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want a boy with a smooth liquidization, want a boy with a good dividend

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Harry’s got his legs splayed out on the couch, Louis’ jeans dipping past his ankles and tickling at the rough skin of his heels, his hands—his huge, gigantic hands and okay, yeah, where did he get such huge hands? Louis would love to know—fumbling about in the bag of hard, sour candy he’s brought over for the night. He’s been insistent on reminding Louis about his strict candy limit (three candies: one blue, one green, one salmon, because Harry had insisted that the red and the purple were all his, of course) and obviously he deserves more than three candies—“C’mooon, let’s make that four, Harold,” he’d bargained, totally not whining in the least bit, because god does Louis hate odd numbers—and the corner of Harry’s mouth had just tilted up, pink lips twitching, but otherwise only patted Louis’ hand to show that, hey, it's okay, you'll live.

God dammit, no, no he will not, okay? Once he’s got a taste for something, he’s gotta taste the thing completely—cravings like this do not just, like, go away.

He settles back, eyes swooping to Harry’s ankles, maybe wants to run his thumb over his ankle bone a bit, or a lot which is unimportant, and then focuses back on the telly that’s flashing blue light against the wall and both boys faces.

He doesn’t really even realize that his eyes aren't on the telly anymore, not anywhere but on Harry after a few seconds of focused concentration (not at all) on Looney Toons—doesn’t notice it one bit, truthfully. Only notices the slight flare of Harry’s nostrils as he smirks into his sweater paws, hot pink hoodie dancing around his limbs like smooth flowing chocolate and the way Harry keeps popping candies in between his lips, rolling them around with his tongue, tongue occasionally dipping out to swipe at the stickiness of his lips before playing with them, forefinger and thumb pressed together. Louis doesn’t notice he’s staring, really, he doesn’t, or he would’ve looked away before Harry caught his eye.

“What, Lou, ’ave I got that pretty of lips?” he says, running his tongue along the pads of his fingers, arms pliant by his sides and his thumb now in his mouth, lips closed around it while looking Louis straight in the eye and—and surely Harry has no idea what he’s doing to him.

“Cheeky, you are,” Louis laughs, gives Harry’s cheek a flick, then smiles a lot wider when he sees Harry’s nose twitch like a bunny, smile cute and small.

His hands wrap around each other, the paws of his sweater permanently covering his left hand while his right digs through the sea blue candy bag. The fabric clenches underneath Harry’s tight fingers, his bum wiggling around in excitement when Bugs Bunny comes on screen. Louis thinks he’s the prettiest boy he’s ever seen, his pink and teeth-bitten lips, soft, emerald eyes and light curls forming around the shells of his ears all so pretty and so, so delicate. It makes Louis sort of want to cry.

Prettiest boy I’ve ever wanted to kiss, Louis thinks, lip caught between his teeth—but then, no. No no no.

I mean, yes, Louis’ thought about it. Thought about how it’d feel to have Harry’s arms wrapped around his neck, fingers twisting together, warm and clammy, Harry’s baggy hoodies bunching up under Louis’ hands on his tiny waist (the boy practically lives in them, the menace). Wonders whether the kisses would be gentle and chaste or hard and sloppy, if Louis’d be able to give it to him just the way he likes it and make him cry.

Louis also kind of (really) wants to know whether kissing Harry would taste like that salt that he thinks needs to be added to his chips even when the chips themselves are enough to ruin your cholesterol, or like the fruit he brings to class in hidden plastic containers for him and Louis to share, or maybe just something altogether like his mint chocolate toothpaste.

Fuck, what’s Harry taste like?

And, just—shit. When Harry’s just laying in Louis’ bed, crookedly grinning at him with long eyelashes brushing against his cheeks like soft bristled paintbrushes on a white, pretty canvas, his lips will part sleepily and he looks so, so good. So beautiful. Louis wants to devour him and press kisses into his collarbones and on his neck and all over his face and keep him there, pretty and small and his.

Okay? He's thought about it. Doesn't mean he wants it or craves it or, like, has a desire for his best mate. Load of rubbish, that.

Louis looks into his lap. No, he can’t be—

“Hey, babe,” he says, looking up at Harry with a pout. Harry bristles at the pet name, a light blush being painted on his cheeks, so he looks back at the screen and away from Louis, but Louis knows he has his attention. “One more candy.”

Harry snorts, fidgeting again and possibly blushing harder, and then throws a candy Louis’ way. “Only because I know you’ll get all obsessive with me over the number three.”

The candy clearly hits Louis in the face, the nose, and Louis barely has enough time to prepare for the attack before Harry’s throwing another at him and—and no he didn’t.

“How ‘bout a few more candies, boo?” Harry grins at him, the tip of his little pink tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth, and shit, okay, Louis might actually have a bigger craving for his lips.

Wait—

No.

Louis wants to slap himself, except Harry would see and that’d end in Harry glancing at him every damn second after that, all his attention on Louis out of worry, and no, he does not need Harry’s concern over him thinking... stupid thoughts.

Except, you know, everyone wants to snog Harry. Just maybe not as much as Louis wants to snog him incessantly, but. That’s not important. Everyone wants to snog Harry, he’s just so... pretty.

