Harry doesn’t want to be here. It’s entirely too loud. Everyone is sweaty, brushing up against him from every direction. The whole place reeks of cheap alcohol.
When Niall had barged into their flat last week, manic smile on his face, Harry was immediately worried. Niall’s excitement all too often results in Harry’s misery.
“Please, Harry? Pretty please with a cherry on top?” he’d whined, begged.
And Harry had agreed to accompany him here, under one condition. “I’m not wearing a costume,” he’d said.
Niall had nodded enthusiastically, laughing triumphantly.
And now Harry is at this stupid party. In a costume. And Niall is nowhere to be seen.
He’s been to plenty of parties like this, and if he’s being honest, he’s even had fun at some of them. Sure, he’d rather be home, studying his herbal remedies, experimenting with his potions, reading about his people’s history, but he’s not a total wet blanket.
Tonight is worse, though, than all of those other times. Halloween is, to put it mildly, his least favorite night of the year. Clueless humans drinking too many concoctions they know nothing about, dancing wildly as if possessed, celebrating offensive stereotypes of his culture.
And here he is, disguised as one of them. Witches don’t actually dress this way. He would know.
Any anger toward Niall would be misdirected. It’s not like he knows anything. But he can’t help the irritation bubbling up inside of him, pouring over each and every time someone walks past him in a ridiculous costume that further perpetrates a completely incorrect idea.
He could just leave. Niall probably wouldn’t even notice. Harry doesn’t even know where he is.
He’s just starting to plan his escape, glancing toward the nearest exit from where he stands leaned up against the wall of the entryway to the living room, when a voice suddenly drifts into his consciousness. A sharp, high, melodic voice. A lovely voice.
Knowing only that he wants to hear more of that voice, he turns away from the door, resigning himself to his fate for at least a few moments longer. He shouldn’t have turned around, looking for the source of that voice. Because he realizes the moment he locks eyes with its owner that he won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.
“Hi,” the voice says again, high-pitched and beautifully accented. A boy with bright blue eyes under arched brows watches him as Harry tries to remember how to breathe. His thin, pink lips stretch around a wide smile, his brows furrowing in amusement as Harry stares at him stupidly.
Harry suddenly feels naked. Fully visible. Like this beautiful human just read every thought he’s ever had. Like he knows Harry’s truth somehow.
He feels a blush hit his cheeks hard, embarrassment only growing stronger when as he reaches his hand out to shake the boy’s, he feels a strange, sharp pain in his bicep that makes him knock the drink out of his hand and onto the floor.
“Oops!” Harry panics, lifting his cloak to wipe at the orange punch dripping down the boy’s chest.
The boy laughs brightly, letting Harry attend to him, completely unbothered. And Harry realizes for the first time that the boy isn’t wearing a costume, just sinfully tight jeans and a long-sleeved Fleetwood Mac tee that Harry has managed to ruin within thirty seconds of meeting him.
He feels frozen, the humiliation urging him to run away, but those blue eyes keeping him right where he is. He can’t look away, and the boy hasn’t either.
“I’m sorry,” Harry says, surprised he’s managing to get any words out at all in his stupor.
The boy’s smile hasn’t faltered in the slightest throughout the entire ordeal, his white teeth glistening in the dark room illuminated only by fairy lights and huge, plastic, glowing pumpkins. Minutes earlier, Harry had snorted at them, annoyed. But now, seeing the way the orange light reflects off of the boy’s golden skin, he doesn’t mind them so much.
“Hi, Sorry,” the boy says, sticking his hand out for what Harry realizes is a second chance at a handshake. “I’m Louis.”
Harry takes his hand in his own as gently as he can, nerves rattling against his bones. “Hi, Louis. I’m Harry.”
Louis’ smile grows. “Both excellent names. Which do you prefer?”
Harry can’t help it. He smiles. Despite his embarrassment and his vow to absolutely not have fun at this party, he smiles. “Harry’s fine.”
Louis pulls his hand away much too soon, Harry’s palm tingling where they’d touched. Harry finds himself hoping it won’t be the last time.
“So you’re a witch, huh?” Louis says.
Harry looks down at his awful attire, and suddenly it all seems funnier than it did before. Before Louis.
“Looks that way, doesn’t it?” he says, trying to pass it off the truth as a joke. He isn’t sure why, but he doesn’t want to lie to him, even if he can’t actually tell him anything. “Did you lose your nerve?” he asks, motioning toward Louis’ regular clothing.
Louis’ smile is warm and mischievous as he leans in closer. The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stand on end as Louis’ breath ghosts over the shell of his ear.
“I’m a witch, too, Harry,” he whispers.
He pulls away so that he’s no longer pressed against Harry but not as far as he had been before his confession.
“You don’t look like a witch,” Harry teases, feeling a bit more daring with every word the boy speaks.
Louis raises an eyebrow, smiling devilishly. “Neither do you.”
And then he’s gone, without a trace. Harry’s heart beats wildly in his chest as he tries to understand what just happened. He moves to take a sip of the punch Niall had thrust into his hand the moment they entered the house only to discover he is no longer holding a cup. Blinking in confusion, he looks up, glancing across the room.
And he sees him, Louis, leaning against the far wall, watching Harry silently as someone rattles off some story in his ear, sipping from a new cup. His eyes are gleaming, too blue to be dulled by the dim light, the gold flecks of his irises shining brighter than the lights hung around the room.
Harry stays where he is. Every cell in his body aches for another touch. He feels as if he’s gone a little mad, never wants that captivating smile to be directed at anyone else ever again. But he has to play this right.
They dance around one another knowingly for the longest night of Harry’s life, flirty glances and longer stares, secret smiles. All of their attention is on the other as Louis chats amiably with every person in the room that isn’t Harry, Harry watching him amusedly.
Finally, it seems the charming boy with the glittering eyes has had enough of his own game. He slides up to Harry, his back against the wall, their arms touching at the corner.
Harry looks down, trying his best to keep a straight face as Louis smiles at him just as he has the entire night. “Welcome back,” he says, a smile creeping onto his lips without his consent.
Louis laughs again, high and bright. Breathing is hard.
“Do you want to get out of here, Harry?”
