Louis was sick of listening to rich people’s conversations. It was the worst part of his job. There was actually a bloke here talking about how a million dollars “wasn’t actually that much anymore” and Louis wanted to tell him it was fucking shitloads to most people, but he needed not to get fired so no.
And the job was all right, most of the time. It was better than working at Toys R Us, that was for fucking sure. So he shouldn’t complain. It was just the people. The people were frequently total knobheads.
Right now he was waiting next to the on-deck shower and holding a stack of towels. Because they couldn’t be expected to just take a towel from a pile like a normal person, no. Rich people had to have towels handed to them. In fact, a fuck of a lot of Louis’ job was basically being some sort of living storage unit or side table. Or shelf. Total bullshit.
But being on a yacht made a difference. And being in the Caribbean made a huge difference. For the first sixteen years of his life Louis had never even left Doncaster. And for the next two he only ever made it as far as Manchester or Sheffield or Leeds. So St Barts was… something. Not that he’d seen much of it yet - he hadn’t worked enough to accrue a day off yet. But when he did, he was getting as far away from the yacht as possible and hitting whichever beach the locals went to. Assuming there were still locals and the rich fuckers hadn’t had them all cleared out.
“Louis!” he heard Liam hiss.
He looked over his shoulder, but there was no one there.
“Louis!” he heard again.
He glanced up to see Liam leaning over the railing of the deck above. He had that “What the fuck?!” look on his face and gestured with his head towards the shower. Which was when Louis realised he’d been staring out at the sparkling blue water and daydreaming, when he should’ve been staring at the shower and the steps down to the water and anticipating some rich fucker’s every need. Shit.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, already anticipating the bollocking he’d get if Liam mentioned this to their boss, Ben. He looked over at the shower and, well. Shit.
The rich fucker wasn’t waiting for a towel, looking at Louis like he was a piece of shit or - somehow worse - like he didn’t see him at all. The rich fucker was standing under the shower, head tipped back, water streaming over his skin. And his skin was covered in tattoos. He had his back to Louis, but Louis could see at least three on the back of his left arm. He lifted his arms and pulled something out of his dark hair, before running his fingers through it and letting it fall down his back. Which it did. Halfway down his back. The water ran down it and dripped onto the small of his back and… He was wearing white shorts. Which were now almost transparent. Louis licked his lips and shook his head. Who even was this guy? He would’ve remembered if he’d seen him on board already, he was sure. Had they picked up more people? Liam never said.
The guy in the shower turned slightly - his head still under the water, his eyes closed - and Louis saw his face, and the rest of his body, for the first time. He looked… pretty, Louis thought. Really pretty. With full lips and an incredible jawline and-- Why the fuck was he looking at this guy’s jawline when he was wearing see-through shorts? Louis dragged his eyes down the boy’s chest - more tattoos: birds, a butterfly, leaves? - and right to his crotch, where his dick was clearly outlined by the wet white cotton.
“Fuck,” Louis breathed, pressing the heel of his hand against his own dick, which was absolutely showing more than a passing interest. Fortunately the navy blue tailored uniform shorts were a lot less revealing than those ridiculous white things. Louis dragged his eyes back up to the guy’s treasure trail, which was gleaming with droplets of water, up past the tattoos - the butterfly was huge - stretching across his belly almost to his nipples, which were looking pretty perky thanks to the water - and back to his face, which was… shit. His eyes were open and he was staring straight at Louis.
“Hey,” he said.
His voice was deeper than Louis had expected. Louis opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He couldn’t believe this guy had basically stood there and watched as Louis eye-fucked him. If he reported it then Louis would be--
“Shit!” Louis said, thrusting a towel out towards the guy. And he’d said shit. That right there was a sackable offence. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to… say that.”
“S’alright,” the guy said, taking the towel. “I’m a big boy.”
Louis tried really really hard (and he really really wished he hadn’t thought of that since his dick was caught uncomfortably against the waistband of his underpants) not to glance back down at the guy’s crotch, but he failed. Miserably. When he looked back up again, the guy was still staring at him, and he was grinning.
