Work Header

You'll Breathe Me In (You Won't Release)

Chapter Text

"Have you ever done this before?"

Harry blinks at Louis, grip white-knuckled. "Yeah, I'm not completely clueless."

Louis gives him a small, reassuring smile. "And we're not moving too fast?"

Harry bites his lip, looking up from under his lashes. "Are we?"

"Look around."

Harry does. He knows they're on a motorway, since there haven't been traffic lights for a while and he's on fifth gear, but 100 kilometres per hour suddenly seem a bit much, and the cars around him are definitely slower. "What do I do?" he asks, slightly panicked.

"Relax," Louis starts. "You either switch to the right lane or slow down."

Harry trains his eyes on the cars to his right, looking for an opening. It's a nightmare.

No one told him driving would be so confrontational. The first time a driver cursed him out, he was near tears. The first time he nearly ran over a girl that crossed the street in the middle of the road, he couldn't breathe for a solid minute. How is he supposed to know if there's enough room for him to squeeze into the lane? He's barely spatially-aware enough to walk, let alone drive a motorised death machine.

He decides to just let it go and slow down, but as soon as he reaches for the gear stick, Louis' hand settles over his, warm and small and very distracting. "You can do it, H," he says, like he means it. All of a sudden, Harry wholeheartedly believes him. Because Louis wouldn't bullshit him – he's a sarcastic shithead nearly all the time they spend together, but when he encourages Harry he's completely serious.

Harry takes a deep breath and starts signalling to the right. He waits as car after car zooms ahead, until finally there's enough of a gap in traffic for him to veer into the lane. He still waits for Louis', "Go on then."

He keeps his hand under Louis' on the gear stick. Just in case.


For Harry's seventeenth birthday, he gets Louis Tomlinson.

No, that's not right. For Harry's seventeenth birthday, he gets a provisional license and a promise that if he passes the tests, he could get his own car. Harry's ecstatic, has set his sights on a licence ever since Niall got his and tried to teach him how to drive. He failed, of course, loved Harry too much to tell him he was awful, and Gemma had already moved to the States. His mum was too emotionally fragile to see him behind the wheel, and Robin just didn't have the time.

In comes the driving instructor. And he's a decent guy, fifty-something with an impressive moustache and an even more impressive credit debt, going by the arguments he keeps having on his phone during Harry's very first lesson. The problem is his short temper. Harry's a very easygoing guy, he likes to enjoy each moment and all that shit. So he speaks slowly and flails around, tends to go off-topic at times. His first lesson starts out well enough, learning the gears and "feel of the car", controlling the hunk of metal. But then he gets distracted at a roundabout and misses the exit, and the instructor just snaps at him and tells him to shut up and focus.

Which is horribly rude, but Harry's all about giving people the benefit of the doubt. So he lasts four whole lessons before declaring the guy a total prick and asking for a different instructor, someone less… surly.

His first lesson with Louis takes place first thing in the morning on a Saturday.

Harry stumbles out through the front gate in thrown-on baggy jeans and his ratty Ramones shirt, sees Louis leaning casually against the car, and his knees nearly give out. Apparently "not surly" meant a drop dead gorgeous twenty-something scruffy guy with shaggy brown hair and cheekbones sharp enough to chop a salad with. Clearly, Robin's trying to take Harry out.

It's too late to fake his own death. Louis has already caught sight of him, and removes his sunglasses. His friendly smile is big enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes, and Harry needs to reassess everything he's ever thought about himself. He's not chill at all. There's nothing easygoing about this morning.

His back is stiff as a board when he comes up to Louis. Introductions would be polite, right? "Hi," he blurts, drawing the word out for too long. "I'm Harry Styles."

"Seriously?" Louis asks, and fuck, his voice is higher and lovelier than Harry could have imagined, almost doesn't fit with his stubble and heavily tattooed forearm. This hooligan, what is he even doing without a jacket in the middle of February? Why is he tattooed? Why is he?

"Harry Styles? You're practically a rock star in the making. We'll make a Formula 1 racer out of you in no time."