Harry nods, the beat of his heart louder than that of the terrible music, and takes Louis’ smaller hand as it’s offered. Louis pulls him through the crowd gathered in the kitchen, holding his hand tightly until they burst through the door, out into the night.
The moon casts shadows across Louis’ face as he turns and faces Harry, his soft, brown hair barely moving in the light breeze. He lifts a hand to a curl hanging past Harry’s shoulder, twisting his delicate fingers in his hair.
“Are you always this quiet?” he asks gently.
Harry gazes at him in wonder. Something is happening. He can feel it in the air, in his blood, in the pale light surrounding them.
“I was taught only to speak if it improves upon the silence.”
“I can’t imagine your voice ever ruining anything,” Louis says with a smile.
He feels something in him ticking like a clock, suggesting he only has so much time. It’s preposterous really, the way Louis makes him feel. He knows nothing about this boy. Louis knows nothing about him. There’s just…something. Some invisible force, willing him to move closer, to take a chance.
He tries to think back to his lessons on lore, specifically those on bonds, finding those you’re meant for. The lessons on love. He can’t be sure, but this feels like the beginning of something quite like that.
Louis steps closer, bringing his hand softly up Harry’s arm, over his shoulder, around the nape of his neck. “Why are you scared of me?” he whispers.
Harry swallows, can hear his own heart beating faster as he wraps his arms around Louis’ waist, holding him close. “You are so lovely,” he says quietly, feeling as if this is the first confession of many he will offer tonight.
Breathing in each other’s air, it’s impossible for either of them to pretend not to know what this will lead to. Harry wishes Louis could feel it in the same way he can, the way he is forced to by nature. But despite his teasing and despite his ethereal beauty, Louis is simply human. He can’t see the strange energy surrounding them when they touch, all points of contact alive with painless shocks, small bursts of light.
Louis’ mouth moves closer, his lips glistening where he ran his tongue over them moments earlier. His eyes close, eyelashes fluttering over his high cheekbones. Harry couldn’t resist him even if he wanted to. He closes his eyes and erases the remaining distance between them, gently pressing his lips to Louis’.
Heat rushes through his body, and when a quiet moan escapes Louis’ mouth when it opens to allow Harry’s tongue inside, Harry knows he must feel it, too. The cool night air is a welcome contrast to the warmth radiating from Louis’ body, the heat building inside of Harry with every touch.
Louis leans back suddenly, taking his perfect lips with him, and Harry can’t stop the whimper that comes from deep inside when he finds himself no longer kissing the man before him. He only has to fear the worst for a moment before Louis is rising up onto the tips of his toes, whispering into his ear once more. “Take me home, you silly witch.”
Louis’ words send all of the blood in Harry’s body to his rapidly hardening cock, and he offers a wicked smile when Louis pulls away with a wink. Standing outside of the house he didn’t want to go to, so insanely happy that he did, Harry takes Louis’ hand in his own and pulls him toward the street.
Louis giggles as he’s dragged along until he gets his feet under him again. Soon, they’re running, hurrying down the old, cobbled street, anticipation thrumming between them, desire pulsing like a living, breathing thing where their hands are still connected.
After what feels like a century of deprivation, Harry’s flat comes into view. Harry points toward the brick building, and Louis smiles, pulling Harry into another kiss before they can get there. The kiss is mostly smiles, teeth clacking amidst quiet laughter. It’s perfect.
Louis eventually relents, following Harry the rest of the way to his flat, their fingers intertwined for the journey.
Harry opens the door, and Louis is on him before it closes behind them, pressing him against the nearest wall until Harry reaches down to grip his bum with both hands, lifting him easily. His strong legs wrap around Harry’s waist, his fingers tangled in Harry’s curls.
Their kissing is more frantic now, a layer of pure need twisting through the air, making it impossible to feel anything but each other. But he wants this to mean something. He already knows it does. It means everything, somehow.
He pulls his lips from Louis’, a painful feeling spreading through his chest at the distance. But the ache turns pleasurable when Louis watches him try to formulate a plan, his bright eyes just barely visible in the dim light. Louis smiles, and Harry knows he never wants to let him go.
Louis leans forward and presses another quick kiss to his lips, then another to his cheek before lowering himself back to the ground. Harry lets his hands fall from Louis’ hips as he stands.
As if reading Harry’s thoughts, he says softly, “We can take it a bit slower.”
Harry nods, knowing smiles on both of their faces. He flips the light switch to his left, allowing himself a few seconds to simply look, to memorize what this beautiful boy looks like in the light. He’s like a rare gem in the darkness, a beacon to lost souls, but in the light, he shines even brighter. He was meant to be bathed in light. Harry can only imagine how he must glow in the sunlight, warmth radiating from his golden skin, shadows cast by his eyelashes only helping to further intensify the blue of his eyes.
Harry shines in the dark, in the grey light of dusk, his pale skin made to be illuminated by moonlight. His powers were granted to him by the Moon, her soft beauty often hidden by solitude. Her sons and daughters are, by nature, quite similar in their personalities and practices, and Harry is no exception.
He thinks if Louis were a witch, he’d belong to the Sun. Skin kissed golden by summer days, eyes as blue as the ocean, freckles dropped onto his cheeks with great care. He’s so pretty.
Louis has taken the opportunity, while Harry has been admiring him wordlessly, to remove his trainers and meander around his flat, running his slender fingers over countertops, twisting them around the sheer curtains covering the high windows. He stops in the middle of the living room and spins around, obviously looking for something.
Harry toes off his boots and whips the black cloak of his costume up over his head, now dressed quite normally with Louis having taken his witch’s hat on the journey to his flat for the sole purpose of teasing him mercilessly. He walks toward him, feeling decidedly unhappy with their very unnecessary distance, and reaches for his hand. Louis smiles, offering his touch without question, letting his fingers slip between Harry’s larger ones.
“Where’s your cat?” Louis asks.
Harry’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I don’t have a cat.”
Louis’ face morphs into an expression of pity. “My dear Hazzah,” he says, shaking his head slowly, a smile just barely forming on his lips. “You are the worst witch I’ve ever met.”
Harry smiles at the name, the comfort of Louis’ presence overshadowing the nervousness he usually feels when anyone forces him to hide in plain sight. “Met a lot of witches, have you?”
“I told you. I am a witch.”
“And do you have a cat?”
