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with your nicotine lips and your heart of gold

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with your nicotine lips and your heart of gold


The only reason Louis wakes up, really, is because his laptop starts whirring beside his head and then that triggers a chain-reaction which leads to him wanting a cupcake from Babycakes Cupcakery. His car’s in the shop though, so that means he’d have to walk there and he can’t because. Because. He doesn’t like to walk.  And also because it’s three in the morning; there could be monsters outside.

So there’s only one option: stealing Liam’s car. In normal circumstances, this wouldn’t be a big deal. He could pay for the gas he’s used, maybe even buy a penis-shaped air freshener online to be a good friend, but. Liam’s car is a Met police force car.

Louis lies in his bed for a while longer, staring out his window at the moon that looks like a really clean quarter, and then. And then he lifts his legs and drops them to heave himself up and he starts to get ready because he’s going to go get a fucking cupcake. Maybe even two. Three. Louis is a go-getter, he is.

While he throws on his joggers and a rainbow jumper with a cat’s face on the front (courtesy of Niall, bless him) he wonders why in the hell Babycakes stays open twenty-four-seven. It’s not like McDonald’s where everyone knows of it and goes to it just because it’s there; it’s a smallish chain cafe that has a drive-thru and the people who work there look at you funny. Oh, well. People have cupcake needs, much like Louis does at the moment.

He snatches Liam’s keys out of the ceramic bowl Zayn’d made Christmas ’09 and he most definitely doesn’t squeal with joy when the car starts easily and quietly. There are so many buttons, though, and Louis would much like to flip them all on and scream and maybe scare a few people. Maybe one night. Tonight is not that night.

Babycakes’ sign is lit when he rolls up, blinking and flashing the words ‘Babycks’ because the ‘a’ and ‘e’ are both burnt out. Ha ha. He knows he wants a Double Chocolate Chunk, and also a Rad Red Velvet, and a Brilliant Peanut Butter. That one’s poorly named in Louis’ humble opinion.

“What can I get for you?” the intercom thingy asks him, and an unknown person promptly begins to bang on Louis’ passenger door with a terrifying amount of strength.

“Jesus—I’m, what—” Louis shouts to his wheel, because now the person is shouting “Christ, let me in!” and, like, should Louis?

“Open it, please, open!” the terrifying wild-haired man screams and Louis jerks to the left to instinctively open it (angry tones make him want to comply), then jerks back to the right.

“But wait, what if you’re a kidnapper?” he reasons. Louis has his priorities straight. 

“Then drive me to the fucking police station, just let me in!”

Louis lets him in. The guy collapses into his seat once the door’s open and he’s heaving really hard and his hair is probably standing ten feet tall, seriously.

“Um, hello?” Intercom asks and. And Person is adjusting the chair so he can crouch on the floor.

“What are you doing?” Louis asks him, ignoring Intercom. The whole ordeal—it’s like, it’s so weird that Louis doesn’t know if he should be afraid or tell him to get out or start to demand answers. Fight, flight, or freeze are those psychological things he’d learnt about, and so Louis decides to freeze. And order cupcakes. “Double Chocolate Chunk, Brilliant Peanut Butter—you guys should rename that, yeah?—and Rad Red Velvet, please—”

“Vanilla Bean, too?” Person asks.


“And a Vanilla Bean.”

“Alright. Twelve-fifty at your next stop, please.”

Louis drives around to the next stop, slowly, just so he can stare at Person. Person is picking at his nails where he’s crouched down on the ground, seemingly unaware that he’s just jumped into a cop car screaming and then has asked for a cupcake.

Person looks up. “Why aren’t you in uniform?” His curls look like a demon halo and they stick up ten feet into the air.

“I’m not a cop.”

“You’re not a—wait, did you steal this car? Are you one of Frankie’s boys?” Person stands up so fast he hits his bum on the glove compartment and his head on the roof.

“No, I’m my own boy,” Louis huffs in defiance. This confusion is taking a toll on his head because it’s like three-thirty now and there’s a man in his car who’s here for God knows why and. It’s the most excitement Louis’ had in while. “And I didn’t steal the car. This is my mates’.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” He sits back down.

“Probably very. But I am a wild child, Person. Can’t be tamed and all that.”

The cupcakes come then, in a pretty pink box with bright yellow smileys on it, and Louis takes it and pays and hands them off to Person so he can drive this car appropriately enough to not be pulled over.

Person goes, “My name’s Harry. Not Person, I’m—”

Static and noises come from the little radio, then, and shit. Shit, what the fuck? Does Louis—does he have to go bust some bad guys? In Liam’s car? Probably he should be afraid right now, and he is.

