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too good to be good for me

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Harry rested one foot on the barre and tipped her head back, breathing in delicately. She leaned forward and sighed the same breath back out, relishing the stretch that ran from her groin down to her thigh.


The studio was completely empty, closed on Sundays, and Harry basked in the feeling of freedom. No judgmental eyes peering at her form, no whispers behind her back about her height, no barked orders or other dancers bursting out into tears. It was just her, her favorite playlist, and unlimited dance time. Definitely one of the best perks of being “teacher’s pet,” as the other girls in her class sneered at her for.


She swung her foot off of the barre and placed her forearms on the shiny wood instead, spreading her thighs in a wide V shape and pushing her backside out to stretch her back muscles. Harry tipped her head forward and felt her thick, curly bun press into the mirror; she smiled, feeling relaxed. Sunlight was trickling into the studio through the gauzy curtains, despite how cold it was outside on the city streets.


Harry’s thick pullover and sweatpants lay in a heap by the stereo, leaving her in her strappy bra top and a pair of old tights that left little to the imagination. She’d forgotten her pointe shoes but remembered her lyrical half-soles, so she wouldn’t be getting any real practice in for their upcoming show, but she didn’t mind. She slid her hands down the backs of her legs, feeling her glutes, thighs, calves, all contract as she shifted her weight. Her palms pressed flat against the floor, and Harry took slow, deep breaths in.


It had been a stressful week; Louis had finals coming up and had spent most of her days cooped up in the library at NYU, poring over film history, only leaving to take smoke breaks, and Harry’s company had their winter show approaching fast, so she was stuck at the studio. They’d barely seen each other long enough to give a kiss goodnight before falling into bed at the end of each day, and Harry was missing the attention that Louis always gave her. Attention of all kinds, she might add.


Harry had never considered herself a sexual person before she’d met Louis. Louis would gladly claim that she’d corrupted Harry, and while Harry might whine a protest or two if they were around others, she knew that Louis was right. They’d met at a party hosted by Niall, who was Harry’s roommate when she first got to New York and one of Louis’ friends from NYU. Harry, who was only nineteen at the time and terrified of being busted for underage drinking, had been nursing a Sprite all night when Louis, who had been dubbed as designated driver for the night and was clearly not happy about it, had huffed a question in Harry’s direction about where she got that soda, which got them talking, and then the rest was history. Harry didn’t quite remember how it all happened – okay, she did; she had a ridiculous crush on Louis from the minute she saw her – but Louis had led her onto Niall’s balcony, ate her out under her skirt at three in the morning for any citizens of Queens who may have been looking to see, written her number on Harry’s arm in plum colored lipstick, and waltzed out with her roommate Zayn’s keys clutched in her hand and a grin on her face.


Harry hadn’t ever experienced pleasure like that before, and, come to find out, it wasn’t even Louis’ best work. Harry had grown up in a traditionally British, religious household, going to church on Sundays and letting her sexuality lay dormant for as long as possible. Boys were nearly never on her mind, as dance was always her first priority. Sex was never the topic of conversation between Harry and her mother; on her thirteenth birthday, she found a book that had been left by her parents on her bed called It’s a Girl Thing! with detailed descriptions of periods and bras and body hair. There had been one short paragraph on masturbation, and Harry still remembered how beet red she’d gone when she’d come across it. She’d even tried it a few times, pressing herself into a pillow clutched between her thighs in the dead of night when she’d hoped no one could hear her, but she wouldn’t have admitted it if her life depended on it.


At nineteen, after hooking up with Louis, Harry had never felt such a peculiar brand of shame before. She wasn’t a virgin – sorry Mum, sorry Dad – after her prom, but she’d been dating the boy who she’d lost it to for her entire last year of school. Plus, it hadn’t felt too good to lose it; it hurt. Harry had taken that as a trade-off of sorts, a punishment for what she was doing. Louis, though – Louis left her knees still shaking for hours, giving her such a lasting impression that Harry would wake up with a gasp in the middle of the night days after, underwear soaked through and thighs sticky as her heart raced. They’d had chemistry.


