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sparkle, baby

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Harry Styles lives in a big motherfucking castle. He’s the prince of his kingdom and heir to the throne. He’s actually pretty bored, most of the time, and he spends days exploring the parts of his home he’s yet to explore, and picking flowers from the gardens and wild fields that line the hills. Sometimes he’ll put them in his hair or give them to the little girls who have to do work or follow their mothers around. He likes to make the people who respect him happy. He doesn’t want to just be honored, he wants to be liked.

Most days, he wears a tiara. No one questions it anymore. It started when he was younger, when Gemma had just gotten her first one. He would always sneak off into his sister’s room when she was out, and steal her crown so he could wear it himself. He had always liked the way it sparkled and glimmered. She would scream and pout, and Harry would cry, because if she got a tiara, why couldn’t he? So in the end, Gemma got a new one and Harry got to keep the one with the sparkly pink gems.

Harry is particularly bored, this day, because it’s raining, and his shoes are new, so he can’t exactly get them wet. His mother would kill him, over anything. (He doesn’t really care, but it’s for her sake, and he tries to be a good son.) So, on days like these, he goes into the dungeons to visit the prisoners. They don’t actually have many, and a majority of them actually haven’t done much wrong. They’re a peaceful land, but his dad could be considered a little bit of a sadist, because when he gets bored or finds the week’s undergoing significantly uneventful, he’ll find someone who has committed a minor crime, for instance, stealing a loaf of bread, and put them in a dungeon for three weeks simply because he can. And it’s not like they’re treated badly, either. They get nice food, a pretty courtyard to spend their time in, basically a whole floor to roam. The King likes to think of it as a camp of sorts.

Harry thinks his dad is pretty insane, but usually the men who are down there are fun to talk to. So he’s bored, and he goes. There aren’t even cells, really, unless they’re the people who have done something like murder or rape or a serious felony – which is not often – so there are some bedrooms and a long hallway. Harry always goes at courtyard hour, though, because even when it rains those – who wish to – sit under the veranda that prevents them from getting wet.

There’s not too many people, this week, Harry notes. Maybe most are inside, but it’s also a busy time, the spring, so his dad has less time for games. There are some older men playing poker, and two other boys, younger, sitting at a table, picking at a plate of cookies.

“I don’t feel much like a prisoner,” one says, and he’s got dark hair and dark eyes and dark skin. Harry thinks he’s pretty.

“Yeah. What kind of fucking prison serves cookies? Fresh baked cookies?” another asks, staring down at the plate so his hair falls in his eyes. He’s golden everywhere, and Harry thinks he’s prettier.

“The king’s a bit of a nutjob though, isn’t he?” Dark-haired says. “I mean, we didn’t even do anything wrong? He arrested us for taking cucumbers from my mother’s market. It my mum’s, like, honestly? I mean, it’s lovely here, but – what kind of prison is this?”

“Maybe he’s gone bonkers,” Prettier muses.

“My father hasn’t gone bonkers!” Harry interjects.

“Oh, dear,” Golden huffs, “the damn prince visits prisoners? What kind of family is this?”

“Hey,” Harry says, pouting as he draws out the word. “We’re a fine family.”

“You’re wearing a tiara, mate,” Dark says.

Harry reaches up and touches his crown self-consciously. There’s not much sunlight to make it sparkle. He fixes the hairs on his forehead, too. “What, do you not like it?”

Prettier smiles at him. “I think it’s lovely.”
 Harry blushes.

“I just visit the prisoners because you usually haven’t done much wrong.” He gestures to the chair. “May I sit?”

“Sure,” the boys answer together.

“Um,” Harry coughs awkwardly, eyeing them both. “Regardless, you guys deserve a proper greeting, so–” He sticks out a hand. “I’m Prince Harry.”

“Zayn Malik,” Dark says, grasping Harry’s palm.

“I should be a prince.” Harry laughs. “Louis Tomlinson,” the other greets. He kisses Harry’s hand instead. Harry blushes again. Zayn shoots him a look. “What?” Zayn gives him another look. “You looking at me while you do your mysterious eye twitch dance is not going to help me figure out what you’re trying to say here, Zayn. Use your words.”

Zayn – believe it or not – rolls his eyes. Harry has to bite his lip to stop his laugh. “Flirting with the royals? Really, Louis?”

“Oi!” Louis says. “Flirting with pretty boys,” he corrects. (Harry’s still blushing.) “He could easily be a peasant on the street. He’s still handsome.”

Harry bites his lip again, and Zayn sighs. “I’ll be going now. Nice to meet you, Harry. I hope you like blokes.”

“I do!” Harry calls after him, but he’s already gone to go join the poker game with the men who look like they’ve smoked far too many cigars for one lifetime.

“You do,” Louis repeats smoothly. “That’s good. You’re cute.”

