“Okay?” Louis asks quietly, pressing one finger in and rocking it slowly.
Harry makes a small noise and nods, biting his lip as he stares down at Louis kneeling between his spread legs, one finger tucked inside him, cock straining up against his belly.
Louis looks down at the long expanse of boy in front of him and feels his dick burble out a bead or precome. He's known for a long time—practically his whole life—that he was gay, but he had never really felt anything for a guy that went much farther than a brief moment of attraction. So he had kissed whoever happened to fall into his lap at the time and fooled around with one or two of them if he was particularly impaired, but he’d never felt anything like this.
He had never experienced the almost blinding lust he felt whenever he saw Harry walking around with only his pants on (even when he's fully dressed there's still a part of him that wants to rip all of his clothes off and tattoo a black MINE on Harry’s forehead), and up until a little while ago, he hadn’t fully realized that the twisting in his gut and the flutter in the back of his neck had been this ridiculous feeling of lust. He hadn’t made a move back in the X Factor house because he was just focused on getting through the competition and not fucking up his tenuous friendship with the four new lads he’d been thrown into. And then later, when Simon had told them that he was signing them and he and Harry fell asleep together after a night of pints, curled around each other, he still did nothing about it.
But now, in between tours and flights, fans and the interviews, he's finally getting more. More than the hasty handjobs on the tour bus and bitten moans in bathroom stalls and sloppy (enthusiastic, Harry likes to say) blowjobs that never lasted very long because they were both perpetually desperate, never getting anytime on their own.
Now, Louis is finally getting to curl his fingers into Harry, feel the heat and the almost unbearable tightness even though he only has one finger inside. He could lean down and kiss him and work him into a mess if he so wished, but Harry's so sensitive that he wouldn’t last through all of that. So he’d get him ready, ready enough that when Louis pressed his cock in (oh God his cock was going to be inside Harry) he wouldn’t be in more pain than he should have to endure.
“Louis, Lou—Louis,” Harry whines and Louis glances down to watch his finger disappear inside before looking back up to meet Harry’s gaze. “A-another, oh God, another, c’mon, Lou—”
“Shh,” Louis croons, and slowly tucks his index finger in alongside his middle. Harry makes a noise again and bucks up against his hand, scrabbling around to find something to hold onto.
When Louis pictured this (many, many, many times), he hadn’t thought that Harry could look any better than he did when he had his pretty lips wrapped around Louis’ cock. But apparently, he could. With his pupils blown wide and a pink flush covering his chest he looks gorgeous, whining and whimpering and canting his hips to try and guide Louis’ fingers somewhere better, newer. Louis could probably come just from this, from watching Harry become desperate for just a little bit more.
“Can I do one more?” Louis asks and Harry nods vehemently, whimpering all high and needy and fuck, Louis’ cock just twitched.
“Please, Louis, one more, more, please—” He’s bucking up in earnest now, splaying his legs even wider to make more room that Louis doesn’t need.
“Okay, love, just breathe for me, yeah?” He pulls his fingers out and drips a bit more lube onto them before easing three back inside. Harry lets out an absolutely distraught cry and writhes around, and Louis can’t tell if he’s trying to fuck himself down harder or pull away because the stretch is too much for him. He thinks about pulling his fingers out and dismisses it immediately. He’s been waiting the better part of 6 months for this and he’s definitely not stopping unless Harry asks him to.
“Oh, Louis, it feels good,” Harry whines and scratches at Louis’ thigh with blunt nails. “So good, oh, Louis, please—please, God, more, I don’t—I don’t, more—”
“All right, Haz, shh,” Louis says softly and continues working his fingers, spreading them out flat a bit. “C’mon, it’s going to hurt, just let me open you up.” He watches as Harry cants his hips up and continues to whine, gripping at Louis’ knee.
Louis reaches forward and wraps his free hand around Harry’s flushed cock, swiping his thumb over the tip and smearing the precome around enough that the drag isn’t so rough.
Harry bucks up again and is still making those desperate noises in his throat, whining at him, slurring Louis’ name and curse words and gibberish that Louis can’t even make out.
“No, no, Louis, now—I can’t, can’t, I—Lou—”
It’s Harry’s final Lou that makes him pull his fingers out and wipe them on a discarded sock, reaching over to the bedside table to grab a condom. Harry takes it from him and rips it open, eyes a little bit wild as he tries to roll the condom down over Louis’ thick shaft and get a hand around himself to alleviate some of the pressure at the same time. Louis knocks him out of the way and fists Harry himself, gives him two rough tugs and then Harry’s scooting back, splaying his legs again and dragging Louis closer by the hips.
Louis squirts some lube into his hand and coats himself, looking down at Harry as he does. His cock twitches as he thinks about how tight Harry was just around three of his fingers, and how tight he’ll be around Louis’ dick.