Even after Louis and Harry started dating steadily, it was a long road for Harry to understand her sexuality. She hadn’t even fully realized that she wasn’t straight growing up, and now here she was, regularly fucking a girl. Slowly, though, things started to come together. Harry realized that she hadn’t ever taken a particular interest in boys because, well, she kind of thought that everyone was nice, regardless of their genitalia. It had been hard to balance the extreme, never-before-seen, carnal pleasure with the years of parental and religious guilt, but after coming out to her parents as pansexual and having them surprisingly support her for it, it made things a little easier. Not to mention that Louis was too good to ever want to give up, both sexually and romantically. Now Harry was twenty-one, and she was in the best place she could be at in her dance career, and her girlfriend of two years was hot and wonderful and Harry loved her a lot.


She just missed her.


Of course, life got busy. It wasn’t like Harry had been any more available than Louis. But Harry had needs, and now, as she was rolling around on the floor in nothing more but what could have been her underwear, those needs were becoming more apparent. She was meant to be doing bicycle kicks as a way of warming up and elevating her heart rate, but Harry found herself rubbing her palms over her bare stomach, her narrow hips, her small breasts, feeling her whole body wake in response to the attention. She hadn’t worn underwear beneath her tights – gross, but she was out of clean underwear, no time to do laundry, and they were old tights anyway – and Harry could feel the dampness there. She had no shame any longer. She flexed her feet and reached around to hold her thighs up and apart; she came to the studio to dance, not to get off, and she wasn't even finished stretching. It was getting hard to focus.


She figured she'd stretched enough when the pressure between her legs was too much to bear. She skipped through her playlist until she settled on a new song, twirling a few times experimentally.


Kiss me on the mouth and set me free/Sing me like a choir.


It was fun, just getting to improvise like this. The ballet company had been drilling them with routine-based dance practices for months in preparation of the December show, but Harry loved the creativity of just doing her own thing on the fly.


I can be the subject of your dreams/Your sickening desire.


She was just going into a leg tilt when behind her, the studio door opened. Harry lost her balance and fell out of the tilt in surprise, only to see Louis come through the studio door, backpack slung over one shoulder and a paper bag clutched in her fist.


“Lou?” Harry said, clutching her heart. “You startled me.”


“Sorry, babe,” Louis gave Harry a thousand-watt smile, suggesting she wasn't sorry in the slightest. “Couldn't sit in that fucking library no more, and you left your breakfast on the counter this morning, so I figured I’d bring you some calories.” She waved the bag and unrolled the top to reveal bagels. Harry technically wasn't supposed to be eating bread, but they were clearly fresh-baked, judging by the smell they were giving off, and Harry was starving.


She shook out her legs and rolled her neck before making long strides over to where Louis was holding out the bag, but it was snatched out of reach before she could pull a bagel out.


“Nuh-uh. You've got to work for it,” Louis grinned. “Lemme see what you were working on.”


Harry whined, but Louis just kissed her on the nose. “Sorry, kid. I don't make the rules. I just enforce ‘em.”


“You totally make the rules,” Harry rolled her eyes, walking over to the stereo to restart the song. “But I want that bagel. So I will comply.”


“That's what she said,” Louis called, wrinkling her nose. In the mirror, Harry could see her shifting off her heavy coat to reveal a thin, white v-neck. It made her look tan and showed off the garden of floral tattoos that she had creeping up her left arm and onto her collarbone and neck. “Bagel is an innuendo for vagina, right?”


“Your life is an innuendo for vagina,” Harry retorted, “now hush.”


“Don’t forget what I said,” Louis smirked, a little sparkle in her eye. “You’ve got to work for it.”


Harry bit her lip and whirled around so her back was to the mirror, dragging the tops of her feet delicately along the polished wood of the floor. She’d work for it, all right.


So kiss me on the mouth and set me free/But please don't bite.


It wasn’t the dance she was doing before, but it would work. It was loaded with low spins and dramatic backbends and a few acro tricks thrown in for good measure.


You can coax the cold right out of me/Drape me in your warmth.


She dropped to her knees and crawled to Louis, shifting her hips in time with the music. The feeling was back, the one of unadulterated desire, and she didn’t feel like holding back any longer. The studio would be empty all day; no one would ever catch them, realistically speaking, but the thrill of being outside of their bedroom was enough to make Harry really want it. She threw her leg over Louis’ lap and straddled her, digging her knees into Louis’ fleshy hips. Harry threaded her hand into the soft, gentle wave of Louis’ hair, using her other hand to stroke the buzzed side of her head. She smelled like cold air and smoke and the bagel shop, and if Harry wasn’t so fucking horny, she’d crawl inside her lap and never come back out. At the moment, though, there were more important things on the agenda.