“What do we do?” Harry—cool name—asks, sitting back in his seat now that they’re driving steadily down 5th Ave and away from the Cupcakery. He appears very at ease.

“I don’t know, I’m not a fucking cop, you answer it.”

Louis was joking, but Harry answers it.

“Niner niner, ten and stuff, what’s the deal-io, friend,” he says in a low, low voice, and it sounds enough like Liam’s that Louis’ not freaking out.

“We need you down at ten-twelve; there’s been a major collision, right away.” And then the radio beeps and makes another static sound and Louis and Harry lapse into a bit of silence.

“I’m not—we’re not doing that. I’ll bring us back home and shove Liam into the car.”

“Wait, if your mate Liam’s in bed, why are they calling on this car? Like, isn’t this car off duty?” Harry’s smart. That makes Louis want to kiss him a little, or a lot. And crawl over the partition to grind on him and stuff, but that’s his one-month-without-sex brain talking.

“Donno. Maybe a Batman-like beam goes off into the sky when I start the car. Just let me drive, yeah?”

Harry goes quiet. Not because he’s put-out or anything, he’s just listening to Louis’ request. Which makes Louis want to poke him and get him to speak.

“Hey, why did you run into this car, anyway?”

“Frankie’s boys. Just. Also, I wanted a cupcake.” Harry lifts the bottom of his t-shirt up to wipe his face and that’s reasonable enough; it’s summer and they’ve both just gone through adrenaline rushes, so Louis takes the chance to gape at the happy trail that’s very apparent and also the muscles. Mm—mm good.

“What would you have done if I was a real cop?”

“Ask you to give me a pat-down.”

Louis chokes. He chokes on his tongue which he was curling around in his mouth and then he pulls up to his and Liam’s flat and jumps out of the car because Harry is a potential rapist and he needs to get Liam the fuck up.

Harry follows Louis into the house with the box of cupcakes and even into Liam’s room, stays while Louis uses all his tactics to rouse Liam: whispering, shouting, then sitting on his curled-up body. The last one works.

“Lou, what the fuck?” is the first thing he says, and then he’s jumping up and being a super-cop and running around the room in search of burglars. He finds Harry. He tackles Harry. “Christ—grab me my cuffs, Louis, go!”

Louis stays put. “No, that is my friend Harry. Leave him be, you bully. Also, there’s a major collision on the ten-twelve and you have to go right now or you might get fired.”

Liam screams.


A heated conversation about responsibility, legality issues, and trust issues later, Liam is kissing Louis on the forehead and running out of the house. Harry stays put on the floor where he’s been tackled until Louis goes to leave to his bedroom and a hand is clasped onto his ankle.

“Take me with you,” Harry begs in this wounded voice, and Louis would much like to wound Harry some more. In certain areas. But like, not actually wound; like sexually wound. It’s four in the morning and Louis has a slow-working brain.

“You have to go home,” Louis tells him. He doesn’t really want him to, though. Harry’s the most frightening and exciting thing to happen to Louis since he got a glow-stick stuck up his bum.

“Haven’t got one of those,” Harry yawns, following Louis into the bedroom and then onto the bed. He promptly crawls onto the left side by the wall—Louis’ side—and begins to strip.

Louis groans. “What the fucking fuck; you’re on my side.” He climbs in, too, taking off his kitten jumper and his joggers and then he realizes he’s in bed naked with an attractive boy he doesn’t know who’s really hot and again Louis hasn’t had sex in a month. A month, alright?

“I wanna get on your side,” Harry says in this really seductive and dewy voice and Louis gets hard. Shit and stuff.

“Don’t say that.”

“Don’t say what?”

“Sexual stuff.”

Harry huffs and wriggles his body like a snake to move closer. “Why not? This is no different than a one-night stand—”

“Actually, it’s a lot different—”

“—so I’m allowed to. We should role-play. I’ll be your horse and you can be my jockey. Get it? ‘Cause like, I want you to ride—”

“I get it. Thank you. But just because you’re hot and willing and I’m horny doesn’t mean I’m going to put out. Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, jockey.”


Louis wakes with a start. There’s a hand overtop his bellybutton ring and a deep, even breath pressing against his ear and he’s thinking he’s accidentally gotten into bed with Liam again but then he remembers it’s just Harry who ran into the cop car he’d stolen the night previous. Exciting.

“Louis,” Harry groans, perhaps in his sleep. He still does it into Louis’ ear, and that’s it—he has to wank. He carefully pushes Harry off of him, onto the other side, and before he can crawl skip away to the loo a hand is clutching onto his baby pinky.

“Harry, let go,” Louis tells him. Harry grips tighter. “You’re going to rip my pinky off.”