“Erm,” Harry says. “Thanks. You’re cute too. And forward.”

“How old are you, Prince Harry?”

Harry turns bright red. “Seventeen. And you can just call me Harry, if you want.”

“Hmm,” Louis hums. “And tell me, Harry, are you a virgin?”

Harry shifts in his seat. “No.”

Louis squints his eyes at him. “Really?”

“I’m not a virgin,” Harry states proudly.


The bell chimes, telling prisoners that they have to report to their dining hall for dinner, and that means Harry’s due by his father’s side for their meal any minute.

“Well, that’s me,” Louis says, standing from his chair and brushing the hair out of his eyes with gentle fingers.

“Me as well, actually,” Harry mumbles. “Nice to meet you, Louis,” he sees. “I’ll be seeing you, probably.”

“As to you, Prince Harry,” Louis says, and he’s smirking again, taking Harry’s hand, giving it a kiss, and following the other prisoners pouring out of the courtyard.

Harry feels just about as red as his silken shirt.


Harry comes back the next day, naturally, and Zayn and Louis are leaning against the railing that lines the courtyard, because today it’s sunny and beautiful, and the sun is glinting off of Louis’ hair, and well, he hasn’t gotten less pretty.

“Prince Harry!” Zayn greets when he comes into view. “I’ll be going now.”

Harry opens his mouth, closes it again, and decides on, “Nice seeing you, Zayn,” and takes his place leaning against the railing next to Louis. “Good afternoon,” he says.

“G’afternoon,” Louis replies. “How are you today, Harry?”

“M’well. Bit tired. Love the sun though. And yourself?”

“Horny,” Louis sighs dramatically, like that is a totally normal thing to say in a casual conversation with a person whom you are only meeting for the second time. He runs a hand through his hair. “Being an inmate is horrid. Can’t get off in a mattress when you know other prisoners have probably wanked in it and they look about forty. I’m kinky, but not that kinky.”

Harry resists his sudden urge to ask how kinky and nods in agreement even though he cannot relate at all. He has nothing to say, but it seems Louis can’t stop talking.

“So, are prisoners allowed to see the rest of the castle?”

“Uh, not really,” Harry says.

“And what about when they’re escorted by a prince?”

“Not one person will care who you are.”

“So you’ll show me around, then?”

Harry smiles. “Sure.”


Harry’s not entirely sure how it happens, or maybe he’d be able to recall if he tried to think about it, but all he can register is how Louis walked around his quarters, pressed their bodies together against a wall and said, “So, you’ve got silk sheets, a cute smile, you’re not a virgin, and a fluffy bed that I’d really like to make out with you against. You up for it?”

“Fuck, yes,” Harry breathes.

“And a dirty mouth, too. I like you,” Louis tells him, and he takes Harry’s hand, leads him to his white bed, pushes him back against the pillows, and kisses him hard. Now, Harry might not be a virgin, but his “have kissed” list is not very long. And he likes the way Louis feels. He gets a grip on Harry’s biceps and kisses him hard but not rushed. It’s sloppy, at first, but they get a rhythm, and Harry’s hands stay on Louis’ waist where he rests on top of him. He squeezes Louis’ hips, and Louis’ mouth is on his, warm and wet and better than any other kiss he’s had. His tongue licks into his mouth, and he bites on Harry’s bottom lip.

Harry’s not sure how long they kiss, but when he’s breathless, Louis kisses his neck and his collarbones, and he’s sure he’s left with at least one mark. The don’t say much, there’s just the quiet smack of their lips and gentle sound of hands on skin and the murmurs of their harsh breaths. Harry feels alive. Sometimes life in the same place all the time can get monotonous and repetitive, but this feels like exploration, and he pulls Louis closer, slotting their hips together, and then their lips.

He bucks up as Louis rocks down, put then there’s a single knock on Harry’s door and a simple, “Supper, your highness,” and the sound of feet padding down his hallway.

“That’s my cue, then,” Louis says breathlessly, making a show of pressing a kiss to both of Harry’s cheeks, his neck, and then his hand, before swinging his legs off of Harry’s body and then off the bed. “You’re a good snog, Prince.” Harry can do nothing but send him a goofy grin and stand, too. “I’m assuming I’ll be seeing you again, yeah?” he says as he walks toward the door.

“Erm, yeah,” Harry says. And then Louis is leaving, walking down his corridor to his own dinner.

Harry’s tiara’s off center and his hair’s all wonky and he’s got a massive hard on, but his face is warm and his smile is big, and he watches the swing of Louis’ hips down the hall, because he has dinner to report to, too.


“Hmm, you’ve got such nice hair. I’d really like to run my fingers through it, but that tiara looks so nice on you that I don’t think I want to take it off.”

Harry whines and nudges his head against against Louis’ thigh. His mouth is red and swollen and left wide open, asking for it, begging for it. He sits back further on his haunches to look at Louis with pleading eyes so he can know how badly he wants this, how much he likes it.