I'm pulling on your heart to push my luck/cause who's got any time for growin' up?


She caught Louis’ lips in a kiss; Louis had lipstick on, and Harry could already feel it getting all over her chin and nose, but she didn’t care.


“Thought you’d never catch on,” Louis murmured against Harry’s mouth, cramming her hand between their kiss for just a moment to wipe her lipstick off of the two of them. They continued the moment she was finished, Harry laying back and pulling Louis on top of her, sighing hard through her nose when one of Louis’ soft, square palms rubbed up and down her bare side. It was cold on the floor, and she could feel her nipples fighting against the spandex of her bra top. It didn’t take Louis long to spot.


“What’s this?” She cooed, rubbing her thumb over one of the clothes nubs. “Cold or just happy to see me?”


“Both,” Harry whispered, reaching up to undo her mussed bun and feeling her curls pool behind her head.


“Hmph.” Louis said, snapping the elastic band on the bottom of Harry’s bra top. “Maybe we can get this thing off and ask that question again.” Harry shot up, never going to miss a chance to have her nipples played with, and struggled to get out of the bra, getting caught in the caged design of the straps and making Louis laugh.


“’S okay, love, I’ll still be here when you get out of those clothes. No rush.” She gently untangled Harry from the dancewear of doom and laid her back down on the floor, taking in the sight of her. Harry was beautiful like this, her perky breasts rising and falling with each breath, nipples standing out proud like they had something to prove. Louis leaned down and kissed along Harry’s sternum, where her cleavage would be if she had any, and used her thumb to again brush over her left nipple. Harry squirmed and Louis preened, happy to give Harry the attention she so desperately needed. She pressed her thumb into Harry’s nipple, making Harry do this funny cross between a yelp and a moan.


“More, Lou,” she urged, panting a bit. She could feel her tights growing damp again. “Please?”


“Hmm,” Louis said, flicking Harry’s nipple, which was now red and rock hard. “I’ve got a better idea.” She was quite wet as well, feeling her thighs grow sticky beneath her briefs. “You were so hungry for that bagel, why don’t you eat me instead? Then we’ll see how much you deserve.”


Harry nodded too quickly, practically lunging for Louis’ joggers, but Louis held her down. “Not so fast. Do it properly, please.”


Harry nodded, going slower when Louis released her hold on her, getting up onto her knees to kiss Louis while she untied the string of her sweatpants. Her tongue swiped over Louis’, tasting the smoky, minty flavor, giving away all the clues of what she’d done that morning – smoked, brushed her teeth, chewed on the nicotine gum to try to quit the smoking. She eased the joggers over Louis’ thick bottom, squeezing the flesh gently before moving north. Louis kicked off her own pants the rest of the way, lifting her arms simultaneously so Harry could slip her v-neck off over her head. Louis’ soft body was revealed, breasts heavy in her bra, stomach pouching ever-so-slightly, thick thighs peeking out from her grey Calvin Klein’s, tan all over and so touchable.


Harry wasted no time easing the clasp of her bra open and letting it fall to the floor. Louis’ breasts lay on her chest, and Harry used her hands to push them up, letting her nipples roll in her palms before giving them a squeeze, relishing the way Louis threw her head back and moaned. Harry took a nipple on her tongue and sucked, tracing shapes around Louis’ belly button as she felt her grow hard in her mouth. She loved Louis’ body, the soft suppleness of it combined with how strong and thick it was. She didn’t unlatch from Louis’ nipple, but she did take her hand and slip it beneath the waistband of Louis’ underwear, feeling the little fluff of hair there. Maybe it was weird, or culturally wrong or something, but Harry loved Louis’ pubic hair. She kept it trimmed so the area could still be easily navigable, but it was thick and dark and reminded Harry how much of a grown woman Louis was. Harry had to keep fully waxed for dance, so maybe that contributed to her love of Louis’ “feathers,” as she called them sometimes. She slid her hand a little lower, feeling the wetness there, when Louis pulled away.