“Ready?” he asks, leaning down a bit and pressing his cockhead between Harry’s cheeks.
“Yes, God, Lou,” Harry stammers and scratches at Louis’ chest.
Louis nods and shifts and then he’s inside of Harry, the tightness and the heat almost overwhelming him and he knows that this is probably going to be over before it even starts.
Harry whimpers beneath him, snapping Louis back into his head and he stops pushing in, watching Harry’s face twist in discomfort.
“Okay?” he whispers, leaning down to catch Harry’s lips in a sloppy kiss before Harry whines and shifts.
“Y-yeah, Lou, you’re inside me,” he says, almost in awe of it and Louis has to physically force himself not to come right then.
“Oh, fuck, I know. God—” Louis chokes and presses in more, waiting to feel any more signs of discomfort. “You’re so hot, so beautiful, you look so good with me in you.”
Harry actually blushes, like a little girl and not an 18 year old boy with a cock up his arse, and fuck if it’s not the hottest thing Louis’ seen yet.
“You’re huge, Lou, so much—bigger than your fingers,” Harry says and Louis presses in the last bit, feels Harry arch up under him, God.
“You’re so tight, Harry, Harry.” He whines as Harry flexes around him and gives a little thrust, relishing in the little whine of pleasure Harry lets out.
He works himself in and out, trying to find a steady rhythm as Harry mewls and keens, panting hot air onto his neck and scratching at his shoulders. He gives a particularly deep shove and Harry cries out loudly, and Louis smiles to himself, aiming for Harry’s prostate on each thrust.
“Ah, Louis—” Harry chokes after a particularly sharp thrust, and Louis wraps a hand around Harry’s cock, tugging him in tandem with his thrusts as Harry continues to make these little noises.
“No, Louis, no stop,” Harry finally manages to grit out, and Louis looks up quickly, wide-eyed, about to ask what’s wrong but then Harry shifts and squeezes and Louis is coming so hard his vision goes a little fuzzy and he shuts his eyes against it. He can hear Harry though, making a choked noise, different than the ones from before. This one sounds like he’s uncomfortable, hurt, and it shocks Louis back into himself.
He pulls out quickly and discards the condom, trying not to look at his come inside because he feels like he might be sick. He hurt Harry, his perfect Harry who shouldn’t frown, especially not while they were supposed to be having sex, making love.
“Harry, love, what’s wrong? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Louis says, pulling Harry into a hug and listening to the thick breaths that he knows mean that Harry’s about to cry. Oh God, what had he done?
“I’m so sorry Haz, you know I would never—”
“Lou,” Harry interrupts, and he sounds so small, so fragile, Louis wants to cry. Instead though, he just tugs his fingers through Harry’s hair and pets him, making gentle noises into his ear, trying to figure out what he had done wrong.
Had he started too fast? He didn’t think so, because Harry had been enjoying it at the beginning.
“It hurt,” he finally breathes, and Louis pulls back to look at him.
“What hurt, love? Did I go too fast?”
Harry shakes his head and his eyes begin to water, so Louis pulls him into his chest again, twisting them so that they’re lying on their sides. The top of Louis’ thigh is a bit slick, where it’s pressed against Harry’s arse, and he feels nauseous again.
“Do you want me to go get a flannel and clean you up?”
“No,” Harry says, and Louis shuts up. He tucks his face into the crook of Harry’s neck and breathes him in, the smell of sweat and boy and, oh God help him, sex.
“It hurt,” Harry admits again after a good ten minutes of silence.
He feels Harry shiver in his arms and pulls him in tighter, throwing a leg over his hip. “When you hit—my, like, my prostate?” Harry whines and tucks his chin down, and Louis knows that he hates to talk about sex and anything even remotely embarrassing if he’s not on his way to having an orgasm or otherwise inhibited. “When I started to feel like I was going to come, it hurt.” His voice breaks on the last word. “A lot. It stung; like that time that bee stung me? Remember?”
“Yes gorgeous, I remember,” Louis says in his ear, and he feels so horrible, because he didn’t even realize. While he had been trying so hard to hit Harry’s prostate each time, Harry had been trying to pull away, find words in his muddled brain to explain to Louis that it was pain, not pleasure, making him make those sounds.
“I’m so sorry, that wasn’t how I wanted it to happen,” Louis murmurs into the back of Harry’s neck.
“I know, Lou. Maybe it was just a one time thing?”
Louis tries to ignore how hopeful Harry is trying (and failing) to sound.
“I love you, Lou.”
“Yeah, Haz, I love you too.”
Louis stays awake long after Harry falls asleep, and gives himself a mental note to get Harry a doctor’s appointment.
“Lou, no, please,” Harry whines at him, tugging on his fingers to try and keep them both in the house.
