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Louis is almost asleep when Harry lets himself into Louis’ dorm room; he’s curled up in his bed, glasses folded on his bedside table, and when he blinks himself awake at the sound of the door, a page of the book he’d been reading before he dozed off, is stuck to his cheek.

“Harry?” he croaks and gets a grunt in return. There is the rustle of Harry taking off his shoes, the sound of his coat hitting Louis’ crowded desk, and then soft footsteps until Harry’s tall, lanky form throws a shadow over Louis’ in his bed until Harry leans down and switches the little lamp beside Louis’ bed on, bathing the room in warm, yellow light.

“Scoot over,” he demands and Louis makes an unhappy sound, but does as he’s told, dropping his book on the floor and making room for Harry in his single bed, pushing the covers up to allow Harry to slip in. He feels like ice, hands and feet cold, melted snowflakes in his hair that leave trails of wet on Louis’ cheek and neck when Harry presses closer and draws him in, folding his big body against Louis’, knees bent to accommodate the bed.

“You okay?” Louis asks quietly. He knows Harry’s been out on a date, of course Harry was out on a date, it’s the night of Valentine’s Day, and Louis expected there to be grand stories of conquest the next day, and not Harry silently slipping in to cuddle at 1 a.m.

“Not a good date?” he continues and Harry shakes his head against Louis and sighs so deeply his entire body shakes. He does that, this stupid one-day infatuation, recklessly falls in love or lust with a girl overnight and then mourns when it turns out she’s not what he’d wanted, or he’s not what she’d wanted.

Louis wraps his arm around him, shifting a little, his back pressed tightly against the wall. He always feels even smaller like this, forced to compare the size of his own body with Harry’s, because he knows how he fits into this bed and how much space there’s left between the tip of his toes and the foot of the bed, and he knows that Harry curls up on his side, so his feet don’t get cold at night.

Louis was on a date, too; not for very long, but long enough for a quick blowjob in the living room of the guy, long enough to see the walls lined with pictures of him and a wife or girlfriend, whose shampoo and body wash and little Valentine’s Day note Louis found in the bathroom when he went to rinse his mouth.

He figures it wasn't a good night for either Harry or him, and suddenly the comfort of Harry's sharp edges pressed tightly against him is more than welcome. He smells good, too, freshly showered, over-layered with the scent of that too expensive cologne he prefers. Louis likes it. He's liked the way Harry smells since that first time they fell asleep together on the sofa in the common room with a black-and-white film playing on the telly because one of the other students put it on and then forgot to take their DVD back after they were done. Harry always smells so clean. He smells proper and careful in a very odd way, that makes Louis feel safe.

Harry's hand drifts down Louis' spine for a moment when Harry shifts again, slips under his T-shirt, fingers cold against Louis' skin, and then skids over where Louis’ pajama bottoms are hanging low on his hips.

“How was your date?” Harry murmurs. His voice is a little rough now, mixed with a layer of urgency that is all too familiar to Louis. He ignores it instead and shrugs, stretching his legs out, and lets his hand rest on Harry’s hip, squeezing gently.

“It was alright,” he lies. “A nice evening.” He knows Harry must know he’s lying, it’s so obvious and Louis isn’t a very good liar. He hides his face against Harry’s neck and inhales the scent of his shampoo and his aftershave, a little sharp, a little mossy, dark and inexplicably soft.

“Mine was terrible,” Harry says after a moment, but doesn’t elaborate. Louis has an idea, though. Yet another pretty girl who wasn’t quite what Harry expected or wanted her to be or what he thought he fell in love with after a day in the campus park, sharing a few bottles of wine between him and her and his friends.

“Don’t say that,” he starts and tries to mould his voice into a semblance of encouragement. “I’m sure it was just fine, Styles.”

Harry doesn’t say anything to that, though. He just shakes his head again and tries to press even closer until Louis feels himself slip off the mattress and partially onto the bedframe, wincing.