And then Louis pops out of his thoughts, notes the way Harry’s eyebrows are like skylines on his forehead now (how he always raises them when he’s waiting and yeah, he’s waiting Louis, fucking answer him) and the way he’s tapping at the couch makes Louis’ vision blur temporarily.

He blinks. ”Sure, right, just enough candies to rot your teeth,” Louis says, pants still feeling tight. Tight. His pants are tight, and Louis is achingly hard, over his best mate. Why does Harry have to be so bloody fit, with those little hands that Louis wants to hold and have in his hair, tugging while Louis wrecks him with kisses along his jawline, tongue playing with Harry's before he bites the younger boy's lip, pulls it and stares into his blown, black eyes?

Or maybe. Maybe as he fucks into Harry's little mouth.

He can see it now, Harry gagging around his cock with tears in his eyes and flared nostrils as he tries to breathe and please Louis right. Harry's own cock pressed against his khakis, squeezing his thighs together and grinding to gain some well needed friction. He'd take Louis' cock to the back of his throat, bobbing his head while he hollows his cheeks and sucks on the head of Louis' cock with fucking passion. God, his lips were made to be wrapped around a dick—so plump, so pink and so kissable. Despite Louis' hard on, he still manages to want to kiss Harry while he softly brushes his thumb over the nape of the younger boy's chin and neck.

Everything about Harry is so desirable. Harry, Harry, Harry. He can't get the boy's name out of his head, or off his tongue.

And that's why he speaks without thinking, interrupting Harry's long rant about the telly and his hungry stomach rather than properly paying attention to the plot. Completely, absolutely oblivious to the thoughts parading around in his mate's brain.

“Harry,” he says, mouth suddenly so, so dry. Said boy diverts his attention to him, eyes curiously watching him. “I—I think I'm gonna be sick.”

That's when Harry stops, his eyebrows furrowing with concern, a miniature but prominent frown settling on his lips.

“Lou, love,” Harry comforts, tone gentle as he crawls over to the other boy. He climbs into Louis' lap and bites his lip worriedly as Louis groans a bit under his breath. "Is this hurting you? Making you feel sickly? I was just going to rub your belly."

The concern on Harry's face is enough to make Louis snort, but feel warm inside. Like an avalanche is happening inside of his heart, throwing a You're Falling Too Hard For Him But We Love It party with balloons and everything.

Louis just tangles their hands together, watching as Harry's thighs nearly tremble and as his breath shakes.

“No, this is nice.” He pauses, panic seeping in through his skin. No, not nice—at least Harry shouldn't know that he likes having him in his lap, thighs and long legs wrapped around his waist. Their crotches almost pressed against one another's, and Louis has no idea how Harry has not caught onto how turned on the older boy is, what with Louis' cock bulging through his tight jeans. “Or, rather, it's okay. It isn't hurting, no,” he stumbles, barely able to think about anything other than touching Harry.

What does it feel like, having his fingers run through Harry's curls while they snog? Hands desperately searching for comfort and warmth by touching each other's bodies. He needs to know. Aches for it.

But Harry is already getting off his lap. “'M gonna go get you a pill or two. For upset stomachs, of course. I'll be right back, Lou.”

And that is when Louis finally realizes that he is fucked. Screwed. Absolutely ruined. Because here he is, sat with a hard dick straining against his briefs and the tight, constricting material of his jeans from his best friend—his mate who he grew up with—and Harry is running off to get him a fucking pill.

He feels sick because of that. And he realizes now that voicing that out loud would be entirely stupid.

So he doesn't. He shouldn't have told Harry that he was feeling ill in the first place, anyway, but it isn't like turning back time is possible, and Harry has already come back with a clenched hand.

The boy bites his lip nervously. He's worried about me, Louis thinks fondly. “Got some Tylenol. Says to take a couple, so yeah, got you two. Do you still want that belly rub?”

Louis barks out a laugh as Harry moves the bag of candy onto the coffee table beside the arm-rest of the couch. “Yes, of course, because belly rubs are quite the normal thing.”

Harry wrinkles his nose stubbornly. “Are so. Mum used to do it to me all of the time when I was sickly.”

“Exactly my point, young Harold, you still are getting belly rubs from your mother. Are you my mum now?” he teases, practically feeling the heat of Harry's pink cheeks against his hand as he flicks the younger boy's cheek.

There's mumbling under Harry's breath, so Louis says, “What's that, babe?” and, if it's possible, Harry's eyes spark up a flame, burning with something unfamiliar, cheeks flushing darker this time.

“I was just. Just wondering how you're feeling, is all,” he shrugs, averting his eyes to the cushion Louis is sitting on. “How did you randomly get ill, by the way?”

You, he thinks.

Instead of saying that, he shrugs too. The panic in his chest is slowly subsiding, but he swallows the pills Harry had given him despite that.

“Too much junk food, maybe.”

Nodding, Harry hesitantly leans over to scooch near the older boy.

“You're lying,” he whispers.

Yeah. Yeah I am.

“Nah,” Louis tells him, opening his arms as an invitation to have Harry nuzzle his neck into Louis'. Harry does just that, his body pressed right up against the other boy's side, head tucked under Louis' arm.

There's a brief silence, before Harry says something.

“Remember when we were kiddies, chasing each other around the footie field and jumping off of the playground equipment?”