Louis reaches up and kisses him lightly on the lips, swiping his thumb over Harry’s knuckles and breathing into his mouth. “You have to get checked out, Harry. Last night... wasn’t normal.”
Harry makes a pathetic sound and Louis doesn’t look at him because he knows that if he looks Harry in the eye he’ll relent and go sit back down on the couch with him and turn their FRIENDS marathon back on. But he wants to know what’s wrong, if it was his fault or just really shit luck, and he wants to be able to fuck his boyfriend without being worried about getting him to come.
“I know,” Harry mewls. “Louis, stop talking about it, it’s so embarrassing.”
“Hey,” Louis says firmly. “You’re not allowed to be ashamed of what happened. It wasn’t your fault.”
“Then whose fault was it?” he asks petulantly, and Louis sighs.
Mine, he thinks, even though he knows it’s not, not really.
“Please, Haz,” Louis finally says. “For me? For my peace of mind?”
“What, so that you know for sure that your boyfriend is a freak?” Harry mumbles, and then he’s out the door, tightening his jacket around him as he hops into the passenger seat of the car.
Louis growls and swipes the keys off the hook on the wall and follows, locking their door behind him. He gets into the car and starts the ignition, turning the heat on and directing it towards the windshield before letting the car sit in the drive.
He can see Harry fidgeting beside him, something he only did when he was agitated or nervous. He was probably both right now, Louis thinks. It must have been hard for him, the first time you have sex after who knew how long and you can’t even come because it hurts. Just the thought makes Louis mildly nauseous, recalling the panicked look on Harry’s face from last night.
“You’re—” he starts, and then stops just as quickly because he doesn’t really know where he was going with that thought. “You’re not, Haz. God, you’re not. Fuck, it’s all just—” He cuts himself off again because there’s a lump in the back of his throat and it’s hard to talk around. He just loves Harry so much, and this is bothering him too, but it’s not Harry’s fault. And if he doesn’t find words to tell Harry that, he thinks he might explode.
He opens his mouth, but when all that comes out is a sort of choking noise, he shuts it again and rests his forehead against the steering wheel, trying to slow his racing heart.
“God, Harry,” he says, like he’s drowning and Harry’s fresh air; like he’s going to die if Harry doesn’t understand how much he’s feeling right now, and he thinks he might, might actually forget how to breathe because he’s trying so hard to find words.
He hears Harry make a—a noise, or something, and then Harry’s arms are around him, pulling them together even though Louis should be the one comforting him, not the other way around.
“Shh,” Harry says into his ear, and he realizes he’s shaking once he feels how steady Harry is around him. He reaches up and wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and breathes into the curve of his neck, inhaling the husky scent of boy and cologne and something that’s distinctly Harry. Like the laundry detergent he loves to use because it’s what his mom used to wash his clothes in; like spearmint gum; like strawberry shampoo because he prefers girl’s shampoo to boy’s.
Louis makes a sobbing noise and he realizes how close he is to actually breaking down and crying, even though he sure as hell shouldn’t be because Harry is the one hurting. God, he’s so—
“I love you, Harry,” he chokes into Harry’s collar bone, biting into it and then smoothing over it with his tongue. “I love you so much, so much, you don’t—you don’t get it, how much I do, Harry—God, Harry.”
And he’s crying now, loud, choking sobs violently wracking his chest because he’s ridiculous and stupid and honest to God, Harry can’t appreciate this—but somehow he finds himself in Harry’s lap, straddling his hips in the small space of the car’s passenger side. Louis’ whimpering into Harry’s scarf, feeling Harry’s hands rub circles into his back, pressing kisses to his temples and cheeks and ears; anywhere he can get to with Louis’ face buried in his neck.
“I love you, Harry, you’re not a freak, I promise you’re not. You’re so perfect, there’s nothing wrong with you—there couldn’t ever be, how could you not know that? Why don’t you think that about yourself?” Louis doesn’t even know if Harry can understand him, his choked words making Harry’s skin wet and hot and he can’t breathe but it’s good, it gives him something to focus on.
“Don’t you understand?” he whispers before tilting his head up, seeing Harry’s wide, frightened doe-eyes, and diving in to kiss him. It’s kind of gross, his snot and tears smearing on Harry’s cheeks but neither of them really mind. Harry’s mouth is slack and open and wet, Louis’ tongue sliding over his and he’s pressing in, pushing into him, trying to feel him—everywhere, anywhere, just get closer because h can’t breathe and Harry’s oxygen. He needs Harry to live, to be there and he’s choking, swallowing, sucking Harry’s tongue into his mouth and then licking deep into his when Louis releases it.
Harry makes a noise when Louis starts biting at his lips, not even knowing what he’s doing other than that he kind of wants to hurt Harry, maybe, just a little, just so that he remembers. Remembers everything the way Louis will.