“I’m sure you blew her mind,” Louis continues, suddenly unable to stop himself, murmuring into Harry’s neck. “I’m sure you rocked her socks off.” Harry’s fingers start playing with the elastic band of Louis’ briefs, while his other hand slips between his waist and the mattress and pulls him closer until he’s flush against Harry. “Cloud number nine,” Louis says but feels his own voice break suddenly when Harry shifts to press his lips against Louis’ pulse and suck. Louis knew this was coming the moment Harry slipped in because this is what always, always happens, and yet it sends an electric shiver up his spine and down his chest and into his cock that twitches with interest at the mere thought of getting both their clothes off soon.

Harry kisses up his neck and over his chin and then into his mouth, squeezes and pushes at Louis’ waist until Louis rolls over and allows Harry to slide on top of him, opening up for him and kissing back wetly. He’s dizzy from it already, heart beating fast, and Harry presses his thumbs in and tugs down his pajamas and briefs until Louis can feel them rest just above the V of his hip, can feel his cock grow harder through the pressure.

“‘this what you came here for?” Louis manages. He nips at Harry’s bottom lip and trails his hands over his sides and up his back and shoulders, feeling his muscles shift beneath the fabric of his T-shirt. Harry bites his chin and grunts, but when Louis pulls back to look at him, he looks almost vulnerable, needy.

“Came for you,” he says and presses a closed-mouthed, almost awkward kiss against Louis’ lips, fingers dipping past the waistband of Louis’ underwear to squeeze his arse. Louis rocks into the touch before he can stop himself, a sound caught in his throat.

Harry tastes like chocolate, and Louis pulls away to wipe his bottom lip with his thumb, blinking up at Harry. “Did you get me some chocolates, too, at least?” he asks and then allows his hand to slide down Harry’s back, sneak under his T-shirt and find skin, none too gently digging his nails in.

Harry makes a confused sound and shakes his head, kisses him again like he wants him to be quiet, hard and demanding, and Louis decides that it might really be time to just shut his mouth. He arches up and lets his legs fall open, one knee pressed against the wall, the other hanging off the side of the bed, and Harry hisses and settles between them. He rocks down, latches onto Louis’ neck like he’s drowning, presses closer, fingers digging into the flesh of Louis’ arse until it almost hurts. His jeans feel rough against Louis’ abdomen and it’s uncomfortable with his half-hard cock trapped between them; Louis reaches one hand into his briefs and tugs at the base of his cock until it pops free, filling up in his hand while Harry keeps thrusting against him. Louis can feel the hard outline of Harry’s erection against his hand, imagines he can feel a wet spot just under his waistband, off to the right, where he knows the head of Harry’s cock must be trapped, because that’s how Harry’s carries.

He lets go of his own cock and cups his hand over Harry’s through his jeans, squeezes until Harry breaks away from his neck, panting. His erection twitches under Louis’ fingers and Harry makes another sound. He sits back, Louis’ hand sliding down his thigh, and takes Louis’ pajama bottoms and his underwear with him, dragging them down over his thighs and knees until Louis can kick them both off, moaning a little in the back of his throat when cold air hits his cock, makes the patch of moist skin where it’s lying against his stomach, leaking precome, feel cool.

He looks up and meets Harry’s eyes, then draws his knees up when Harry’s gaze falls between his legs. It makes him feel open, more naked than before, and he holds his breath and trails his fingers up the sensitive underside of his thighs, feeling his own muscles quake.

Harry stares down at him, hair a mess and standing up, too much product, lips parted and wet from Louis’ spit and his own, and reaches down to pop open the buttons on his jeans until his fly parts to give way to the bulge of his cock, head peeking out, purple, glossy, from under his pants.

“Take your top off,” Harry says. He nudges Louis’ foot and then tugs his own T-shirt over his head. Louis follows suit, shivering, soon naked, gaze fixed on the tattoos on Harry’s chest, the birds, the sharp jut of his collarbones and the wide span of his shoulders. He’s not meeting Louis’ eyes, but looking between his legs again, where Louis’ cock lies against his stomach, heavy and fat, balls tight. Louis holds his breath for a moment and then shifts his hips up a little until he knows he’s fully exposed, wedges his hands into the crook of his knees and holds on.

