"Are you wearing your fuck me jeans, then?" Aiden asks, sat on Louis' bed and waiting for him to finish getting dressed.
"That implies that I couldn't get fucked in any jeans," Louis replies, tugging aforementioned maroon jeans up and over his bum, buttoning and zipping them up. "And I find offence in that."
"Of course you do," Aiden sighs.
From the living room, Niall yells, "if you two don't hurry the fuck up I swear I'm leaving without you!"
Louis rolls his eyes. Niall says that every time. He should know Louis is a naturally tardy person by now. "Aiden, if I wear stripes, it's very 2011 and outdated, right?"
"Nothing could ever look outdated on you," Aiden croons, waggling his eyebrows at Louis. "But theoretically, yes. Just wear a plain white shirt, honestly, the trousers already do the job by themselves. You look like amazing sin."
"Amazing sin," Louis repeats, heeding his advice and slipping on the least wrinkled white tee he finds. "That's a new and good one. I like it."
Aiden beams. "Thank you, thank you. You know I always gotta have new compliments for you, sweetheart. Keep you on your toes."
"I'm leaving right now!" Niall calls out.
"He needs to give up on that," Aiden says. "We all know it's not realistic."
The club Niall brings them to is a new one. It's nicer than their usual, all sleek modern furniture and an elevated and uncomplicated dance floor. There's even a second floor, even though it's primarily VIP and Louis doesn't have a chance of making it up there. When Niall brought them out here and Louis saw the ridiculous amounts of people queued up to get in, he almost punched him square in the face. He was right about having friends in high places, though; a good friend of his is the regular DJ, and when they walk up the bouncer and Niall gives his name, they're easily let in.
"That's so fucking cool," Louis gushes, punching Niall lightly on the shoulder. "I'm proud of your social skills, Neil." Niall beams.
Louis is a nineteen year old uni student. The clubs he's used to are dingy and very crowded and dirty. The DJs are always fellow nineteen year olds trying to break through with horrible and ear-shattering remixes that haunt Louis' nightmares for days after. Like some sort of Stockholm syndromed mess, he's grown used to and even liked that environment. This is something altogether new.
The people here are generally older. It's full but not uncomfortable and congested, the bar is fucking huge, and the music playing over the speakers is bass heavy and really, really good.
Aiden agrees. "This is bloody brilliant, Nialler. Seriously. Why'd you take this long to bring us here?"
Niall shrugs. "We're here now, innit?" They are.
The drinks as the bar are a little pricier than their usual, but not by much. "Anyway," Louis says, leaning forward against the counter as Niall orders them three lagers, "I'll be pretty upset if I have to buy my own drinks at any point tonight."
"Starting with me, eh?" Niall grumbles, handing him the bottle.
Louis shrugs with a little smirk and take a long drink, tipping his neck back and wrapping his lips around the bottleneck.
"Jesus," Aiden says faintly, eyes fixated on Louis' neck as he swallows with the bottle still in his mouth. "You think there's any way you can maybe do that a little less obscenely? Tone it down a few pegs?"
Louis moves off with a low pop, licking the sheen from his bottom lip. "That's not gonna get me a free drink, will it, Grimshaw?"
Which -- "A Long Island from the bloke sat over there," the bartender tells him, sliding a glass in front of him.
Louis raises the glass in his direction, waving with a grin.
"See?" he tells Aiden. "I'm getting shit done, mate."
Tipsy is good.
Another plus of not being surrounded by people his age and his economic demographic is that Louis actually does get a lot -- a lot -- of drinks bought for him. He shares with Aiden and Niall, partly because he doesn't want or need to get that drunk and also because they'd castrate him if he didn't. He manages to only have to go up and thank a few of them, the most consistent or attractive. He's given more than a few fake numbers and the night isn't even halfway over.
His boys dragged him onto the dance floor and that's where he still is now, Long Island number I Don't Care What Anyone Says About My Dancing in one hand and the other easy in the air. Niall is an embarrassing dancer, but Aiden is best of the lot so Louis always enjoys dancing with him the most, grinning into each other’s faces and swaying to the rhythm of the beat.
“I love it here,” he shouts into Aiden’s ear. Aiden grins and pats his bum in agreement.
Niall and Aiden take a trip back to the bar to get more liquor, and Louis comfortably dances with whoever’s around in the wait. There’s a tap on his shoulder soon, and a deep voice into his ear asking for a dance.