“Lie on your back, H?”

Her voice was soft and sweet and Harry immediately complied, hoping that maybe she’d earned her prize a little early, but it became clear that Louis wasn’t finished quite yet. She removed her boyshorts rather unceremoniously before straddling Harry and shuffling up to her stomach.


“Wanna ride your face, sweet girl. ‘S that okay?”


“Yeah,” Harry breathed, feeling her curls shift when she nodded.




Louis shuffled forward more, and all at once, Harry was enveloped by her. Her smell filled Harry’s nose, and her hands went to grip her strong thighs, pulling her open. It took Harry a moment to get her bearings – there was a bit of experimental licking before she got her rhythm, tongue smooth. She had a system going, licking the whole length of Louis’ slit, just narrowly avoiding her clit each time, until Louis began to grind down on her face, clearly getting impatient.

Harry was hyperaware of how close they were to the studio mirrors; she wondered if Louis was watching herself be eaten out. For some reason, that only fueled her to do more, and she swiped her tongue over Louis’ clit, causing her to shake and cry out. Was Louis seeing her facial expressions? The same ones Harry had tried to memorize every night for the last two years just to be sure she’d never forget them? Did she catch how her nose crinkled up every time before she let out a good moan? Harry hoped so. She remembered the first time she ever put her fingers in Louis, still young and fumbling, how Louis had clutched at her wrist and guided her, chanting, “There, there, there,” in a strained whisper when Harry had curled her fingers just right. Harry hadn’t ever felt so proud of herself than when she watched Louis come on her fingers, face screwed up and anxious. She wanted to recreate that moment.


Harry readjusted herself, gripping Louis’ thighs tighter, tight enough to leave prints of her fingers if she pulled her hands away. She could feel the cool, polished wood of the studio floor on the skin of her back, and her tights were uncomfortably close on her skin, now getting damp down to her thighs. She was eating Louis out like an animal, burying her nose and lips into Louis, tasting the clean, semi-salty taste on her tongue. Louis was groaning now, and Harry could see that she was watching herself in the mirror. She could be a bit of a narcissist – it showed in her film work for school – but Harry didn’t mind it, and especially not now. There was something unbelievably hot about Louis being turned on by her own image.

“God, Harry, fuck-!” Louis was tugging on Harry’s soft curls like the reigns of a horse, guiding her impossibly closer to her clit. “Make me come-”


Harry did exactly that.


She opened her mouth wide, flattening her tongue, and used it to press into Louis’ clit, slow, hard, letting her bottom teeth just barely flutter over it. That set Louis off, her thighs tightening against Harry’s ears, as she threw her head back and gasped.

“Oh, fuck, H-”


Harry could feel her muscles flexing; Louis’ wetness was everywhere, in her mouth, on her chin, on her cheeks. She was a mess, but she was so happy. From this angle, she could see Louis’ full breasts bounce a little with every hiccupping breath she took as she came down before sliding off of Harry’s face and sitting on her skinny thighs instead. Harry could feel the mix of Louis’ juices and her own spit through her tights, and it only made her grow wetter. She sat up, wiping her mouth with the back of her arm, and smiled. She was out of breath, almost as much as Louis.


“Did I do good?”


Louis giggled, cheeks flushed a deep red, and pursed her lips to try to hide her smile. “Look at you, always fishing for compliments.” She reached forward and smoothed Harry’s hair, hooking a fat curl behind her ear. “Of course you did good, darling. You always do.” She leaned forward and pecked Harry’s lips, nose wrinkling up a little. “You smell like vagina.” Harry giggled, snuggling into Louis’ shoulder and rubbing her face all over Louis’ neck.


“’S my new perfume. Eau de Louis.”


“Mm, love it when you talk French to me,” Louis laughed. “Do more.” She slid off of Harry’s lap and stood to fetch her backpack.


“Baguette,” Harry said in the most American accent she could muster, completely deadpan. “Bonjour. Eiffel Tower.”


“Ha ha,” Louis rolled her eyes, pushing her face closer to peer into her bag. “Anyways. Guess what?”


“What?” Harry said, picking Louis’ boyshorts off of the floor and shaking them out, folding them neatly. She hoped Louis hadn’t forgotten about her promise. She was afraid that she was making the floor sticky beneath her; she was still so wet.


