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Louis straddles Harry's lap, face tucked into his neck as he rubs down against him through the seams of their trousers. They're still fully clothed from the club, but Louis's on his way to breathless already, eyelashes thick with lust as they flutter over his wet blue eyes. His cheeks and lips are flushed pink with a combination of alcohol and the need to be fucked.

"Come on, love," he murmurs impatiently, curling small hands into the chest of Harrys' t-shirt for leverage. He bites his bottom lip as he lifts his head from Harry's neck to search his eyes out for a reaction. He rocks his hips downward in firm, tight circles, repeating the movement over and over until Harry groans and lets his eyes fall shut, tilting his head back against the headboard.

Harry, bless his eighteen year old heart, starts to harden beneath Louis's advances, and Louis can feel the thick outline of his cock becoming more and more defined as he drags his ass over it repeatedly. He smiles in lazy satisfaction and kisses the exposed column of Harry's throat. "Yeah, babe, that's it. Get hard for me."

It doesn't take long for Harry to be pressing up against Louis with groans for more, which is exactly the reaction Louis was going for, so after a few more teasing drags of his hips, he slips off of Harry's lap and crawls to to the end of the bed. He stumbles only a little as he gets to his feet in front of it, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he giggles. "Whoops."

"Louis," Harry groans and stretches an arm out, clearly unhappy with the loss of contact. "Get your perfect little arse back here."

"Don't touch yourself, Haz," Louis says simply, pulling his shirt over his head with some difficulty before throwing it aside. His hair is feathery smooth even when it sticks up to the side; he runs a hand through it to comb it back in place.

"Louis," Harry warns weakly, his voice rasping with want.

Louis just grins, undoing his flies with his eyes on Harry's. He breaks their stare to push his trousers down his thighs and shimmy all the way out of them. He somehow manages not to fall spectacularly on his face as he pulls them off his ankles and flings them where his shirt went, leaving him only in a pair of tight white pants that cling to his arse.

He bites his lip and looks at Harry for a brief, meaningful moment before letting his eyes flutter shut to run a hand over the front of his pants, rubbing his hardening cock through the cotton with a small sound of pleasure, the length of him thickening impossibly beneath his own touch.

He parts his lips and opens his eyes, settling his gaze onto Harry's again through half-lidded eyes. He makes sure Harry's paying attention to him when he lifts his palm to his glistening mouth and spits into it. Harry makes a tortured sound, grips onto the sheets by his side, and Louis' hand disappears inside his pants to get a hand around himself.

The feeling sends a shock through him and he hunches in on himself, his performance faltering for a moment in the face of true pleasure, his lips parting around a choked gasp. He hadn't realized how hard he'd become in his haste to get Harry worked up, and he has to compose himself as he starts to stroke his cock in earnest, his knuckles brushing against the tight heat of the pants that are still holding him in.

He wants to keep stroking himself, wants to get himself off quick and dirty, but he needs to be closer to Harry. He pulls his hand away from himself in favour of getting back on the bed on all fours, crawling up the sheets until he's right in front of Harry. He settles on his haunches and uses one hand to push his pants all the way beneath his balls, holding them down. His eyes, wild and hazy, are fixed on Harry's when his other hand takes hold of himself again.

He's thick in his own palm as he begins to stroke, but the wetness around him has begun to dry out even with the dollop of precome helping to smooth his movements. He looks down at Harry's lips quietly, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Spit," he orders under his breath.

Harry groans and takes a moment to let Louis' words sink in, the impact of not being able to touch himself clearly visible in the way his eyes fall shut and his broad shoulders go taut with desire. He shifts closer and leans forward until his lips are hovering above Louis' cock, spitting slowly down the length of him, the thick streak of saliva taking its time as it stretches from Harry's mouth to the base of Louis' cock, coating his fingers as he continues to stroke himself through it. Louis whimpers from the filth of it all.

Harry sits back and licks his lips, wiping the back of his hand against them. "I wanna touch you," he says roughly.

Louis shake his head, jerking himself roughly with the aid of Harry's spit, his breathing starting to become erratic. "I want you to watch me come."

Harry groans again but nods nonetheless, settling a tentative hand on Louis' thigh, as if testing the waters, but Louis allows it. He gets a rush from knowing that Harry's fingers are so close to him -- could reach out and curl around his cock within seconds -- but they won't, because Louis said so. Harry is good at listening when Louis wants him to.

Louis moans helplessly at the thought, stroking himself a bit harder as his eyes fall shut. If he wants to come on his own anytime soon, he can't distract himself by the sight of Harry's intense gaze or the swollen red of his lips.

Louis bites into his own lip so hard he thinks it's going to bleed, twisting his hand repeatedly over the head of his cock, Harry's spit coating him from head to base. He moans breathlessly, half-show and half-pure pleasure, tightening his fingers on the upstroke as he brings himself right to the edge. His body goes tight all over as a blinding flash of pleasure rocks through him. He lets out a broken, stuttered shout as he curls his body in on himself, his head dropping to Harry's chest; his fingers and the folds of his belly become covered in come as he strokes himself through it, keening beneath his breath.

It takes a few long moments of breathing deeply and re-focusing his vision before he realizes that Harry is stroking his hair and kissing his temple. From where his head has fallen to Harry's chest, he can see how painfully hard Harry is in his skintight trousers. He undoes Harry's flies for him and can hear the tortured sound of anticipation and relief that Harry lets out in response.

Louis urges Harry's cock out and spits over the head of it before smoothing his hand down, stroking him in a tight grip. He pulls away from Harry's chest to meet his eyes, his own a bright blue as he murmurs sweetly, "Did you want to come on my face, love?"

For a brief moment, he truly thinks he's killed Harry or that Harry's going to come on the spot, but then Harry is begging, "Yeah, Lou, yeah -- I can't last, please."

Louis doesn't need to be asked twice. He lets go of Harry's cock with a firm, final tug and gets to the floor next to the bed and sits on his knees. He curls his hands around his thighs and lets his eyes fall shut, tilting his head back, still breathless and boneless from his own release as he waits for Harry.

He can hear Harry shuffle closer to the edge of the bed -- can hear Harry's little helpless noises he makes right before he comes -- and then he feels the warm, thick streaks hit his cheeks, some of them landing on his tongue. He smiles and doesn't move, letting Harry milk himself entirely through it, making a show of swallowing once Harry seems to be done. He blinks his eyes open blearily, sated and pliant, and pushes upwards onto his knees to press an open-mouthed kiss to the underside of Harry's cock, catching Harry's fingers with his tongue as Harry strokes himself lazily through it.

"Thanks, babe," he murmurs into the sensitive vein and feels Harry shudder bodily in response. He takes it as Harry's silent my pleasure.