that. Or maybe not like that at all. Louis curses whoever thought it was okay to make people believe that confessing one’s undying love for another was supposed to be easy. It’s not. But it could be. He’s a bit confused.


However, he’s determined, and fuck anyone who tries to stand in the way of Louis Tomlinson when he’s set his mind on something. He rinses the shampoo out of his hair and shuts off the water, hardly even patting himself dry before he’s shoving clothes on (it’s gross and they stick to his skin because he’s still wet but he doesn’t even care), scaring Zayn nearly half to death with the way he bangs the bathroom door open.


Zayn might even say something, a muttered ‘Jesus Christ’ or something, but Louis doesn’t care. Harry is over there probably embarrassed and thinking he’s ruined their friendship or something, but he hasn’t. He’s made it better. Enhanced it, even. And he needs to know it; Louis needs to tell him.


His harsh banging on the door is loud, even to his own ears, and it hurts his knuckles, but Harry’s opening the door not even seconds later, looking just as alarmed as he does confused. “Louis?” he asks, tipping his head to the side. “Why’re you all wet?”


“I was in the shower. Doesn’t matter anymore,” Louis waves the question off. “What does matter is that I need to talk to you- to tell you something.”


Harry is still confused, it’s clear on his face, and his face is still slightly red like he might have still been thinking about what had just happened not ten even ten minutes ago in Louis’ room. “Okay? I think I-”


“You’re amazing, you know that?” It’s like now that Louis has a clear objective in mind, he can’t wait another second to reach it. It all has to come out now--he’s nearly bursting at the seams with it.


“I am?”


“You are. You’re so amazing, and kind, and thoughtful, and-and you care about everyone, Harry. And you took in a stray cat just because she looked like she needed help, and you.. You make your tea all wrong, and you let Artemis play with your hair even though it hurts you because you know she likes it.”


Harry’s biting on his lips so hard it looks like it hurts, but his eyes. His eyes are so, so fond. He opens his mouth to say something, but Louis waves his hands to stop him. He’s got so much more to say. He feels lighter and lighter the more he says and he wants to say it all, wants to float up into the air with only Harry to anchor him. “Wait, wait! I’m not finished. You’re just- god, you’re lovely, Harry. You’re so sweet and not to mention bloody fit as hell. And you’re not just some nice boy with awesome curls, either. You’ve got a mouth on you, and no matter how much shit I give you, you just- you give it right back. And I love making fun of you. And I love hanging out with you and being around you and just.. I love when you let me play with your hair when I’m bored. And how you record Scooby Doo on Saturdays because you know how much I love to watch it. And.. I love you. Because you’re like- You’re just perfect. To me.


“And you know what, you sort of do look like a frog. But you’re the cutest damn frog I’ve ever seen and-”


“Louis!” Harry grabs his hands, eyes still fond and tender and full of mirth. He might be laughing at him a bit. “Lou, okay, I get it. I get it.”


“You see, I don’t think you do, because you were in my flat not even an hour ago upset about someone who called you a frog, and- mmf,” he gets effectively cut off by Harry’s mouth covering his, kissing him soft and tenderly. And it’s kind of amazing. Harry’s lips are soft and warm and a bit swollen from how hard he was biting them before, but they’re like nirvana for Louis. After so long just having to wonder and hope for it, he finally has what he’s been looking for.


They have to part much too quickly, though, because Harry starts smiling so wide that Louis ends up just kissing his teeth a bit, which is really not on. “Wow, Harry. I mean do you really call that a first kiss? Because I, for one, have-” Harry kisses him again. Differently, this time. It’s harder and hotter and much sexier and it has Louis losing his breath a bit more quickly than he’d like to admit.


“You really need to learn when to shut up, you know that?” Harry mumbles into his mouth, his lips moving to kiss lightly at the corner of his mouth.


“Why don’t you teach me, then?” It’s cheesy and Louis’ insides cringe a bit, but he tells them to get over it because then Harry's kissing him again and it's quite possibly the best thing that’s ever happened to him.


“You know, I’m starting to think you’re just unteachable. Why are you even at uni?” They stay close, even when they’re not kissing, Harry’s lips brushing Louis’ when he speaks.


“Shut up and kiss me.”


Three Days After


“Harry I have a really important question for you,” Louis sits on top of the coffin in the middle of his sitting area, Artemis rolling around by his feet and playing with his shoelace. Every time he tries to detach her she just paws at his hands and puts her ears down until Louis can’t take it anymore. She’s a right menace.


He hears Harry sigh from where he’s sat at his desk. “I refuse to buy you new shoelaces if she ruins yours. Just make her stop,” he says.


“I am offended,” Louis clutches his chest in one hand, but the drama is lost on Harry, who’s still turned away from him, hunched over his work. “One, I was not going to ask that. And two, how could you think I’m cold enough to resist Artie’s pouty face?”


“She’s a cat, Louis. She is physically incapable of pouting,” Harry states, preoccupied with the papers he’s shuffling through on his desk.


“Can’t make any animal jokes around someone who studies them for a living,” Louis mutters, shaking his head as he looks down at Artemis. “Huh? No jokes for Artie.” He leans down and scratches her belly, letting her swat at his hands a few times before standing up.


“Harry I really have a very important question to ask you!” he complains, crossing his arms over his chest. He can hear Harry’s irritation, but he whirls around to look at him anyway.


“What, Louis?”


Louis raises his eyebrows. “Do you really keep sex toys in the coffin?”


“Jesus Christ,” Harry covers his face with one large hand, shaking his head. “Why don’t you just look in it?”


Peering down at the coffin, Louis can see that it does have a little lip to lift the lid up, which he hadn’t noticed before. “Oh.” There’s no lock or anything, he can just open it wide up. Suddenly, his throat fills with nervous anticipation. His limbs are heavy with excitement at finally finding out what he’s been wondering about since Harry had mentioned it weeks ago at the club.


Except. “Oh,” Louis’ nose scrunches up. Except as he pulls the lid up, all that’s in there is a black shoebox. He peers in for a moment longer before reaching in and lifting the lid on the box. In there, of course, are various different toys, dildos, and anal beads. Those might be fun. But. “They’re all in a box.”


Harry snorts and Louis hears footsteps coming his direction. “Did you expect the whole thing to be filled to the brim with brightly colored dildos?”


“No,” Louis says defensively. That wasn’t exactly what he thought, but when you hear someone say that they keep sex toys in a coffin, your thoughts don’t immediately go to a box inside of the coffin.


“Oh my god. You totally thought I kept a coffin full of dildos in my room!” Harry laughs, nudging Louis’ foot with his own.


“I did not. Shut up!” Louis grabs a bright pink dildo (with sparkles!!!) and whacks Harry on the arm with it. They both go quiet, staring at each other, LOUIS' eyes wide.


“Did you just hit me with my own dildo?”




There’s another pause, then Harry suddenly bends down, grabbing whatever he can from the box and pointing it at Louis like a sword. It might just be the smallest buttplug in there. Louis laughs out loud.