Harry looks curious. He also looks turned on, and Louis knows he is, because he likes this, he likes when Louis offers himself like that and is available and doesn’t hold back. Louis has learned that much, and truth to be told, he likes it too, and he likes that Harry likes it, and he’ll take what he can get. But right now Harry looks curious, too.

He licks his lips and Louis watches him drag his hand down his stomach, palm rubbing over the head of his cock, press down, while he leans in and ghosts what must be the tip of his thumb over Louis’ hole. He presses in a bit, not much, an exploration, and Louis opens his mouth in a silent moan, throat working to hold in the sounds trying to crawl their way out. He knows what Harry’s curious about and it makes his cock twitch. He lets his head drop back, chest and neck curved, feels his nipples harden when Harry rubs his thumb in harder.

Louis didn’t fuck that guy; he left after the blowjob, ducked out without saying goodbye, and he knows that Harry can see it. He feels his hips twitch in response to that thought and groans when Harry’s finger presses against him harder as a result.

“Lou.” Harry’s voice is thick, urgent, but it takes another, “Lou-” for Louis to blink open his eyes and look at Harry. “Hey,” Harry continues. His pupils are blown and he’s pushed his jeans and underwear off his hips down his thighs, is fisting his dick with his other hand, base squeezed tightly. “Look at me.”

Louis grunts and tilts his head up, holding Harry’s gaze, but keeps still when Harry crawls over him, fitting the length of his erection between Louis’ arse cheeks and his mouth over Louis’ lips, kissing him hungrily. He starts fucking against him, sticky head dragging against Louis’ hole and catching for a moment while he sucks on Louis’ tongue. His hands find Louis’ chest, thumbs pressed against his nipples, rubbing circles, pinching, until Louis has to break away to breathe, wheezing, high-pitched, letting go of his leg to grip Harry’s shoulder.

“Harry-” He swallows another sound and Harry nods, bites a kiss into his mouth, and then nips at his chin and neck again, sliding down Louis’ body until he’s nestled between his legs. He scrapes his teeth over the inside of Louis’ thigh for a moment and Louis sucks on his tongue to control himself, reaching for his own cock, fucking into the ring of his own fingers a few times.

Harry’s tongue finds his hole a second later, soft and wet and warm, the tip pressing in, teasing along the rim until Louis’ eyes flutter shut and a spurt of fluid leaks over the back of his hand.

“Fuck-” he breathes out and feels his leg drop, unable to hold it up any longer against the shaking of his muscles, but Harry catches it, pushes until Louis’ thigh is pressed almost against his chest, and laps at him with the flat of his tongue, almost like he’s looking for a clit to tease. He’s enthusiastic, though, sucking into Louis’ hole until he’s wet enough, then wiggles his middle finger in, twisting it until it pops past the tight ring of muscle, stretching Louis open, and licks around it, teasing where Louis is tight and so sensitive he’s almost ticklish.

“Oh god, oh god-” Louis surges up again, rocks against Harry’s finger, mouth, tongue, lips, cock twitching in his hand. Harry presses in deeper, wiggling his tongue in next to his finger, a soft pressure splitting Louis open, and Louis fucks into his hand and spills over his fingers and stomach, moaning hoarsely until his voice gives out, body convulsing and going tight around Harry’s finger inside him.

Everything goes quiet, white noise, for a moment, until he snaps back, hears the sound of his own erratic breathing, and feels Harry’s body pressed against his own, Harry’s lips trailing over his neck.

“You sound so good when you come,” Harry murmurs, bites at Louis’ skin just beneath his ear, then kisses his cheek. He’s still hard, his dick dragging through the mess on Louis’ stomach, and Louis finds the head and lets Harry rock against his palm.

“Can I fuck you?” Harry continues, pulls back and looks at Louis like Louis could say no. Louis nods, but Harry is already digging for the lube in his nightstand, knocking over Louis’ alarm clock and glasses until he comes up with the bottle Louis keeps in the back of the drawer.