“Louis,” Harry says into his mouth, pulling at the short hairs at the back of his neck so that Louis has to look at him, not for trying to keep their lips attached. He shuts his eyes instead, so that he doesn’t have to look at Harry because yeah, he just completely broke down over basically nothing.
“Louis, look at me,” Harry says, and Louis is so shocked by the sharpness of his tone that he does.
Harry just looks at him for a second, down at his lips, which are probably obscenely red, and then up into his eyes, where he can still feel the wetness of his tears. He smiles a little bit and Louis blushes, tucking back into Harry’s chest to hide.
“Do you want me to drive?” he finally asks, after Louis makes it clear that he’s not coming back out from his burrow under Harry’s chin.
“Please,” Louis murmurs.
Sometimes Louis forgets how incredibly powerful Harry is, and then when he does something that showcases it he’s always startled a bit, almost breathless. When Harry opens up the car door and the cold air rushes in, Louis whines and wraps himself around Harry to keep warm, but then Harry gets up, still holding him, like he’s a small child and doesn’t weigh anything. His legs are wrapped around Harry’s waist and arms around his shoulders, supported with arms wrapped under his bum, and it’s so shocking and hot that he giggles. He supposes that that was what Harry had wanted.
“God, you’re so sexy, Haz,” he murmurs, and feels, rather than hears, Harry’s laugh in reply.
His mouth brushes over Louis’ ear and he can feel Harry’s lips quirk up in a grin. “Not at pretty as you though, not for a second,” Harry says back, placing him gently back into the car, shutting the door, and getting into the drivers side.
Louis fiddles with the settings until the hot air is blowing at them and touches the vents with his hands, warming them up.
“Can you put the address in for me, babe?” Harry asks, shifting out of park and pulling out of the driveway, flicking on the radio as he does.
“Yeah,” he replies, plugging the familiar address into the GPS. He notices that Harry’s much happier now, and wonders if it’s to do with his little episode. He doesn’t know if he appreciates that or not.
The drive there is short, and silent, but it’s fine. He enjoys driving with Harry, because Harry always holds his hand over the gearshift and even though it’s such a cliché move, he loves it more than he’s willing to admit. He hums along to the garbage music playing on the radio and tries not to panic as he feels Harry steadily grow tenser as they get closer to their destination.
When they finally park and the car is off, making small popping noises as it cools, and Harry makes to move to get out, Louis reaches over and touches the hinge of his jaw.
“For me, yeah?” he says, quiet.
Harry doesn’t make any move like he heard him, but then turns his head and gives Louis’ thumb a little kitten lick after a minute.
“Anything for you,” he whispers back.
They get out of the car and check in, speaking to the elderly receptionist as Harry blushes because she can see exactly why they’re here and God, who isn’t embarrassed about a prostate exam? Louis would be too. Not that he would tell Harry as much.
They don’t have to wait very long before being ushered into a doctor’s room and sitting down on the crinkly paper lining the bench. Louis helps Harry out of his coat and scarf, folding it over his arm and tucking his face into Harry’s neck.
He’s starting the beginning of a lovebite, right over Harry’s pulse, when the doctor arrives, clearing his throat awkwardly when Louis doesn’t immediately remove his mouth from Harry’s skin. He can feel the heat of Harry’s blush under his tongue.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Styles,” he says, looking down at the file in his hands.
“Hi,” Harry practically squeaks.
Louis gets up off the bench and sits in one of the regular chairs.
The doctor looks at him. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he says.
“Louis Tomlinson.” He offers his hand and the doctor shakes it.
“Doctor Olearczyk.” He consults his files again, and the paper crinkles when Harry shifts where he’s sitting.
“I have you down for a prostate exam. What seems to be the problem?”
Harry chokes when the doctor looks at him, and then stares at Louis helplessly, who makes a face back at him. Louis doesn’t want to be the one to tell him what’s going on; it’s weird to talk about your sex life with people who aren’t actively apart of it, or mocking it.
“Well, uh,” Louis begins. “When we—um, it was our, y’know, and when I—it like, hurt him?”
The doctor makes a face like he wants to laugh and Louis lets out a small breath, relieved that he won’t have to further explain the situation and embarrass them even more.
“You engaged in anal sex, correct?” he clarifies, and Louis can see Harry practically stop breathing on the bench.
“Yes, sir,” Louis chokes.
“And it was painful for you, Harry?” the doctors asks Harry, who just blushes even more and nods meekly.
“Have you engaged in any sexual activity prior to this?”
“Not—” Harry makes a face and gestures with his hands, and even Louis can’t really interpret what it means. “Not recently.”
“So this has been a new discovery for you?”
“Yes, sir,” Harry answers.