Louis glances at Harry, who has his hands playing with his hoodie string, breathing slowly and gulping slightly when he feels Louis' eyes on him.

“Yeah, instead of hanging with the lads, or chasing after girls, we were off in our own little world,” he replies, sighing almost silently at the memory.

“'S cute,” Harry smiles. “Like, how you still think I chased girls. The only person I was chasing was you.”

He really has no clue what to say to that, so all he does is kiss Harry's forehead and mentally pats himself on the back with a fond smile when the fifteen year old preens and flushes pink.

 

 

Best mates, he reminds himself. That's all they ever will be.

 

 

They must have fallen asleep somewhere along the line, because the next thing he knows is that he's waking up to the sound of someone rummaging through drawers and mumbling a quiet, hushed “fuck”. And it's coming from the bathroom, for sure. And Harry and Louis are the only ones home.

And honestly, Louis can't think, he's too tired for this shit.

It's then that he notices the absence of Harry's body against his. Must be Harry in the bathroom then, instead of someone coming home or a burglar attempting to steal a bathroom comb. It's just Harry. Little curly haired, green eyed Harry. His best friend. (He really needs to stop overthinking everything and let his mind relax for once. Properly. And he'd be forgetting about the world's existence as he slept in dream land if Harry hadn't been so bloody loud, but, you know what, it's okay; because there's no chance in hell that Louis is capable of being upset with him. Only himself.)

Just as Louis gets onto his feet, he kicks off his jeans and thanks the heavens for the sleep that made his dick soften for, like, once. For once because when he's around Harry, it's inevitable that the boy makes him feel things that he shouldn't be feeling for someone who wouldn't even spare a second glance at Louis romantically, even on a whim or for a dare.

Not that Harry would ever hurt him, though, because that would be the last thing that the boy would want to be doing. Rather, if he knew of Louis' feelings for him, he would probably let him down the easiest way possible: having a friendly, little movie night at the theatre, sending worried glances Louis' way out of pity. And, yeah, Louis thinks that makes Harry even more beautiful, definitely.

Heading down the hallway, his feet pad against the carpet and he leans his head against the bathroom door, listening for something for his ears to pick up on. But all he hears are the sounds of—glue? toothpaste?—smacking in and out of a tube while Harry heavily exhales, hands sounding like they're now placed against the marbled countertop.

And if that doesn't confuse Louis anymore than anything else already has, this has topped the cake. Extra cherries and strawberries and even raspberries on top and everything. But that's before Harry opens the door, the sound of the doorknob turning and unlocking as Harry stumbles out and seemingly forgets to shut off the light.

Which Louis thanks the heavens for again, because the light coming from the bathroom is creating an angelic feel to this, to looking at the younger boy. His eyes are wide and green, chocolate coloured curls forming a make believe halo around his head, and his teeth are grazing his bottom lip.

Fuck, if Louis wants to bite it for him.

“Oh, hi, Lou,” he whispers, lips shining. Shining. Louis doesn't get it, doesn't understand. “'M sorry for waking you? How're you feeling?”

Harry's lips move slowly as he speaks each syllable and word with such grace, beautiful plump lips still shining and looking sticky as Harry rolls them into his mouth nervously and blatantly taken aback.

And that's when it clicks. The sound of something that comes from Louis' sister's room—the sound that comes from pushing the brush in and out of a lipgloss tube when they are getting ready in the mornings for school, or to go out on a date. It clicks that Harry is wearing lipgloss.

Oh, god, no.

Louis really, really doesn't know if he can stop himself from snogging Harry against the wall of the hallway, throwing Harry's legs around his waist as he licks into his mouth and savours the little mewls that Harry leaves against his lips. This has tested his limits and undeniably reached them uncomfortably. Louis is in a sleepy haze still, but he just wants to feel the warmth of Harry's breath panting against his lips. Needs.

“I'm feeling better, yeah, thank you,” Louis croaks, eyes focusing on Harry's teeth and mouth and fuck, the way his tongue peeks out and swipes across his lips. It's quick, gone before he knows it, but it's enough for him to whine in the back of his throat.

“You sure?” Harry mumbles, eyes nervous—but why, Louis is unsure of. “You—you sound distressed or whatever.”

“Or whatever.”

“Oh, sod off and answer me.”

“I like it when you talk dirty straight to my face.”

Harry's nostrils seem to flare quite a bit, because they do again as he breathes in and out of his nose with the deep bob of his throat.

“Straight? Wouldn't be straight if I talked dirty to you, Lou,” he says.

“I'm sure it wouldn't be, but try me.”

His throat bobs again, mouth drying out the more he and Louis converse. “I'd hate to.”

Louis is silent for about a minute, the two boys just staring at each other, unsure of what to do or what to say now. It isn't awkward, oh no, but the tense atmosphere could be properly sliced with a knife if that were even possible.

He kind of says it without thinking it through.

“Why are you wearing lipstick?”

Harry briefly closes his eyes calmly, biting his lip again, and bloody hell, Louis really needs to call him out on doing that so often. “'S my sister's gloss. I—just, sort of, like wearing it sometimes?” he says, as if it's a question that Louis has the answer to.

“How did you even, like—” realize you liked wearing it?

“Find out that I like putting it on my lips?” Harry tries for nonchalance. He shrugs. “Always have. Used to steal a bunch of her lipsticks and wear it when mum and Gems weren't home.”