“You wanna suck my cock, Prince? I didn’t know royals did such naughty things. Who would’ve thought! The prince of the kingdom on his knees for a prisoner. Have you ever heard something so filthy?” Harry’s eyes grow wider. “God, I love it. You’re lovely, Harry. Absolutely lovely. You can suck my cock now, babe. I can see how much you want it.”

Harry whines again and takes the head into his mouth when Louis gives it to him. He sucks lightly, bracing his hands on his knees and flitting his tongue across the slit. He bobs his head after a while, growing more comfortable with his mouth stretched around Louis’ cock, but taking the gentle sweep of Louis’ thumb across his cheekbone as praise. He focuses on making Louis feel good, finding rhythm and going deeper each time he bobs his head, relaxing his throat and looking up with watery green eyes into bright, lustful blue. He takes heavy breaths through his nose as Louis’ cock touches the back of his throat and his nose nearly touches Louis’ stomach.

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis breathes. “Can I fuck your face? Can you do that?”

Harry pulls off to lay kisses to Louis’ thighs. “I can try? I’ve never done that before.”

“Shit.” Louis pats his cheek again. “I’ll go slow, yeah? And you’ll be good?”

Harry nods and takes the tip of Louis erection between his lips again. He builds back the motion he had before, but when he gets to a place where he feels relaxed, he stops and squeezes the backs of Louis’ thighs, getting his hips to buck into Harry’s mouth. It’s not like much he’s felt before, because it burns. It burns but it feels so good, and he likes the way it’s making Louis look, blissful and loose. He thrusts clumsily into Harry’s mouth, and Harry stares up into his pretty blue eyes and feels the tears stream down his face but the hurt feel good.

“Touch yourself, Harry,” Louis stumbles out. “I’m gonna – gonna come on your face, and I want you to come, too.”

Harry whines around Louis’ cock, but gets a hand on his dick and pumps fast, waits with wide eyes and an open mouth when Louis pulls away from him and starts to jerk himself off. He comes hard on Harry’s face, it splattering onto his tongue and red cheeks and even a bit in his hair and on the very shiny top of his tiara. He swallows what lands in his mouth and comes over his own fist before he stands on wobbly legs and kisses Louis and tastes himself in his mouth.

Louis pulls back first, tucking himself back into his trousers and rubbing the little bit of come on Harry’s crown off. He braces his hands on Harry’s shoulders and leans into his ear. “I know how much you like your tiara, Harry,” Louis whispers. “Do you like feeling like a princess sometimes?” Harry blushes and nods, and Louis hums, laying a kiss on the junction of where his neck meets his shoulder. “And can you dress like one, too? Can you do that for me Harry? I want to see you like that.”

“I –” Harry starts. “I can do that,” he breathes.

Louis kisses his neck again. “Good.”


Harry has to steal from Gemma, again. She has a lot of lingerie though, so he reckons she won’t notice. He picks through her drawers while she’s out, and waits till late to slip them on, because he’s got Louis being escorted to his room after supper because he’s a prince, and he can do whatever he wants. So he pulls trousers over them awkwardly after staring at himself in his big, full length mirror for a good ten minutes, trying to decide whether he looks ridiculous or sexy. (In the end he decides on sexy, because Louis asked for a princess, and this is what princesses wear. Or at least, what Gemma wears. He likes the color of them against his skin.)

There’s a rap on his door at exactly 10 p.m. sharp, after most of the people on his floor have either gone to bed, or gone to party. He sucks in a breath, and answers to Louis leaning against the stoned doorframe, hair falling in his face, smirk present, blue eyes walking over Harry’s chest appreciatively because apparently he’d forgotten to put a shirt on in the heat of the moment.

Harry gestures for him to come in, mouth having run too dry for words to escape. He licks his lips. Louis puts a hand on the small of his back and leads him over to his bed. He pushes him down onto the fluffy down of the pillows of his bed. Harry waits as Louis continues to study his body, as if trying to find something that doesn’t seem to be there. He swings a leg of Harry’s waist and braces his hands on his chest.

He leans down to Harry’s ear. “You don’t look to much like a princess, Harry. Have you forgotten?”

Harry winces. “No.”

“Then am I missing something, darling?” Louis asks, trailing his pinky up and down the slopes of Harry’s collarbones.

“It’s – it’s underneath. My trousers.”

“Ah,” Louis lets out. “So I have to get you out of your pants to get what I want.” Harry blushes. “Cheeky. You’re good, Prince. I’ll give you that.” His lips brush Harry’s ear, and Harry shudders. “Do princes like to get fucked, Harry?”

Harry whines. “Yes,” he says.