He sits back against his heels and Louis swallows a comment, throat tight, then lets his body go pliant when Harry arranges his legs, pushes them up for better access, before pumping a few squirts of lube into his hand, coating his fingers. Louis closes his eyes and inhales, exhales, then pushes back against Harry’s fingers when they probe at his hole, makes Harry thrust into him in one go, rather than go slow. He’s already loose enough, body still warm from his orgasm, and he feels empty.

Harry slows down again after a minute, though, carefully pulling out and tucking two fingers back in. His brows are furrowed in concentration, yet he’s idly playing with his dick, and Louis whines and tries to move against him.

Fuck me,” he demands and rides against his fingers until they’re pushed into him to the hilt. It’s not enough, though. He needs- “I need,” he starts again, skin crawling and itchy with the need to feel Harry’s cock split him open, to feel the sting and burn of it, and to feel it the next day, too. “Fucking fuck me already,” he demands. His voice goes high at the end, betraying the order he wants to convey, but Harry does it anyway, fucks a third finger into him hard, far less careful, and Louis hisses as his cock starts filling up again.

It sounds dirty, too, the noise of Harry’s fingers in him, slick and wet, and the sound of Harry rubbing a lube-sticky hand over his own cock. “I’ll do it without, yeah?” Harry asks and pulls his fingers out. It takes a moment for Louis to catch on and he bites his lip, staring up at Harry.

“Please,” Harry asks again; he shifts, braces himself over Louis on his hands and nudges his cock against Louis’ hole. “I want to feel you.”

Louis inhales shakily and then nods; turns his head to hide his face against his shoulder when Harry pushes inside, the crown on his cock forcing in. He can feel himself cling to it, squeeze at it, hears Harry’s responding moan when he’s past the resistance, sliding inside.

It’s a little rougher like this, skin dragging more than latex would even with lube, and Louis feels like his body is compressing, no room left to breath, no space for air, while Harry fills him up. He grips the pillow above his head and Harry’s arm, holding on, feels his lips part, eyes wide, tensing up, like his body is a bow that Harry’s drawing slowly.

“Fuck-” Harry hisses. His hips stutter to a halt when he’s buried so deep Louis feels his balls press between his cheeks. He lets go of Harry’s arm to rub over his own stomach, abdomen, almost expecting to feel the outline of Harry’s cock there, instead finds his previous release mixed with fresh precome from his newly hard dick, a sticky mess pooling in his navel. “You’re so tight,” Harry groans. Louis closes his eyes, then moans when Harry sits back, pressing in even more deeply, and grabs the back of his thighs for leverage to pull out and thrust back in.

Louis wraps a shaky hand around his cock, finding a rhythm akin to Harry’s steady pace. He’s sore already, from coming once before, from Harry fingering him, but it makes it better somehow, more real, clearer.

“Yes,” he hisses out and then again and again, every slap of Harry’s balls against his skin, every wet sound accentuated until the word loses meaning. Harry is loud, too, his fingertips leaving bruises on Louis’ thighs, and Louis can tell he’s close by the way he keeps going off-tempo every so often, his hair stuck to his forehead, droplets of sweat gathering. Louis moans again, meeting every thrust, thighs straining from the pressure of Harry’s weight, and catches Harry’s eyes.

“Close-” he squeezes out and tugs at his cock, feeling it twitch, and Harry bites his lip and tilts his head down, face obscured by his curls, slows down until he’s dragging his cock out slowly, pumping back in hard and deliberately.

He’s watching, Louis can tell, and the thought is enough to send him over the edge after a few more careful thrusts; he can feel himself go tight around Harry’s cock, clench down, can feel it when Harry’s rhythm falters. Louis’ orgasm washes over him in a warm wave that takes every sensation with it, leaves him golden and blank, ears ringing with the force of it, until Harry jerks and curses and comes, too, almost collapsing on top of him.

“Shit, sorry,” Harry grunts. Through a haze Louis feels him pull out and winces. “I came inside,” Harry says, sounding apologetic, and Louis groans and rubs at his face, feeling his glow fade.