“That's…” Louis tries, but Harry interrupts him without letting him finish.

“Dumb?” he almost sulks, forcing a laugh. “Weird? Girly?”

“Nah, but girly would suit you. You could even wear a skirt and everything,” Louis teases, heart hammering in his chest. Harry's eyes simply widen as his cheeks flush, his mouth opening and closing like he can't believe Louis just said that.

And it's so abrupt. Unexpected. But then Harry is breathing out an, “Already have.” The older boy thinks that this might be the death of him.

“Put,” he says, eyes blown out black, “put one on?”

Harry's eyelashes flutter as he looks at the ground, giggling, trying to hide the dimples forming in his cheeks. (He's always been so insecure about them, Louis knows this, but to be honest, they make him want to kiss Harry's face more and more and more. Louis loves them. Loves Harry.) “You wanna see me in a skirt? Why?”

“Dunno. Maybe I think your bum would look nice in one.” Is he drunk? Why did he just say that out loud? “We could both try them on and compare bums,” he quickly adds. His heart is still picking up its pace in his chest.

“You win,” Harry grins, fingertips running over his khakis like he's itching to take them off.

“Not until I see you in a skirt. I don't win until I've seen you in a skirt, H.”

Harry whines, eyebrows furrowing as his cheeks hint at the arousal he's feeling. “Shit, Lou, okay. Fine, okay. Lemme look in Gemma's room, yeah?”

Unable to form proper words, Louis just nods his head compliantly, which reminds him that they're currently walking down a path that they can't come back from, and the thought of seeing his best mate in a skirt and lipgloss should freak him out instead of making his cock twitch. It's surreal. All surreal, and Louis loves it.

He notices Harry has ran upstairs, big feet scampering up the stairway that leads to his sister's room. He's eager. Harry is eager to do this, which makes Louis feel like he's overreacting. Maybe Harry has wanted this all along?

Or maybe Harry is a genuine, golden hearted boy with excitement radiating from his personality all of the time, who happens to jump at the chance of showing off what he hasn't been able to show anyone beforehand to someone willing?

It takes all but two or three minutes before the younger boy is shuffling into the room, the dark of the midnight sky and slight shine of the white stars coming through the glass doors makes Harry look illuminated. It's beautiful, oh my god, it's beautiful.

But not as beautiful as what Harry has hiding behind his folded arms and from within the darkness.

“I brought a couple,” he tells Louis shyly, fluttering his long eyelashes, and Louis really wonders if that's purposeful or not. “Didn't know what you'd be interested in.”

Louis' nose twitches, and his lips, too. “Interested in seeing you in a skirt, mate.”

Mate.

The word lingers in the air silently.

“Y–yeah,” Harry stumbles, cheeks still flushed, the tips of his ears turning red in embarrassment. “But there're flowy skirts, tight skirts—” he pauses, “mini skirts.”

This time it's Louis' turn to feel embarrassed, because not only are they actually doing this, him and Harry—best mates, buddies, bros—but now Harry is telling him that he is going to try on different styles of skirts for him? And a mini skirt? He might be heading for the light, now.

“All of them,” he whispers, throat dry and feeling crusty. “I want to see all of them. On you.”

The curls on Harry's head bounce as he whips his head to look into Louis' eyes, his own emerald eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights. Harry swallows slowly.

“Should I change in the loo?”

Yes. Yes, he should. Louis really needs to tell him that he has to. But he doesn't, opting to shake his head instead.

“Change in front of me?” he says, saying it like a question. “If you want. I'd really like that, Haz.”

The nickname makes Harry's heart flutter and his knees almost collapse, so he just nods frantically and begins stripping out of his khakis. He slides both his feet out, along with his socks, and underneath he's wearing no underwear. Nothing. Nada. Shit. This might be a horrible idea.

Harry keeps flushing under Louis' intense stare. “I like the way it feels when the material brushes against my skin, and—” he bites his lip, chest heaving.

“And what, Harry?”

Mewling, Harry looks up at the other boy before plopping onto the floor to get the skirts on easier. All Louis can see are the curves of his arse cheeks, and the crack of his arse that leads to a pretty pink hole that Louis wants to devour. He can't see it, but yet his mouth is salivating in tremendous amounts.

Harry mewls again, half moan, half whine. “And my cock, Lou. Feels so good.”

Once the skirt is on, the younger boy clumsily gets up on all fours and adjusts the skirt so that it's half covering his bum, but the perky cheeks peeking out from under the plum coloured material as Harry does a little showy spin only makes Louis grow harder.

He never even noticed he was this hard before. Shit. Shit.

“God,” he chokes out, voice high, voice trembling. He needs to sit down, so he does. “Lipgloss and now this? You're going to murder me, little one.”

Harry absolutely preens at that, stifling a giggle by biting his lip, but his dimples come out all too well and familiarly. Suddenly, his smile drops, and Louis hates seeing Harry frown like this.

“Are you sure you want this? We can stop, you know, if you don't.” Which is ridiculous, because currently Louis is sat here sporting a hard dick from beneath his pants, and it's all because of Harry's bloody fit body.

“No, love, no, of course I do,” he coos, reaching out for Harry because he wants to pull his curls gently. Harry stays where he is, frown evident on his lips. “No, babe, why would I waste my life away by throwing away the best gift I could ever receive in life? You were made to show off mini skirts, fuck.”