“Of course I do. I’m a better witch than you.”
“Is that right?”
“Mhm,” Louis hums. “I have a black cat named Cleo, and I don’t give away my identity by dressing up for Halloween parties. Two for two,” he says, lifting the hand not holding Harry’s to sign the number.
“Okay, okay.” Harry can’t help but laugh. “You win this round.”
And suddenly Harry realizes something very odd. He wants Louis to know who he is. What he is. The feeling is utterly unfamiliar, forbidden and tempting. But surprisingly, not scary at all.
Louis is watching him silently, as if waiting for Harry to speak his thoughts aloud, like he knows he wants to. His fingers twitch against Harry’s palm, and when he smiles again, sweet and quiet and knowing, Harry’s decision is made.
“I want to show you something,” he says, his heart thundering in his chest, hoping beyond hope that he won’t scare Louis away. He already thinks of this lovely, captivating boy as his Louis.
Louis nods, letting Harry pull him back into the kitchen. Harry kisses him once more before dropping his hand, moving across the room as gracefully as he can, his nerves evoking a strange kind of dizziness.
He pulls a small basket from atop the tall cabinets, unties sprigs hanging around the small room, lowers a blossoming plant from beside the window. He turns to find Louis gazing at him, still waiting patiently, a smile ever painted on his face, a hauntingly beautiful image.
“These are my friends,” Harry says cautiously. “They help me…with my studies.”
Louis runs his fingertips over some of the plants’ waxy leaves, his eyes moving between the flowers and Harry’s eyes as he names each one, describes their powers.
He cradles the bud of a white flower, clean and beautiful in the moonlight. “This is Jasmine. She knows love. Healing.” He moves to the bright red flower he can see yearning for Louis’ touch. “Miss Poppy. She can be tricky.” He looks up to find Louis smiling, a sight that has his heart beating furiously. “You might be familiar with this one,” he says, moving to the small pot of lavender. “She brings pleasant dreams.” One pink rose glistens with the residue of enchantment in the bottom of the basket, and he takes it gingerly between thumb and forefinger. “Romance,” he says, his breath shallow when Louis’ hand brushes his as he takes the rose.
“And that one?” Louis asks when Harry pauses to gaze into his eyes.
Holding a few thin branches of his most precious possession, Harry breathes carefully, letting the words form in his mind before he says, “Honeysuckle.”
“What does she do?” Louis presses gently, the air in the room thick and warm with unspoken understanding.
“She protects love’s eternal bond,” Harry says slowly, “and gifts peace to soulmates.”
Louis nods, “An important job.”
Harry smiles, tries not to let his fear show. Picking one blossom from the branch, he places it in Louis’ hair before returning the rest to the basket. He takes Louis’ hand again and leads him to the corner of the living room to a pile of books and journals sitting where he’d left them this morning. He lets Louis peruse, his eyes shifting rapidly over the old, worn covers, over the words and sketches covering the pages of those he had left open.
“These are my notes. My lessons,” he says as they sit on the carpeted floor, the proof of Harry’s truth scattered around them.
“Why are you showing me all of this, Harry?” Louis asks with a smirk, eyebrow arched as if he has a secret of his own.
Harry takes a deep breath. “I wanted you to know you were right. I am a witch.”
He waits for Louis to react, his heart in his throat, his skin itching with the need to touch him, his mind frantic with the realization that he may have just destroyed any chance of that happening ever again.
Before he is able to work himself into an emotional lather, Louis says amusedly, “I know.”
Confusion clouds Harry’s thoughts for a moment before he asks incredulously, “You know?”
Louis giggles sweetly, “I have a sense about these things.”
Harry must be giving him a very strange look because Louis can’t seem to stop smiling. “You’re not scared?”
“You don’t seem to be the kind of witch who goes around hexing people, so no. Not really.”
Harry realizes suddenly that Louis could think this is a joke, and the thought that Louis could actually become afraid when he discovers the truth makes a potent mixture of hurt and fear twist in his gut. He’ll just have to convince him, all the while proving to him that he is safe. And if Louis is being serious, if he really does believe him and see him for who he is, a witch who is quickly falling in love, Harry can hope for nothing more than for Louis to stay, to let Harry show him all that that means.
Even if he can’t be sure if Louis understands, he finds he would rather him know the truth. The anxiety that usually flows just below the surface when anyone gets too close hasn’t made itself known once in Louis’ presence.
Distracted by his own racing thoughts, it comes as a surprise when Louis is suddenly in his space again, his wrists crossing behind Harry’s neck. Louis’ breath, still smelling of fruit punch, invades Harry’s senses, warm against his own lips when he whispers, “Are you scared?”
Harry can do nothing but nod slowly, hyperaware of the mesmerizing boy crawling into his lap, straddling him with those beautiful thighs Harry has had difficulty looking away from since he first laid eyes on them.
“Good scared?” Louis asks cautiously, a hint of worry in his voice.
And well, Harry can’t have that. Reaching up to place his hands gently on either side of Louis’ face, he kisses him more fiercely than he’s had the courage for all night. Louis sits back in surprise, a soft grunt escaping his mouth only to morph into a sweet, high moan. Harry swallows his sounds hungrily, breathing in the scent of his warm skin until his hands leave Louis’ head to rest against the carpet, Louis panting below him.
Louis breaks away from the kiss, and when Harry opens his eyes, he’s met with the brightest smile he could ever have imagined.
Harry returns his smile, his cheeks aching with happiness. He takes a breath, his chest lowering to meet Louis’ again. “ Amazing scared.”
Louis giggles, his hands wandering from where they had come to rest on Harry’s hips up past his shoulders and to his neck. He pulls Harry down to connect their lips for another kiss. It isn’t long before the kiss becomes heated once more, Harry finding himself grinding down in search of friction, Louis lifting his hips to seek out his own relief.
Harry takes care of his things, so it’s not as if his carpet is disgusting or anything, but still. A bed would be much more comfortable.
He makes a well-worded suggestion. “Bedroom?”
Louis’ lips turn up against his own, breathing a barely-there “please” into Harry’s mouth, the single word dripping like warm honey down the back of Harry’s throat.