“You arse!” Harry raises the plug, but Louis darts out of the way before he can land any blows. “I can’t believe you hit me with a dildo!” Louis backs up again and Harry chases him. They end up in a full-blown dildo war, the two of them diving behind furniture and tossing dildos around like grenades.


It comes to a climax when Louis pokes his head up from behind the couch to see a vibrating buttplug coming straight for his forehead. He dives backward with a cry and then Harry comes charging for him, letting out a screeching battle cry. Louis is laughing too hard to try and resist when he gets tackled to the ground.

“I win,” Harry announces smugly after a beat. They both notice the butt plug still vibrating right next to Louis’ head at the same time, which sets them both off into hysterics again, clutching their bellies when it starts to feel like they could get abs with how hard they’re laughing.


(Later, when Harry makes Louis pick it all up and properly sanitize each and every toy, Louis vows to never have another dildo war again.)


Four Weeks After


The amount of time Louis and Harry spend fucking in the first month of their relationship is only rivaled by the amount of time they’ve spent cuddling, a feat which Louis is very proud of. The first time they went to Bevs with the gang after getting together, they became the Liam and Zayn of the group. Liam and Zayn complained about them. It was amazing and Louis gave them endless shit about it. Still does.


But the best thing about dating Harry has to be, well, dating Harry. If Harry was amazing before (he was), then Harry in boyfriend mode is like an enigma. He alternates waking Louis up with kisses on his face or kisses on his dick or just jumping on him at the arsecrack of dawn like a loon, and then proceeds to make him tea (he gets better) and exchange lazy kisses until he’s fully awake. He’s bloody amazing, is the thing. He comes home from lectures with freshly baked croissants and new facts about animals (“Did you know that humpback whales go through menopause?”), and when Louis gets back from lectures there’s always the promise of something new, even if it’s just perfecting his technique of crawling into bed with Harry for a nap without waking him up.


What’s even more wonderful is how much fun it is to be with Harry. It’s amazing, because their relationship has just taken off from the moment their lips first touched. There’s no awkward first dates and ‘should we kiss or not…?’ moments. Louis is still his usual self, loud and unashamed as he cracks jokes and pranks the boys, and Harry still laughs at all of his jokes, even when he’s at the butt of them. (If anything, Louis’ more of himself than he’s been in weeks, because now that he’s not worried about making a fool of himself in front of Harry, he can finally relax. He can send selfies of himself making silly faces without worrying if they’re too weird to be considered ‘silly, but still cute’. Whatever he sends, though, it doesn’t even matter, because Harry will always respond with something equally as ridiculous and cute.)


So, it’s good. Nothing’s changed, only evolved. Louis still pinches Harry’s nipples to be a pain and they still hang out with the guys normally, without being too much of a cheesy couple all the time. Only, now when he pinches Harry’s nipples he gets a bit more than a shove and a laugh. He’s learned quickly about all of Harry’s different interests in bed (because they share quite a few of them), and he has, admittedly, been using that to his advantage a bit.


It’s intoxicating, getting Harry all riled up only to deny him anything more than a slight brush of their lips. A Louis from a few months ago would’ve shrank beneath the cruelty of his future self, but as it is, this Louis has no qualms about it seeing as Harry gets off on it. It gets him so desperate that he’s practically tearing Louis’ clothes off by the time they get through the door to his single. That is, until Louis makes him take a step back and remember just exactly who’s in charge.


Not that they only have sex. No, it’s much more than that. It’s the way Harry laughs just as loud when Louis tells a particularly bad joke. It’s the way his hair dries soft and springy after he gets out of the shower. It’s the way his normal smiles are completely different than the ones he saves for Louis, the way his cheeks dimple even when he isn’t smiling sometimes. The way he adores Louis more than Louis even knows. It’s the way Louis saves every single sticky note Harry leaves for him, notes when he leaves for lectures, notes asking Louis to please pick up some milk on the way back from his lecture, and simple reminders stuck in remote places that read things as complicated as “When I look into your eyes, I see the stars. I see galaxies swirling inside of you just waiting to be born…” to things as simple as "Louis, if you’ve found this, I love you. (I’ll still love you even if you don’t find this, too.)”


Being with Harry is so great that it’s distracting, and while that’s great--Louis isn’t one to object to not doing work--he has a project due in two days that he hasn’t even started. Naturally, with his luck, it’s in the class he’s been having trouble with all term. Most of their grades are on the pictures they turn in, and when he’d first shown up that was amazing, until the first mark he got back was barely passing. ‘I just don’t feel like your heart was in this. Do better,’ his professor had said. Do better.


It was a big smack in the face, and a hit to his ego, because he had really thought he had it in the bag. He’d been taking pictures his whole life. He was brilliant. Is brilliant. Always getting the best marks, always puts his heart in his work. So when he gets home, tired and stressed out, to see Harry laid out on the couch leisurely texting whoever, it isn't exactly a welcome sight. Because Harry will have something, always does, that he just has to show Louis. And Louis will look on attentively, happily even, and completely forget about everything he needs to do. He can’t think of anything more important than Harry.


Harry doesn’t notice him at first, so he shuts the door a bit harder than necessary. Immediately, Harry looks up, face bright and open. “You’re back!” he cheers, standing up and attacking Louis with kisses on his face. “I have something to show you,”


Louis barely bites back a sigh, because of course he does. “Well then, show me,” he says with a smile, because he always does.


Harry flits off to his desk and then strikes a pose, doing jazz hands in the direction of it. At first, Louis’ a bit confused. Did Harry get a new desk? But then he sees the very oddly new looking, bright fucking pink typewriter sitting atop it. Because of course Harry bought a typewriter. Of course he did. “Is that a typewriter?” he asks dumbly, unsure of what’s supposed to say about it.


“Yes!” Harry can hardly contain his excitement, beckoning Louis over as he sits at the desk. “I bought it while I was shirt shopping at the thrift store down the street. I just couldn’t pass it up. It’s so cute, isn’t it?”


And while cute isn’t the first thing that comes to mind when Louis thinks of typewriters, it actually kind of is cute, even if it’s only because Harry’s so over the moon about it. Louis wonders when he ever thought it’d be good for his sanity to fall in love with a damn hipster. He walks over as Harry starts typing, the loud clacking assaulting his ears. “Jesus Christ, I’m gonna wake up daily to you prattling away on this, aren’t I?”


Harry’s still grinning like a madman as he types out a very simple, very endearing ‘Hiiiiiii Louis :)’. “Count on it.”


Though Louis sighs, he finds that he’s not too torn up over it. Watching Harry type random phrases, simple words, it’s easy to let his mind slip away for a moment, to think about his project that he has no idea how to start. ‘Photograph things that make you happy, things that make you believe the world is a better place. I want to feel your happiness the second I lay eyes on that first picture.’


Well, shit. Duh.


“Wait, wait. Stay right here,” Louis says, effectively cutting Harry off halfway through explaining something Louis wasn’t really paying attention to. “Sorry. Stay here, though. Keep typing, I’ll be back.”


“You know, Louis Tomlinson, my life doesn’t actually stop when you’re not around,” Harry says as Louis walks back out to the living area.