“It certainly small ‘nough, innit?” Harry slides his fist up and down Louis’ pinky in a very promiscuous manner. As much as he can, anyway, because Harry’s right; he has a small pinky.

“I’m not small everywhere.”

“Me neither,” Harry shrugs, taking his hand back and throwing off the covers and revealing—

“You’ve a fucking horse cock, what the fuck?” Louis peers in close—for educational purposes only—and just, wow. It’s the prettiest cock Louis’ ever seen out of porn. It’s prettier than all the dildos on his shelf that he’d skillfully thrown a blanket over a couple days previous so Liam’s friends wouldn’t have accidentally stumbled in and gotten an eyeful. Uh-huh, yeah, Louis would not mind to have that sliding down his throat.

“I wouldn’t refuse anything you’re thinking about doing, you know. In fact, I would encourage it.”

Today is Louis’ day to be sassy. He can feel it in his bones. “Then I’d better go to the club tonight and get laid, because you’re not cutting it.”

A toilet flushes in the distance and no matter how majestic that sounds, Louis really does have to wee a bit, so he shrugs and walks backwards out of the room mouthing “not big enough.” Harry pouts.


It seems that everything with Harry happens in a wild blur, because now he’s sitting in a dentist’s chair with the boy beside him, holding his hand, telling Doctor Rosen how he’s concerned about his own teeth.

“It hurts when I chew on ice sometimes. Like, on the one front tooth?” he’s saying, and Louis would like him to shut up, because he has perfect square Chiclet teeth.

“And why are you chewing on ice, love?” Doctor Rosen asks with a laugh, clearly charmed, and also jabs a pointy metal thing into Louis’ gum. All Louis can do is whimper and whip his hand out to slap Harry’s thigh.

“Makes my lips feel cool, I donno. Anyway, I have another question.”

“And what’s that?” Another sharp poke to Louis’ precious gums.

“I’m just concerned for my boyfriend, you know?” Harry says with a sigh, like he’s forlorn and upset. Louis wonders who his boyfriend is. If he has a boyfriend. “See, Louis here, he gets a lot of semen in his mouth. Is that bad for his teeth?”

Rosen giggle-snorts. “No, it’s not bad. It contains fructose, vitamin D, protein, water, and salt, so I’d say your boyfriend’s good.” She smiles down at Louis’ wide-open mouth and she looks very smug.

Louis whines and whines and whines.


“The first time I saw him, I knew, you know? He was drunk on top of the bar, dancing to Ke$ha, and I knew I had to have him. He ran away for a while, but he eventually gave in, obviously. He’s the sweetest thing in my life. Saved me from some bad guys once.”

Harry’s telling the story of how he and Louis “got together.” Louis is trying hard not to weep. There’s a large plastic thing that’s rendering his mouth useless; all he can do is flop his tongue around uselessly while Harry sometimes reaches in and pulls to play around and Louis can’t—he can only think about how twenty-four hours ago he was sound asleep in bed, not suspecting a thing. Boy, the times have changed.

“That’s adorable. How long have you been together?”

“Four years. Yep, best four years of my life. We were discussing marriage the other day, weren’t we, Lou?”

Louis garbles and chokes on his spit and they both laugh like it’s endearing and adorable. He didn’t even want to come here. He’d walked into the kitchen after his wank and piss and Liam had greeted him with a, “You’ve got a dentist appointment at ten-thirty.”

“Remember our first time, baby?” Harry asks and oh shit, oh shit, if he’s about to start talking about that—just no.

“Oo-gaf, Harble,” Louis tells everyone frantically. Waves his arms a bit, too, because.

“He gets so excited, see? It was great for both of us. Am I making you uncomfortable, Sarah?” Harry calls Doctor Rosen by her first name, now. Louis doesn’t even remember how that started.

“No, not at all. It’s adorable to hear about such a proud gay couple. Little Louis here seems to love you a lot.”

Little Louis? “Wee-woo Wou-ee?” This is stupid. Louis is going to yank the plastic thing out of his fucking mouth.

Harry grabs his tongue again. “Shh, love. No talking until nice Doctor Rosen is finished on your teefies, okay?”

Louis stays quiet. Harry tells a few more stories while the dentist pokes around, takes a few scans, and then completes with a, “You’re all clean! No cavities or anything,” which makes Louis want to scream. (He should probably have a few cavities; he eats enough cupcakes for it. But he didn’t get any last night because of the whole Liam-tackling-Harry ordeal. Those poor cupcakes are probably still on the ground in Liam’s room.)

No cavities it is, then. Harry cheers like Louis’ just won gold in the Olympics.


