Maybe, it’s all gotten out of hand.
Louis is out of it, asking for more, more, more and Harry is actually worried because Nick is already balls deep and Louis doesn’t look like he even gets that, is tugging Harry in behind him, guiding his cock and --
“Ssh,” Harry soothes, blankets Louis’ back and strokes his brow. He’s feverish to the touch, his fringe stuck to his forehead with sweat. Louis rocks his hips, a high, desperate sound escaping as his head falls back onto Harry’s shoulder, exposing the long line of his throat like an offering. “Shh, it’s okay. We got you.”
Nick’s knuckles dig into his stomach, right where he’s clutching Louis’ hips, pulling him down harder, too hard because Louis has already come with Harry’s fingers in his arse and Nick’s dick in his mouth and he has to be sensitive by now.
“He’s asking for your dick,” Nick pants. “Not your comfort.”
Harry scowls at him over Louis’ shoulder, bites his lip because Louis’ hand is still on him, guiding him to where Nick is pushing in and out slowly.
“What,” Nick asks, pulling Louis down hard and keeping him there until he whines. “He’s a big boy.”
And of course Louis is, he’s older than Harry for fucks sake, and probably has more experience under his belt too. But he’d still come to him all those weeks ago, when they were doing promo in America and asked him, told him he wanted to try something new.
And there’s a difference between, well, between trying something new and this.
“So, what exactly do you get up to with Nick, then?”
The airport speaker crackles, telling passengers on the flight to Madrid to start boarding. Harry checks the clock again, but their British Airways flight isn’t leaving for another thirty minutes. Waiting is always the worst because everyone gets dumb when they’re bored. So he’d found an empty corridor and sat down right there on the floor, headphones ready and hoping to find some time to really listen to Ed’s new album, send him a detailed review as he’d promised.
Louis found him though. Louis always finds him even when Harry doesn’t want to be found, doesn’t want to be distracted by Louis. And Louis always distracts him because like a moth to the flame Harry is utterly helpless, his attention dragged to Louis if he so much as enters a room.
He’s loud and high-pitched, kind of annoying when Harry thinks about it afterwards. That thought never crosses his mind when Louis is there in person and he’s half convinced Louis isn’t even real, some kind of fey prince that uses glamour far too effectively.
Louis nudges his shoulder because of course he’s dropped to the floor beside him, never bats an eyelash at Harry’s quirks unless it’s to mock them. “Not gonna answer me?”
He’s smiling, sweet and flirty and reality slows down in these moments, like someone hit the slow mo button on Harry’s life. Behind Louis through the glass window he sees an airplane creeping up towards the clouds, slow like a fly trapped in treacle. It’s possible that Louis really has some latent magical power because this phenomenon is exclusive to him alone, like Harry’s brain needs extra time for processing when it comes to Louis, every detail to precious to be ignored.
A slow blink drags Louis’ eyelashes down to his cheeks, the shadow elongating to absurd proportions. His hair is freshly washed and unstyled for once, the hoodie down now but right there, ready to hide the softness away.
Not from Harry though, there’s no need because he loves everything about Louis already, is under his spell and doesn’t even mind and if Louis maybe plays with that, uses it to his advantage, then Harry won’t be the one to complain.
“I like your hair,” he whispers as he reaches out. It’s hot from the sun slanting inside, burns his fingers but he won’t pull back.
Louis leans into the touch but Harry wants more, always does, wants Louis to lay his head in his lap, purr like a kitten while Harry pets him.
“Not what I asked,” he mumbles but the fight is seeping out of him, too content in the sun and under Harry’s hands.
It’s not even a cheap trick as much as a glorious accident, but Louis gets distracted enough to drop the subject. It’s nothing but a temporary fix, Harry knows, but he’s thankful for the respite, plans to think up an answer. Louis might act flighty and oblivious, only he’s anything but, always knows what’s happening, always takes the lead when it comes right down to it.
He won’t think about it now, won’t marr this moment because Louis does curl up on the floor, head pillowed on Harry’s thigh. “Feels nice,” is the last thing he mumbles, letting Harry pet his hair until they’re called for boarding.
Experience. They should have maybe defined that some more. As it stands, guilt coils in Harry’s stomach when Nick rearranges Louis in his lap and Louis just lets him, docile in a way Harry has never seen him before.