“Brought you a surprise.”


“Yeah, the bagels,” Harry pointed behind Louis. “You already told me. Didn’t think that you came hard enough to give yourself amnesia.”


“No, not the bagels,” Louis shook her head, pulling something distinctly red and plastic, along with a tangle of straps out of her bag. “Somethin’ else.”


Harry squinted a bit. “Lou,” she said, licking her lips. “Tell me you weren’t walking the streets of New York – not to mention the halls of your university – with a strap-on dildo in your bag the entire time.”


Louis grinned, setting the bundle aside and digging around for something else. “No,” she said simply. “I walked the streets of New York with a strap-on dildo and a bottle of lube in my bag the entire time.”


“Dirty. What if you had been caught?” Harry tried to chide, but she couldn’t bring herself to be legitimately upset. She wanted Louis to fuck her, and here she was, getting her wish.


“I wouldn’t have,” Louis said simply, adjusting her glasses and pulling her long hair up into a ponytail. Harry had a funny urge to lick the vine tattoo that curled around her collarbone as soon as it was revealed. She watched, mesmerized, as Louis pulled the worn harness up her legs and fixed the straps around her thighs. Louis’ flesh bulged around the pressure of the harness, and Harry clenched her teeth, imagining what it’d be like to bite into it. “C’mere.”


Harry didn’t waste one second obliging, eyes fixated on the plastic cock, standing out smugly from Louis’ lap. Louis leaned forward and caught the back of Harry’s neck to kiss her; she eased her tongue into Harry’s mouth, tasting herself from earlier along with each of Harry’s whimpers for more. Harry still had her tights on. Louis ran her fingernails up and down her black nylon covered thigh, thinking. Harry could feel the drag of the silicon dick every time Louis shifted, and she wondered if Louis was getting wet again at the thought of fucking her. Harry was absolutely dripping, a fact that became public knowledge when Louis slipped her hand down the front of Harry’s tights and brushed over her clit. Harry could feel her smile as they kissed. Louis had always been amazed by how eager Harry was for her; this was no exception.


Louis pulled back from the kiss, gently pressing a hand into the middle of Harry’s chest. “Lie back for me, love?” Harry fell back straight away, feeling again the cool smoothness of the pine floors. “Do you care about these tights, sweetheart?”


Harry lifted herself at the neck, pausing. “Uh, I-” she thought for a moment. They were old, too transparent to wear to a real class, and had a run in the left calf. “No.”


“Good.” Louis pulled her hand out of the tights and licked her fingers clean, making Harry shiver. She dug her nails into the nylon right at the junction of Harry’s legs and ripped, making a considerably large rip which she then guided to create a hole right over Harry’s crotch. Her vulva was completely on display, smooth and pale and a little puffy, her clit peeking through proudly. “Wanna fuck my tiny dancer, tights and all,” Louis said to no one in particular, maybe just herself. She pushed the pad of her thumb against Harry’s clit, hearing a sharp inhale from Harry, and dragged it downwards, just barely slipping it inside of her.


Harry wriggled, clearly impatient, and tried to push her hips down onto Louis’ thumb, begging for anything, but Louis wasn’t having it. She used her free forearm to act as a seatbelt over Harry’s hipbones and circled her thumb back up to Harry’s clit, agonizingly slow.


“Louis-“ Harry moaned, desperate. “Please, Louis, touch me, feels like I’m on fire…”


It had been so long since Harry was touched properly by Louis, she was willing to give up any scraps of remaining dignity and beg for it until she got what she wanted. She was so worked up she probably could have thought herself into an orgasm by now, but she wanted the full experience.


She shuddered when she finally got what she asked for. Louis kept her thumb pressed on her clit, but slipped two fingers inside of her, feeling around, stretching her open. The strap-on wasn’t exceptionally large; Harry just loved foreplay, and Louis knew it. “Feels good,” she panted a bit, spreading her legs wider. “Gonna be so ready for your cock.” It felt a bit funny saying that, but it turned Harry on quite a bit. Harry liked it when Louis took control of her a bit, maybe tossed her around a little, and getting fucked by her was just an extension of that. They’d only used the strap-on a few times before, reserving it for special occasions and make-up sex, but Harry definitely thought this was a qualified use.