“You keep telling yourself that, Styles,” Louis calls back as his eyes scan the room, lighting up when he sees his oldest and most favorite camera sitting on the coffin. He doesn’t snatch it up, he cares about it far too much to mishandle it, but he does pick it up very quickly before rushing back to Harry’s side.


“Arse,” Harry mutters, but he’s in the middle of typing out ‘I love you’ on his brand new pink typewriter, so Louis doesn’t take it too seriously.


He doesn’t reply to that, too busy lining up his shot, angling it from just slightly behind Harry so he catches his lovely, lovely hands and the way they carefully pluck out each specific letter. He’s still typing when Louis snaps the first picture, catching the cross tattoo on one hand, the letters spelling out ‘i love y-’.


It’s the click of his camera that makes Harry’s head snap up. “Are you taking pictures of me?” he squawks, turning around to put an end to it, probably. Louis huffs.


“Turn back around! It’s for a thing!”


“Oh, a thing? Well why didn’t you say something?” Harry rolls his eyes, but he turns back around and finishes the sentence before starting a new one.


Louis watches as the stamps smack the paper one by one, 'Y-o-u-’-r-e a-w-f-'


“Harry!” Louis gasps. “You wound me!”


“You didn’t let me finish, you worm,” Harry mutters, continuing with his typing.


'a-w-f-u-l-l-y c-u-t-e'


“You will be the death of me,” Louis sighs, stepping back so he can get more of Harry’s arms in the picture, capture the hunch of his shoulders. He keeps snapping picture after picture, even as Harry turns around to give him one of his ‘Louis’ smiles, big, bright, and unashamed.


Louis adjusts his level as Harry stands, gets pictures of him walking closer, even gets pictures of Harry’s hand coming to the lens, but then he has to stop, because Harry is pulling it away and kissing Louis right on his mouth.


Louis lets himself get lost in the kiss for a moment before he starts mumbling into Harry’s mouth. “I resent you for handling my baby like that.”


Harry responds with a groan, pulling away and staring at Louis. He holds the exasperated look for a moment before a smirk lights his face up and he steps back. “Fine. You want to take pictures of me?” he asks, pushing his hair back off of his face. “Go ahead.”


Louis tentatively brings his camera back up, suspicious of what Harry’s ulterior motives may be. But he starts taking pictures, full body shots and sometimes just close ups of the way Harry’s eyelashes fan out on his cheeks when he blinks, and Harry poses a bit, gives him a little pout. It’s good, Louis will have plenty to work with for his project.


And then Harry starts sliding his flannel off of his shoulders, giving Louis bedroom eyes that make his finger stutter on the shutter. “Harry,” he starts, but Harry just keeps going, tugging off the thin undershirt he had beneath it. And really, Louis is helpless to just keep taking pictures.


Harry grabs his desk chair and turns it around so he can sit down to unbutton his jeans, all the while staring at the camera, this small, coquettish smile on his face. It’s when Louis sees the first glimpse of lace as Harry undoes the zip of his jeans that he snaps into action. He becomes serious photographer Louis rather than I sometimes take pictures of my boyfriend stripping Louis. “Stay there,” he orders, and Harry stills, tilting his head to look up at Louis. “Spread your legs.” And he does.


Louis gets a few pictures of Harry sitting there like that, eyes lidded as his fingers play with the button of his jeans. Then he gets the bright idea to slide his hand down over his crotch, groping himself a bit. Louis groans. “Oh photographer, are you blushing?” Harry smirks.


Louis scowls behind the cover of his camera. “Take off your pants. Slowly.”


Harry stands up again and slides his jeans down his long, long legs one at a time. Louis makes sure to get plenty of pictures. His eyes scan over Harry’s calves, his thighs. They’re bare, and not just without clothing. Without hair, too. Louis nearly chokes. “Did you shave your legs?”


“I didn’t like how it looked with the panties,” Harry explains simply, fixing the way the panties are bunched up around his bum. Louis manages to take a picture of Harry feeling his own arse and he silently thanks every single deity he can think of, clutching his camera a bit tighter once Harry turns to face him, naked bar the panties that are barely doing anything to cover up how hard he is.


The tip of Harry’s cock is already poking out of the waistband of the underwear, the pink lace fucking complimenting the redness of the head. Harry is literally a work of art and Louis will die because of it. “Do you like it, Daddy?” Harry breathes out, cocking his hip and resting his hand there delicately.


Louis groans. It took about two weeks of sex for Harry to let the name slip and he hasn’t stopped using it since, loving the way Louis reacts to it. Louis isn’t sure if he resents him for it or loves him more. As he snaps pictures of Harry gripping himself through the knickers, he thinks definitely love. So much love for this boy. “I do, baby. Love it. You look so good like this,” he breathes out, as he walks over and takes Harry’s hand, getting another picture. “Come here, come lay on your bed.”


Harry spreads himself out on his strawberry pink sheets, splaying out considerably like a large starfish, but the way he bites his lip and looks up at Louis expectantly makes it hard for Louis to be anything but extremely turned on. He takes pictures studiously as Harry arranges and rearranges his limbs. He flips over on his hands and knees, spreading his legs wider and Jesus Christ, he shaved his arse too. Louis barely gets any picture before he has to toss the camera aside (figuratively) and walk over to Harry.


He doesn't waste any more time dancing around and teasing, like he’d normally like to. There’s something stunning about working Harry up, getting him all riled up and then barely touching him where he needs until he’s shaking with want. Louis revels in the way Harry’s moans grow shaky and needy so quickly, but there’s something equally as amazing as just giving it to him rough from the start--get him wailing before he even knows what’s in store for him. Louis would take either of them any day, but today he just goes for it.


He yanks Harry’s panties down over his arse roughly, leaning in to bite and kiss over his cheeks. When he pulls back, Harry is the utter picture of debauchery--hair a mess and arse bitten red, his hole on display with his panties pulled tight around his thighs. He’s gorgeous. Louis grabs his camera from the chair he had set it on and takes a picture of Harry just like that, on display for him. “Gorgeous,” he murmurs. He tugs the strap of his camera over his neck so it can hang loosely as he leans in again to eat Harry out properly.


He licks long stripes over Harry’s hole, getting him nice and wet. Harry’s moans are loud in the quiet of the room, but Louis knows better than to shush him now, when he’s just getting started. He holds Harry open, swirls his tongue over his hole a couple of times, moaning lowly at the way Harry’s already pushing back against his face. He’s always gagging for a rimjob, loves it when Louis eats him out like this. Louis loves it, too. Could do it for hours, until Harry cries.


“Daddy, more,” Harry finally breaks the silence, spreading his legs wider and offering more to Louis. (Which is amazing, considering how much he’s already giving, has already given. Harry is truly too good for this world, but Louis refuses to look a gift horse in the mouth. Just takes everything Harry has to give and gives it back to him in return, happily and so, so grateful for his boy.) Somewhere in the room, Louis hears tiny footsteps and the rattling of a toy. Artemis. He makes a mental note to look out for her, seeing as last time she interrupted them Harry had been so thrown off by Louis breaking out of his persona to chase her off that he couldn’t get back into it. Louis had to comfort and cuddle him for most of the day, assuring him that it was okay and that he was still Louis’ very best boy.