On the drive back to Louis’ flat Harry tells him that he’s got to go.

“My time here is up, friend. I don’t want to put you in any more danger,” he explains when Louis asks why, which really only deals out more confusion.

“The only thing I’m in danger of is an aneurism. What the fuck was all that back there? Our first time? I’m going to slap you so hard.” Louis takes a hard right, just so Harry will bang his pretty head on the window, and he does.

“I thought it was funny! C’mon, she was so into that. She was thinking about me ramming you, I swear to God—”

“Are you fourteen years old or something? Is sex all you think about? I’m glad your ‘time is up here,’ honestly. You’re so frustrating.” Harry’s not. Not really. Louis’ not really glad he’s ‘leaving’ either.

Harry twists around in his seat and faces the window. “I’m sorry. I just thought it would be a funny thing. Test out my acting skills, I donno. Sorry.”

Louis’ heart rises to his throat and leaks blood everywhere. It’s like Harry is this stubborn toddler that needs punishing but you can’t—can’t because he’s so cute and. “No, shit. I’m sorry. Just—it was annoying to have my mouth open for that long. Jaw hurts and everything, taking it out on you.” He turns to look at Harry while they’re at a stop and—

Harry’s grinning like Louis is Christmas come early. “That’s okay,” he says honestly, and reaches over to stroke Louis’ cheek. Louis definitely does not nuzzle against Harry’s hand. He does not and he also does not miss when the light turns green and cars start honking.


Harry wasn’t kidding; he picks up his sweater from Louis’ floor and leaves out the back door with a wave and a, “See you in another life, Louis!”

Louis sits on the kitchen table for a few minutes or twenty. Harry came in a flurry, a hurricane, and left with a breeze. Louis feels like a leaf that’d been thrown around during the storm and is now able to float gently to the ground and try to collect the lost pieces.

Liam comes home with his friend Zayn and Louis gives them both a kiss on the mouth and goes upstairs to tug the blanket off his dildo collection. He grabs his prettiest one—the thick, pink, see-through one—and locks his door and that’s his night.


It turns out that is his night and it’s also his next two weeks, too. See, he has plenty of wanking material, but also not enough. And Harry, he’d thrown more than one line to Louis, so Louis feels proper stupid and his legs are wobbly with how much he’s been pulling it lately.

Liam hugs Louis for a while after they eat supper at the table. He says, “I can tell you’re a bit off, mate.”

Louis pretends to not know what he’s talking about.


It’s been three weeks and now Louis just thinks Harry isn’t even real. Because like, a real person wouldn’t jump into a police car and demand a cupcake and then go to a dentist appointment with a fake policeman. They just wouldn’t.

 Louis accepts that Harry isn’t real eventually, and so he goes up to his room at 12 midnight to snuggle up against his giant penis pillow Zayn brought a couple days back. There’s even a little slit sewn onto the top of it.

Sleep doesn’t come easy at all. He tries to dream Harry up again so he can maybe have some fun but he doesn’t come. Sleep, sleep, sleep is good, sleep is fine, sleep is

A loud shattering sound comes from absolutely nowhere and, and, Louis sits up to find his window in a million pieces on the ground. Oh God, he’s going to get kidnapped. No.

“Liam! Shit, Liam! I’m going to die, Liam!” he shouts on the very top of his lungs, top top top, and Liam finally runs into his room with his pistol just as Harry Person crawls through his window. With foam on his head. And water dripping everywhere.

“Christ, get that away from my face,” he mutters as if he’s absolutely pissed off, jumping down from the window ledge and landing in the shards of glass. He’s got shoes on, at least.

“You know that’s illegal, right? Breaking and entering? Section three forty-eight of the criminal code, jurisdiction—” Liam starts, cut off by Harry huffing and shrugging his shoulders.

“Yeah, yeah, hold off, mate. Louis doesn’t mind. Right, love? You’re okay?”

Louis is still curled into his protective ball-shape on his bed and he nods with wide eyes. Wide, astounded, probably dark eyes. No matter how terrifying the situation, Harry Person is very, very hot. “I’m okay, uh-huh. Liam, wanna go back to bed? Daddy will come tuck you in soon. Parents gotta have a talk first.”

Harry grins wide and walks the rest of the way through the glass, his boots crunching and squishing and he peels the shoes off before he lumbers up on top of Louis’ bed.

“Off, off, you’re wet,” Louis complains, shoving him away and when Harry starts to strip Liam runs away back to his room. He stays silent for a moment, and then, “Great googly moogly,” he says, grabbing at the piece of large chunk of soapy foam in Harry’s hair. “Why’ve you got foam in your hair?”