Harry's dimples are back out again as he rushes to run over to Louis, sitting in his lap as he wraps his legs and thighs around Louis' waist. Harry's bum is planted on top of Louis' hard cock, and judging by the gasp that comes out of his little mouth, Harry can feel it.

“Oh my god, Lou, oh my god,” Harry stutters, stumbling over his words as his voice cracks. He starts to slide his arse cheeks against the length of Louis' cock, moaning from the back of his throat as he listens to the feather haired boy's high pitched breath hitches. “Is this okay? Bloody hell, this turns you on? You're hard because of me, like, wearing skirts?”

Louis nods, because, yes, yes and yes.

Harry breathes out in shock, eyes wide. “I should've worn my panties, then, too.”

That's it. He's going to positively die. “You wear…panties, too?” he croaks. “Panties. Bloody panties.”

“No, Lou,” Harry laughs, biting his lip as he decidedly grinds down on Louis' cock with his bum, eliciting a loud squeak from the other boy. “Don't have a pussy. I'm all cock.” He stops, swallowing fast and deep. “And I'd let you fuck it, if I did, but I don't, so you'd have to make due with what I've got.”

Louis doesn't say anything, a groan settling deep in his throat, so Harry whines a bit in frustration—for whatever reason—and then goes, “Is that bad?”

“Why would it be bad?”

“That I'm ready to let my best mate fuck me into the floor, or the wall, or ride him and fuck his brains out—jesus christ, that isn't bloody normal.” Harry whines again, grinding down some more, and Harry's dick is bulging against Louis' which makes the both of them feel high suddenly. “Say something.”

“I'm giving up on you,” Louis breathes, bumping his hips up, but Harry's hand grabs Louis' fingers and holds onto them before he's leaning forward. He takes his time, kissing softly against the older boy's jawline, down his neck, and all Louis can really feel are the fluttering of Harry's eyelashes against his tan skin.

“Fuck—” Harry says, cutting himself off just in time to look Louis in the eyes, “fuck, you are absolutely killing me.”

Louis gasps out a laugh, smile threatening to overtake the pleasure electrifying his entire body, and the hot heat enveloping his lower torso.

“And you're absolutely brilliant.”

“You're only saying that 'cause I'm humping you and my arse is rubbing against your dick.”

“No, I'm saying it because you're my best mate,” he says, saying, screw it, and then he's muttering out, “and I've also wanted to do this with you for fuckin' weeks.”

Harry's head falls into Louis' neck, hips doing little figure eights as he moans and bites at the flesh there, sucking a hickey onto the skin like his life depends on it.

“I've been wanting this—you—for years, Lou.”

If this isn't enough for him to snap his hips up and let out a growl, Louis thinks he would faint. He does, though, fingers wrapped around Harry's palm and closed fingers, and he can't believe they haven't kissed yet. Why is Louis not kissing him?

“You're brilliantly brilliant,” he swallows his spit building in the back of his throat, “absolutely beautiful. Are you even real? Are you sure you aren't an angel?” he babbles.

That just earns a giggle from the younger of the two. Harry's laugh has got to be his new favourite thing, food and sleep and anyone else be damned. It's all Harry, Harry, Harry. He's all Louis cares about right now, wants to drown in his scent and feel Harry's tongue all over his skin, sucking on his tongue and thighs, licking into his mouth and biting Louis' bottom lip. He wants to open Harry up, finger him until he's practically drooling, his little pink hole twitching as he hits his prostate, and Harry moans loudly.

And he's sure of it. Louis has never needed to know something so bad—how loud someone would be when he fucks into them—until now, just now. Except, to him, this wouldn't only be fucking someone. It would be making love to his Harry. The cute, dimpled, curly haired boy that resembles a sex god despite only his fifteen years; the boy who has somehow made Louis into a weak mess just by being his best mate, and always resting his head in Louis' lap as if it wouldn't have any impact on him in the long run or make him want to softly kiss Harry like a delicate little flower.

It makes his heart weep with how much he truly needs to touch the younger boy.

“Is this,” he stops, leaning in to tilt his head towards Harry's lips, “okay? Can I kiss you?”

Harry bites his lip again, for the thousandth time, Louis thinks. He wants to bite it too.

“Yes, yes,” he whines, moaning on the second word. He keeps letting their cocks brush together, the both of them aching against each other, and it drives Harry mad. His hips are stuttering, and he's blabbing out little “fuck"s and "oh my god, i want this so bad”. When Harry's bum presses hard against Louis' dick, Louis almost pins him to the wall right then and there. “This isn't too fast, is it?”

Harry's eyes widen slightly, but they're focused on Louis' lips, and then he shyly shakes his head, curls bouncing as his innocent little green eyes look up at Louis. That's all it really takes before Louis is leaning forward and attacking Harry's mouth, lips sliding together stickily because of the lipgloss and desperately before their tongues brush, and Harry sucks on Louis' like that's a completely acceptable thing to do. The boy seems to think he's allowed to take control, to wreck Louis like this, but he isn't. So Louis grabs his head, lips still touching as they lick into each other's mouths, Louis feeling his boy moaning and panting against him the second he tugs on his hair.