“Is ejaculating painful, when there is no stimulation in your prostate?”
“N-no,” Harry stammers, and looks helplessly at Louis, who raises his hands and takes a small step back, as if to say, I’m not getting involved anymore.
The doctor makes a noise, and jots something down in his notes. Louis can’t read what it says. “What about urination, or bowel movements?”
“No,” he says, easier now that they’re not really discussing his orgasms.
“So there is no pain that you’re aware of, and last night was the first discovery of it, correct?”
“Yeah.” The blush is slowly fading from Harry’s cheeks.
The doctor nods, and then he puts his pen and file down. “Please remove your trousers and pants and kneel in the bench,” he says, and Harry makes a panicked noise.
Louis goes over immediately and strokes a hand through Harry’s hair, tugging out his curls and soothing him as best he can in the presence of someone else.
“You want to know why, yeah?” Louis asks, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth.
“Yes but, Lou—”
“He knows what he’s doing, it won’t hurt,” he promises, and hopes to God it’s not a lie.
Harry whines and kisses him a bit harder this time, fisting a hand in the lapel of Louis’ jacket and pulling him in.
“Love you,” he says when Harry lets him break away.
“You too,” Harry whispers back, and then the doctor is clearing his throat, again, and Louis sits down in his little chair.
He’s wearing latex gloves and has a small container of something in his hands, Louis guesses it’s lube.
“Trousers, Mr. Styles,” the doctor says mildly, like this is a common occurrence, and Louis thinks that it probably is. He tries not to let that thought gross him out, the fact that this guy’s hands are going to be inside Harry, where just hours ago Harry had been begging for Louis.
And now the doctor is going to do it. Louis wonders for half a second what he would do—what the doctor would do, oh God—if Harry got hard while this was going on. He wasn’t supremely worried, considering that Harry had almost cried last night after Louis’ cock had hit his prostate, but he knew that Harry might actually die of embarrassment if it happened.
When Louis drags himself out of his head, he sees Harry, naked but for his shirt, up on all fours. His head is hung low and Louis can see each breath rattling his chest as he takes it in.
The doctor’s fingers are shiny with lube and it’s all Louis can do not to run over and smack his hands away, with a growl of mine, because that would be absolutely ridiculous. And since Louis is not, in fact, a caveman, he will restrain himself.
He watches as the doctor slowly pushes in one finger, and Harry opens his mouth in a silent whine. Louis’ almost positive that it isn’t a noise of pleasure coming out of Harry’s mouth, and he thinks he might be seeing red when the doctor immediately tucks a second, then a third finger inside. Harry makes a high noise in his throat and Louis is on his feet, going to stand by his shoulder and brush his mouth over the crown of Harry’s head.
“Good,” he whispers in Harry’s ear, and Harry makes another noise, but this one seems almost relived. Louis doesn’t look to see if it’s because he’s there, or because the doctor took out one of his fingers.
It’s ten more agonizing minutes of Harry making little noises of pain and shifting around, pressing his shoulder into Louis and Louis murmuring into his ear to reassure him, until the doctor removes his fingers and steps back. Harry crumples down and into himself, like a puppet with his strings cut, and Louis hears the snap of latex as the doctor removes his gloves and then the water as he washes his hands.
“You did so well, Haz, you were perfect,” Louis murmurs, helping Harry back into his pants, smoothing the waistband over his hips and then tugging his trousers up over his skinny legs.
“Ow,” Harry replies, low enough that the doctor won’t hear.
Louis kisses him once, twice, and then goes back to his chair. The doctor is writing things down in Harry’s file, making tiny noises under his breath, and Louis watches Harry watch the doctor.
“Well, the only thing I can imagine it being is prostatitis, which is an infection in the gland that causes fluid to build up. But the fact that you haven’t had any other symptoms is odd,” he finally tells them.
“Is that bad, Doc?” Louis asks.
He makes a contemplative face. “I can’t imagine that it’s bad, but I wouldn’t say that it is good. It might not be prostatitis, and could just be extreme sensitivity. Is that possible, Harry?”
Harry shakes his head vehemently. “If that was just me being sensitive I’m never having sex again,” he says seriously, and the doctor laughs.
“Well I don’t think that it could be anything more serious that what I’ve diagnosed, so I’m going to write you a prescription for an anti-inflammatory to deal with the pain and something that should clear up the infection. You can pick it up downstairs if you’d like, or at any pharmacy. The swelling should be gone within two weeks, possibly sooner, but if it continues for longer, then please come back to see me about it.” The doctor looks at Harry, then at Louis, and then shrugs. “That’s all. Is there anything else?”
Louis thinks about saying yeah, keep your dirty hands off my boyfriend, but then decides that he’s too mature for such things and stands up instead, reaching out to shake the doctor’s hand.