Harry is only able to tear himself away with the heart-stopping promise of what is to come. He stands, reaching out to assist Louis in joining him, pulling him toward his bedroom the moment he is on his feet. Louis giggles again, high and bright and beautiful, as Harry slams the door behind them and gently tosses him on the bed, crawling atop him not a second later. Harry thinks it might be his new favorite melody. He could listen forever.
The flower falls from Louis’ hair in their movement, and Harry picks it up carefully, depositing it on the bedside table for safe-keeping. Louis is still smiling when he comes back, missing his lips already.
Without warning, his world is flipped as Louis pushes against his shoulder, climbing on top of him. He sits up straight to whip his shirt off, pulling Harry up enough to remove his, as well. He grinds down against Harry, sweat-sticky skin gliding together, their hard cocks brushing against each other where they’re still trapped in their jeans. “So…fucking…hot,” Louis says, emphasizing each word with a trail of kisses moving from Harry’s jaw to his collarbone.
As Louis continues to mark Harry’s neck, sucking bruises the color of ripe plums on every bit of skin he can get to, Harry moves his hands over Louis’ body, down his sides, around to his bum. He lets his fingers dip into the band of Louis’ jeans, silently begging for permission.
He can’t wait another minute to feel Louis’ bare skin against his own, and thankfully, he doesn’t have to. Louis returns to Harry’s lips, biting gently on his bottom lip, soothing the sting with a soft glide of his warm, wet tongue. He nods, a tiny movement that Harry wouldn’t notice if he weren’t already so finely tuned to everything he does.
A delicious heat surges through him when he pops open the button on Louis’ jeans, Louis smiling against his lips as he pushes them down. Louis squirms above him, removing them entirely in only seconds, coming back to press soft kisses to his neck, down his torso, until he’s hovering over Harry’s stomach.
Harry can’t help the quiet whimper he exhales when Louis’ nimble fingers find his zipper, pulling it down slowly, working to remove his clothes for him. The cool air hits his heated skin as his jeans fall to the floor with a dull thud.
Harry feels like he should maybe be a little embarrassed over how hard he is, his pants damp with sweat and precome just from a teenage grinding session, but he can’t be bothered. Not when Louis is finally starting to lose his cool composure, panting against his skin, his own cock obviously hard in his briefs.
“Can I touch you?” Louis asks quietly.
Harry thinks Louis can probably hear his heartbeat. It seems so loud in the dark room, the only other sounds those of their unsteady breathing, the sweet moans Louis offers when Harry’s tongue dips inside his mouth.
“Please,” Harry whispers. “Lou, please.”
Louis smiles, breaking away from the kiss to move down his body. In one quick motion, he removes Harry’s pants, sliding the soft material down the length of his legs, tossing them across the room. Decidedly unhappy that Louis isn’t also naked, Harry is trying to formulate his thoughts into a proper request when suddenly, his cock is enveloped in velvet heat, cutting off any previous hope of coherent speech. His thoughts turn to kaleidoscopic patterns of pure pleasure behind his eyes, nothing but LouisLouisLouis on his mind.
Louis falls into a rhythm that drives Harry absolutely mad, sinking down on his cock, the tip hitting the back of his throat, suckling and tonguing the head on every upstroke. Harry slides his fingers into Louis’ soft hair, holding onto him for dear life. Louis finally gives him some relief, letting Harry’s cock leave his mouth with a loud pop, moving to nuzzle against his inner thighs.
Harry hopes he’ll wake up with a soreness, a pink rash from Louis’ prickly stubble. They’ve barely even started, and already, Harry knows he never wants to forget a single moment. He wants to be able to feel him for days to come, no matter how the night ends.
When he’s sure he’ll lose his mind if Louis doesn’t come up for air, for more kisses, he says in as steady a voice as he can manage, “Come here.”
Louis obeys, crawling toward him slowly, letting Harry’s hands travel the length of his torso down to his arse.
“Hi,” Harry can’t help but chuckle. Louis laughs with him, a perfect harmony.
After a long moment of gazing at one another, breath caught between them, Harry says, “What’s your last name?”
Louis’ eyebrows furrow in confusion, but his smile doesn’t fall. “Tomlinson. Louis William Tomlinson. What’s yours?”
“No middle name then?”
“Very royal,” Louis says, winking. When Harry can’t manage to get any words out, Louis asks a question of his own. “What’s your mum’s name?”
“I’m sure she’s lovely She’d have to be to have a son like you.”
Harry feels the blush hit his cheeks. “She is. And yours?”
“Jay.” Louis’ features soften when he speaks her name, and Harry knows he’s in trouble now. “Any more questions before we get on with it?”
Thinking about that question very carefully, Harry rolls them over, trapping Louis beneath him. He kisses his lips, the small patch of freckles Harry can’t help but compare to stars, his cute nose, his lips again, the cut of his jaw. Louis doesn’t seem to be able to choose between quiet laughter and quieter whimpers, alternating and keeping Harry guessing. He asks his last question.
“Want to taste you,” he murmurs, a shiver shooting up his spine as Louis gasps beneath him, scratching the skin of his back with his short fingernails.
“Is that a question?” Louis asks on a shaky breath. Harry is almost ecstatic with the discovery that he can affect this beautiful boy in this way, that he feels all of this as strongly as Harry.
“Yes,” Harry says, offering his lips for another kiss, “I wish to know what pleases you.”
Louis gasps a sweet puff of air into Harry’s mouth as Harry reaches down to remove his pants. “People don’t really talk like that anymore, y’know,” he whispers, trying for a teasing tone but falling short in his obvious tension.
Harry smiles, hovering over him, letting his breath caress Louis’ lips without touching them. “Witches do.”
Louis takes a moment to breathe, their eyes locked in a hungry gaze. “You have the most beautiful eyes,” he says quietly.
Harry wants to argue that he is the one staring into eyes the color of the ocean, still horizons on warm, sunny days, crashing waves on stormy nights. Instead, he says, “Turn over.”
Louis responds eagerly, turning over onto his stomach, gazing at Harry from where his cheek rests on Harry’s new favorite pillow. Before he can get too caught up in his eyes, Harry plants a trail of soft kisses down Louis’ spine, his chin mapping the way for his mouth, brushing over gentle curves until his mouth meets the dimples at the top of his arse.