“Sorry,” Louis said again. He wasn’t one for apologising usually, but this entire encounter was an absolute disaster.
“No problem,” the boy said and rubbed his face with the towel, before leaning forward and wrapping it round his hair like a turban. He flipped back up and grinned at Louis.
“I’m Harry,” he said.
With the hair covered - Louis couldn’t believe he’d done a towel turban, he’d have to consider that later - and with Louis forcing himself not to look below this Harry’s chin, Louis was free to focus on his face. And it was a really good face. Full, pink, lips. A dimple - a fucking dimple. And green eyes. Proper green eyes. That were staring right at him and sort of twinkling and--
“Oh fuck!” Louis said. “Shit. Louis. Sorry.”
Harry laughed and Louis wanted to record his laugh and use it as his ringtone. What the fuck.
“Good to meet you, Fuck Shit Louis,” Harry said. And then he turned and walked inside the cabin.
For a few seconds - more than a few seconds - Louis could barely remember where he was or what he was supposed to be doing. He ran a hand across the back of his neck, which was hot from the late morning sun. He grabbed the metal rail with both hands and bent down, stretching out his shoulders and back, which seemed to be suddenly stiff. With embarrassment? Louis didn’t embarrass easily, but he had to admit he’d made a right dick of himself. Stiff. And dick. That was something else he needed to address. He turned and looked up at the upper deck - Liam had gone, thank god. He really didn’t need anyone to have witnessed that ridiculous display. He closed his eyes briefly, but immediately just pictured the outline of Harry’s dick again. And his thighs. He hadn’t had time to really focus on his thighs, but they were… they were good thighs. Another tattoo on one of them as well. Louis briefly pictured himself licking the water off the butterfly on Harry’s stomach and heard himself let out a sound. Sort of like a whimper. But it couldn’t be a fucking whimper, that would be ridiculous. He turned towards the stairs, his pristine white plimsolls squeaking against the polished wood of the deck, and tried to look composed and in control. He just needed to get downstairs without bumping into anyone and everything would be fine.
Louis was halfway down the stairs when he saw Ben heading up.
“Everything ok?” Ben asked, barely glancing at Louis as he passed him.
“Yeah, good. Did we, um, did we pick up more passengers?”
Ben stopped and glanced distractedly at Louis, his eyebrows furrowed. “Yeah. Last night. Didn’t Liam tell you? Family of three. English.”
“Right,” Louis said. “Thanks.”
And if that was more interest than Louis had shown in any of the guests since the day he’d started the job, Ben didn’t seem to notice.
Ben carried on up the stairs and Louis carried on down and it was only when he was locked in a staff toilet cubicle, that he let himself relax. A bit. He put the seat down and sat, stretching his legs out in front of him and tipping his head back to roll his neck. What the fuck. He hadn’t got laid for too long, that was clearly the problem. He never usually reacted like this to hot guys. But then he wasn’t usually introduced to guys as hot as Harry while they were under running water and wearing transparent white shorts.
Louis’ brain flashed on Harry’s dick again and he knew there was no way he was getting out of this bathroom without dealing with his own dick. He undid his zip and reached inside his boxer briefs. He was still almost fully hard and he knew it wouldn’t take long to get himself off. Thank god. The last thing he needed was Liam coming looking for him. Now was not a good time to think about Liam.
Instead, as Louis stroked his cock, he pictured Harry in the shower, head tipped back, water running over his face and down his chest, Louis on his knees in front of him, running his mouth along Harry’s dick through his ridiculous white shorts. His hand moved faster as he imagined the sounds Harry would make, in that deep voice of his. Harry saying his name, one hand pushed into Louis’ hair as he fucked his hips up, forcing his dick deeper down Louis’ throat. With his other hand, Louis pushed his polo shirt up - he couldn’t afford to get come on it - and brushed a thumb across his left nipple. Harry’s nipples. And that butterfly tattoo. He wanted to bite it. And then come on it. He pictured Harry on his back, Louis kneeling either side of his waist. Harry groaning as his dick bumped up against Louis’ arse and Louis coming on the butterfly and--
He bit his wrist as he came, hard, all over his hand.