He turns around to see who. And -- “Fuck,” Louis says.
Standing still in the middle of the dancefloor is never recommended, but Louis needs to properly admire this bloke. Fuck. Probably six feet tall, hair down to his shoulders, nice mouth and nicer set of shoulders, heavily tattooed, shirt only halfway buttoned.
“Fuck,” Louis repeats, almost dropping the glass still in hand.
The other man smiles and again mouths slowly, “dance?” Louis nods. Obviously.
The music playing is upbeat and poppy, and Louis’ dancing partner is very rhythmic and -- it’s a weird word choice, he knows, but exciting. Dancing with him is exciting. He keeps his hands to himself until Louis purposefully places them onto his back and then, in a bout of bravery, lower still, until his gigantic hands are cupping his bum.
"Yeah?" he mouths. Again, Louis nods. He steps in closer with a light squeeze to Louis' arse and lowers his mouth right down to Louis' ear until he can hear him as well as the DJ will allow. "Harry. You?"
Harry. Like the prince, right, and definitely fitting. He turns his head to answer. "Louis."
Louis wants to go home with him. Louis is going to go home with him. He didn't wear these trousers because he wants to end his night alone and frustrated in his bed.
The song changes into something more sensual and pulsing and unavoidably arousing, and Harry pulls him in closer, but Louis has other plans. It kills something in him to lose Harry's hands down there, but when he turns his body around and arches up, he gets Harry's crotch pressing against his bum instead, and, well. He's not exactly going to complain about that.
Harry huffs loudly into his hair; he catches on very fast, and positions them so that Louis is back to full comfort but still able to easily grind back onto him, his mouth pressed wet and hot on Louis' neck.
Louis can feel him along every angle and curve of his body, can hear when he says, "you're gorgeous," into his ear, his heavy and steady breaths, one hand gripping Louis' waist and the other splayed across his stomach, his cock fattening up the longer and closer they move.
Louis tilts his head back and smiles at the dirty roll of Harry's hips into his. "You're easy," Louis tells him.
"Feeling pretty easy for you," he agrees, trailing the hand on Louis' stomach down slowly until it's resting on the waistband of his jeans. His index and middle finger peek underneath. Louis' breath hitches. "May I?"
Louis nods with a dry throat, not entirely positive what he's agreeing to but knowing he wants it all the same.
Harry smiles into his neck and moves them deeper into the crowd, until they're so surrounded on all sides and it's so dark that it's impossible to get a good understanding of what they're doing or that Harry's hand is --
Louis jumps and moans. Harry's undone his jeans and slipped his long fingers underneath the denim, rubbing over the growing swell of his cock. He has his chin hooked on Louis' shoulder as he looks down at the not-at-all subtle movement of his hand. "Is this okay?"
He asks it completely casual, like there's nothing out of blue about this situation. Louis is so hard it literally hurts, blood heavy and skin stretched so tight he can't help whimpering with every press of Harry's hand even while there's no skin to skin contact. His grip on the drink is uncomfortable.
They're not even properly dancing anymore. Louis, personally, finds it impossible to pretend that he even knows what song is playing over the speakers, and Harry's focus is dead set and obvious. God. He can't believe he's being wanked in the middle of club where anyone could see. Where anyone has probably already seen.
"Is this okay?" Harry repeats, squeezing tight at the base. Louis can't --
He turns his body around, Harry's hand unfortunately being displaced in the process, to lean up on his toes and demand, "take me home. Now." Belatedly, he adds, "please."
Harry takes him home.
Louis climbs onto Harry's lap the second the taxi starts moving.
"Yeah?" Harry asks, smoothing his hands down Louis' thighs.
"Yes," Louis replies, wrapping his hand around the back of Harry's neck and leaning down to kiss him. Finally? It's not as if they've known each other for long, but Harry wanked him off in the middle of a crowded club ten minutes into meeting him. There's a hint of familiarity here.
Harry is a good kisser, obviously. With his looks he's bound to have gotten a lot of practice. His mouth is confident and sure; he kisses like he knows just what he wants from Louis and that he won't have any problem getting Louis to give it to him. God.
"You're so fucking beautiful," Harry whispers into his mouth, licking across Louis' bottom lip. "Taste so good."