He spreads him open, Louis’ legs easily widening at the contact. He dips in, smelling the sweetness of his skin, a slight tang to his scent now that he’s been worked up to a sweat. Harry runs his nose over the swell of his arse, taking his time, waiting for Louis to give him a sign that he can’t wait any longer.
It doesn’t take long before Louis’ thighs are shaking around Harry’s head, whimpering moans into the bedsheets, his pillow thrown to the floor as he had squirmed around desperately, begging for more. Harry relents, finally giving him what he wants.
Hands on either cheek, keeping him open, Harry slips his tongue between them, kisses down and up and down again, breathes against the pink, puckered skin of his hole. He keeps teasing him, only giving him a little at a time. Using teeth and tongue and lips, he takes Louis apart, praying that he’ll get to be the one to put him back together.
Harry is pulled from his reverie when Louis suddenly throws his arm back toward him, moaning desperately, begging for nothing in particular. Harry can’t help but preen and wonder just how far he can take him.
And then he sees it. Almost hidden amongst a growing collection of small tattoos on his forearm, a sharp, black script of the first word he ever said to the boy nearly crying beneath him. Oops . In what looks like his handwriting. It could just be a coincidence, but that seems unlikely. Harry’s mind races with the possibilities, what this could mean.
He’s stopped what he was doing before, an unconscious decision that must not sit well with Louis based on the sobs escaping from his puffy lips. “Haz, please,” he whimpers, sighing contentedly when Harry resumes his act.
Slightly distracted, his heart beating wildly with hope, he gives it all he’s got, constantly encouraged by the sounds of pleasure pouring from Louis’ mouth to echo in his ears. He gets louder and louder as Harry teases his rim, licks into him without warning, making him jump and buck his arse back against Harry’s face. He seems to be caught in a dilemma of whether to push back and beg for Harry’s mouth or grind forward against the bedsheets. His breathing is uneven and frantic until he stutters out a series of warnings when Harry finally allows him the pleasure of one finger, just barely pressing inside.
“I’m… fuck , I’m gonna come. Gonna… Harry . Oh, fuck !” A loud moan fills the room, swallowing the sound of Harry’s heartbeat.
As Louis cries out beneath him, Harry moves over his body, pressing kisses to his sweaty back. He noses at the soft hair at the nape of Louis’ neck, breathes him in as he shakes under him. His own cock is ridiculously hard, leaking against Louis’ skin reddened from Harry’s firm grasp on him, precome painting Louis’ back.
Louis turns over, immediately reaching up to pull Harry down into a kiss. It never turns dirty, never quickens with desperation. It’s soft and honest and real, and Harry can’t get enough of the way Louis’ lips keep turning up in a smile against his own.
Louis’ hands wander from Harry’s neck to his shoulders and down his arms pinned to the bed, his hands on either side of Louis’ head. His eyes catch on Louis’ tattoos again, and all he wants is to say something, to ask him about it, but fear stops him. He isn’t sure he’d survive if it wasn’t true. He wants it to be true so badly.
Louis eyes him suspiciously, lifting his head for another kiss, perhaps trying to bring him back to the present. He takes Harry’s cock in hand, stroking him slowly, to a purpose. Harry concentrates on holding himself up, trying not to crush Louis as he works to break him down. He rubs his thumb over Harry’s leaking head, using the precome to smooth his strokes. He moves his free hand to Harry’s cheek, hot to the touch and surely flushed a bright pink from his arousal and the feeling he gets every time Louis looks at him like this.
Heat pools in his groin as Louis quickens his ministrations, pulling at him desperately, kissing him as if Harry is the only person he ever wishes to kiss again. No longer able to focus on anything but his own ecstasy, he closes his eyes and lets a loud gasp escape his throat. He moans obscenely into Louis’ sticky neck, biting down gingerly as pleasure ripples through his body.
Louis releases his cock, lightly running his fingertips over Harry’s back. Harry collapses on top of him, unable to keep his strength for another second, and Louis laughs, wrapping his arms around him comfortably.
Harry rolls off of his body, his side resting on the duvet. Neither of them say a word, but simply watch one another breathe deeply, blink slowly, and in Harry’s case, hope for the impossible. He leans forward, reveling in the sight of Louis coming toward him without a thought, kissing him earnestly.
When Louis pulls away to suck in a lungful of air, Harry gives him one last peck on the cheek and slips off of the bed. Fetching a damp flannel from the loo, he returns to the bedroom to find Louis stretching leisurely on his bed, as content as a spoiled cat. It’s the most endearing thing he’s ever seen in his life.
Lying beside him, wiping his skin down with the wet cloth, he can’t look away from his arm. Louis sighs happily, keeping his eyes locked on Harry’s. When they are both clean, Harry tosses the flannel toward the pile of clothes on his floor and lies on his back.
Louis lifts himself up on an elbow to move closer, draping his upper body across Harry’s chest, wrapping his arm around his torso.
They breathe quietly together for several minutes, and Harry couldn’t be happier. And that’s why he isn’t risking it. But then Louis finally speaks.
“Do you know?”
Harry freezes at his question, the hesitation in his voice. “Do I know what?”
His breathing turns shallow as Louis takes hold of his arm, pushing it so it lies flat on the bed. His fingers dance along the sensitive skin inside his elbow, up to his bicep. He gently presses his fingertips into the muscle there, returning his gaze to Harry’s eyes. “Did you not feel it?” he urges.
Trying to remember to breathe, Harry lets his eyes fall to where Louis is touching him. He thought it was a myth, never thought he’d see such magic himself, never imagined he’d ever be so lucky to feel it. But when he sees the dark, shiny ink standing out against his pale skin, he knows he’s found it. Hi , it says. He doesn’t need to see Louis’ handwriting to know it’s his.
His mind is a hurricane, thoughts racing every which way as he attempts to put the pieces together. The memory of their meeting flashes behind his eyes, a series of images, swirling emotions. He remembers knocking the cup from Louis’ hand. More importantly, he remembers why. His eyes glued to his arm, to the fresh ink permanently drawn onto his skin, he realizes that the strange, intense jolt of pain he'd felt that caused him to lose control of his arm was its creation. Fate had marked him with Louis’ first word to him the moment he'd spoken it.
He turns back to Louis, his heart sinking when he finds Louis’ smile gone for the first time tonight.