Harry snatches a few tissues from the nightstand and cleans himself up, and Louis shifts, turning onto his side awkwardly before Harry gets an idea to clean him up too, but Harry just gets out of bed, pulls his jeans up and pads into Louis’ tiny adjoined bathroom. Louis sits up, pulling a blanket over his lap, and watches Harry rinse and splash his face, then return with his hair pushed back over his forehead. He crawls back into bed and under Louis’ blanket and kisses the corner of Louis’ mouth, then his lips, cupping his cheek.

“Are you cross with me now?” he asks and kisses Louis again. “I didn’t mean to, it just happened.”

Louis scrunches up his nose and shakes his head. He kisses back, carefully biting down on Harry’s bottom lip. It’s a convenient excuse for how raw he’s suddenly feeling. “You’re disgusting,” he says finally, nudging his nose against Harry’s, then pushes at his chest until Harry lets him get out of bed. “I need a shower.”

He closes the foldable door to the bathroom and gets in the stall, turning the water on; it’s too hot for a second, leaving his skin red and irritated, until he manages to find a setting that’s comforting rather than scorching. He scrubs his head and chest, and then cleans himself out, careful not to hurt himself where he’s already tender.

He doesn’t hear Harry get in the bathroom until Harry’s hand presses against the plastic shower screen. Louis yelps and drops the bottle of shampoo.

“Fuck off,” he snaps, bends down to pick it up. “You scared the bloody hell out of me!”

“Sorry,” Harry says. He taps his fingers against the screen. Louis can’t see his face because the screen is all fogged up, but he’s actually glad. “Can I get in?” Harry asks after a moment and Louis frowns.

He rinses out his hair and then finally says, “No, I’m not done.”

“I don’t mind,” Harry says. He pulls the screen aside and climbs in beside Louis, catching himself against Louis.

Louis turns around, facing the wall, and lets Harry press against his back, heart suddenly pounding, threatening to force its way up his throat and out. Harry’s hands find his waist, arms wrapped around it, and he drops his forehead against Louis’ shoulder, putting his weight in until Louis almost loses balance and has to catch himself against the wall.

“Is it alright if I stay over?” Harry mumbles, lips moving against Louis’ skin.

Louis smiles and shakes his head, looks down. “Are you this heartbroken?” There’s no reply for a while and Louis disentangles himself from Harry and climbs out of the shower. He dries up and puts on fresh pajamas and turns off the light, then climbs back into bed, feeling as though he’s holding his breath through every movement.

Harry reappears a few minutes later in his boxer shorts, wet hair brushed back. He stops in the middle of the room, which is just a few feet from Louis’ bed, and sucks at his lip, looking like there’s something that he wants to say.

“Get in already,” Louis says and pulls the blanket up, but Harry doesn’t move. Louis bites his lip and cocks a brow at him, stomach twisting. “Get in,” he repeats.

“I came for you, really,” Harry says as though he’s making any sense at all. “I did.”

Louis tilts his head and makes a confused sound because he doesn’t understand. “Okay,” he answers slowly, then makes room when Harry finally joins him, skin still warm from the shower as he lies down on his side, looking at Louis.

“I really did,” he insists. He reaches out and traces Louis’ cheekbone with his thumb. Louis keeps staring at him, trying to decode whatever it is that Harry is trying to tell him, and then suddenly feels his insides go first cold and then very hot. He swallows a lump, reaches up and closes his fingers around Harry’s wrist, stopping him. Guides his hand until it’s lying flatly against the mattress between them and Louis can entwine their fingers, carefully staying on his side of the small bed, trying to find a way for both of them to fit comfortably.

“Good night,” he finally says, scared that his voice might betray him.

“Louis,” Harry starts again, but then just squeezes Louis’ hand and says, “Good night, sleep tight.” He closes his eyes and Louis watches him for another moment; the whisper of his lashes against his cheeks in the half light, the curve of his mouth. But when he tries to extract his hand, Harry holds on more tightly, his thumb against Louis’ pulse, breath hitching.

“Sleep tight,” Louis echoes, then shifts closer, head resting against Harry’s arm on the pillow.