“Thank you,” Harry says quietly, and the doctor shakes his hand too before leaving.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Harry looks at him miserably and falls into him, tucking himself into the crook of Louis’ neck and stuffing his hands into Louis’ coat pockets. “I was worried I’d get hard or something, y’know?” he mumbles. “But then it hurt and I wanted him to take them out. You were so gentle last night.”
Louis swallows, remembering exactly how softly he had pressed in, how slowly he had worked more fingers in alongside.
“Yes, gorgeous boy, of course I was gentle,” he murmurs into Harry’s ear.
“I love you,” Harry offers, and Louis smiles and kisses his cheek.
Two weeks, when you think about it, isn’t really very long. With their money, they could fly off to somewhere remote and not have to speak to anyone, could pass the days walking from place to place, sleeping in nice hotels and eating room service for breakfast and dinner and picking up some lunch from a shop that they passed in whatever town they happened to be in.
They could go and be with their families, because they never saw them enough anymore with their insane schedules.
Hell, they could even go out with the other lads, maybe even invite Stan along because Niall has taken a shine to him since the last time they were all out for drinks together.
But then when you really think about it, two week is like an eternity. Fourteen whole days.
Especially once you’ve had good (not really all that good, actually) sex with your boyfriend and wake up every morning achingly hard, only able to satisfy yourself with your hand even though Harry’s been so good about sucking him off any time there’s even been a hint of an erection pointing in his direction. Louis knows that Harry feels so guilty and embarrassed about what’s going on, but Louis doesn’t blame him. Shit happens. People move on.
But it’s really fucking difficult to move on when your boyfriend’s mouth is wrapped around your cock and it’s been ten days already and you think that if you don’t get your cock in something other than a fist or a mouth you might go bizerk.
“Oh, God, fuck—” Louis chokes, reaching to cup his hand around the back of Harry’s neck. He doesn’t press him down though, because he knows that Harry hates it.
It’s hot, and wet, and Harry’s sucking so tightly he thinks he might black out a bit because he cannot even fucking see straight, he’s feeling so much. Harry’s always been good at giving head, mouth like a sin, blood red lips, prefect when they’re shiny and slick, wrapped around a cock, his cock.
“Good, Haz, good, you’re doing so good,” he whines, and Harry looks up at him through his lashes, wet and clumped together with tears from when Harry pushed Louis into the back of his mouth, so that Louis could feel his throat working around him as he tried to adjust.
“You look gorgeous, baby, so pretty,” he continues, because Harry loves praise. Not because he’s vain, but because he loves knowing that he’s doing good; that he’s making someone else feel better. “But you know that, don’t you? You know how beautiful you are.”
Harry makes a sound and Louis takes it as an agreement, and his hips stutter up off the bed when Harry does something with his tongue that makes him cry out.
“Sorry, sorry,” Louis apologizes when Harry pulls off and takes a steadying breath, working Louis’ wet length with his hand.
Harry grins up at him, and then swallows him down just as quick, pressing down on Louis’ hips with his hands, opening his throat to let the head of his cock feel the flutter of muscle. And then Louis is gasping, trying to form words in the haze of pleasure, but it’s hard, like swimming through quick sand, and he’s not totally positive but he thinks he says something along the lines of “I’m going to come,” but he wouldn’t be surprised if all that came out was “come.”
And then he is coming, shooting thick into Harry’s mouth who works to swallow him down, not to lose a drop as he makes noises around Louis’ length. Louis is making pathetic little whimpering noises, feeling Harry’s teeth scrape gently over the tip of his softening cock when he gets a bit careless.
When he pulls off, sure that he’s milked Louis completely dry, he comes up and kisses Louis, licking into his mouth and Harry tastes like come, fuck it’s so ridiculously erotic that he just doesn’t know what to do with himself.
He can feel Harry’s cock against his hip, Harry gently rutting into him to try and relieve some of the pressure that’s built up, and Louis curls a fist around him, stroking him roughly as he bites into Louis’ collarbones and sucks at his chest, leaving a trail of red welts.
It only takes a minute before he’s coming messily all over Louis’ side and hand, thrusting sloppily through the circle of his fist before dropping like dead weight against him, panting and shaking a little bit with the aftershocks. Louis cards his fingers through Harry’s hair and mouths weakly at Harry’s jaw, stubble scratching at his tongue.
Harry sits up a bit, probably to go get a flannel or something, but Louis tugs him back down with a small noise of complaint. Harry grins at him, curls amiably into his side and promptly falls fast asleep, Louis not far behind.
When Louis wakes up some days later, he isn’t sure what brought him into consciousness. It’s early enough that the room is barely lit enough to see the pattern on their bed sheets, and he doesn’t think he has to piss. He can feel Harry’s warmth from behind him, even though they’re not touching, and then he hears Harry make a small noise in his sleep, almost like a whine.