Louis' body warms up even more. He knows he's attractive -- Aiden likes to remind him every few hours -- but still. Getting told he's cute by a cute boy is always welcome.
He moves off from Harry's mouth to suck on the soft spot under his ear, rocking his hips down slowly onto the hard line of Harry's cock under his denims. "When we get to your flat," he murmurs slowly, "you're going to fuck me."
Harry breathes out a moan, squeezes Louis' inner thighs. Louis rocks down again, harder, and places his mouth back over to swallow Harry’s grunt.
Louis smiles. Real easy.
Harry’s flat is big and modern and beautiful, all black and white furniture and expensive looking art on the walls.
“It’s just ‘cause my flatmate is rich,” he tells Louis, leading him to his room by hand. “Most of the art is his own, anyway. C’mon, here’s my room.”
His room is also very nice -- or so Louis assumes. He can’t claim to be paying much attention to anything other than the giant fucking bed in the middle of it, and then to getting both of them undressed and on top of it.
Harry was already ridiculously attractive with clothes on, but when Louis sees his cock, hot and heavy and huge, he becomes the most beautiful man in all of fucking Europe.
“How do you want it?” Harry asks him. His body is pressed flush on top of Louis and held up only by his forearms, prick sliding along Louis’ hipbone and wetting it with precome. The way he looks is… overwhelming, mostly. He put his hair up into a messy bun after stripping and like this, the full effect of his jawline is so fucking hot, green eyes all but blown out into a ring around the black of his irises. Louis has never picked up a bloke of this extent before.
Louis wraps his thigh over Harry’s back. “However you want. Whichever way gets you in me the fastest.”
“God,” Harry breathes, and kisses him hard. “Yeah. Gonna fuck you fucking good, I promise.”
Louis zones out a little, fuzzy and panting around how good Harry is making him feel. When Harry is pressing in the second finger, though, he trails his mouth away from where he’s been determinedly marking up the same spot on Louis’ collarbone down to his nipple, lightly nipping at it with his teeth, and Louis jolts, cock spurting out precome all over his stomach. Back at full.
Harry smirks, just a little hint of it that Louis almost doesn't notice, wouldn't have noticed if his eyes weren't already fixated on Harry's face. He licks around both of Louis' nipples while he fingers him open; his tongue manages to hype and soothe Louis all at once. When Louis can think with more than just his cock, he should praise him for it.
That time is not now. "C'mon," Louis says, scratching his hands softly through Harry's hair. He's messing up his bun even more, no doubt, but it's hard to care about much right now. He wants to come. He wants Harry's prick inside his bum and he wants to come. "C'mon, in me."
Harry huffs out a soft laugh. "'M not gonna fuck you after only two fingers."
"A bit full of yourself, are you?" Louis jokes, squirming down on Harry's fingers.
Harry kisses his way back up to Louis' mouth. He fits another finger in alongside the others, so long and big Louis is left gasping, hard cock twitching and getting his navel even wetter. "Gonna be a bit full of me pretty soon," he says, lips upturned at the corners.
He fingers Louis deep and paced, getting him loose and wet and so, so ready for it. He catches on Louis' spot so many times he loses track, back curving off the bed when Harry rubs it unwaveringly, eyes set on where Louis' cock keeps leaking against his belly. Smooth and unbearable.
"Come on," Louis orders. "Harry. Fuck." He reaches his hand down to tug at Harry's dick, revelling in the strangled gasp/moan that leaves his throat.
"Yeah," Harry finally agrees. "Yeah, okay."
He eases his fingers out and opens the condom he'd tossed onto the bed before they started. "Could you turn over, please? On your knees." Louis does.
It's just a series of steps, then: rolling it on, slicking up, lining his cock right, pressing in. And in. And in.
"Oh my God," Louis bites out, planting his face into a pillow and trying not to yell. "Oh my God, fuck."
Harry is breathing heavily behind him. "Are you -- does it hurt too much?"
Of course it hurts. There is no realistic scenario where Harry could be this big and not cause even a little pain. It still feels so fucking good. "Fuck. Yeah. Yes. Move."
Louis worries for a moment that Harry is going to keep asking questions or ask Louis to specify exactly what he meant by move, but he doesn't. He replies with a vague acquiescence, and then he slowly drags his cock out to the head, and then he slams back in so hard and deep Louis' knees instantly give out and collapse his body flat onto the bed. Louis swears.
