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Nice Legs, Daisy Dukes, Etc.

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Harry doesn't mean to let himself come so quickly. It's been a long day, is all, and he's a little bit spacey. He can't help getting lost in the feeling of Louis' slick hand on his cock, even though this is just foreplay, really.

Louis is the only one in the band who has yet to take Harry up on his offer to put them up in his house whenever they'd like—Niall's been to stay five separate times since the start of the hiatus—but he's got a whole house rented out for a week in L.A., for some reason. Six bedrooms, a near industrial sized fridge with nothing in it but Coors and leftover pizza, and no one within a thousand feet to hear Harry lose it. That's definitely part of the problem, because it's always a bit better when he doesn't have to censor himself, can make as much noise as he wants and feel it through his whole body with nothing to distract him when Louis holds his hips down and drags his fist slow over the head of Harry's cock. The need to put on a show is just in his blood.

Louis probably should've seen the signs, the mindless way Harry's been pinching at his nipples and running the flat of his palm over his belly to feel the muscles tense, but it's clear when Harry gasps and shoots off in his hand that he's not expecting it, just as surprised as Harry was a few seconds ago when he realized he was hurtling towards the edge like a particularly pathetic, sex-starved runaway train.

"Oh, um," Louis says, but he works Harry through it just right anyway, wrings the come out of him until Harry's boneless and can't really feel his fingers or his toes or anything beyond the throb of his heartbeat in his softening cock.

He shuts his eyes and rolls over to bury his face into the fluffy guest house pillows. "Fuck," he groans. "Sorry."

One of the perks of fucking someone he's been friends with for ages is that he doesn't really have to care about how rude he's being when he's useless after a really good orgasm. He figures Louis will slap him out of it if he needs to, so he doesn't even try to rally, just lets himself drift until he's snapped abruptly back to reality by Louis' hands smoothing over the insides of his thighs, still wet with lube and Harry's come.

"What are you," he starts, but then Louis shifts on top of him, hard against Harry's arse. It's been long enough since Harry's felt his cock that he loses his train of thought.

"Thought it might be a bit much to fuck you now," Louis says. He's pushing Harry's legs together instead of apart. Harry doesn't catch on until he feels Louis' cock slipping though the mess he's made between Harry's thighs.

"Oh," Harry says.

"You don't mind, do you?"

Harry shakes his head into his stack of smushed pillows.

Louis fucks in slow to start, and he's quiet about it, too, nothing but his soft breaths and the wet sound of lube-on-skin over the whir of the ceiling fan.

"This really doing enough for you?" Harry says skeptically. "I do have a mouth and two perfectly good hands."

"Would you shut up," Louis says. "I'm trying to focus."

"Maybe you should shut up," Harry says, shifting to rest his head on his forearms, settling in.

"I've been wanting to do this for a while," Louis says, softer. "I think your thighs were made for it. View's lovely."

Harry knows that Louis knows that flattery will get him everywhere with Harry, but it still gets to him every time. He can feel the heat of it crawl over his skin with Louis' gaze and the ghost of a satisfied grin tugging at the corners of his lips, and he knows he'll remember it the next time he buys jeans or puts on a pair of shorts that border on too small. It's easy to make Louis want him, but it's hard as hell to get him to do something about it.

It's not long before Louis hits his stride, taking everything he needs because he figured out a long time ago that Harry loves to be used. Harry's carried along with it, tries to keep his muscles tight as his hips are shoved rhythmically into the bed. The sheets are soft, but they're still torture on his spent cock, and the persistent rub of them overloads his nerves with mixed signals until he's hissing through his teeth and trembling against the urge to curl in on himself.

"Fuck," he pants, "Wait, hang on," and scrambles to get up on his hands and knees.

Like this he can watch. He braces himself on an elbow, hair falling all around his face as he looks back to watch the head of Louis' cock push through the tight space he's made between his thighs, shiny with lube and smeared with Harry's come. He's nudging up against Harry's balls with every thrust, and it's hard for Harry to look away once he's started, even as he watches his own spent cock twitch and fatten up again with mounting embarrassment, because he knows he's easy for it, but this is something else. He's not even half-hard again and already leaking precome.

He clenches his thighs experimentally, and Louis responds beautifully—"Yeah, Haz, just like that."

"Fuck," Harry says.

"You still okay?"

"Yeah, I'm—yeah."

"Oh," Louis says, "already?"

Harry's too easy to read. He needs to work on that.