Harry throws his head back and laughs. He can barely master running laps, he definitely doesn't belong in motorsports. Louis claps his back like he's in on the joke, and then climbs into the car. With the ice officially broken, it's a bit easier for Harry to get in the car himself. There's still a rather large part of him that's bewildered he's even in the driver's seat. He spreads his hands over the span of the steering wheel and itches to turn on the radio. He shouldn't, though. Maybe Louis hates radio.

"So, Harry," he starts. "I'm Louis Tomlinson. I'm twenty-five, from Doncaster originally, and I love football. Tell me a bit about yourself."

Harry quirks an eyebrow and looks over at Louis. His profile is – it's like looking at the sun. His lashes are long and his lips are pouty and his stubble is trimmed neatly. Stubble. How unfair. "Shouldn't we, um. Drive?"

"It's okay, I'm actually a bit early. We've gotta loosen you up first."

He gulps. He'd very much like Louis to loosen him up. "Alright, well. I'm Harry, I'm in year twelve, born and raised in Cheshire, and – " he looks around, suddenly worried he can't think of anything interesting about himself. "My favourite fruit is mango."

Louis hums in thought. "Interesting. Do you think about mangoes often?"

"As much as anyone," Harry says, shrugging. "Doesn't deliver much of a comedic effect, though."

"True, it's not like slipping on a banana peel."

Harry bites his lip. Should he break out the jokes yet? No, probably not. They've been having a perfectly serious conversation about fruit. He can control himself. "Louis, why are bananas never lonely?"

Louis scratches his beard, probably in an effort to not seem amused. "Why?"

"Because they hang around in bunches."

There's silence for a moment. And then Louis covers his face with his hands and laughs. "Oh God. Let's stick to driving."

Harry's unbearably pleased with himself. "Hey."

Louis nudges his shoulder, and that's a bit weird, he thinks, they're not really supposed to touch each other, but it's not like he minds. He's the best of cuddlers. Not that he'll be cuddling Louis anytime soon (or ever, if he's being honest), but whatever. He might be blushing.

"How many lessons have you had?" Louis asks, a smile still in his voice.


"Oh, that's good. So you won't really need me to be hands-on." Harry stares at the wheel so hard he might burn a hole in it. If he had, like, laser vision. "Let's just drive and I'll only give you instructions when I want you to turn, alright?"

"Yup, um, alright," Harry says quickly, trying to ignore the dirty connotations of every single thing coming out of Louis' mouth. He throws the car into drive and hits the gas pedal.

Without lowering the hand brake.

He blushes furiously and puts his hand on it, but his brain must have been wiped out sometime between seeing Louis and getting into the car, because he can't remember whether he's supposed to push or pull it, and he can't just try because he doesn't want to humiliate himself further in front of Louis. Not that he's any less of an idiot when he's just sitting and staring at his own hand in panic. He hates driving.

Louis gently puts his hand on Harry's, warm and confident, and pushes it down. The car stops making noise. Louis takes Harry's hand and puts it on the gear shift. Harry thanks god he's wearing loose jeans.

It's going to be a hard journey to the test.


"H, is your blazer inside out?"

Harry shakes his head to focus on Niall. And then registers what he said and shit, it might actually be inside out. He shrugs it off his back and rolls his eyes. He came to school late and dishevelled, after having a furious wank first thing in the morning. "I'm a mess."

"It's just a blazer, mate. No one even wears them," Niall's quick to reassure him. And insult him at the same time.

Harry narrows his eyes at him. "They're part of our uniform, you know."

"Please, you're not even wearing a button-down underneath."

It's true, he's got a white t-shirt on. He's a mess. "It was a rough morning."

Niall snorts like he doubts it, and ruffles Harry's hair like he loves him nonetheless. "What happened?"

Harry bites his lip and leans closer to Niall. It's the middle of English class. "I had a driving lesson."

"And? Were you hurt or something?" Niall asks, eyes wide.

"No, of course not. Except for my brain maybe." Niall still looks confused. Harry sighs. "I want to fuck my driving instructor."

"Ew, isn't he like, fifty and bald or summat?"

"No, my dad hired a new one. Who was supposed to be younger and friendlier. And hotter than the sun."