Harry shortly starts whimpering again, rocking back on Louis’ tongue. Finally, Louis pulls away to address him. “Harry,” he pulls away and guides Harry to roll over onto his back. “You’re gonna do something for me, alright baby? Gonna be a good boy and do as I say, right?”


Immediately Harry nods, starting to sit up to accommodate, but Louis stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “No, you stay exactly where you are, love,” he instructs, pulling his camera from around his neck and then pushing it into Harry’s hands. He made sure he had a good grip on it, too, before moving back down to his legs. “You’re gonna take pictures of yourself getting your pretty little arse eaten, alright? You think you can do that for me, H?”


Harry’s eyes are unfocused and glassy, so Louis taps his thigh a bit to get his attention. “Baby? You know your word?” he checks, and Harry nods again, rattling off ‘banana’ as he brings the camera up to test it out. “And you feel alright? You want to continue?” Louis pulls the panties down the rest of the way, carefully so they won’t get caught up on Harry’s feet, and then tosses them to the floor.


Harry lowers the camera from his face to smile sweetly down at Louis, his cheeks dimpled and flushed. “Yes, please.”


Louis hums and then lowers his head back down, so Harry’s legs are splayed open around his head. He tugs him down the bed a bit and then attaches his mouth to the inside of Harry’s thigh, biting down harshly. Harry’s whole body jolts and he lets out a moan that sounds like it hurts, the camera clicking a few seconds afterward. Louis happily continues sucking and licking at the same spot, soothing the pain and then making his way down Harry’s thigh continuing the same pattern.


By the time Louis gets his mouth on Harry’s hole again, the boy is a mess. His thighs are trembling and cock is painfully hard against his belly. He only starts licking at him again once he hears the click of the camera, swiping his tongue over Harry gently. He wants to make sure that Harry’s actually taking pictures before he gives his undivided attention to his arse, because he gave Harry a job and he’ll be damned if his boy doesn’t do it.


He listens for a few more steady clicks, then decides he wants to make Harry unable to focus on the pictures anymore, wants to make him a mess. So he sets about doing just that, licking at Harry messily and relentlessly, just the way he likes it. Harry’s moans grow louder the more Louis gives him, and Louis gets drunk on that. He nearly forgets that Harry’s taking pictures until he pushes Harry’s thighs up into the air to lick into him deeper and Harry resists slightly.


“Daddy,” he croaks, his voice husky like it always gets when Louis eats his arse like this. “Daddy, can’t see. My legs are in the way like this.”


He sounds regretful, like the way Louis’ got his legs up in the air is perfect for him, but also like he’d sacrifice his own pleasure to do as Louis says (take pictures), and isn’t that just lovely? Not for the first time Louis questions how he managed to end up with the very best boy in the world. He pulls away and lets Harry put his legs back down. “Give me the camera, love. You did so well, babe. M’gonna fuck you real good now, okay?”


After handing over the camera, Harry leans back on his elbows and spreads his legs in invitation. “Good,” Louis murmurs absently as he sets the camera aside, a smile twisting on his face at the way Harry preens. Looking down at Harry’s naked body makes him realize just how very un-naked he is, so he hurries to right that, tugging off his shirt and then unbuttoning his pants.


Harry’s just watching him from the bed, fingers twitching from wanting to touch either Louis or himself. Probably both. Louis walks around to the bedside table for the lube, pouring it on his fingers as he gets back. He brushes two fingers over Harry before letting it warm up, just to see the way Harry’s thighs twitch and his nipples harden. He lets it slide when Harry starts to roll his own nipples between his fingers because he’s too busy watching as he slides his middle finger into him, curling it up and wiggling it around inside of him.


Harry moans and Louis can already feel him clench around his finger. Harry is warm, and tight, and it’s hot--the way Harry spreads his legs wider, a silent plea for more. Louis can’t resist pushing another finger in alongside the first, sinking them in deep before pulling them out and repeating the pattern.


He gets Harry worked up all over again, pushing his fingers in deep and pressing them right into his spot then working them in fast, barely even paying attention to Harry’s prostate. Harry makes these beautiful noises, whining and moaning like he’s waiting on Louis’ every movement, legs spreading as wide as they can go. He makes a gorgeous picture. Louis gets a third finger inside of him, just to stretch him a bit more.


He doesn’t take a lot of time after that, thrusting his fingers in a few times shallowly before pulling them out and wiping them on the bedsheets. Harry whines a bit at that. “We’ll wash them later, love. Promise,” Louis’ smile is fond as he uses his clean fingers to carefully open the condom and slip it on.


Harry’s fingers twitch when Louis lines up, his whole body drawn tight as bow where he lays on the bed, just waiting for Louis. The first push in is amazing, just as tight and warm on his cock as it had been for his fingers. The noise Harry makes is infinitely better than when he just has fingers in him, and Louis pushes in to the hilt in one go, leaning over Harry to look down on him. “S’it good, baby?” he asks, kissing Harry’s parted lips.


Harry’s nod is vigorous, his fringe falling into his face. “So good, Daddy. Feels so good,” he breathes out, blinking his eyes open to look up at Louis. When their eyes meet, Louis pulls out, then presses right back in. He pushes Harry’s hair off of his face and then fists a hand in it, gripping it tightly as he starts to fuck into Harry harder.


The way Harry keeps squirming beneath him, arching his back and tossing his head to the side, is addicting. Louis strives to keep him there, pulling on his hair to hear him moan louder and kissing him to quiet him down.  Harry, inturn, will bite on his neck or lips, scratch his nails down his back, try to spread his legs wider even though he physically can’t anymore. His moans are loud and almost involuntary, the way his eyebrows are pinched and how they sound like they’re nearly being punched out of his gut, little ‘uh’s that he lets out every time Louis thrusts in again.


Louis pulls back and pushes one of Harry’s legs up into the air, letting out a low groan at the feeling. Harry, instead, lets out a higher pitched moan, his cock blurting out precome on to his abs. “There, there!” he gasps, turning his head to the side as he grasps the sheets between his clenched fingers.


Harry looks a wreck, arching his back weakly as these quiet whimpers leave his lips, like it’s too much but not enough at the same time. So Louis gives it to him harder, his cock jabbing right into Harry’s spot over and over again. They’re so loud, Harry positively wailing as Louis just gives it to him, but Louis couldn’t tell him to quiet down if he wanted to.


“Daddy,” Harry nearly sobs, his mouth opening up wide as Louis brings his hand up to wrap around his cock, giving him a squeeze before stroking him quickly. He can feel Harry’s body drawing up tight, his toes curling and uncurling repeatedly, like he’s just teetering on the edge, waiting for something to push him over.


“That’s right, baby. Let everyone know who’s making you feel this good,” Louis just starts talking, his voice low as he works up to his own orgasm, but apparently it works for Harry, who just starts crying out louder. “They can all hear you, you know. They know exactly who’s making you scream like this. And they’re gonna hear it when you come. Are you gonna come, huh? Gonna make a mess of yourself? Gonna be a good boy?” Louis shoves in hard to punctuate those last two words and that’s it, he’s spilling into the condom, moaning loudly as he does.