And the guilt is one thing, a big thing, but there’s also the mind crushing arousal because while Louis seems barely coherent he’s still so focused on getting more, blindly grabbing for Harry’s cock again and pulling him closer, begging Harry in a tone so fragile he can barely decipher it.
And Harry wants to. Wants nothing more than to press close, align his cock with Nick’s and push, until Louis is just choking on it, gasping at the stretch because it’s too much and --
Want to come over?
Harry stares at his phone and tries to ignore the itch under his skin. He’d love to answer with nothing but a quick yes, maybe add be there in fifteen but he can’t and it sucks because he’s horny. His hand is all good and well but after weeks of nothing but, the need to touch someone else, to not have someone’s hands on him is becoming unbearable.
Can’t. We’re recording. Gonna be here for several hours.
Nick doesn’t respond, like he’s too busy for anything as mundane as a that sucks.
When he does come out of the recording booth much later, slightly hoarse and vaguely dissatisfied, Louis doesn’t even bother to pretend he hasn’t been snooping on his phone.
There’s no telling how he knows Harry’s pin even after he’s changed it to a random progression. Doesn’t matter anyway, since Harry doesn’t mind, enjoys Louis’ attention and the fact he’s supremely uninterested in the phones of other’s.
“Ever gonna delete that dick pic?”
Harry shrugs, slides onto the leather couch beside him to curl up small. Louis pulls up his knees, making it clear he doesn’t want Harry’s head in his lap. Harry just wedges himself into the corner instead. “Too late anyway.”
Louis snorts, still tinkering on Harry’s phone. “I’m not talking about the one of your limp dick I can find on the internet. I’m talking about the other one.”
Harry shrugs, can’t remember even taking another one. That’s a lie, he takes plenty of pics of his dick, but usually he has the sense to delete them afterwards. “Which one?”
Louis slants him a shrewd look and digs out his own phone, shows Harry a picture of his own dick on there. “Why’d you send that to yourself?”
Louis doesn’t reply, just stuffs his own phone back into his pocket before returning his attention to Harry’s. They’re silent for a bit, Harry slowly falling asleep, Louis taking pics of him when the sound of a new message plays.
“Nick. Wants to know if you’re done with the boring stuff.”
“Tell him I am,” Harry mumbles. “But am too tired to come over.”
Louis types and Harry is lulled back to his half-state of sleeping. It takes a minute or two but his phone dings with another message and Louis looks at it immediately, holds the phone back, a frown on his face. “Is his cock bigger than yours? I can’t tell like this.”
“Like what?” Harry asks and his tone would be suspicious if he wasn’t so tired.
“Got no real point of reference, do I?” Louis complains, turning the phone, like that would make a difference, before poking Harry in the ribs. “Answer me.”
“No, it’s not.” He grabs Louis’ hand and pulls his phone closer. There’s a picture of Nick’s hard cock in fullscreen mode, one Harry has never seen before. “Are you sexting him? From my phone?”
“I just asked him for a dick pic,” Louis says huffily. “That’s hardly sexting.”
“But isn’t that a bit creepy? Like, he thinks he’s sending that to me.”
That is, as it turns out, exactly the wrong thing to say. Louis gets up in a huff, chucking Harry’s phone back at him with that unerring sense of hitting him in the balls and not even missing a little. Harry is still cupping his junk and blinking through the tears long after Louis is gone, not bothering to tell anyone he’s heading back to the hotel.
Louis is crying now. It’s not because of any pain, they’ve made sure to talk about that, at least.
While Nick has continued to fuck into Louis lazily, slumped over against Nick’s chest, fists clenching and unclenching on his shoulders, Harry has worked his way up to three fingers, that’s three fingers and Nick’s cock, and Louis has started crying, right between begging for more and coming again.
“Please,” he croaks, screws himself down. “Want your cock, Hazza.”
And Harry has stopped caring along the way, too, pulls his fingers free to line himself up.
He pushes in and Louis chokes on his scream. It’s dangerous how pretty he looks like this, two orgasms in and his eyelashes damp, still asking for more. Harry obliges, grabs his hips and pushes deeper.
Turns out Nick knew exactly who he was sending that pic for, but Harry only learns that from reading the texts the next morning.
harry is tired so louis here. send me a pic of your cock. hard. ta.