“I decided to run through a car wash; faster than a shower, so. Wanted to be clean and stuff.” Harry crawls back onto the bed wearing just his boxers and.

“That’s pretty weird, mate,” Louis says faintly.

“Yeah, well at least I’ve not got an agglomeration of dildos,” Harry counters and points at the shelf. The shelf. The shelf. “I like your penis pillow.”

“I like your penis,” Louis whispers back, and then he kisses Harry. Right on the mouth, without a warning, but with a lot of tongue and groping and whining. “Three weeks, really?” he adds while Harry is licking along his jaw, waits while Harry moves his hands down to grab at his clothed bum.

“I wasn’t supposed to come back at all—Jesus, get your pants off; I can smell how desperate you are,” Harry grunts back—grunts, like a caveman—so Louis’ thighs quiver and he pulls away to do as he’s told.

Harry’s wet—his skin is wet and when Louis is bottomless he reaches over and grabs Harry’s cock through the soaked material. It’s half-hard, despite how cold it is, and Louis shivers. Shivers and climbs onto Harry’s lap so he can grind on him.

“Louis, why the fuck—you said no before, why,” Harry moans, and it goes all high, especially when Louis begins to rock his bum back and forth on Harry’s dick.

“Because,” Louis pants into Harry’s ear, “because I wa—I didn’t, I don’t know.” He feels fuzzy already; three weeks of wanking to the person he’s on right now, he’s just more than ready to. He’s ready for anything.

Harry grabs into his hips and his hands are so big that his thumbs touch his bellybutton and play with the ring there, and Louis knows that Harry likes it a bit. “I wanna fuck you with a dildo,” Harry breathes hard, hard into the air.

Louis’ going to let him. Two-month abstinence was never his plan, ever, so he crawls off of Harry to run and get his (“that pink one, grab it”) dildo.

Harry gets him ready quickly; first running his lubed-up fingers along the cleft of his arse and then plunging two in up to his second knuckle. He groans low like he’s being fucked, like his prostate is being nudged and hit and prodded, and that is so hot to Louis that his whines reach a high pitch and his hands clutch at the headboard in front of him.

“On your back now,” Harry orders him, but it’s kind, always kind, and when Louis is where he’s ought to and his legs are spread so far open it hurts, Harry smiles all pleased and lubes up the pink plastic dick.

It’s taking longer than Louis wants it to. “Hurry up, Harry.”

“Hurry up, what?”

“Hurry up please?” he tries, and yeah, that’s it, because then there’s a dildo sliding into his ass and a Harry looming over him.

“You like a cock up your hole?” Harry growls, shit, and does fast jerking pumps with the thing that have Louis squeaking and his body jerking.

“Yeah, God, I want yours so bad,” Louis whimpers, sounding like a stupid porn star, and Harry must like that because he curses and pulls his boxers down with his free hand and lays his cock down on Louis’ thigh.

“You’re not getting it—not today.” Harry does these long, even, deep slides with the dildo and Louis’ going to come already.

“I’m gonna—Harry, stop, I’m gonna come,” Louis warns, so Harry goes faster and deeper and leans down to suck the tip of Louis’ cock into his mouth and Louis’ gone. He’s gone.

“Jesus Christ, fuck,” Harry slurs, drooling and dripping come out of his mouth—oh God. “Close your thighs, keep ‘em tight.”

Louis doesn’t know what’s going on, he doesn’t, so he closes his legs and Harry pushes them up onto his chest and then oh, he knows what’s happening. Harry rubs lube between his legs and slides his cock through the small gap of Louis’ thighs and fucks through it.

Harry, oh my God,” Louis nearly cries in disbelief,  wishes he hadn’t come earlier because watching Harry look so concentrated as he gets himself off with Louis’ thighs is literally the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his entire life. Ever.

“Tight, Louis, keep your legs closed tight,” Harry demands, his hips stuttering and slapping hard against the backs of Louis’ thighs, and Louis clenches his legs so they’re as close as they can be to each other and Harry shouts. “God yes, God yes, tight, your thighs, fucking amazing.”

Louis watches as Harry’s cock slips through his thighs over and over, and then it’s spurting warm come over his belly, joining the spit and spunk that’d been there before. It’s fast and it’s hot and Louis’ brain is reeling so fast he might pass out.

Harry collapses on him, panting and heavy and still really wet from his car-wash shower. “That’s good,” he mumbles onto Louis’ nipple.

“Uh-huh. No one’s ever... done that before. Fucked my thighs, I mean.” Louis feels nice and buzz-y and ah, yeah, calm. He plays with Harry’s wet hair between his fingers and pulls and grins when he hears gasps.

“Well they fucking should have. Your thighs are perfect for it. Can we sleep now? I’m jetlagged.”