Beneath him, Harry comes as well, nearly screaming before Louis finds enough sense in him to shove his two fingers into Harry’s mouth to quiet him. It only seems to fuel him, though. His cock jerks in Louis’ hand again and he pours out a bit more come, his thighs trembling like a leaf in autumn.


It’s almost comical how quiet it is, their harsh breathing not nearly loud enough to compare to the noise they were making before. Louis can still feel his heart pounding in his ears, though, and he’s sure Harry might be feeling the same way right about now. His smile is blissed out and sated, eyes closed, cheeks still flushed. “God, you’re so gorgeous,” Louis pants, pulling out and taking care of the condom before leaning over Harry again to kiss him all over his sweaty face.


“So, so gorgeous, my little baby. You’re gorgeous and lovely and you were so good for me,” he continues, petting Harry’s curls back away from his face. He smiles when Harry blinks his eyes open, eyes taking a moment to focus on him. “Hi, love. How’re you feeling?”


“Feel like a million bucks. Literally,” he sighs out happily.


“Literally? So Are you just a pile of cash, or the bills inside of a briefcase?” Louis teases.


Harry giggles at that (bless him, it wasn’t even that funny). “Hmmm,” he thinks for a moment, even sparing the energy to bring his hand up to tap at his chin, “Inside a briefcase. Much cooler that way.”


“Yeah but you can’t roll in a briefcase of money.”


“That is true,” Harry yawns and turns his head to nuzzle Louis’ wrist. “Maybe I’ll just be Harry for right now and I’ll make the important decisions later.”


Louis laughs and kisses Harry lightly, just because he can. “Okay. We’ll decide the important things later,” he agrees, rolling off to Harry’s side and pulling him close. He lets Harry be the little spoon, accepting the burden of the big spoon and dealing with Harry’s curls all in his nose and mouth. Let no one say Louis Tomlinson is not an amazing boyfriend.


When Harry wakes up, they’ll decide what kind of money he is, and then he’ll make him drink some water and have a couple of slices of the pineapple they have stored in Louis’ mini fridge. (Not that it would have mattered. Somehow no one, literally no one, steals from Harry. He puts little sticky notes on his food with smiley faces and it’s like a force field, keeping away the disgusting vultures that live on their floor and constantly eat Louis’ leftover takeout. Harry’s amazing.) And then they’ll watch some telly while Harry works on his papers, have a little night in.


It will be amazing. Let no one say Louis Tomlinson is not an amazing boyfriend.


Six Weeks After


Louis is staring at the screen of his laptop, contemplating watching another episode of The Office when there’s a knock at the door. He considers his options carefully. If he watches it, it’s another thirty minutes down the drain watching some show that he doesn’t even particularly care for. On the other hand, if he closes out of Netflix that means the only tab open will be his online gradebook, where he’s anxiously waiting for his professor to put in the grade for their last project.


Whoever’s at the door knocks again. Louis stares unblinkingly at his laptop screen as Zayn shuffles out of his room like a zombie, groaning and moaning the whole way. He huffs indignantly when he sees Louis. “You’re sitting right there! Open the door, arsehole. You know it’s Harry, anyway,” he snaps.


“Oh, did someone knock? I hadn’t noticed,” Louis mutters absently, eyes still fixed on his laptop. “Harry wouldn’t knock, he has a key.”


“No, he doesn’t. Because you still haven’t made a fucking copy for him, you tosser.” Zayn throws a pillow at Louis, that hits him in the back of the head, and then stomps back into his room. He doesn’t slam the door, but Louis thinks airily that it was a bit harsher than usual. Rude.


“Harry, is that you?” he calls as he stands, setting his laptop on the coffee table.


He walks over and opens the door anyway. Harry, who had been leaning against it head first, literally falls into the room, flailing his arms out to grab onto Louis. They both end up in a pile of limbs on the floor, Harry’s elbow digging into his ribs painfully. “Isn’t it always?” Harry asks sheepishly after a pause. Louis rolls his eyes, but can’t hide the endeared smile on his face.


“No. Sometimes it’s Liam come to fuck my roommate,” Louis’ tone is resentful, and so is he--especially when his mind immediately flicks to the sounds of Liam and Zayn’s vanilla sex traveling through the thin walls to his ears. He supposes he can’t complain, though, because his and Harry’s sex must sound much worse to someone who’s used to vanilla sex.


As soon as he manages to shove Harry off of him, Louis gets to his feet, dusting off the joggers that he’s been in all day as if a minute on the ground is the reason they’re utterly disgusting. He offers a hand to help Harry up, but he just lays there on the floor, looking absolutely miserable. So he’s had a bad day, then.


“Louis, carry me.”


No, he’s just bluffing to get Louis to do whatever he wants. Well, it won’t work this time. Probably. “You’ve got three miles of legs yourself, Curly. Why don’t you use them?”


“My feet hurt,” Harry’s whining is awful, and he’s halfway smiling anyway, so he just looks like someone’s told him a bad joke that he doesn’t know how to react to.


“And why is that?”


“I have a blister on my toe.” Harry’s pout is nothing less than adorable, but Louis still refuses to give in.


Louis raises an eyebrow. “So you’ve equated one blister on your toe to mean that you can’t walk now?”


He sees Harry’s expression fall as he gingerly toes off his (brand new) boots. He grabs his knee and pulls his leg up to peel off his sock and examine the blister in question, right on the side of his big toe. “Louis!” he whines, voice a few octaves higher. It must be worse than he’d originally thought.


Louis shakes his head as he pads back to the couch, flopping down on it and rearranging his blankets around himself. He still can’t believe that he’s dating this mess of a boy. “Lou, please! I’m in pain. Kiss it better,” Harry’s voice comes from the floor. Suddenly, Louis sees a large foot being thrust up into the air and he can’t help but cackle loudly at the absurdity of the sight.


“Maybe I would if you got up off your sorry arse and got over here,” Louis says, mirth still in his eyes as he watches Harry’s skinny jean-clad leg wobble around in midair.


“Oh!” And then Harry’s leg is gone and Louis sees the back of his head as he clambers to his feet, smile on his face. It’s not long before he has a lapful of Harry’s legs and a faceful of wiggling toes.


“Oi!” Louis takes Harry’s feet in his hands, putting them on either of his shoulders and then moving his hands down to rub at Harry’s calves.


Harry’s pout is back in full effect, but he’s rubbing his damn toe all over Louis’ ear, so he doesn’t have a very hard time resisting. “You said you’d kiss it,” Harry continues to gripe, starting to touch Louis’ hair with his other toes, and that is enough.


“Alright, alright! Quit touching me with your blistery feet, then,” he caves, pulling Harry’s left leg over so inspect his foot, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Which foot is it, this one?”


“Other one,” Harry switches feet, revealing the infamous blister on his big toe. Louis scrunches his nose, but rubs Harry’s foot regardless.