And Nick, the idiot, obviously had because being horny is reason enough for him and it’s not like he has any shame, either.
“Why wouldn’t I?” he tells Harry over the phone. “If Louis Tomlinson wants to check out the goods who am I to stop him?”
“You can’t just send your nudes to random people,” Harry says with a frown. He’ll have to get up soon, they have this thing today -- they have a thing every fucking day. He just can’t be arsed to shower quite yet.
Nick snorts. “I fucking can. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about giving him a good dicking ‘cause you’re a fucking transparent liar and I’d see right through it.”
“That’s my best friend you’re talking about.”
“Is that the best friend who, each time he’s in the same room with you, ramps up the sexual tension to the point where I could cut it with a knife? There’s no shame in it, Harry. Nothing quite as shiny as Louis Tomlinson. Like, on the entire planet. No shame in wanting to get your dick into that.”
“You’re a crude arsehole,” he tells Nick and hangs up just as his insane cackling starts.
Harry isn’t gonna last. It’s too tight, too hot, too much friction.
Louis’ head is lolling on his shoulder and he murmurs words they can’t hear between whimpers and moans. He’s boneless, fucked out and glassy-eyed, trusting them both to keep him upright while he sucks weakly on Harry’s neck, his hand sliding along Nick’s chest each time they push deep.
The dim light glints of his heaving chest and Harry watches his own hand slide down Louis’ sternum, through the sticky mess on his tummy and further down to wrap around his cock.
Louis twitches, tightens enough to drag a groan from Nick. Louis is sensitive, tries to twist away and his efforts are weak like a newborn kitten.
“Gonna give us one more,” Harry tells him, wanking him harder.
Louis whines, shakes his head. “Can’t. Too much.”
Nick shushes him and wraps his hand around Harry’s. Their fingers interlace around Louis’ hard-again cock. “You will.”
Louis shakes his head, eyes screwed shut, hips stuttering out a broken rhythm.
Apparently, it’s another photoshoot today. Harry isn’t sure if they’ve stopped telling him what it’s for or if he just doesn’t care anymore.
He greets the new crew before searching out Louis. He’s got this vague idea he needs to apologise for the phone incident, but reminds himself that really, what was Louis doing on his phone anyway?
It’s Louis who finds him, and apparently he isn’t about to sugar-coat his words today. “So, you and Nick, you fuck, right?”
The set of his shoulders and tilt of his mouth let Harry know that today is the day, today Louis wants answers.
Harry knows it’s futile, has known since the airport anyway. “Yes.”
“And it’s not serious? Like you aren’t dating, boyfriends and all that?”
Louis nods, like the information just confirms his suspicions, his thoughts clearly turned inwards. “Okay. Yeah that’s good.”
Harry frowns because it isn’t like Louis not to just come out with it. Unless he’s planning something. He looks more closely, hoping to garner further clues. But Louis is like a closed book when he wants to be and he really, really wants to right now.
Louis focuses on him then, staring him down like he’s bracing himself. “D’you think I’m like, fit?”
Harry doesn’t know if he wants to laugh at the absurdity, clap for Louis’ guts to come right out and ask, or wrap him in his arms because of that tiny sliver of doubt.
“Yes,” he says firmly. “Very.”
Louis nods. “What about Nick. Think he likes me?”
“Well he did send you his nudes so I guess he must -- wait. Do you want to hook up with Nick?” Harry isn’t sure how he feels about that.
“You don’t think we’d work? I just want to try some stuff, you know. With no strings attached.”
“Yeah but why would you choose Nick?” Harry asks testily.
“What? I thought you liked the guy?”
“It’s not like we don’t get along,” Harry is quick to clarify, even though he’s clueless as to what that has to do with anything. “We hang out, have fun. And more often than not it ends in sex. And then, the next day we just, you know, go our separate ways.”
“That sounds good,” Louis nods. “Perfect.”
He’s not sure Louis understands. They know exactly what they’re getting each time they hook up. There’s no experimentation. There’s sex, human contact and orgasms. But Louis looks so intrigued that Harry just can’t tell him no, not that it’s really his place, anyway. He sighs. “You. Uhm. Should I give you his number?”
“Oh no,” Louis says, already walking away. “We can just talk to him together.”
He’s so focused on Louis’ strung out body, he only notices him coming when he tightens around them. It’s his third time tonight and it’s mostly dry but Louis screams regardless, louder and harder than before.