Jetlagged? What, did you go to Egypt or something?”  

Harry crawls up Louis’ body until his face is nuzzled into Louis’ neck and he curls the rest of his body around him. “I went to America to... to get away from Frankie’s boys. A fake cop who bought me a cupcake brought me back.”

Louis’ heart jumps a bit at that. But— “Frankie’s boys? Who’s this Frankie you keep going on about?”

“Hush, Louis. One day.”

The even breath and thud of Harry’s body lulls him to sleep quickly enough, and all thoughts of the mysterious Frankie are ebbed away by dreams of foamy boys and dildos.


The next night Harry pokes Louis on the cheek and says, “Wanna smoke weed?”

Louis’ never done it but he’ll do anything with this boy so, “Sure.”

They walk down to the little park nearest to Louis’ flat holding hands and Louis sneaks about ten glances toward Harry and Harry pretends to not see them but grins wide and unabashed. Louis loves Harry’s smile more than anything; maybe even a little too much.

“I have to go soon,” Harry murmurs under his breath so Louis has to strain to hear. When he does hear though, he pretends Harry had never said anything and climbs under the red slide and waits. Harry joins him and pulls a baggie out.

“I don’t know how to do drugs,” Louis rushes out in a breath, shrugging one should up in embarrassment and most likely glowing even more red when Harry starts to laugh so hard he might pass out.

“I’ll teach you.” Harry holds one joint between his middle and index finger and lights the tip. A little stream of smoke slithers out the end and Louis is entranced already, finding it rather pretty in the dark night. “We’ll shotgun, okay?”

“Okay,” Louis nods, watching as Harry takes a long drag (sip? Drag, probably) and leans over with a closed mouth.

It’s sort of difficult, kissing in such a way so that they don’t lose the smoke into the air, but it works mainly because Harry slips his tongue around and has Louis like putty.

They do that for a while and Louis feels looser and looser and happier and he understands why a bazillion people in the world do it. They do it until Louis is really horny and crawling over Harry’s lap and Harry is glowing and Harry is a beacon of light in a sea of dark dark dark.

“Harry, would it be bad to fuck at this park?” Louis giggles—loud—into Harry’s curls, fisting them and wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist. Harry smells like man; like infused cologne and mysterious and vanilla. Maybe not really man-ish, then. Harry-ish. “Harry-ish.”

“Harry-ish? Louis-ish. And yes, it would be illegal. But so are the drugs we’re smoking.”

And then the sirens start. Louis screams and jumps away and climbs to the top of the playground, hugging his body to a pole and being scared. They’re going to jail.

“Walk with your hands above your head—Louis?” the police car says.

“The police car knows my name! I was destined to be arrested! Dear God, tell my mum I love her, tell the kids I have uni savings for them in my Swiss bank account—”

The police car beeps a couple times. “Louis, c’mon. Get down. Come here.”

Louis figures it’d be best to listen to the police car so he walks shakily over with Harry grinning behind him—is this funny?—and he nearly weeps when he sees Liam’s face in the driver’s seat. “Liam!” he says, but Liam gives him a glare.

“Are you high?” he asks through the glass. Louis shakes his head. “Get into the back. I’m taking you home before another policeman arrests you two idiots.”

Louis climbs into the back and Harry sits in the middle and keeps a straight face. Louis wants a bit of attention so he makes a face at Harry but gets no response. Huh.

“You guys know that if another cop got sent here, you’d be screwed, right? You’re lucky I’m not fucking fining you guys. Whose idea was it, anyway? Your little friend, Louis? I bet it was, I bet it was...”

Harry’s nodding along to Liam’s stern word obediently and Louis’ thinking wow, Harry gets responsible with weed in his bloodstream, but then there’s a warm hand on his thigh and another is popping his jeans button. “Make a sound and you’re sleeping on the floor tonight,” he mumbles, low, and it’s not even his house but Louis’ not going to shy away.

“Alright,” Louis says, and then he feels Harry’s fingers curl around his cock and he squeaks.

“What are you doing, Louis? Are you seriously that high? How could you, Harry. You’ve tainted his innocence.” Liam turns a sharp corner and Harry grips tighter and Louis slams his hand on the window.

“I’m just—hyper, you know? Makes me wanna, wanna, I wanna. I wanna eat. Will you stop at the corner store on the way home?” Louis asks to cover up his weird sounds. Harry grins at him like ‘good job’ and flicks his wrist so that Louis has to lean back and clutch at the window that half-separates the front and the back of the car.