"Y'alright?" Harry drawls, amused. Louis answers with what could be translated as a yes. "Good. I'm glad." He curls his hands around Louis' waist and pulls him back onto his knees. "How do you want it, baby?"
"I don't care." Harry asks way too many questions for a one night stand. "I just want it."
When Harry finally -- finally -- starts fucking him, Louis is convinced he's going to die for at least a full three minutes.
He doesn't start quite fast, but it's also not quite slow. It's more like... like he wants to make sure it's felt: the heavy drag of his cock, the dirty sound the lube makes every time he goes deep, the sharp burn of his cockhead catching on Louis' prostate like an easy and mindless game. Louis is easy and mindless. His prick rubs off on the soft sheets with every shove of Harry's hips and it's nice, it's brilliant, it feels so fucking indescribable.
"You look amazing like this," Harry says, like a secret admission. "Take it so fucking well, Louis. God, wish you could see." He places his big hands over Louis' bum and spreads him out as he lengthens his thrusts. So slow, so deliberate. "Could stay like this for hours."
It's obviously sex hyperbole, but their shag does last an inspiring amount of time. Harry has great fucking stamina, even when he increases his pace. Louis hasn't even come yet and this is already top three shags. If there was anyone he wouldn't mind fucking him for hours and hours on end, it'd be this one.
"You good?" Harry asks him breathlessly, bracing his palm flat down on the small of Louis' back and making his body arch up in response. Louis mumbles something into the pillow. He's never been -- but then Harry reangles right -- there, and.
He goes out. He doesn't think it lasts long, but it's the second time tonight and he knows he should be embarrassed. He should be. But Harry is making it hard for him to be anything other than well and truly fucked.
When Louis comes to (again), he's flat on his stomach (again). Harry is neatly on top of him, chest to back, breath coming out hot and heavy against Louis' ear. He's putting his back into it now, pounding into Louis' arse with so much intention and strength that he's literally getting shoved up the bed with every brutal shove in and in and deeper still.
"Fuck," Harry grunts, squeezing the soft crease where Louis' thigh meets his bum, "fuck, you've got the nicest and tightest little arse, Louis."
Louis groans, cock rocking forward on the bedspread. "Yeah?" He thinks he's taking the term pillow biter to new levels. Harry's blue pillowcase is so wet it looks jet black.
Harry doesn't reply right away; he spreads Louis' thighs out and groans out a slew of swears when the change dicks him in deeper. "Yeah," he finally sighs. The way he's grinding his hips in, blunt crown of his cock pressing right against Louis' prostate -- that's going to be the sole cause of death. Just this. Only this. "Yeah, gonna make me come so hard in your arse, baby. So good."
When Louis' orgasm hits him, he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that this is top three. Harry fucks him through it, murmuring low and encouraging filth into Louis' ear while his fat prick just completely ruins Louis for probably all other mediocre cocks everywhere. Definitely.
"That's it," Harry murmurs, dicking in short and seamless thrusts to Louis' body. "God, yeah, wish I could -- so fucking gorgeous coming for me like this."
Part of Louis is disappointed that Harry doesn't come while still inside him, but there are definitely upsides to the sound of the slick strokes of Harry's hand on his cock and his long moan while he streaks Louis' bruised arse with pulse after pulse of come. Many upsides.
"Niall tells me you got shagged by Prince Charming Saturday night," Morgan says on Monday morning, bumping against Louis' hip while he gets a new batch of biscuits from the kitchen.
"Tell Niall to spend less time worrying about my life and more about his own," Louis replies. He pushes the swing door open with his back, careful not the drop the glass container they're being held in. "But yes. He was right."
"He also tells me that he cooked your brekkie and personally drove you home," Morgan sing songs.
Louis puts the biscuits under the panel. "Keeping up with Tomlinson, is it? Think I want that multimillion dollar deal before I spill."
"Louis," Morgan whines.
"Morgan," Louis mocks.
"See if I'll cover a shift for you ever again," she threatens, turning heel back into the kitchen. Louis rolls his eyes. He does three times as many work related favours for her than she does for him.
She comes back out when their 7:30 rush hits to help him man the registers. There are a lot of office buildings around their cafè, and while it's obviously fantastic for business, it also means that mornings are so hectic Louis couldn't even take a break to wee if he needed to.