He’s still twitching when Nick pulls out, removes the condom and grabs for Harry’s hand. Harry wanks him with his arm around Louis, watches Nick’s come paint Louis’ heaving stomach and softening cock.
“Wanna come inside you,” Harry whispers into the side of Louis’ face. “Can I?”
Louis gives him the weakest, “yes,” yet.
He’s dead weight otherwise, muscles still spasming at odd intervals. He rolls Louis forward and onto his back, spreads his legs and pushes between them.
When Harry fucks in deep, Louis opens his eyes half way, seemingly the best he can manage right now. His irises are blown wide, unfocused, his eyelashes clumped together and still damp.
The shape of his mouth changes, warps into a tired smile as he watches Harry bite his lip at the tiring rhythm.
Harry can’t stop looking, stutters and comes, head eventually dropping onto Louis’ shoulder as he rides the wave to its completion. His hips slow to a halt and he mutters a heartfelt “fuck,” against Louis’ neck, sucks on the salty skin there.
There’s his condom to be dealt with and skin to be cleaned, and Harry can’t be arsed with any of that, wants to lie here and gulp in deep breaths, listen to the two patterns of arhythmic breathing in the room.
Nick helps him eventually, running a hand through his hair when he’s done, kisses him softly. “Well done,” he murmurs, a tiny smirk on his face.
He isn’t sure what the compliment is for, but decides to take it as praise towards his emotional state. Their little encounter has definitely had more impact on him than it had for Nick.
Harry isn’t sure if it’s because it was his first threesome, or because it involved his first sexual experience with Louis.
Nick’s apartment isn’t anything new, the atmosphere, however, is.
“Harold. This isn’t rocket science. Just give us a yes or no.”
Louis glares at Nick, sitting up straighter between the couch cushion. “Don’t fucking pressure him.”
Nick shrugs, empties his scotch glass. He places it in the ring of condensation already on the table and Harry winces, wants to get him a coaster even if it’s Nick’s own hardwood tabletop he’s destroying. He knows his mind is going on a tangent because he’s avoiding the question, isn’t even sure if he can comprehend it quite yet.
“Relax. Harold and I, we understand each other. This isn’t our first, ah, rodeo.”
“That’s because you’re a cradle snatching cunt,” Louis mutters. “And don’t fucking call him Harold.”
Nick leans forward and slides his palm up Harry’s thigh, all the way to the top. “Started calling him Harold shortly after you did.” He turns to Harry. “That’s right around the time we started fucking, too, wasn’t it? When he blew you off?”
Harry squeezes his eyes shut. He’s got a pretty healthy sense of self, but Louis saying no to him is still a chink in his armour he hasn’t managed to repair.
“Thought I was to old for him. Didn’t know that’d drive him into your waiting arms instead. Or that you’d have no qualms whatsoever.”
Nick leans back again, crosses his legs and stares Louis down. “If you’re trying to make me back out of fucking you, you’re going to have to try much harder than that, Louis.”
“Oh I know you’ll do it. Never doubted that. It’s always been Harry’s choice.”
They both turn to look at him. Harry swallows dryly and grabs for his drink.
“So uhm. You want a threesome?”
Nick’s groans, looks down at his watch-free wrist and taps it with a long finger.
“What?” Louis asks back snippily. “You got something better to do? Someone better?”
Thankfully Nick doesn’t snark back, just rolls his eyes and takes another sip of his drink.
When it becomes apparent that Harry isn’t on board with this, whatever the fuck this is, Louis climbs into his lap, cups his cheeks and asks, “don’t you want to?” He lowers his voice and adds, “I picked Nick ‘cause I knew you already liked him.”
And how is that the problem because yes Nick is fine and all but is no one seeing the important part here? He can’t have sex with Louis. There’s too much emotion tangled between them, too much to trip over and break their necks.
And it doesn’t help that he can’t seem to think, that somehow his hand has stolen it’s way onto Louis’ hip and rests there now, like it has any business to.
Louis nudges Harry’s neck with his nose. “Come on, Hazza. I might never get another chance at a threesome. I wanna try.”
And somehow Harry grabs Louis close and kisses him. It’s not their first kiss, not even the first one where Harry is pretty sure it’ll lead to sex. But they haven’t done this in a while and fuck it, he missed it.