“No, I won’t. If you’re seen out and about high out of a cop car, I’d be screwed—”

“Please. Please, please, please Liam,” Louis whines, loudly, ha-ha-ha. He’s going to come soon. Maybe being high isn’t a good thing.

“Alright, shut up. Sounds like you’re a porn star or something. You make me so uncomfortable, Louis.” Liam turns into the car lot and Louis shouts for him to get Haribo’s and pop and the second he’s gone Harry leans down and takes Louis’ cock into his mouth.

“You’ve got three minutes, tops,” Harry says after he pulls up for a second, and, “If you don’t come, you’re sleeping on the floor tonight.”

Louis could easily be defiant and say it’s his house and Harry can’t tell him what to do but he also can’t, he can’t with the way Harry’s head is bobbing in front of him.

“Harry, fuck, I’m gonna,” he warns after a minute or so of Harry’s stupidly good head, and then he does come, straight down Harry’s throat with thick pulses.

“Good.” Harry pulls back and wipes his mouth free of spit and come and pulls Louis’ pants up like a gentleman. Louis thanks him and that’s that, really.


They start to go to more places even though Harry says it’s “not safe.” More often than not, Louis would push Harry into the loo and lift the toilet seat down and order, “Pants down, gonna ride you.” It’s nice.

So Louis would ride him, and Harry would gasp and grunt and come into his XL condom that Louis had bought as a joke (but it fit him anyway).

“Good God,” Harry would breathe, his hips still jerking, and Louis would only hear it because Harry’s lips would be just below his ear and it would be louder than the music thumping outside.

They’d move together for a while, grinding and easing the rest of their orgasms out of each other, and Louis would always laugh a little at the end. It exhilarated him, whatever.

This morning’s different though, Louis can tell that much. They’d gotten home very late from the club and Harry had been a little quiet and that’s why now Louis knows that Harry’s going to leave today. Also, the space beside him is empty.

“You look distraught.” Harry walks in from the bathroom with a toothbrush (had he bought one of those recently?) hanging out of his mouth and a towel wrapped around his waist. Oh.

“Just. I thought you left.”

Harry does a little sad pout and goes back to the bathroom to presumably spit out his toothpaste and gargle water. He comes back in nothing and pulls the sheets off Louis so he can snuggle in and pull them back up. “I do have to leave.”

Louis doesn’t answer. They lay like that for a while and Harry’s breathing is uneven like always and his toes are cold when he rubs them up on Louis’ shins.

“I just don’t want to hurt you,” Harry breathes against Louis’ neck, breathes it like it took a lot of effort to get out. He pulls back to give Louis eyes full of sadness and Louis doesn’t think he can handle them.

“I really don’t know what you mean. Will you just—can you tell me why you keep leaving?”

“But it might hurt you—”

Louis snaps. “Nothing could possibly hurt me more than you leaving again at this point, Harry! I like you. I like you a lot, fuck. I just. I don’t want you to leave again.”

It goes quiet for a bit, then, “Okay. Alright. I won’t leave. I won’t leave you.”


Louis thinks he likes his life now. He likes that when needs to go grocery shopping, Harry comes with him and they run up and down the aisles laughing and holding hands like lunatics. He likes that Harry cooks for him and he likes that Liam likes Harry now and he likes that he likes his life. Like, like, like.

And he really, really likes the sex. Harry had walked into the apartment one day to find Louis pressed against the wall with his legs open and his arms cuffed behind his back and a Liam standing behind him with his hands on Louis’ hips. Liam had simply been showing Louis how he arrested people (Louis had begged him to show him how) (definitely not intending for Harry to find them in that position) but Harry had taken it the wrong way and jealousy-fucked the life out of Louis. After Liam had left to do real police duties, of course.

So yeah, he likes the sex, but most of all he likes Harry. To imagine it all started with the borrowing of a cop car and a cupcake shop.

Harry gets more and more anxious by day, though. Sometimes they’ll be walking around Tesco and he’ll whip his head around to stare at a peculiar group of people, or he’ll lift Louis into his arms at the park and run (not that Louis’ complaining; Harry’s strength is hot), or he’ll just stare into space during dinner and clench his fists until they’re wax-white and Louis has to pet them. It’s sort of concerning, but Louis had learned at a young age to keep quiet and block sad and scary things out, so he does that and it keeps him content for the most part.  

Except for like, this one night. Louis’ sleeping, kinda, on top of Harry while it rains, and Harry is rubbing slow circles onto his back and mumbling some story about a mule and how he saved its little babies from getting killed by a ostrich. Louis can only laugh to a certain point because it would make his body bounce on top of Harry from the excursion so he just grins and breathes out a small little sound.

“You’re so stupid,” he murmurs into Harry’s collarbone. Harry smells and tastes like everything Louis has ever wanted in a person, it’s ridiculous.