“Oh, my poor baby,” he deadpans, staring across the couch at Harry’s smug face. He continues just giving Harry a foot rub until the sounds of Harry’s kissing noises become unbearable and he rolls his eyes, planting a kiss to the bottom of his toe. “Better?”


“That wasn’t where the blister was.”


“Harry, I’m not kissing your blister, you tit!”


This makes them both collapse into giggles, sliding further into each other and the couch. Faintly, he hears Zayn walk by to get to the bathroom, muttering about something or other, but Louis can’t find it in himself to care, too absorbed in Harry. Harry, who’s still giggling, his hair soft and falling into his eyes, hands pressed up to his own cheeks. Harry, whose damn foot is still in Louis’ face. Harry, who Louis loves so much that he doesn’t even care his foot is in his face, he just presses another kiss to the arch, his smile soft.


Once their laughs die out, Harry carefully extracts his legs from the vicinity of Louis’ face, flopping over so his upper body is sprawled over Louis’ lap. He nuzzles Louis’ thigh for a moment then turns his head and sighs out as he relaxes, an easy smile on his face. Louis starts stroking his fingers through Harry’s curls. “Growing out fast,” he murmurs, tugging the bits that are coming down over Harry’s ears.


“Yeah,” Harry’s voice is light. “Think I’m gonna grow it out. I like it.”


Louis nods, picturing Harry with hair long enough to put up in a little ponytail or a bun. “Me too. D’you feed the cat yet?”


“Yeah. Stopped by before I came here.”


“Oh, so you were perfectly fine to feed Artemis but as soon as you got to my door you were dying and couldn’t walk?”


He pretends not to hear Harry’s pleased little laugh, because it would only end in a huge tickle fight or something of the sort and Zayn’s already yelled at them enough for doing the unspeakable on the couch. Like he and Liam are any better.


“So,” Harry changes the subject, “What’s this?” He points to the screen of Louis’ laptop, still on his online gradebook.


“Oh! Budge up,” he lifts his knee a bit to help Harry get off of him. Harry groans exaggeratedly as Louis gets his laptop from the table. “Waiting to see what I got on my project.”


“Oh, did you turn in the pictures of me in my knickers?”


Louis rolls his eyes. “Yes, I showed my professor and the entire class. It ended in a giant orgy that I orchestrated one hundred percent by myself.”


“As long as you didn’t participate,” Harry’s voice is light but his face is hot, as if maybe he’d like being shown off a bit. Interesting.


“I would never. Not if you’re not there,” Louis says as he refreshes the page again. Nothing. He groans so loud that Zayn pokes his head out of his door. Probably to make sure that it wasn’t a sexy groan.


“Still not there?” Harry asks, taking Louis’ feet into his lap and rubbing them. He digs his thumbs into the arch in a way that’s more ticklish than relaxing, and the smile on his face suggests he knows just what he’s doing, but Louis still appreciates the small comfort. It doesn’t stop him from shoving his cold toes under Harry’s thighs.


“No, it’s still not. Everything is awful.”


“Let me take your mind off it.” When Louis looks up Harry is waggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner, only succeeding in making Louis snort so loud he nearly starts choking.


“Even if I were turned on by your strange face twitching, young Harold, I think Zayn would literally explode. Like just blow up and leave little bits of gold on all of our furniture. Sucks having a roommate.” Louis sighs woefully to add to his point.


“Well it’s lucky you have an amazing boyfriend who doesn’t have a roommate, and is completely okay with sucking you off up against a door.” Harry gets up and starts walking to the door, knowing full well that Louis will be right behind him.


“Well then let’s go to your room.”




They do. And Harry sucks him off against the door, and then later in the shower, too. It’s kind of great.


(And the next day, Louis gets his portfolio back with a smile from his professor. It’s the highest mark he’s gotten all year. There’s a page of notes for him to think about, but Louis really only pays attention to the quiet “I think you’ve found it, Tomlinson,” that his professor whispers to him when he walks by. Louis thinks he has, too.)


BONUS - 1 year after


Louis can tell Harry’s been on edge all day as soon as he gets inside of their flat. (They had upgraded and moved out about six months into their relationship.) Harry’s on him the second he steps foot inside of the sleeping area, wearing nothing but pale pink panties and a desperate look as he tries to snog Louis before Louis even realizes what’s happening. “Mm?” Louis pulls away with a small smile, pressing a hand to Harry’s bare chest. “Harry?”


“Daddy,” Harry breathes out, curling his fingers into Louis’ shirt and trying to pull him back in. Oh. Louis’ still getting used to Harry calling him that so openly, but apparently now that they’ve gotten over the hump (pun fully intended) Harry has no qualms, just going straight for the throat. Or for the dick, in this case. Louis feels a little jolt just from hearing the word fall from Harry’s lips.


“Baby,” Louis murmurs, letting Harry pull him closer, until their chests are touching. If he had known telling Harry to wait for him in his panties would get him like this, maybe he would do it more often. Giving Harry that little bit sets him off, though, because he seems to think he has full permission to start grinding up against Louis’ hip as he kisses his neck, making these desperate noises against his skin.


“Harry,” Louis warns, clicking his tongue and reaching down to still Harry’s hips against him, so that Louis can still feel Harry’s hard dick against him, but he isn’t really getting any pleasure from it.


"Sorry," Harry closes his eyes and tips his head back, waiting for Louis' next instructions, his hands resting flat on Louis' chest.


"Mm, good. Did you feed Artemis today?" Louis asks, eyes scanning the room until he finds the kitten lounging on the couch, licking her paws aimlessly.


Harry nods. "Fed her this morning," he says proudly, smiling up at Louis. Louis tsks at Harry, tapping his nose with his index finger.


"You know she needs breakfast and dinner, love. That's two times a day. You only fed her once," he points out, then nods toward the kitchen.


"Yeah, but it's not her dinner time. I thought I could just... after," Harry starts, but stops when he sees the look that Louis gives him, his cheeks coloring a light pink.


"After?" Louis chuckles, shaking his head. "Trust me, H, after I'm done with you our cat will be the last thing on your mind." Louis watches the way Harry's eyes darken, feels the way his fingers dig into his chest a bit more.


"Our cat," Harry breathes out, pushing his hips forward again, making Louis tighten his grip on him. Louis wants to laugh. Of course that's what Harry gets out of it, Louis referring to them as a unit, as one. Now, Louis supposes he should have maybe expected it. This is coming from a boy who gets off on the thought of them being spouses one day.


"Harry," Louis brings him to attention with a light smack on the bum. "Feed the cat, then wait for me on the bed. Arse up, love. You know I like having you all out on display for me."


Louis only watches the way Harry calms down for a moment before pulling away, sending him off with another light smack to his bum. He hears Harry's soft 'uh' and then the padding of his feet as he walks over to the kitten's drawer. A smile of satisfaction spreads over Louis' face as he sits down next to Artemis, scratching between her ears. "Mmm, hello love," he murmurs. "Missed you while I was away."