“Lou?” He lifts a hand to caress Louis’ cheek, forgetting everything else, only needing to soothe this boy with worry in his eyes. “Lou, are you alright?”
Louis nods, maybe a bit uncertainly. “Do you know what this means?”
Harry smiles, hoping it will lessen the fear in Louis’ expression. Because yes, he knows exactly what it means. Soulmate scars like these only appear when both have enchanted blood flowing in their veins. He remembers stories his grandmother told of ancestors or friends who fell in love with other witches, their bodies covered in ink by old age, memories honored in the form of complementary tattoos.
He nods, trying to coax a smile back onto Louis’ face. “It means you’re going to fall in love with me. No matter how much you try not to.”
At that, Louis’ lips turn up in a relieved smile, a pink blush spreading out over his cheeks. “Before I realized...what it really was,” he says, giddy embarrassment in his voice, “I thought you’d bitten me.” He laughs when the words leave his mouth, his body shaking with uncontainable joy.
Harry giggles brightly, the sound of it shocking to his own ears. “Why did you look so frightened, my love?”
Louis’ laughter dissipates, and his smile softens. “You can look quite morose.” Harry chuckles at that, knowing it to be true. “You didn’t believe me, did you?”
Harry tucks a damp piece of fringe behind Louis’ ear before rolling him over onto his back. “Danger lies in dreaming.”
Louis lifts his head to press his lips against Harry’s, softly and slowly. “I’m not a dream,” he whispers.
Harry’s heart beats in his chest as hard as a drum. “You weren’t hiding from me. You saw me the whole time. I was the one who was blind to the truth.”
“I told you I’m a witch, Harry,” he says with a wicked smile.
“Maybe you aren’t such a good one, after all,” Harry teases. “Confessing to a total stranger your darkest secret within moments of meeting.”
Louis’ smile grows, his sharp, white teeth glistening in the moonlight pouring in through the window. “We were never strangers, baby.”
He winks, and Harry knows right then and there he wants Louis to call him that for the rest of his life. “I guess you’re stuck with me then,” Harry says, for a moment unable to quiet the fear in the back of his mind that Louis might not actually want that. But then Louis giggles and pulls him down for another kiss, and everything else just stops.
“You know,” Harry says when they’ve taken a break to lie together peacefully, “I had this feeling in my chest that I couldn’t name since the moment I heard your voice. You asked me why I was scared of you.” Louis nods. “I knew I wanted to keep you. From the moment I saw your eyes, the moment you whispered in my ear, touched my arm. How crazy is that?” Louis smiles, wrapping one of Harry’s curls around his index finger. Harry can’t help but laugh internally at the symbolism. “I wasn’t scared of you. I was scared to lose that feeling. I was scared that you weren’t feeling it, too.”
The room is quiet for some time, no sounds but their quiet breathing and the rhythmic clicking of the fan overhead. Then, “You are the Moon’s?” Louis asks in a hushed voice.
Harry nods. “And you belong to the Sun. How poetic.”
“I gathered from your things that you specialize in healing through dreams.”
Another nod. “Yes.”
“Was I right in assuming you aren’t the hexing kind?”
Harry smiles, snorting at the preposterous nature of it. “No, I’ve never cursed anyone. Have you?”
Louis shakes his head, his hair brushing against the pillow. “No.” He winces, an amused smile quickly overtaking the look of discomfort. “Well, except for this absolute dick I had the pleasure of going to school with. But he was just a big bully. He deserved to have his chicken nuggets turned into live frogs.”
Harry laughs at that, the sound loud and boisterous, his heart full of joy. “You’re quite a menace, aren’t you?”
Louis throws his hand across his chest dramatically, his mouth hanging open in shock. “Little old me? A menace? Whatever gave you such a ludicrous idea?”
They laugh together until they grow quiet once more, sounds of happiness lingering in the room as Harry lets Louis explore him with his fingertips, dancing across his chest, finding his cheeks for soft kisses. Resting their heads together on Harry’s pillow, nothing in their eyes but one another, they breathe steadily, every fibre of their beings in tune.
Harry could stare into those blue eyes for the rest of his existence, the bright smile beneath them so cunning, dangerous but the safest place Harry could imagine.
He realizes he hasn’t asked something, breaking the silence. “What do you study?”
Louis’ eyes dart from his eyes to his lips and back again before he says, “Haven’t really figured that out yet.”
Harry smiles, trying for comfort, knowing how devastating that can be based on how his sister once described her own experience with not finding her path right away. “That’s okay.”
Louis returns his smile, “I know.”
“Well, what do you enjoy? What are you passionate about?”
A beat, a breath, a knowing grin. “I quite like you.”
“Is that so?”
Louis nods, his cheeks the color of Harry’s rose, the crinkles by his eyes accentuating his long eyelashes. Harry loses his breath in the way he’s learned only Louis can cause.
Harry lifts himself up, elbow digging into the duvet, and covers Louis’ body with his own. He brings his lips to Louis’ but doesn’t kiss him, teasing him in the hopes of seeing his beautiful eyes brighten with mischief before they darken with desire. “What are we going to do about that?” he whispers.
Louis’ breath caresses his cheek as he turns his head, bringing his lips to Harry’s ear torturously slowly. “Fuck me,” he murmurs. He pulls back to once again rest his head on the pillow, flashing a soft, teasing smile.
And well, Harry doesn’t need to be told twice. Leaning over to pull open the drawer of his bedside table, only a little distracted by the feeling of Louis’ mouth moving dangerously close to his nipple and the sight of the slightly crushed honeysuckle blossom resting on the table, he removes a condom and a small bottle of lube he’s quite surprised isn’t dusty.
Louis’ eyes follow his hands as he tosses the rubber next to Louis’ body on the bed and clicks open the bottle. His breath hitches as Harry smooths the slippery substance over his fingers, letting the bottle drop to the duvet close by for easy access.
Harry runs his clean hand over Louis’ abdomen, gently scratches his nails through the sparse hair below his navel, eliciting a violent shiver from his boy. Loosely gripping his cock, bending down to press a kiss to his already-leaking head, he lets his hand coated with lube drop to Louis’ hottest place. Rubbing over his entrance with patient fingers, watching his face for any signs of discomfort, finding only pleasure.