 “Wasn’t gonna let the ostrich charge at the babies,” Harry laughs back and smooches the top of Louis’ head.

It’s just a nice moment, it’s a peaceful moment, and it’s calm and wonderful until a loud lightning strike hits and Harry goes absolutely nuts. He swears and flips them both over so he’s covering Louis with his entire body, shaking, and telling Louis “it’s going to be okay” even though it’s just—it’s a lightning strike.

“Haz, c’mon. It’s okay, I’m fine, don’t have to protect me always.” Louis looks up at Harry’s face that’s completely illuminated by the bright moon and it looks so intense, like it’s—Harry’s not with it then. It’s a little frightening.

“I... I can’t let anything get you. This is all my fault, God, they’re going to find me. And you.”

And Louis would laugh if it weren’t so paralyzingly terrifying.


Harry’s massaging Louis’ feet when three men with ski masks and guns burst into the house. The first thing that happens is that Harry folds Louis’ legs in and hugs all around him, like a paper covering rock in that kid’s game. The second is that the men run around screaming while Harry squeezes tighter and Louis starts to scream too and he reckons they’re going to die, then.

“What the fuck? What the fuck?” Harry’s shouting, and they’re shouting back,

“You told on the wrong fuckin’ guy, buddy. And who’s this? This little faggot?” They step toward Harry and throw him off and peer in close, close at Louis with their ski masks on, and Louis lets out a small cry.

“Please don’t,” he says, really small, and Ski Mask Guy 1 laughs.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t—don’t look at me.”

That appears to be the wrong thing to say, apparently, because all three of them turn over and poke at parts of his body while Harry yells at them to “fuck off.”

The next few minutes are a whirlwind; two men raid the house while one stays beside Louis and Harry and then, then Liam comes home.

“What the—on the ground, now,” he orders to everyone, still in his police suit because he’s just finished his shift, and more and more and more shouting ensues and Louis covers his ears and assumes Scared Position.

“Lou,” he hears to his left, but he won’t look up, he won’t, and he doesn’t until it’s all silent. There’s three masked men face-down and handcuffed on the floor. And one Harry Styles. “Lou.”


“Lou, that’s why. Didn’t want to hurt you. I hurt you.”


So like, Harry’s in jail. ‘For questioning,’ Liam had said. ‘He’s innocent, don’t worry,’ Liam had said.

Louis stays in his bed for the whole two days Harry is gone and when Harry finally comes in through the front door like a normal person, Louis closes his eyes and hugs his penis pillow. He knows it’s Harry because of the jingling that comes from his black combat boots.


Louis looks up through blurry eyes and that makes him feel really stupid. “I’m sorry, I. I was just really—worried. Because. Guys with guns came into my house and you got arrested.”

Harry’s face crumples and he immediately ducks down to hold Louis, to hold his curled-up frame and whisper little things into his ear like he does. “God. I should have just told you everything before, I’m so sorry. I just. I was a tattletale, I guess? Me and my sister, Gemma, we were taking a walk downtown and we got mugged by those guys and Frankie. They basically, like... I narked on the one guy, Frankie, and he got sent to jail. Ever since then, his boys have been after me, you know. That’s why I went to America, and why I kept leaving, and why I ran into your car that night... I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you and I did.”

Louis’ heart does this little dip-dive thing and. And really, Louis thinks he may have fallen entirely for Harry Styles in the course of a couple months. Completely and utterly and fuck. “Shh, Harry. Don’t be sorry. If you hadn’t gotten mugged I never would have been able to buy you a Vanilla Bean cupcake. It was worth the guns and stuff.”

Harry’s soft hands trail up and down Louis’ arms, up and down, squeezing when he gets to his biceps and rubbing when he gets to his wrists, and then he leans forward and kisses Louis like he’s been to war for two years and has just come back. His tongue slides along all the ridges and scars from Louis biting the inside of his cheek nervously, and his lips move in this way that has Louis nearly tearing up. Oh, Louis does love Harry.

They sort of—even though Louis hates the phrase—they make love then. It’s so slow and careful and stunning that Louis barely makes a sound; his mouth stays slack, he blinks up at Harry when he begins to move inside him in that way, and when they finish off they just sort of. They move together and fly together and fall together.

“Harry, I love you a bit,” Louis says to the air while they’re tangled together in a mess of bodies.

“Idiot. I’ve loved you since you wouldn’t sleep with me.” And that doesn’t make sense, but Harry doesn’t make sense, and in Louis’ dream they ride off into the sunset waving penis pillows at the sky and eating cupcakes from Babycakes Cupcakery.