Regardless, it feels like it takes no time for him to get hard again, cock bouncing big and heavy every time Louis rocks them forward. The difference in temperature is really getting to him, cool air on the overheated skin of his cock a startling contrast to the heat all this friction has worked up between his thighs.

He feels caught between a rock and a hard place, as it were, not sure he can bear to touch himself again, but Louis is making those soft, high breathy noises that never fail to get him off, and he's got Harry right where he wants him, short nails digging into Harry's tiger tattoo. It's enough that he can feel the distant promise of another orgasm, and his body is greedy for it. He's greedy for it, for anything that Louis will give him, but he doesn't want to look desperate, not when it's been so long since Louis has asked for this.

Louis whimpers behind him, sounding positively wracked with pleasure, and he just—he needs—

"Fuck me," Harry gasps, and once it's out there's nothing to do but let the embarrassment of it spread through him, squirm around in his belly and make his eyes screw up shut and his blood pulse hot in his cheeks and his cock. He's had a lot of good sex with a lot of different people, but no one else has quite managed to make him feel like this. Louis doesn't even have to try. "Want you in me, please, it's been so long since anyone..."

"Can't, gonna come just from this," Louis says, and Harry groans in frustration even though he knows he has no room to complain after his performance earlier.

"This is—ah—torture, you know that, right?"

"Jesus, I'm hardly even doing anything to you."

"Cruel and unusual," Harry pants. Louis keeps pulling out until the tip of his cock is brushing against the hair on the backs of Harry's thighs—just to fuck with him, honestly, Harry can tell, and he tightens his grip the next time Louis pushes it between them, rocks his hips backwards to chase the feeling of the hot, stiff length of it against his skin.

Louis grunts at that like the wind's been knocked out of him, but when he speaks it's casual, conversational, like he's made a real effort to catch his breath. "Can you imagine how much more you'd be bitching if you had a plug in right now?"

"Oh god."

"It'd rock up against you every time I did this." He's not even playing fair; he knows exactly how Harry likes to be fucked.

They've never had much time or space in their luggage to play with toys, even during those rare spells when they were fooling around almost every day, but Louis knows about that, too. Harry was the kind of teenager who'd try anything once, for a laugh, because it might feel good, but with the plug Louis egged him into buying on the internet he tried it twice and then some.

He's since lost track of it in the chaos of moving his stuff from empty house to empty house. He hopes it didn't end up in, like, Ben and Meredith's closet or something.

"Do you think you could come from that?"

Harry clenches his fists in the sheets. "Um. Probably, I..." Fuck, he wants that. "Can you not talk about me coming when you're not doing anything to make it happen?" he says plaintively.

"Have you been so busy writing your solo album you've forgotten how to wank? Honestly, Harry. It's like you're sixteen again." Louis is aiming for catty, clearly, but his thrusts are getting shallower and his voice is shot.

"Sorry," Harry says. "This is just—it's really doing it for me."

He's so caught up in it that he doesn't notice Louis has grabbed a pillow to put beneath his hips until his cock is shoved painfully, blissfully into it, Louis's full weight draped over him.

"Oh," he moans, choked.

"Better?" Louis says, and Harry nods.

"Good," Louis says. "God, Harry, you feel—"

Louis pulling away is almost painful when Harry's so close, and he's left grinding into the pillow for relief as Louis stripes come over his thighs, his arse, and the small of his back.

"Should see yourself," Louis says. "So obvious how much you need it."

Harry bristles at that, a bit. He knows it won't take much to get him the rest of the way there himself, and he tries for casual—for languid, tries to make a good show of it as he rolls his hips down, but he's covered in come and his dick's been screaming for it since Louis started talking about buttplugs. What the fuck.

"Lou," he manages. "Louis. Gonna come again."

"Thought that was the idea," Louis says. "C'mon, do it."

"Yeah," Harry says, strained. The skin of his thighs feels raw and used, but he can't help rubbing them together, making it worse. And—god, it's so gross to do this to a pillow that isn't even his, really, Louis, but it's ruined anyway, already damp with sweat and sticky where his cock's been leaking into it, and he couldn't stop now if he tried, has to muffle a yell when he starts coming because it's so much more intense than the first time, ruts into the bed to chase the feeling.

Afterwards, his balls ache pleasantly, well and truly emptied. It must be seven or so in the evening, and he can't roll over without getting jizz all over the sheets, but Louis has started yawning and tucked himself under the blankets beside him, so Harry shoves the gross pillow off the side of the bed and calls it a day.

They've got five more bedrooms to fall back on if they leave this one in a state, and if all else fails, Harry's got a California King at home and a cupboard stocked with the kind of tea Louis likes, just in case.