“Not—” he dips his head to suck a love bite onto Harry's milky white neck, “in—” and he tugs on the boy's curly locks, eliciting a strangled moan from Harry, rocking his hips up onto Louis' like he can't breathe, “control, little one.”

“You can touch me. Can—can do anything you want to me, Lou. All yours, all yours,” Harry deeply mewls, hips continuously grinding, wanting Louis' cock to just be inside of him already, “promise I'll be a good boy, your good little boy, and I can please you and choke on your cock until I'm crying, just please touch me, Louis.”

“Don't tell me what to do,” he growls—softly, because this is his baby boy—stopping Harry's hips from moving any longer, before picking the boy up and pushing him onto his back so his legs are spread and his hard cock is visible through the skirt. Louis' mouth is fucking watering.

“Okay,” Harry whispers compliantly, hands limply at his sides, basking in the way it feels to be in this position for Louis.

His skirt rides up slightly as Louis spreads Harry's thighs apart just enough so he can massage them with the palms of his hands and his fingers. This makes Harry completely lose it, thighs quivering as his lips tremble with want, with need, taking everything he has to in order to stop himself from squeezing his thighs together for some friction. Louis holds him there like that, until he's leaning his head into the spaces between each thigh, kissing them, grazing his teeth over the milky flesh, and Harry is absolutely delicious. His mouth deserves to be on Harry all of the time.

The sensations flickering over Harry make him swallow hard, fingers going up to tangle in the older boy's hair. “Please, I want—” and he's choking on his own words by now, “want to finger myself while you watch me.”

Fuck.

Louis feels his cock twitch, his mouth salivating. “Oh my god,” he breathes out, “what a good boy, you are, yeah? Ready to open yourself up for me while I look at you? Watching you ruin yourself right in front of me?”

Harry whines without opening his mouth, rubbing his thighs together and taking great relief in the way his nerves seem to shoot up his torso, like he's close to coming.

But Harry isn't, not yet.

“Call me your good boy again,” he says as he scrambles to sit up, lifting his skirt just enough so his hard cock can be seen, and the second he sees Harry's cockhead glistening with precum, he almost loses his mind. Harry's fingers reach up to his mouth to suck on them, slicking them up with spit before he reaches around his backside, finger ready to touch his little hole. “Please?” he adds on quickly, realizing that he might get in trouble for what he's just said.

“You're mine,” Louis groans, reaching forward to grab Harry's hips in his hands. He turns the boy around, riding the skirt up so his perky bum sits in front of his face, and god be damned, he wants to eat Harry out and tongue fuck him until he doesn't know his own fucking name. “My good boy, hmm?” Harry's fingers play with his hole, slipping one inside as he lets out a high, choked out moan. “Like when you're dirtying yourself up for me like this, on your knees with your arse in my face like a goddamn slut?”

The boy lets out a mewl in confirmation, jerking his head down when Louis' hand comes down and spanks him. Hard. And then Louis' spanking him again, spreading Harry's arse cheeks and rubbing over his hole that's being fucked by Harry's long fingers. The fast pace of his fingers pumping in and out of him causes him to choke out, adding another digit. “Louis.”

Another hand strikes his bum, and by now there are red marks on it from how hard he's being spanked.

“Answer me when I ask you something,” he mumbles forcefully into Harry's red ears, noticing the heavy pink flush on the boy's cheeks as his mouth opens and closes. “And I believe I asked you if you liked being on your knees for me like a slut.”

His mouth opens again, letting out a wrecked whine, pushing back against his fingers like he's done this so many times before. “Mmm, oh my god—yes, 've always wanted you to touch me like this, Lou.”

Louis grins, chewing on his lip as he spanks Harry again, making the boy lurch forward a bit as he chokes out a soft pleasurable cry.

“Yeah? For how long?”

“Since you turned thirteen, an' I was eleven, and you had on these shorts that made your arse look so bloody good, Lou, oh my god. Made my heart—” he pauses, fucking himself with his fingers even harder, still being so damn loud, but he doesn't care, just needs to find his prostate and he can't, “it almost made me cry, it just ached so bad with how badly I wanted you—oh, shit,” he groans, almost toppling over when Louis leans down, pulling Harry's four fingers out of himself to replace it with them with his tongue.

Louis licks at Harry's hole, feeling it flutter against the flat side of his tongue, and then he's sucking on it and prodding it inside of Harry.

“I—” Harry chokes, “fuck, fuck, Louis—baby, please, need to touch my cock.”

Instead of replying, Louis just spreads Harry's arse cheeks further and opens up the boy even further, even deeper, with his flickering tongue. The older boy can feel Harry's entire body spasming, like he's losing absolute control over the jerks and movements of himself, and it's the hottest thing he has ever seen.

Harry's in such a compromising, sinful position, on all fours while his bum sticks into the air, pressed against Louis' face like his tongue is the only thing keeping him alive. Giving himself up like he's grounding himself to the floor just so Louis can do everything and anything to him—could even fuck him into the ground with his cock, hitting his prostate head on, and Harry would only scream his name and babble out how much he loves Louis' cock being inside of him.