He slips his index finger past Louis’ rim, pushing in slowly. Louis sucks in a lungful of air, arching his back, and Harry can’t help but look at him in wonder. He’s so beautiful, so graceful even when he’s lost in desperation, a slave to his arousal. He lunges forward suddenly, surprising even himself, and kisses him fiercely, passionately. Louis breathes loudly beneath him, whining quietly when Harry pulls out of him just to press in again with a second finger.
Confident enough in his ability to prep Louis well, carefully, he stays where he is, nuzzling against his jawline when he leans his head back against the pillow, allowing Louis to kiss him each time he comes back to him.
He crooks his fingers inside of him, searching for the spot that will make his breathing even more erratic, harsher against his lips. He finds it quickly, rubbing gently over the smooth surface until Louis is writhing against him. He relents for a moment, ignoring his prostate to spread his fingers inside of him, opening him up slowly.
A soft sob escapes Louis’ throat, and Harry swallows it eagerly, pulling his fingers out to add a third. His thoughts are shattered when Louis throws his arms around Harry’s neck and whimpers against his lips, “Harry, please. I’m ready.”
Harry kisses him quiet, and answers in what he hopes is a comforting tone. “Just a little more. Don’t want to hurt you.”
His eyes catch on a tear slipping from Louis’ eye, glimmering as it runs down his rosy cheek. His desperation visible, his response doesn’t match it as he simply nods, allowing Harry to continue as he falls apart in his arms.
Time passes slowly as Harry hungrily takes in every response Louis wants to give him. Scissoring his fingers inside of him, stretching him, making absolutely sure he’ll feel no pain, Louis begins to shake, his nails scratching across Harry’s back, through his hair every time he focuses his attention on his prostate.
“Oh, please,” he moans, gasping loudly at one particularly hard press against that spot that must have him seeing stars. “I can’t...Harry, I can’t. ‘M so close, baby, please . Wanna come on your cock.”
Heat floods Harry’s body, his cock achingly hard just from bringing Louis to this point. Letting his fingers slip out, he rubs over his reddened hole, tickles his inner thighs just to drive him mad for a few moments more. He presses his forehead against Louis’, kissing him deeply, both breathing heavily against the other’s skin.
Louis giggles against his lips, pushing on his shoulders in an attempt to get him moving, and Harry complies. He reaches for the condom lying by Louis’ side, sitting up to rip open the foil and roll it onto himself carefully, already dangerously hard. When he's finished, he glances toward Louis, finding him smiling sweetly up at him.
“You're going to kill me,” Harry says, returning his smile.
Louis laughs, rolling his eyes amusedly. “Alright, drama queen,” he says, kicking his heel into Harry’s back, bringing him down on top of him again. “Get in me already.”
“You want it like this?”
“Yeah,” Louis nods. “Want to kiss you.”
Harry gives him what he wants, kissing him once more before directing his gaze downward momentarily. He presses in smoothly, pulling out to push back in with more force until his hips are flush against Louis’ arse. Louis pants quietly, eyes closed tight, mouth open wide, head pressed into his pillow. Harry lowers himself onto Louis, and Louis slips his fingers into Harry’s hair, kissing him desperately. He wraps his legs around him, digging his heels into his arse, keeping him close, silently begging him to move faster, harder, deeper.
Sweat covers both of their bodies, their overheated skin sticking together as they move against one another. Overwhelming pleasure surges through Harry’s veins, his blood pumping fast and hot. The unbelievable nature of what he's found tonight brings unexpected tears to his eyes, and he closes them, pressing his nose into Louis’ neck to hide his emotion.
The change in angle only makes things more intense, Louis crying out, his voice, that voice that Harry first noticed what now feels like years ago, cutting through his heart. His legs hug Harry’s body closer, limiting his movement.
Harry breathes him in, slowly coming back to himself. He looks up, bringing his lips to Louis’ once more. Louis’ hands leave his hair, his thumbs wiping over Harry’s damp cheeks. He shivers in Harry’s arms despite the heat surrounding them, flowing between them relentlessly.
“I can't believe…” Louis says breathily. “I can't believe I found you.”
Harry drops some of his weight, sliding deeper into Louis, inhaling the breath Louis gasps at the sensation.
“I finally found you,” he continues, breaking down every single wall Harry has ever built with those words he never knew he needed to hear so badly. “I finally found you, and my dark, mysterious soulmate is actually just a giant sap who can't stop kissing me and cries during sex.”
Harry opens his eyes, his eyelids heavy, to find Louis smiling at him again. A wet laugh escapes his throat, another tear falling from his eye to splatter on Louis’ cheek.
“I’m sorry,” he says, not really sorry at all.
Louis kisses him, his hands still on Harry’s face. “Don't apologize for being more than I could have ever dreamed of.”
Harry has stopped moving inside of him, Louis’ constant grinding against him halted as well as they gaze at one another. Then Louis is pushing on his shoulder, hissing as Harry slips out of him.
“On your back, love,” he whispers, winking as Harry looks at him in a daze. He smiles, rolling over him, Harry letting him move him any way he wants, wholly and completely Louis’ in every way he’ll let him be.
“Hi,” Louis whispers, kissing him again, slipping his tongue into Harry’s mouth. Harry moans into the kiss, happy to let Louis take control.
Lifting a leg to throw it over Harry’s hips, Louis straddles him, grinding his hard cock over Harry’s abdomen. He grabs Harry’s hands which have settled on his waist and pins them to the bed on either side of his head.
“I've never come untouched before. You managed to make it happen with just your tongue,” he teases, his tongue darting out to lick across Harry’s bottom lip. “Think you can do it again with your cock?”
He quirks one of his perfectly arched eyebrows, sitting up and reaching behind himself to grip Harry firmly in his hand.
Harry hears Louis groan through the static inside his head as he seats himself on Harry’s cock, bouncing slowly until he's fully sheathed inside of him. His skin feels on fire, burning white hot everywhere Louis touches him, his fingers traveling from Harry’s palms, down his sides, back up to his chest.
Louis rides him steadily, his upper body swaying rhythmically above him as he squeezes around him. Using a tremendous amount of self-control not to come before he's given Louis what he asked for, he begins to rock his hips up into Louis as he sinks down on his cock.