Niall laughs uproariously as usual, causing their teacher to yell at them to settle down. "So how old is he?"

"Twenty-five," Harry whispers with a sigh.

Niall claps his back comfortingly. "That's not too bad."

Which is definitely not what Harry was expecting to hear. "What d'you mean?"

"I mean, eight years isn't the worst you've come up with."

This must mean Niall approves. Harry chews on his necklace thoughtfully. "You think I could, like, seduce him?"

"I dunno mate. I just know you usually get what you want."

Bless Niall's endless faith in human beings. It's true, though. Harry's a pretty determined guy. He looks deep into Niall's eyes. "I really want him."

"You'll have to be subtle about it, though. So he doesn't think you want to suck his dick to pass the driver's test."

Harry sucks the little airplane pendant into his mouth automatically. "So, subtle seduction."

Which leads to him in an absolute frenzy before his second lesson with Louis. Well, as much of a frenzy as he can get in. He's rooting around his closet lazily with his phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. "How do we feel about skinny jeans?"

"Nah mate, you don't wanna come off like you're trying too hard," Barbara says.

Harry hums, inspecting every hanger. He doesn't even own skinny jeans. Maybe it'll be next year's look, when he's a cool senior who drives and possibly has a hot older boyfriend. "So normal jeans?"

"Mm-hm. And maybe the nice tight button-up I borrowed last week."

"Yeah," Niall adds emphatically. "That's a good shirt."

Harry rolls his eyes. He should've just called Barbara directly instead of calling Niall and having him put the phone on speaker because "how the fuck should I know what's a good outfit for 'I'm classy but I want you to shag me over the hood of your car'?"

He still thanks them both before hanging up, because he's nice and polite and classy. He pulls out his dark wash jeans and the blue shirt, buttoning it up almost to the top. His hair is artfully dishevelled, he thinks, as much as a riot of curls can be styled. He figures he looks good.

Of course he still feels slightly faint when he walks out just as Louis pulls over and switches seats. He tries not to skip to the car, but his "seductive saunter" isn't working either, since he keeps stumbling over thin air. He's an awful seducer. This isn't going to work at all.

He's so exasperated with himself he misses Louis' endeared little smile when he straps into the driver's seat. "Alright?" Harry asks, finally looking over.

Louis' got effortlessly cool aviators on, and his hair is wild over his forehead, spiky like he just rolled out of bed. He's wearing a thin jumper this time, rolled up his forearms so his delicate wrists and some of his tattoos are showing. He looks like a sexy imp. "Alright. How was school?"

"Good, good." Not like he spent the whole day thinking about this very moment. It's only his second time seeing Louis, but he's still drawn to him like they've known each other forever. He can't really explain it. He's a teenager, though, so he doesn't really have to. Niall claims to have been in love with Barbara since he was thirteen. "It's a short day, just maths and English. Was home by one."

"Maths." Louis wrinkles his nose. "School was just a big social to me, you know? Except for drama, I fucking loved drama."

Well, if they're on cursing terms, Harry can probably tease him, right? "You were a drama nerd?"

Louis raises his sunglasses to his hair, pinning Harry to the spot with his bright blue eyes. "Excuse you, I was a drama god."

"Of course, I'm sorry. I'm sure you were worshipped." He starts the car before adding, "By other drama nerds."

Louis huffs, mock-offended. "I knew the baby face was all an act. You're a cheeky little bugger."

Harry makes a show of pouting and fluttering his lashes. "Don't know what you're talking about. No need to get dramatic."

The confidence from taking the piss out of Louis carries over to backing out of the driveway all on his own, stretching his arm over Louis' headrest and twisting around to look out the rear window. Once he's backed up enough he straightens himself and. Maybe. Possibly catches Louis looking at his profile. His heart climbs to his throat and he accidentally shifts to second gear instead of first, causing Louis to start explaining the gears again.

He tries to listen to him and not be embarrassed. By the time they make it to the main road, Louis' back to his method of only giving directions. Honestly, it makes Harry a bit nervous, because the silence gives him more room to think about his driving and face the fact he's bloody awful at it. Of course, the nerves only make him more awful.