In reply, Artemis rubs herself against the side of Louis' leg, meowing up at him after yawning thoroughly. She blinks a couple of times, ears perking up when Harry walks by, and then her eyes follow him as he moves to her bowl and fills it up. Instead of doing the same, Louis has more self control. He only ogles Harry's arse as he bends over for five seconds, tops, before turning back around. Both he and the kitten get up at the same time, but they move in opposite directions. Artemis, toward Harry; Louis, away.


He can hear Harry coo at the kitten when she pads over to start eating, and then he hears the creak of the bed and the rustle of sheets, indicating that Harry's ready whenever Louis is. Well, Louis is definitely ready. He walks toward the bed, eyes falling first upon Harry’s panty clad arse sticking up in the air, then traveling up the curve of his spine to his head, hanging low to the bed. He hums in approval, making his presence known.


Harry’s muscles flex a bit before relaxing again, and he takes a peek over his shoulder. Louis sees the way his cheeks are already flushed (the way they always do when Harry’s turned on), his lips bitten red. Trying to keep his face neutral, Louis turns and walks around the bed to the dresser pushed up against the wall. He opens up the first drawer and sifts around through the socks and underwear until he finds what he’s looking for, the pretty blue silk scarf that Harry had worn in his hair a while ago. It was soft in his hands and he knew that it would be perfect, would be gentle on Harry’s delicate skin.


Harry’s started rocking back and forth impatiently, shifting his weight from his hands to his knees and back almost subconsciously, so Louis shuts the drawer, walks back to the bed and settles Harry with a hand on the center of his back. “Daddy,” Harry whispers, and if Louis’ cock had lost any interest in the situation, it quickly becomes very interested once again.


“Shh,” Louis murmurs, more for his sake than Harry’s, because if he hears that word fall from Harry’s lips again he might just have to fuck him senseless, all plans for tonight thrown out of the window. He removes his hand from Harry’s warm skin, instead trailing the end of the silk up and down his back, teasing him by letting it slide over his arse and then back up.


Harry practically starts purring, starting to rock back and forth again. Louis pulls the scarf away. “Stay still,” he orders, waiting for Harry to obey before returning to his previous actions. He only keeps up with the silk for a few more moments before moving around to the foot of the bed. He trails the fabric up the backs of Harry’s thighs in turn, then spreads it over his hand and rubs it over each of Harry’s arse cheeks gently. Harry mewls quietly at that, tilting his head back down.


Slowly, Louis slips his fingers beneath the waistband of Harry’s panties, tugging them down so they rest just beneath the swell of Harry’s ass. He smiles to himself, leaning forward to press kisses to the soft skin. Sometimes Louis can’t even believe how lucky he is. He’s got the most perfect boy, and he gets to take care of him like this. And not to mention how bloody attractive Harry is. Louis nips at his bum. “So gorgeous,” he sighs out, kissing the same spot afterward.


It wasn’t part of his original plan, but being so close, Louis can’t really help it. He leaves a trail of kisses to Harry’s crack, taking his arse in both hands and spreading him open. Sighing out at the sight, Louis leans forward and just presses a kiss to Harry’s hole. Hearing the noise Harry lets out makes him want more, want to make Harry become incoherent with his moans. He wants to turn Harry into a wreck.


It’s not like Harry isn’t already halfway there. He rocks his hips back needily, pushing himself against Louis’ face. Louis hasn’t even started yet. “Daddy,” Harry whines, and right, that needs to change. Louis licks over Harry’s hole with the flat of his tongue to start out, simple small movements that have Harry dropping down to his elbows and moaning into his hands.


Louis pauses, pulling away slightly, sure that his breath his still puffing out over where Harry is most sensitive. “Be still,” he murmurs, waiting for Harry to oblige before he goes back in, licking more firmly. He holds Harry open, even going as far as to knock his knees further apart with his elbows, making it easier for him to eat Harry out properly. He’s still only teasing, keeping his tongue flat over Harry’s hole, just lightly kissing around the rim, but Harry’s moans are high and pitchy as if Louis’ already been doing this for an hour.


Maybe Louis had underestimated how on edge Harry was when he first got back to their room. He’d never had Harry wait for him like that, but he would have never guessed that it would make Harry like this. This needy, whining mess, still petulantly shoving his hips back into Louis’ face even after Louis’ told him not to. Louis pulls away completely. “Harry,” he says, a warning tone in his voice, “do I need to tie you to the bed so you won’t blatantly disobey me?”


It’s not supposed to be a punishment, it was planned. Louis was going to tie Harry up before any of this, but the way Harry moans at just the thought. Louis remembers that it’s not a punishment; it’s the best idea he’s come up with yet. Harry all wrapped up in blue with his pretty pink panties on, unable to move or squirm away from Louis when he’s giving it to him good. He has to stand up and move away just to get his head straight again. Well, as straight as one can be while they’ve got their boyfriend spread out on the bed wearing lacy panties.


“Come on, up. Come up here, on your back,” Louis sounds one hundred percent more stable than he feels, which is a blessing. He moves up to the head of the bed, where Harry’s already put his arms up, wrists crossed and waiting expectantly to be tied. Louis coos. “Good boy,” he murmurs absently, snatching up the silk from where it still rests by Harry’s thigh. Even as he gets the silk ready, he doesn’t miss the pleased noise that Harry makes, or the way he looks so happy, even with his cock hard and hanging out of the front of his panties.


"So pretty like this," Louis continues as he wraps the fabric around Harry’s wrists, making sure they don’t rub against each other uncomfortably when he ties them together. There’s just enough extra to knot them to the headboard, and Louis tugs on Harry’s hands a bit to make sure they all hold up. “Doesn’t hurt? Not too tight?”


“Perfect,” Harry sighs out. When Louis meets his eyes he nearly loses his breath from the way Harry’s looking at him. Like Louis is all there is, like he holds his entire world in his hands and Harry trusts him to keep him cradled there, safe from anything end everything that there is. Louis supposes he’s probably looking at him the same way, like a promise.


Louis might not last with Harry looking at him like that. “Gonna cover your eyes, too. Wanna see the pretty silk on your face,” he says, deciding on impulse. He hadn’t planned it, but they were no strangers to it. Louis had blindfolded Harry plenty of times before; he’s confident that it’ll be just as good now. So he travels back to the drawer, opening it up and getting the green silk from inside.


Harry’s vaguely fussing, like he might not even be aware of it, his hips twitching forward, desperate for friction. Louis is careful not to touch him more than he needs to as he lifts Harry’s head and secures the blindfold on him. He gives him one last kiss, and then makes his way down to the foot of the bed, eyes raking over his disheveled boy.


Harry’s panties are still rumpled and stuck around his thighs, his cock flushed dark red and curved up toward his belly. He’s started squirming around from not being touched, his wrists twisting around until he can grab onto the rungs of the headboard. “Daddy,” he whines, panting as Louis starts rubbing his three day’s scruff over his thighs.


Louis smirks. Harry's eyes are closed and his cheeks are tinted pink, lips almost the exact same red as the tip of his cock. His upper body is squirming minimally because he knows better than to start squirming fully while Louis is touching him and Louis is so proud of his boy, he feels it in his chest. “Being such a good boy, Harry,” he murmurs, pressing kisses over the jut of Harry’s hips.