When Harry's hand goes around, below his little tummy, to tug on his cock, Louis slaps it away and whispers in his ear, “No, 'm gonna suck you off instead, while your pretty little hole gets filled up with a vibrator that I'll have the remote to.” Harry quivers, nodding enthusiastically as Louis leans down to lick into his mouth again, and he truly forgot how much he loved kissing this boy. “I want you unable to breathe properly, toes twitching, lips aching for my lips to kiss them, and your hands unable to go anywhere near me or yourself, Harry.”

“Please,” Harry whines, moaning loudly before he slaps his hand over his mouth harshly and pinches the skin there. He looks like he wants to moan as his face flushes red, and Harry likes it. Likes not being able to breathe while he's getting fucked.

Louis might be the one unable to breathe.

“Princess,” Louis mumbles against the boy's skin, kissing it gently, “my good baby boy, 'm gonna make you feel like you're in heaven, yeah? Come on, on your back,” he says, voice soft as satin.

Harry gets up and flips over, hard cock bobbing against his tummy, leaking and red and absolutely beautiful. The skirt has rode up past Harry's waist, but the bottom still manages to scratch and flutter against Harry's cock, making the younger boy jerk his hips up for more.

His green eyes are looking at Louis now, pupils blown, his pretty plump lips covered in lipgloss and spit, curls sticking to his forehead from sweating and toes curled. He's shaking, breathing coming out in pants and long, harsh grunts as Louis doesn't touch him, caught up in staring at Harry.

He's just so beautiful, and god, does he want Harry to choke on his cock, too. And that's—that's going to happen sometime. He'll make sure of it, if Harry is okay with it.

“Gonna get you that vibrator, sweetheart,” he mumbles, kissing Harry's forehead as the boy nods his head with his mouth open, biting his lip longingly.

He retrieves it quickly, the toy and lube only being in the other room down the hall, and Harry almost thrashes when he sees how long and thick it is.

“God, oh my god,” he whines, bum grinding down onto the floor, the head of his cock still leaking precum and twitching. “I'm going to die. My cock—it hurts, oh my god, it really hurts.”

”Shh, baby, good boys keep their mouths closed unless I tell them otherwise.”

Harry bites his lip hard and rolls both of them into his mouth after, nodding his head and breathing heavily through his nose. The boy's eyelids are drooping, throat bobbing as if his breath is being caught in his throat—and maybe it is.

Louis uncaps the bottle of lube and slicks the vibrator up, crawling on his knees towards Harry. He kisses the boy, loving the stickiness of their lips gliding together messily, and enjoys the way Harry's tongue stutters against his own. On his own accord, Harry even bites down on Louis' bottom lip and pulls back with his teeth still wrapped around it. He lets it go, eyeing the older boy up in front of him, before lifting his legs up a bit, making Louis grab onto his thighs to pull the boy closer and wrap his ankles around Louis' waist for a brief moment.

“'M just gonna put this inside of you, okay, darling? Promise it won't hurt you, it'll even feel better than your fingers.”

Harry preens at the pet name, choking out a giggle.

“Okay, Lou,” he gulps, smiling and biting his lip again. His dimples are out, and it makes Louis' heart violently pump in his chest. God, he adores this boy, his Harry.

“Okay,” he says, nudging the slicked up toy against Harry's rim, who whimpers—pathetically desperate for himself, but brilliantly beautiful for Louis. Rather quickly, it slides into his hole, placed inside of the younger boy as if it was meant to be there. “Good boy. My baby boy is taking it like he's done this so many times before.”

“I 'ave,” Harry nods, close to hurting his neck from how hard he does it, “there's a rubber cock that I use whenever I think of you fucking me.”

“Yeah? What do you like doing to it?”

The boy is whimpering now, hole clenching around the toy as Louis grabs the remote and turns the power up a notch. “Ride it. I ride it,” he says, gasping the moment the vibrations touch his prostate. “Oh my god, right there. More, Lou, more,” he pleads, at the end adding on a broken, “please.”

So Louis turns the power up higher and Harry's cock twitches eagerly against his navel before Louis' crouching down and taking his boy's cock down his throat. Coming back up, his tongue dips into the slit, thumb rubbing it until he takes Harry's cock back into his mouth. Louis hollows his cheeks, bobbing his head as he sucks hard, ears picking up the sound of a babbling Harry mewling and crying out for him by his name. His eyes search for Harry's, hand jerking the base of the younger boy's cock that he's unable to fit into his mouth, and sees the way the boy's curly fringe is completely stuck to his forehead with sweat while his mouth stutters open.

“Mmm, Lou, Lou, Lou, god. Take my cock.”

Harry's hips jerk forward as he lets out a miniature whimper that sounds sweet as honey and sugar to Louis' ears, almost making Louis choke on his dick. His hands move to run his fingers through Louis' feathery soft hair, pulling on it and tugging it hard like a bad boy would—so Louis licks the underside of the boy's cock along the pulsing vein there, gaining a loud moan from Harry that has Harry's hands pulling more harshly into Louis' hair. And that's when Louis sucks the head of Harry's cock into his mouth as hard as he can, the boy's arse cheeks twitching and hole fluttering around the vibrator as it fucks against his prostate, and notices the tears dripping down Harry's pink cheeks when he looks up from the boy's pretty cock in his mouth.