Right on cue, Louis starts talking. "What's the first thing you're gonna do when you get a license?"

He doesn't know if Louis read him perfectly or just wanted to initiate a conversation. Either way, he's grateful. "Haven't really thought that far ahead. I'll probably drive my mum to work or something."

"Very rebellious. You can do better."

Harry narrows his eyes at the rear-view mirror, finds Louis smiling good-naturedly. "So there's this pub with an open mic night, but there's no bus stations near it, and none of my mates ever want to go with me. I'll probably go there."

"Much better. No drinking, though, right?"

Harry points to himself, then reattaches his hand to the wheel in a flash. "You mentioned my baby face. I wouldn't get served anyway."

Louis hums, like he doesn't believe him, and he must have keen instincts because he's right, Harry has no trouble getting drinks. Perks of being friends with older guys. Louis lets it go, though. "You like singing?"

Harry nods immediately, smiling. "Love it."

"You're probably good, too."

Now Harry's beaming, pleased enough to get on the motorway without a minor heart attack. "What makes you say that?"

"You've got a very deep voice," Louis explains, dropping his own voice to an alarmingly attractive bass. "For an eighteen year old."

Harry doesn't correct him. His smile is threatening to swallow his face. "Thanks."

"'Course. Take the next exit. D'you wanna be a singer when you're older?"

Harry bites his lip, aware that he's still horrible at switching lanes, but the nerves are evenly dispersed between having to drive and having to give Louis a good answer. "Maybe. Suppose I could also be a baker or go study something boring in uni. Or become a driving instructor."

Louis laughs. It's the best sound in the world. Harry's warm all over. "I didn't even want to learn how to drive a car."

"Really?" Harry asks, trying not to sound too eager to learn more random things about Louis.

"Yeah, when I was seventeen I got an A1 licence, for small motorbikes up to 125 cc. That's the engine size. Figured it would instantly make me hardcore, you know?"

Harry only nods, brain stuck on the visual of Louis straddling a motorcycle in a leather jacket. He's afraid if he opens his mouth the only thing that will come out will be the only thing going through his head: don't get hard don't get hard don't get hard.

"Well, when I turned nineteen I wanted to get a licence for a bigger bike, something you can really ride." Harry's fingers tighten on the wheel. "But I'm rather short, some might say. And for the practical test they only had huge models that were too big for me."

Harry bursts out laughing. "Oh my god. Please tell me you couldn't reach the pedals."

Louis sighs long-sufferingly. "My bum hurt for a week, it was mortifying. I can ride something big now, but back then I just decided to get tattoos to prove I'm a straight-up G, and got a car license."

Harry's starting to suspect Louis' deliberately saying things in the most suggestive way possible. It probably has nothing to do with Harry, could just be the way he is. Harry shakes his head. Don't get hard don't get hard don't get hard don't crash the car. "What was your first tattoo?"

"Got three all in one day, actually. Get us safely to a stoplight and I'll show you."

It might have been a trick, but Harry's never driven more safely or determinedly in his life. Louis even pets his shoulder and tells him he did a good job on the motorway. Of all things, that's what finally breaks him. Don't get harder don't get harder do not crash the car.

He's blushing furiously by the time they finally hit a red light. He adjusts his pants subtly and finally looks over at Louis. It doesn't look like he noticed, thank god. "Um, the tattoos?" Harry asks politely. "You don't have to show me, I'm just curious."

"Oh, it's alright, they're not anywhere naughty," he says, smiling mischievously, and he must be the most inappropriate driving instructor in the world, but Harry never wants to leave this car. Louis' nimble fingers tangle in the right sleeve of his jumper and he pulls it all the way up to his armpit. Harry blinks. Louis' skin is golden and his arm is subtly toned and Harry wants to munch on him a little.

"So there's the stick man," Louis starts, pointing at the little doodle of the skater, almost hidden in the middle of his inner arm collection. "And the blank quotes, which I still like," he says, pointing to the inside of his wrist, above the rope. Harry tries to think of the ten million possible symbolic meanings, but then Louis flexes his arm and points to his fucking bulging munchable bicep. Far Away.