Louis starts to turn over to see what’s happening, but then Harry makes the noise again and it sounds sort of—desperate, sort of, rather than panicked like he’s having a nightmare.
He realizes that he can feel Harry moving around behind him, just barely, and he’s so curious that he flips over, and then immediately loses his breath once he sees what’s happening.
Harry’s on his back with his knees up, duvet thrown off of him and tucked into Louis’ side so he wouldn’t get cold as he slept. He has fingers between his legs, and even though Louis can’t see particularly well with the dim light and bad angle, he knows that if he could he’d be watching Harry’s fingers disappear into himself, working himself open. Harry’s eyes are squeezed shut, his lip caught between his teeth as he worries at it. He doesn’t even seem to notice that Louis has woken up, let alone flipped over and is now staring.
The small noises are still falling out of Harry’s mouth, and if Louis wasn’t fully aware of his semi hard cock beneath his pants when he woke up, he sure as hell is now, as the sight of Harry fucking himself open sends blood rushing down to thicken his length.
Then Harry’s eyes are open and he’s looking at Louis, pupils blown so wide and lips rose red, slick with spit. Louis is staring back, at Harry’s sweaty chest and flushed cheeks and his cock, leaking precome onto his belly.
“Louis,” Harry says, voice sleep thick and hoarse because his fingers are still working inside himself.
“What,” Louis tries, and then when his voice cracks he clears his throat and starts again. “What are you doing, Haz?”
Harry’s mouth falls open and his hand stutters, but he stares at Louis like he hung the moon or something and Louis can’t, can’t anything because Harry’s fucking himself and it’s been two weeks and he’s so pretty, flushed and red and desperate, that Louis absolutely cannot string two words together and make them make sense.
“I—I was going to wake you up,” he mumbles, but his voice is high and Louis can see his throat working to get the words out. “Wake you up by—riding you, thought it would be, ahh—nice.”
“Nice,” Louis repeats, and now he’s not looking at Harry’s perfect face, but down at his cock, gone an almost angry red from going for however long without being touched. He sees the shine of lube on Harry’s fingers on the outstroke and, yeah—his cock definitely just twitched.
“Wanted to—surprise you, Lou,” he continues, and he’s choking on the words, trying to get them out because when Harry wants to say something, he says it. “You’d wake up with your cock in my arse, and you wouldn’t even—” He has to cut himself off again, but Louis is hanging on to every word that falls out of Harry’s mouth.
“You wouldn’t even know what was happening, but then you’d—you’d fuck me, fuck me so good—”
Louis can barely make out the words now, they’re so slurred and thick and hoarse and Harry sounds so hot, like he’s so desperate he can’t even try to make sense, but it’s okay because Louis knows him, knows exactly what he’s trying to say.
“Is that what you want?” Louis asks when Harry turns his face up to the ceiling and closes his eyes again against the onslaught of sensations. “You want me to fuck you?”
Harry whimpers, actually fucking whimpers, like that’s the best idea he’s ever heard, and Louis thinks that it might be. “Yes, God, Lou—yeah,” he chokes and Louis reaches out a hand, touches his chest gently and feels the frantic pounding of Harry’s heart just beneath the skin.
“Are you wet enough for me?” Louis asks. “Wet enough that my cock won’t hurt too much?”
“Yeah, so wet, Lou—you can, you can fuck me, c’mon—”
Louis makes a calming noise in his throat and pets at Harry’s chest until he stops shaking so much.
“Want me to fuck you?” he asks, reaching down his other hand to remove his pants because they’re suffocating him, and his cock is going to fall off if he doesn’t relieve some of the pressure.
“Yes,” Harry hisses and that’s all Louis needs to strip off his pants and get up on his knees. Harry pulls his hand out from between his legs and wipes the lube off on Louis’ pillow (ew, God, he’s definitely going to wash all of the sheets again) before getting the bottle of KY and pushing it at Louis, who’s positioning himself between Harry’s spread legs.
“Condom,” Louis says, and then there’s a foil packet being thrown at his chest. He rolls it down over his absolutely aching cock and slicks himself with a few drips of lube.
“Okay?” he asks, and Harry nods, reaches out to grab Louis’ hips and pull them together.
“I woke up—so hard,” Harry says, as Louis presses his cock between Harry’s arse cheeks and slicks the way with a bit more lube.
“Did you come?” Louis asks, and pushes his cock head in, squeezing his eyes shut to try and control himself, keep from just shoving the rest of his length into Harry’s tightness.
“Yeah,” Harry whines.
“Did you fuck into your fist, and make a mess?” he continues roughly, slowly pressing further into Harry as he squirms beneath him, trying to find—something.