She could feel herself opening up around Louis’ fingers, three of them now, and instinctively, she slid a hand down to her clit to paw around. She half-expected Louis to stop her, but Louis was transfixed, watching Harry rub herself greedily in her ripped up tights. Her body felt like it was made of tiny beads all bouncing against the floor, and a wave of goosebumps rushed from her toes to the top of her scalp. “Oh, fuck-” she gasped, rubbing harder. Before she could stop herself, she was coming on Louis’ fingers, her own hand swatted away in favor of Louis’ left one, shuddering and gasping before Louis even got the chance to fuck her.


“You like that, hm?” Louis said lowly. “You just want to make yourself come from now on? Don’t need my help? Didn’t realize you were such a big girl.” Harry writhed, coming down from her orgasm but still not even close to being fully satisfied.


“No-” she gasped; Louis’ fingers were still in her, on her, holding her down. “Need you. Want you so bad. Please-” Louis drew her hands away, and Harry gave a sharp, frustrated whine. Immediately, fingers were thrust in her mouth, and Harry licked clean what she was given.


“Stand up,” Louis ordered, withdrawing her fingers. “Go to the barre.” Harry scrambled up, eager, and did as she was told.


Louis allowed herself a moment to take in Harry; her hair was wild and a little frizzy from being pulled on, and her cheeks were red. Her nipples still stuck out like they had a point to prove, breasts small and perky. Her ripped tights left nothing to the imagination, and Louis wanted to wreck her. So, she would. She reached for the lube and turned back to Harry.


“Elbows on the barre,” she said. “Look at yourself in the mirror.” Harry obliged, staring down her own reflection. She felt Louis come up from behind and hold her narrow hips with one hand. The other hand snaked around to Harry’s front and slid past the tatters of her dance tights, playing with her folds. Louis guided Harry’s thighs apart and met her eyes in the mirror. “Watch yourself, since you love to touch yourself so much. Don’t look away.”


Harry found her own green eyes in the mirror for just a moment; they closed almost immediately when Louis slid inside of her, pink lips forming into a round shape. “Oh- Lou-”


It was slow at first; Louis always liked to build the anticipation. She dragged the red cock in and out of Harry, and Harry relished the feeling of Louis’ hips pressing on her backside through the layer of nylon. “Eyes open,” Louis urged, tugging on Harry’s hair. “Unless you want to stop.”


Harry forced her eyes to open wide, taking a deep breath. It was hard not to let her gaze wander to Louis in the mirror; she was so strong, so thick, so beautiful. Harry wanted to put her mouth on her, but their position wouldn’t allow it, and she was feeling so good anyway. Her knees began to shake as soon as Louis slid her hand around to knead at Harry’s clit, deep and slow. Every thrust of the strap-on made her shiver just that much more, and she wondered how long she’d last before coming again.


As she stared herself down, she was brought back to her thoughts about Louis watching herself as she rode Harry’s face earlier. This was hot; every time Louis flipped the switch and did something to surprise her, Harry’s face would tighten up, or her nostrils would flare, or her eyelids would flutter. She’d react in some way every single time without fail.


She was moaning consistently now, pushing her hips back to meet Louis with everything she had, tightening her thigh muscles and grinding down on Louis’ hand.


“Wanna come-” she breathed, shivering. “Please-”


Harry knew Louis was feeling generous when she doubled her speed. “Fuck, Louis-!” Harry watched herself scream, eyebrows furrowing. It felt like there were tiny needles pricking all over her skin, and she wanted to give in and let her eyes close, but she would rather die than have Louis stop now. “Faster, God, fuck me!” She cried, gasping. Her chest was heavy, like she was breathing in steam, and she writhed under the pressure, feeling the tension build in her body until it snapped.


A wave of hot, inexplicable pleasure washed over her, making her yelp as her pussy pulsed around Louis’ plastic cock. Her knees trembled, along with her hands, and basically her entire body. The strap-on slipped out of her and Harry slid down onto the floor, still trembling. Louis crouched beside her, kissing her forehead and smoothing her hair until Harry recovered enough to regain her wits.


“Somehow,” she croaked with a grin, “I don’t think they’ll let me do that for the winter recital.”