“Thought so,” Louis replies, and he kisses Harry, feels how worked up he already is, and knows just how to get him to the point where he needs it, begs for it. His hands are moving everywhere; they don’t care still on Harry’s skin. Harry shivers and shudders and whines beneath him, eyes growing darker as Louis rubs circles on his hips and trails his nails down his chest and his biceps. His lips get redder, swollen and obscene, and Louis doesn’t stop kissing him as he feels smooth white skin beneath his fingertips. Harry bucks up into him involuntarily, hips jerking and cock tenting in his loose trousers.

“You need it so bad, Harry,” Louis says out loud, even though it’s so obvious how much he does. Harry knows he wants it, he knows how much he needs it. “Can I see what’s underneath now?” Harry nods, and Louis pets his shoulder before rolling off him and trailing his hand down to the waistband of Harry’s pants. He pulls them down slowly, mouth gaping when he see the lace that lines Harry’s hips. He’s got a garter on, for fuck’s sake, and Harry’s looking up at Louis wide-eyed, hope it’s okay, hoping it’s good enough, or what he wanted. The light pink lace wraps around his thighs, and his cock pokes out of the top of his knickers. He whines and keens as Louis palms him once.

“God, Harry, you’re gorgeous.” Harry’s eyes roll back into his head. “You are so, so lovely. You look so pretty, darling, you know that?” Harry wants to pull on his own hair, but his crown is still atop his head against the pillows and his fingers are twisted in the sheets. Louis runs his fingers up and down Harry’s thighs, right next to the thin piece of lace. He sucks marks into the milky white skin of Harry’s legs, gets them falling open, spreading wide as Harry pants heavily.

He only stops to look up at him when Harry says, “Please.”

He bites the inside of Harry’s thigh. “Please what, Prince?”

“Please fuck me, Louis,” he whines, squirming.

“Is that what you want, now?”

“Please,” Harry says again.

“Okay,” Louis relents.

He peels off his own trousers and pulls his shirt from where it was starting to stick to his back. Harry looks at him with heavy eyelids and a twisting in his belly. Louis grabs Harry’s hips and pulls him forward a little, so his legs are off the edge of the bed and he’s laying horizontal. Louis rubs the flat of his palm along Harry’s thigh.

“You look so good in these, Harry, but I’m gonna have to take them off now, is that okay?” Harry nods, and Louis’s fingers run along his perineum through the silky material of his knickers before he pulls them and the garter off. Louis nudges Harry thighs open further and grabs the lube from where he sees Harry set it out on the table. Harry stares up at him as he slicks his fingers up. He stands as he presses lightly with one, feels tension ooze out of Harry, and pushes it in.

Louis works his fingers into Harry quickly, giving him more when he asks for it, listening to his body and his noises. He still bites at Harry’s skin while he works him open, watching his muscles contort and his mouth open and close with heavy breaths. He gets three fingers in him, spreading his fingers and avoiding his prostate just get him squirming and writhing, asking for it.

“Please, Louis,” Harry breathes.

Louis smooths his other hand across Harry’s forehead, feels the bead of sweat on his temple, and the fast beat of his heart. “You gonna be good, Harry? Princesses don’t misbehave,” he whispers.

“I’ll be good, I will–” Harry chokes out.

“Shh,” Louis murmurs, and he rolls on a condom, slicks up his cock, gets his hands on Harry’s skinny hips so their bodies align, and pushes in slowly, letting Harry get used to it, and waits until his face relaxes, eyes going wide again, mouth dropping open. Harry’s legs wrap around Louis’ waist, and Louis fucks him hard, gripping onto his hips hard enough to leave bruises, biting on his neck to leave marks, saying, “You’re gonna have to find away to cover those marks up, Prince. Can’t be seen walking around with them, can you?”

Harry shakes his head and whines as Louis’ hips fuck into him. His crown is still on his head, the teeth tangled in his hair so it doesn’t fall off. It sparkles in the dim lighting of the room. He bites down on his lip as Louis leans down to kiss him and nip at his jaw. His knuckles go white as his fingers twist further in the sheets and oh’s spill from his lips. Louis tells him how good he looks, how good he sounds, and Harry grows louder, moans more frequent.

“You look so good with a cock in your ass, Prince. You’re so good,” Louis breathes, biting Harry’s neck.

“M’so close, Lou. I needa – I need–”

“C’mon, Harry, touch yourself.”

Harry gets a hand around his cock as Louis keeps fucking him, his hips moving fast and quick, his hands finding his way back to Harry’s hips. Harry comes first, with a few pumps of his fist and a thumb over the head of his cock, and Louis follows soon after, his hips growing erratic and thrusts inconsistent. He collapses over Harry’s body after he comes, and Harry’s legs fall from where they were wrapped around his waist.

He pulls out after a moment, and Harry crawls up the bed so his head is back on the pillows, leaving room for Louis next to him. They breath, for a moment, and Louis says, “You make a pretty good princess, Harry.”