They're halfway through when he goes to get a refill on the muffins from Niall and Cassie in the back. When he comes back out, he almost drops them all on the floor. It's only two years of reflex and near misses that saves him from being eaten and spit out alive by Cassie for ruining her work, but if he did, then there'd at least be some understandable reasoning behind it.
Harry is here. He's stood with a gorgeous brown bloke and seems to be placing his order with Morgan, eyes fixated on the menu overhead. He's pulling off business professional too bloody well, fitted black slacks and blazer over the deep green of his unfortunately full buttoned shirt, and he just -- he looks really fucking good. Even better in the soft shine of early morning. Louis can't believe he managed to pull him.
"Louis, why are you just standing there," Morgan snaps, taking him out of his reverie. "Take a customer."
Harry's eyes lazily flit over to his face. Louis sees the exact moment that recognition sparks in his eyes, his eyebrows raising in disbelief even as his lips quirk up into a wide smile.
He doesn't go up to Louis right then. Obviously -- there are still loads of customers queued up and Louis cannot stop working just because the best one night stand of his life is in here looking like he's setting aim for GQ.
In fact, he doesn't go up to Louis at all. There is no mistaking that he keeps staring at Louis while he and his friend wait for their orders, but nothing comes out of it. They grab their iced coffees and bag of food and then with one last glance at Louis, he's gone.
"Morgan," Louis says when the morning rush finally trickles down, "would you believe me if I said that fit bloke in the green shirt was the Saturday shag?"
Morgan stares blankly at him. "With the long curls?" Louis nods. "No fucking way."
"Every fucking way," Louis corrects. He grins at the look on Morgan's face. "What, is it hard to believe I could pick that up, because if so, I'm pretty bloody offended, mate."
Morgan punches him in the shoulder. "You know that's not it. Just -- wow. Shit. Way to fucking go, Lou. Definitely older than you, innit?" She waggles her eyebrows. "Dresses like he has a nice job."
"He's only twenty-one." Louis flicks her ear. "Barely older than me."
"Yeah, but sometimes you look like you're seventeen. A porn title, probably. Older man barebacking teen. Twink fucked in hotel. Incredibly passionate gay sex scene." She smirks, "but you obviously didn't look seventeen Saturday night, eh? What did you even fucking wear? What club do I go to to get me one of him?"
"If you ever call me what you just called me ever again," Louis says calmly, "I'm gonna tell Cassie you're the one who dropped her batter on the floor last week and see if you last the day alive."
Morgan pulls a face. He pulls one right back.
Twenty minutes later, she sidles up to him while he's making a pair of frappucinos. "You reckon he works around here?"
"I'll keel over and die," Louis responds.
"Why keel over for death when you can keel over for him?" Morgan asks.
Louis is really starting to wonder why he thought telling her would be a good idea.
Harry strolls back into the cafè at 2:15.
Louis is behind the counter ringing up an obscene number of sandwiches for the bored looking woman in front of him, tapping away on her phone and looking very rich and important. She has the air of someone who's going to put a tip into their jar or directly into Louis' hands. She does. Louis hopes she becomes a regular.
"Louis," he hears once the woman has her bag and is stepping away from the counter. He feels something in him twinge, but it's almost definitely just his arse. He literally could not even sit up in bed yesterday. He had to take two sets of paracetamol. Just because of a dicking.
"Harry," he breathes, eye widening. He flushes and clears his throat. "I mean -- " Less embarrassing voice. "Harry. Uh, hi. You're in here."
Harry looks amused. "I am in here," he agrees, mouth quirking up.
Louis stares at him for a second more before patting Morgan's side to get her attention from where Louis knows, without even following the angle, that she's staring at Harry. "I'm taking my break."
"I support any and all opportunities for you to get cock, Lou," she says earnestly.
She always thinks she's speaking in a low voice and she never, ever is. "Shut up," Louis hisses. Harry is very pointedly not looking at them, but he's doing a piss poor job at hiding his smirk.
"In here, or...?"
"God, no," Louis says. He can already see the slight slit of the kitchen's double doors open, and that fake blond hair isn't as subtle as its owner would like. "Outside? If you don't mind."
Harry doesn't mind. Louis brings him around to the back of the restaurant, away from the hustle of the open street and the nosiness of his coworkers.