And so they kiss, Harry clutching Louis close, who in turn tries to climb further into his lap until Nick throws a pillow at them and tells them to move this to the bed.
There, it becomes evident very quickly that Louis has thought about this. He doesn’t wait around to see the dynamics unfold between Nick and Harry, seemingly dead-bent to make new rules right from the start.
Standing at the foot of the bed he undresses between them, his eyes on Harry while he removes his shirt, turning around to focus on Nick when he steps out of his pants.
Nick’s grin is slow and wide. “I do enjoy a good show,” he says, running his fingers down Louis’ flank.
Louis shivers, his hands subtly shaking when he leans in to unbutton Nick’s shirt.
Harry clears his throat. “Shouldn’t we, like, talk about this?”
Nick spins Louis around, presses his naked back to his chest and holds him into place. His free arm snakes down, fingers wrapping boldly around Louis’ hard cock. “Yeah, Louis. Let’s talk about what you want.”
Louis shivers, all but melts into him as they both stare Harry down.
And Harry feels like he’s on display, like he’s the one standing naked between them, getting a reach around like they do this every day.
Nick’s mumbled, “come back to bed,” has Harry prying his eyes open slowly.
There’s a bone-deep exhaustion that’s settled into every last nook and cranny of his body, a feeling when physical exhaustion meets an emotional burn out, leaving nothing in its wake but a vague sense of contentment.
He watches Louis cross the room on silent feet, smiles just a little at the slight bow-legged walk. The shower runs for barely five minutes and Harry would join him if he could make himself get up, has to content himself with mental images of Louis’ naked body under the stream instead.
Nick wedges in against his back, hand on his chest, pulling him back. “Okay?” he asks with a quick kiss to Harry’s shoulder.
Harry blinks, not used to this side of Nick -- this cuddly, caring side.
“Yeah,” he croaks out, surprised at the rawness in his voice.
“You did well,” Nick whispers. “I’m proud of you.”
Harry is sure he heard that right, but can’t parse it at all. “I’m still dreaming, aren’t I?”
“Mmh,” is Nick’s response. “Can’t be held liable. Had all sense fucked out of me.”
“Didn’t take much,” Louis says with a snort as he walks towards them, naked and wet, like towels are for lesser people. “Scoot over.”
They do but not to his liking, so he rearranges Harry until he’s facing Nick and slides in behind. Louis’ fingers slide between his own and he clutches their hands over his heart, listens to Nick’s soft breaths, feel’s Louis’ against his back.
“Gonna kiss me goodbye?” Nick asks for the first time ever.
Harry would ask him what the fuck has happened to him, only he doesn’t need to. Louis Tomlinson happened to the both of them.
“No,” Louis says. “Might smack you in the dick though.”
“Still sore from last night and he’s already back to dirty talk.”
Nick ignores Louis’ glare and pulls him in for a kiss. He has to curl down because Louis is making no effort to make himself taller, but Harry sees his fists clench in the front of Nick’s shirt, sees his mouth fall open easily.
It’s a bit weird, all things considered, but not as weird as Nick kissing him afterwards, too. He’s too shocked to do anything but stand there and let Nick push his tongue into his mouth, nip at his bottom lip when he doesn’t respond.
“You two should call me soon. When you’re back in London next.”
Harry feels Louis’ smaller hand slide into his, lets himself be tucked outside.
He’s still not clear what to do with this shift between them, between himself and Nick and himself and Louis. He needs time to think, to work this through in peace because he’s just not capable right now, couldn’t hold on to a thought if he wrapped a string around it like a kid’s balloon.
“We’re back here in three weeks,” Louis says over his shoulder, still dragging Harry along. “I’ll text you the details.”
Harry looks at his own arm, extended before him, fingers interlaced with Louis’ as he leads them to their car. He still doesn’t know what happened, can’t quite grasp the changes it’ll bring.
Louis turns and Harry sees the flash of a smile, the glint in his eyes.
And he realises then there’s no need at all. There’s no need to fret about this, to wonder what will happen, to agonise over potential outcomes or worry about the aftereffects. If he doesn’t want to, there’s no need. His trust in Louis is implicit and all-encompassing.
He flexes his fingers, feels Louis tighten the grip.
If he just wants to enjoy the ride, he can.
He’s in good hands.