“Yeah,” he says, and he sounds breathless and desperate and Louis thinks he might come just from listening to Harry answer him back. He finally bottoms out, length pulsing in Harry’s arse, but he keeps his eyes shut and stays still.
“And you still kept fingering yourself?” he asks after a moment.
“Yes, Louis—yeah, it was so good.” Harry sounds so absolutely wrecked, and they haven’t even done anything.
“Fuck,” he finally says, and then he pulls out and thrusts back in, sending all of the breath whooshing from Harry’s chest in a dry wheeze.
“Is this what you were thinking about?” Louis asks, working in and out slowly, trying to find a good rhythm so that he can just come. He can feel it curling in his stomach, pulsing everywhere and he falls onto his forearms, bracketing Harry’s head. “While you fingered yourself?”
“Yeah, I was thinking about—you fucking my mouth, ‘til I was drooling—because, because I know you l-like that, and then my arse,” Harry gasps, and Louis can feel the dampness of Harry’s breath on his face and he opens his eyes, finally, and stares down. He can hardly see any of the green that usually makes Harry’s iris, and he just can’t not kiss him—so he does.
He licks deep into the back of Harry’s mouth, running his tongue over Harry’s molars and the roof of his mouth, tangling their tongues together. Harry’s basically out of it, his whole body rocking with the force of Louis’ thrusts, and it’s all Harry can do to keep his mouth open for Louis because everything is so overwhelming.
Louis knows he hits Harry’s prostate when he lets out a loud wail, and Louis’ eyes fly open because he can’t even tell whether it was a cry of pleasure or pain. His hips stop and Harry sobs again, scrabbling at his shoulders and sides and then his hips, and Louis realizes that he’s trying to actually pull Louis back into him.
“Keep going, fuck—Louis, keep going, go, come on—” His eyes are practically wild and his breaths are coming on these heaves, like he can’t get oxygen. Louis has half a mind to be concerned for approximately half of a second before deciding fuck it and slamming back in, shoving Harry a few inches up onto the mattress.
“Ohh,” Harry sighs and bends his knees, locks his ankles behind Louis’ back to help him.
Louis hits his prostate again, and he jerks like he’s been shocked. “Harder, Lou—” Harry’s absolutely wailing, and Louis thinks that the neighbors might actually be able to hear it.
“Harder, harder, come on Louis—fucking harder—”
Louis can’t really hear much else of what he’s saying because he’s wrapping his hands around the backs of Harry’s knees, pushing his thighs down to his chest and doubling into it, absolutely pounding into him because what Harry wants, Harry gets.
He can feel his orgasm—it’s just there and he’s going to come, he’s going to come but he wants to make this last because it’s so good. Harry’s so hot and tight and if he dies right now, just listening to him cry Louis’ name like it’s the only thing keeping him going, he would be happy.
His vision is going splotchy and he rests their foreheads together, even though it’s kind of awkward and his thighs are burning, but Harry’s saying something too—he hears gonna come through the static in his ears. Then Harry’s so tight around him, he stutters and chokes because yeah, he’s coming too and he can’t see anymore, his vision has gone completely white. All he’s aware of is the warmth of Harry’s tongue in his mouth again and the sticky wetness of his come inside Harry’s arse. He thinks he might be shaking because Harry’s mumbling something in his ear, he can feel Harry’s lips moving.
All of a sudden, it’s like everything turns back on and he can feel the dampness of sweat between their chests, the tug of Harry’s fingers in his hair, the sharpness of overstimulation where his cock is still inside Harry’s arse. He pulls out and tugs the condom off, knotting it and hoping that it lands in the bin when he tosses it away.
Louis sort of collapses onto Harry then, not even strong enough to roll off of him. But Harry just giggles and gets up, and Louis can hear running water so when Harry gets back with a wet flannel he’s not surprised.
Harry gently wipes the streaks of come off Louis’ belly, and then his own, before gingerly dabbing between his legs.
“Sorry,” Louis mumbles, because he is sorry that Harry’s hurting now, no matter how good it was getting him there.
“I’m not,” Harry says happily, and Louis wonders how he can have so much energy after being so thoroughly fucked, but then decides not to worry about it and just pulls the flannel out of his hand at tosses it over the side of the bed.
“Was it good?” Louis asks, tucking himself into Harry’s side, already feeling the sleep come over him.
“Perfect,” Harry tells him, pressing a kiss to Louis’ forehead.
Louis feels his cock twitch against Harry’s hip and Harry’s mouth curls into a grin on his temple, feeling it too. He thinks that he’ll get maybe twenty minutes of shut-eye before he’s too hard to even pretend to sleep.
“Maybe next time we won’t use a condom,” Harry muses quietly. “And you can lick yourself out of me after you come.”
Make that ten minutes.