And then they just... stare. Harry has undone the top button of his shirt, and his sleeves have been pushed up to just below his elbow, showing off the easy and effortless flex of his forearms. He really does have unfairly nice forearms. There's a pen tucked behind his ear and a line of green Sharpie across his cheek. Even in this slight disarray, though, like how his trousers are sliding down with his hands deep in the pockets, he exudes this, like -- shit. He's only twenty one so there's no way he holds some high level executive position, but the way he carries himself is just like... this smooth confidence, this soft yet sure power.
What Louis is trying to say is that he wants to suck his cock. And that he would, right here, halfway through his shift in the alley behind his restaurant, if Harry even suggested that it might be a good idea.
"The breakfast food here is really good," Harry finally says. "Do you help make them?"
Louis looks up from where he's been making eyes at Harry's crotch. "Huh? Oh, shit, no. I'm a lousy cook. Slowly learning, I guess, but nowhere near enough to legally feed other people. I'm just the coffee cashier. Barista. That's the word. I don't know why I thought coffee cashier could make any sense." Why won't Harry stop him from talking. Why can't he stop himself.
Harry laughs. It's a really ugly laugh, like a mix between a snort and chortle, and he immediately covers his mouth once it's out. Louis doesn't even know what he said that was so funny, but Harry's dimples are really bloody brilliant.
"Are you laughing at me or with me?" Louis asks, leaning back against the wall.
"Neither?" Harry tries. He laughs again and covers his face, eyes barred. His hands are quite large. Louis knows from experience. "Fuck, I'm sorry. Just -- coffee cashier." He moves his hands away, eyes twinkling. "I've never heard that before. It's really original. And cute."
Harry nods, stepping forward. His eyes flit down to Louis' mouth before he licks his own, and. Well. "Very cute," he murmurs. Louis cannot say that he is sure of when Harry got close enough to lean down and hover his lips over his, but who the bleeding fuck cares. He surges up and takes the kiss.
Probably things get a tad too heated for two PM on a Monday. Probably Louis gets desperate and hot for it far too quickly, hands tangled in Harry's hair, ready and eager for whatever Harry wants to give him. Probably he's grinding up against the swell of Harry's cock in his thin slacks, hard and obvious, and feeling near bust every time Harry meets him.
"Shit," Harry breathes, trailing his lips down to kiss and lick at Louis' throat. "Shit, I was upset we forgot to exchange numbers yesterday morning and now look at this, I can't believe -- " He trails the hands on Louis' back further down, until his palms are tightly squeezing more than a handful of Louis' arse. Louis whines, rising up on his toes and bringing Harry back in for the snog. "You have the nicest body."
Louis glances to the sides, makes sure there's no one around and hopes that the overhead cover is providing them with enough secrecy, and then he shoves his hands down and works to undo Harry's trousers.
"What are -- " Harry swallows, cursing when Louis makes contact with his prick over the flimsy cotton of his briefs. "Louis, what are you doing?"
"I wanna suck you off," Louis whispers. He pulls Harry's cock out through the slit of his pants, tugging on it roughly and preening when Harry moans and fucks his hips forward. "Want you to fuck my mouth. Will you let me?"
"Jesus Christ," Harry gasps. "I'm. It's two o'clock?" His voice wavers. "This is a really bad idea?"
On one side is the dead end where the rubbish bins are and on the other is an inconvenient and rarely used sidestreet more than a few metres away. Louis drops to his knees.
"You can't go back to work like this," Louis reasons. He doesn't care about reasoning all that much. He just wants this. Bad.
He doesn't lower Harry's slacks or pants, just pulls the length of his cock fully out, red and bulging. Louis' mouth waters.
"Can I?" Louis asks, looking up. Harry's pupils are dark and blown out with arousal, jaw tense and set. Keeping eye contact, Louis tilts his neck back and opens his mouth wide, tongue poking out with obvious intent.
Harry swears under his breath and wraps his fingers around his prick. He swipes the wet tip across Louis' bottom lip, swears again when Louis' tongue darts out to lick it away, and then, very carefully and slowly, feeds his cock into Louis' mouth.
Even back when Louis was closeted in secondary, he wasn't closeted enough not to guiltily exchange blowjobs with random lads at house parties, and he's pretty sure that as awkward as those experiences might have been, learning to deepthroat at the ripe age of sixteen has been nothing less than beneficial at this stage in his life.