Harry mewls at that, his lips parting as Louis’ get closer and closer to his dick. Louis can’t help the smirk on his lips as he presses his fingers into the bruises he’d made on Harry’s thighs from a week before, watching Harry’s face twist in a mixture of pain and pleasure. The moan that leaves his lips is pretty loud so Louis shushes him, moving his hands to grip at Harry’s hips lightly. He kisses the tip of his cock before licking lightly over it, still looking up at Harry.


His boy’s eyes are still covered with the pretty silk fabric, but Louis can tell that his eyebrows are furrowed, mouth still hanging open from before even though there’s no noises coming from him anymore. Louis takes Harry into his mouth suddenly, enveloping him in warmth, his tongue pressing at the slit. Harry must not be expecting it because he gasps and his hips dive forward, very nearly choking Louis on his cock.


Louis pulls back with a hiss and gives Harry a nice hard slap right on his cock, making it bob painfully. Immediately, Louis’ heart is in his throat. Oh god, oh god, oh god running through his head like a mantra. He can’t believe he just did that. Their whole relationship is upon trust and honesty and making each other feel good. Louis’ gone and thrown that out of the window, making a careless mistake like that. He can’t be careless like that, thinking of the punishment before the consequence. Harry could be in real pain, he could be scared, that could be a big red no for him, but.


But Harry’s back just arches off of the bed and he lets out a loud “Oh!” that turns into a moan, his thighs shaking long afterward. Louis raises his eyebrows at that, lightly trailing his fingers up and down Harry’s trembling thighs, a sharp contrast to the smack from before. “You liked that didn’t you, you little minx?” Louis asks, humming as Harry nods quickly, his chest rising and falling quickly as he pants.


Louis raises his hand to do it again, making a show to tease Harry, make him shiver in anticipation, but then he realizes that Harry can’t see him and fuck if Louis doesn’t come from that thought alone. Harry has no idea what Louis’ going to do next, has given up his trust completely, his hands tied and eyes covered. He can only take what’s given to him and Louis has to take a moment to calm himself down. “Alright, love. You remember our word, right?” he asks quietly, trailing a fingernail up the underside of Harry’s leaking cock.


“Yes,” Harry whines, high in his throat.


“What is it, then?” Louis tests.


“Banana,” Harry mumbles. Louis smirks, then raises his hand and smacks Harry’s cock with the back of it without further warning. Harry’s whole body writhes and he lets out a sound that sounds suspiciously like a sob, legs tense for a full five seconds before he settles back onto the bed.


Louis really needs to send a fruit basket to everyone that lives in their hall. Soon. “Baby, you know you have to be quiet,” he says to Harry, rather than punishing him. He knows that they haven’t really tried this, so he decides he can be a little lenient on his boy. Plus, Harry sounds like he’s point three seconds away from crying, and while that happens a lot when they have sex, Louis isn’t so sure that it’s good this time.


“I- I ca-n’t,” Harry chokes out, his voice precariously wobbly. The corners of Louis’ lips turn down into a small frown and he moves up the side of the bed, fingers sliding over Harry’s stomach as he does. Harry jumps at the contact. Jesus, his skin is burning up.


“Are you sure you’re alright, love?” Louis asks softly, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to Harry’s open mouth.


Yes,” Harry moans, hips punching up into the air, as if to make his point. Louis smiles.


“Alright,” he agrees, pecking Harry’s lips one last time before moving down to the base of the bed again. On his way, he twists one of Harry’s nipples just to hear him groan low in his throat.


“Daddy,” Harry breathes out, and he sounds a lot like he does when he begs. Louis leans down to scratch his beard over Harry’s trembling thighs again. When he pulls back instead of  immediately hitting Harry again, he just teases his fingers over Harry’s hips and thighs until he’s whining. Just as he opens his mouth to complain, Louis lands another smack to his cock, the other direction this time. And Harry does sob this time, tugging on his restraints hard.


Louis isn’t too sure about it, and he starts to say so but Harry cuts him off, shaking his head. “No, daddy, please, please, don’t stop. Please, feels good, it’s good, want more, daddy, daddy-”


“Okay, okay. Jeez, H. Okay, baby,” Louis puts a hand on his thigh to quiet him down. He leans down and litters kisses over Harry’s thighs, watching Harry for any signs that he might not be as okay as he thinks. When he pulls back he hits Harry’s cock three times in a row, Harry squirming and shaking, moans mixed with cries.


“Again,” Harry begs, and Louis complies, hits him again. Harry’s moans get higher in pitch and he starts crying openly, but he doesn’t word out, so Louis hits him again. Harry nearly screams, and just as Louis’ about to suggest that they stop for real, Harry flails his legs out and then comes--just like that, shooting all over his stomach as he cries.


Louis’ eyes go wide and when his hand trails down to his own neglected cock, he finds he’s so hard it hurts. (Comparatively, of course, he supposes he’s not in that much pain.) He doesn’t even consider touching himself though, because Harry’s just come from Louis slapping his cock alone, and he’s a bloody mess. Louis’ by his side quickly, sliding the blindfold up so Harry can see. “Baby,” he breathes out, wiping at his wet cheeks. “Oh, baby, you did so well. Are you okay, my love? You keep crying.”


Harry nods though, and turns his head toward Louis’ voice, sniffling and whimpering quietly. “Daddy,” he says softly. Louis’ heart melts.


“M’right here, baby. I’ve got you,” Louis says softly, peppering kisses over Harry’s face before pulling back and untying his hands. “I’ve got you, okay? You did so, so good, lovely. Made daddy so happy.”


Harry pulls on Louis’ arm weakly until Louis crawls onto the bed next to him, then he snuggles into his side. Louis pets his hair and whispers praise to him until he calms down enough for actual conversation. Sort of. His eyes are still blown wide and glassy, but he’s coherent enough to string together sentences that make sense. “Harry? Are you with me?” Louis asks, stroking his fingers over Harry’s cheek.


Harry hums and nods slowly, a small smile coming to his face. “Good, good,” he murmurs, which makes Louis chuckle a bit.


“Good?” He confirms, and Harry nods. “AGood. Let me clean you up, okay love?”


“Don’t wanna move,” Harry mumbles, eyes slipping shut.


“You don’t have to, H, I’m just gonna clean you up a bit. I’ll be right back,” he starts to extract himself from Harry and is met with a whine, Harry tightening his grip on Louis.


“No,” he argues. Louis smiles fondly, even as he pries Harry’s arms off of him.


“I’ll be right back,” he says again. Harry whines the entire time Louis walks away. He must not be too upset, though, because when Louis returns with a warm flannel, Harry’s completely asleep. Louis wipes Harry clean and rubs at the red marks that the fabric left behind on his wrists before crawling back onto the bed with his boy.


“Goodnight, Harry. I love you,” he whispers into the boy’s curls, then tucks away the lock of hair behind his ear. In reply, Harry just snuggles further into Louis’ chest. Louis falls asleep with a smile on his face.