Louis gasps, falling forward so that his lips find Harry’s in a bruising kiss. “Fuck, Harry,” he whimpers shakily.
Harry rips his mouth from Louis’, desperate for air as his body climbs higher, closer and closer to his peak. “Shit,” he sobs out, “You feel so good, Lou. So fucking good.”
“Harder, baby,” Louis breathes, his voice sticky and hot against Harry’s lips. He nips at them hungrily, no doubt turning them a bright pink. “Please, c’mon. Fuck me harder.”
Harry obeys, bucking into him, getting as deep as he possibly can. Louis starts to tremble, moving his hips faster and faster, and Harry knows he must be close.
Harry throws his arms around him, no longer concerned with keeping them where Louis had pinned them to the bed. He holds him close, their bodies moving together feverishly, their breath twining together like tendrils of smoke.
Needing more, Harry uses all of his strength to flip them over, keeping his body pressed flush against Louis’, their legs intertwined, one of Louis’ feet sliding up the length of Harry’s calf. Louis’ cock twitches against his stomach, leaking angrily all over both of them as Harry thrusts inside him over and over.
The combination of hard fucking and the fierce look in Louis’ eyes when he opens them to find Harry boring into his soul, the way their frantic movements contradict the way Harry can't help but hold Louis gently as he claws into the irritated skin of his back has both of them panting obscenely.
The pornographic noises pouring from Louis’ mouth as he tries to kiss Harry, not always successfully, go straight to Harry’s cock, and true desperation finally sets in.
“Come on, baby,” Harry begs. “Come for me. Let go.”
Louis whines against his mouth, their hazy eyes locked, no reprieve from the sensations, the emotions taking them both apart.
“That’s it,” Harry continues to encourage him, needing Louis to come in his arms more than he's ever needed anything in his life. “Almost there, Lou. You can do it.”
Louis squeezes around him, tight heat surrounding Harry’s cock, forcing a whimper from his throat.
“So gorgeous, Louis. Wanna see your lovely face when I make you come, baby. Bet you look so beautiful,” he pants, fucking into him as hard and steady as he can manage with his own impending orgasm drawing nearer every second.
A loud sob wracks through Louis, his back arching off of the bed, further into Harry’s embrace. “Harry! Fuck, oh God !” he screams, his hole fluttering around Harry at an alarming pace.
The moment Louis gives into his pleasure, shooting against Harry’s front, his come smeared between their bodies, Harry follows him dizzily, moaning loudly against Louis’ sweaty neck.
They stay in their high together for minutes or maybe hours, breathing in each other's skin, soft lips tracing lazy lines across a neck, a cheek, a hand.
Harry’s first coherent thought is of Louis’ comfort, and he moves to pull out of the boy’s body, but he stops him, pulling him in closer, sealing their lips in a desperate kiss.
“Stay,” he pleads, so quiet Harry almost doesn't hear him.
“You’ll ache,” Harry says, matching his volume, not wanting to disturb the sense of peace surrounding them, the air in the room still and silent after their lovemaking.
“Feels good,” Louis hums. “Just for a minute.”
Harry smiles, lifting himself off of Louis, resting his elbows against the bed, raising one hand to brush the soft fringe damp with sweat from Louis’ forehead.
When his cock is soft and entirely too oversensitive, he pulls out slowly, kissing Louis to distract him from any unpleasant sensation, only leaving his lips unattended for the few moments it takes to remove the condom and throw it in the bin in the corner of the room.
When they're no longer connected, Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders once again and rolls on top of him. He gazes down at him, his eyes shining in the darkness, a deep blue, flecks of gold burning bright.
“You're pretty good at that,” he giggles.
Harry groans and rolls his eyes, feeling his cheeks heat with happy embarrassment.
Louis laughs again, kissing him sweetly. “I'll go get a clean flannel.”
During his brief absence, Harry lies contentedly against the bedsheets, his body thrumming with leftover pleasure. Louis is back before his exhaustion can consume him, pulling him into dreams of a boy with soft caramel hair and softer ocean eyes.
“Wore you out, did I?” Louis teases, sitting beside him, running the cool cloth over his tired body. He tosses it on the floor when he's satisfied with his cleaning, following easily when Harry pulls him down to lie beside him.
“You are the most beautiful thing I've ever laid eyes on,” Harry murmurs, planting gentle kisses over Louis’ cheeks, along the strong line of his jaw, coming back to his swollen lips.
Louis sighs happily, a calm sound, quiet in the still air. His hand lifts to Harry’s face, and when Harry smiles, he presses his thumb into his dimple, only making him smile wider.
“I didn’t want to go to that party,” Louis says then. “My flatmate forced me into it. Said he’d fill my football cleats with various foul-smelling condiments if I didn’t go. Liam’s go-to is horseradish, so I figured I shouldn’t chance it.”
“Smart,” Harry agrees, happiness radiating out of him like a light.
“I'm so glad I didn't,” Louis says with a smile.
“I promised myself that I wouldn’t have fun tonight,” Harry confesses. “I didn’t want to be there, either. But then you showed up.” His smile grows. “You saved me.”
Louis doesn’t respond, an expression sweet but not quite of innocence on his face. As if he’s waiting for something.
The light of dawn starts to climb up the walls, the early morning peeking in through the window. Harry watches lazily as the hazy sunlight coats Louis’ skin, turning him golden, making him shine more beautifully than Harry thought possible.
“You knew, didn’t you?” Harry asks, finally beginning to understand. “From the moment you saw me, you knew. You knew me .”
Louis nods slowly, smiling, his nose catching on Harry’s in an Eskimo kiss.
“Is that a Sun thing or a Louis thing?”
Louis is silent for a few seconds. Then, “Well, you know how I said I hadn’t quite discovered my area of expertise?”
Harry nods, encouraging him to continue, his heart beating harder in his chest.
“I lied,” he says, giggling quietly, his body rocking against Harry’s under the sheets. “I'm perfectly aware of my powers.”
At his confession, Harry rolls on top of him, their chests bumping together with their slow breathing, smiles nearly touching.
“Love?” he asks, already knowing the answer.
Louis nods, reaching up to press a soft kiss to his lips for the hundredth time tonight, the first night of the rest of their lives. “Love.”