Harry curls one of his big hands around the back of Louis' head. "Is this okay?" he asks, flexing his fingers. Louis pulls off to nod, and then goes back so Harry can use the hold on the back of his skull to move his mouth down and down around his cock.
Louis hollows his cheeks and works his tongue the best way he can. Probably this is a bad idea, getting his mouth fucked directly behind his place of work in broad daylight, but he could feel how hard Harry got, how hard Harry got because of him, and all his rationale and common sense flew straight out the park at the thought of getting to taste it. It'd be poor form for him to call it off after he's already started, right? Right.
Harry doesn't stop pushing him on until the head is bumping into the catch of Louis' throat. Louis doesn't know what he expects, but that doesn't matter. He takes a deep breath in through his nose and relaxes his throat. He looks up at Harry with wet and expectant eyes and presses forward until Harry's prick is teasing past.
"Fuck," Harry moans; he uses both hands to thread his fingers through Louis' hair, his own head tipping down as he carefully, carefully eases further in. God, his cock is so big it's not even fair. Louis wants to swallow him down to the root but he's already feeling the hint of a gag with a third left.
He pulls off with a wet breath, unhinges his jaw, and swallows Harry's dick as deep into his throat as it'll go.
"Oh God," Harry groans. Louis blinks up at him with tears in his eyes, bobbing in and out in shallow movements. Everything about Harry does it for him. Harry's hair sticks to his sweaty forehead and curls around his parted mouth, nostrils flaring wide, the way he's hunching over Louis' body like he wants to cover all of him from any potential outsiders, the slow rock of his hips, the softness of his tattoos in the early afternoon light. "'M gonna -- " He heaves out a low breath. "Soon."
Louis doubles his efforts, putting his lips to full use until he feels Harry's fingers tighten roughly in his hair; even then he doesn't pull off and away -- he swallows and hums almost convulsively around Harry's prick until it twitches and swells in his mouth and then, finally, totally ignoring Harry's throaty warning, releases warm and thick down his throat.
It's more efficient, he reasons, for him to swallow. Less messy. Better for the environment, probably.
Anyway, aside from the fact that spunk is never going to taste like a blueberry muffin, all the fruit he saw in Harry's flat Sunday morning seems to be doing him some good.
Harry grunts and pushes his shoulder until he pulls off his softening and sensitive cock. Louis will miss it.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Harry pants when Louis is back on his feet. He runs his thumb over Louis' bottom lip, not-so-subtly popping his mouth open to see if he actually swallowed it all. There was a lot of it, but Louis did. Louis definitely did. Harry chokes out something unintelligible and crashes their lips together. "You," he starts, popping the button of Louis' black denims open and snaking his hand down to rub frantically at Louis' prick over his pants, "are so fucking brilliant. Shit, Louis."
Louis is three or four presses of the heel of Harry's palm away from coming in his pants like a teenager. A younger teenager. "I am, aren't I?" he jokes, like he isn't arching and desperate.
"Yeah," Harry sighs into their not quite kiss, squeezing right at the head. "Gonna get me arrested for public indecency for sure, but you'd be worth it. Bloody amazing."
"Harry," Louis croaks, digging his hand into Harry's bicep.
"I know," Harry answers, licking sweet and slow into Louis' mouth. "Yeah, you gonna come just like this, baby? Gonna show me?"
There's literally no way Harry will see anything, but there's no rule that the heat of the moment has to make sense, Louis doesn't think, so. Yeah. He shows him.
"See, when you said you were gonna take a break," Morgan says when Louis finally clocks back in, "I thought it'd be for five minutes. A quick exchange of numbers."
Louis grins. "We did exchange numbers," he says, pulling his pinny back over his shoulders.
"Hm," Morgan replies. "Yeah?" Louis nods. "That's nice. You look like you just got fucked raw in a back alley."
"What kinda lad do you think I am?" says Louis, faking offence.
"You don't wanna know, mate," Morgan tells him. "You don't."
Louis laughs. He loves Morgan, even if she thinks that last year's drunken shags means she doesn't need to have any sort of filter with him. "He obviously needs to buy me a few more dinners before I let it in me bare," he says, and of course that's when he realises that there's a customer standing in front of him.
This time it's Morgan laughing. Whatever. Louis cannot find anything that will fuck his vibe right now, not when he's got a new contact in his phone and a promise of at least a few of those dinners. Definitely not.