“So full, Lou. I'm—” he spasms, body jerking again, unable to stop it. Louis can feel Harry's cock twitching against his tongue, loves the way Harry's precum tastes salty yet sweet, and wants to lick it all up and swallow the boy's cum so bad. “I'm so filled up, feels amazing. Feel so full an'—” he squeaks, vibrator continuously rubbing against his sweet spot, and Harry is so fucking close, “an' fuck, 'm imagining that 's you.” That you're inside of me too.

Louis tongues Harry's slit once more, before he pops off with a harsh suck and reaches to push the vibrator further inside of the boy's hole. Harry's whining, jerking his hips forward, missing the way Louis' mouth felt like a hot, hot heat—almost as if it were Louis' arsehole, and Harry has never felt this tight feeling in his chest before; the feeling that his body is going to explode, and his cock is never going to stop quivering against Louis' small hand. He feels hot all over, sweating from being overwhelmed with this good, good feeling that he had never experienced before this, and watches as the older boy gets on his knees with a little smirk.

“Get up, darling,” he coos, jerking the wrecked, barely breathing boy off with his lubed up hand. Heat keeps coiling in Harry's abdomen, he's so, so close. “Need you to come here so you can cum all over my face.”

Harry groans, hastily positioning himself so his dick is directly across from Louis' face. “Fuuuuck, yes.”

The vibrator is still inside of him. Still right against his prostate. Harry might fucking die.

“Cum, now, Harry. Be a good boy.”

As Louis sucks on Harry's cock again, bobbing his head enthusiastically as he looks at the boy pretty well fucking into his mouth, he plays with the slit and then Harry is whimpering.

“Gonna cum—Lou, gonna, fuc—k,” he whines, grunting as Louis pops off his cock and watches as Harry starts to pump himself quickly and hastily, before he's cumming in hot, white spurts all over Louis' face. He keeps jerking his hand over his cock to work him through his orgasm, flicking his wrist over the head and thumb dipping near the slit while the vibrator sensitively fucks itself inside Harry's pretty little hole.

Some of Harry's cum lands in Louis' mouth as he opens it, landing on Louis' tongue, and some on his thick eyelashes and thin lips. And then Louis is swallowing it like it's his dessert, smiling fondly as he catches Harry as he falls forward onto the older boy's chest.

“I can't—shiiit, stop the toy—”

“No.”

“Fuck, Louis,” he cries out, eyes welling with tears from the overstimulation, but Louis just lets Harry lay against his chest while the vibrator buzzes inside of the boy. “Ha–rd again,” he gasps.

Louis' tugging on his own cock, gasping in relief, feeling Harry's hands wrapped around his neck as he trembles and screams into Louis' skin. With the other hand not on his dick, he remembers what Harry likes, and holds the boy's throat tightly as he comes close to another orgasm.

Harry's gasping out, entirely wrecked, face flushed red, lips parted and eyes no longer left with any green, whole body quivering. His hole keeps fluttering prettily, although neither of them can see it, and as Louis tightens his grip on Harry's throat and he's desperately searching for some air to breathe in, he's cumming again.

Louis wanks him through it, hand now free from his throat as he lets Harry breathe, and kisses Harry's lips. There's cum dripping onto Harry's mini skirt and all over Louis' hand, so he licks his hand clean and sees Harry watching in awe.

“Jesus christ,” he whispers, biting his lip, head so fuzzy.

And that's when Louis' dipping his head down, hair falling in his face, as he swipes the rest of Harry's cum up with his tongue.

Harry just. Sits there and stares, absolutely dazed. Absolutely wrecked. Louis grabs the remote control and turns the toy off, watching as the boy slouches in relief from the previous oversensitivity coursing through his body.

“Fuck those skirts,” he mumbles, shakily breathing out as he lays on his back to stare up at the ceiling. The vibrator is still inside of him.

Louis laughs. “What?”

Harry giggles a bit, rolling over to face Louis, and he looks so sleepy it makes his heart feel pained. “This one's prob'ly stained now, and the other ones I never got to show to you.”

Kissing Harry's lips, he can feel the boy smiling, before muttering an “oops” against his lips. Harry's lips are still sticky from the lipgloss, even after all of this, and Louis bites Harry's neck like a vampire instead of letting himself giggle back.

“I'm sorry,” Louis mumbles, face nuzzling in the smaller boy's neck. He presses a wet kiss there, looking back up at Harry to see the boy grinning at him dopily.

“Hi.”

“Hi, Harry.”

Said boy pulls him down beside him, facing him with earnest eyes. “Don't I need to get you off too?”

“Nah,” Louis says, shaking his head. “My dick had a party while you came for the second time.”

Harry barks out a laugh, grabbing Louis' face to kiss him. “You're dumb. And I love you.” Louis grins, eyes flickering to the other boy's lips hungrily, but in a whole other way than before.

“Now kiss me, you fool,” Harry says, nudging his nose against Louis', the older boy's hand dangling at Harry's hip where his skirt lay, ruined and stained, and then that hand comes up to Harry's face.

And kisses him. Feeling the toothy grin against his lips. Which is enough for Louis to start licking into Harry's mouth, biting his lip softly, making Harry's grin turn into a smile.

“You gotta show me those skirts next time,” he mumbles against the boy's lips.

Harry wraps his hands around Louis' neck. “'S what best mates are here for.” He smirks, biting his lip to stifle a laugh. “Skirt shows.”

“I hate you.”