Harry could have kept blinking and internally drooling over Louis' inked arm if it weren't for someone honking rudely behind them, startling Harry into accelerating sharply. Louis easily takes over the speed with the dual control pedals. He doesn't tell him off for not concentrating, but doesn't apologise for distracting him either.

Harry tries to regulate his breathing, his heart beating way too fast. His driving is choppy at best from that point, too cautious and insecure. Louis doesn't try to get his spirits back up, just turns on the radio and lets him focus on the road.

He really is awful at seduction.


Niall meets Louis for the first time two weeks later. Harry always asked Louis to pick him up from his house, specifically when no one was home, "just in case", but after two weeks and no progress in his seduction plan, he’s given up on making Louis forget he's a schoolboy and just booked a lesson during a free period. It's what everyone does anyway, a good use of his time. The concept still makes him sad.

He's not a quitter, really he's not, but being exposed to Louis so often only cemented how completely out of his league he is. Because Louis' hilarious and clever and fit and older, and he gets that Harry's clumsy and jittery when he's nervous, so he keeps distracting Harry with questions and stories. Somewhere along the way they ended up accidentally getting to know each other, and it made everything worse. He doesn't just want to touch him, he proper fancies him. It's a nightmare. ("I'm not just sexually frustrated, it's like my heart is frustrated too," Harry told Niall over a spliff. Niall just laughed and pulled him into his lap to pet him comfortingly.)

"What crawled up your arse?" Niall asks him, frowning under his shades.

Harry gulps and adjusts his blazer again. It's a nice dark blue and stretches just right over his broadening shoulders. It's not hard to pull off the preppy schoolboy look when he's actually a preppy schoolboy, but Harry's still concerned. "Nothing, tragically. You really don't have to wait with me."

Louis' running a few minutes late, so Harry and Niall are just standing by the gate where Louis' told him to wait. Niall shoves his shoulder. "Don't be a dumbfuck. I wanna see if he's really all that."

"You think I lied?" Harry asks, forfeiting his obsessive staring contest with the road to glare at Niall. "I showed you his Facebook page."

"He's always crossing his eyes and throwing up gang signs in pictures. That's no man who deserves you."

Harry's heart melts a little. "That was lovely, mate."

"Whatever," Niall brushes him off. "That his ride?"

Harry snaps his eyes back to the road and yes, there's the familiar car. Harry's getting better at reacting to Louis. As in, he doesn't start hyperventilating when Louis climbs out of the car and walks from the right side to the left, waving at Harry with a crinkly-eyed smile. Instead Harry keeps an eye on Niall, who stops devouring his sandwich for long enough to wave back at Louis.

"Well?" Harry asks, nudging Niall.

Niall swallows. "I wouldn't say hotter than the sun, but I'll give him fit as fuck."

Harry can work with that. "Isn't he just lovely? His hair always does things. And his eyes are blue like yours but kind of – "

"Please go to your lesson before I barf."

Right, okay. Harry leans over to hug him and then hitches his bag higher and walks over to the car.

Before he even says hello, Louis asks, "Who was that?"

He sounds more serious than usual, and Harry arches an eyebrow at him while lowering the hand brake. At least he's got the driving thing mostly down. "My best mate."

Louis deflates. "Oh. Niall, right?"

Harry's eyebrow climbs even higher. He remembered. They're obviously too close. He bites his lip excitedly. "Yeah, Niall. He's Irish."

"Right." Louis finally turns his head from the window to Harry. His hair is flatter than usual, brushing his forehead softly. He hasn't shaved in a while, either. His cheekbones are the same devastating chiselled state.

Sometimes Harry wonders how Louis doesn't notice the blatant check-out he gets every time Harry so much as blinks his way. He actually caught himself biting his knuckle the other day while staring at Louis through a red light. He's terrible. "How are you?"

"Frustrated." Same. "I had a first-timer today, and I swear he deliberately tried running over several little old ladies."

Harry snorts. "So, much worse than me, right?"

Louis' highly aware of Harry's need for approval by now. He just pets his arm. "A lot worse, sweetheart." It's supposed to sound teasing or condescending. It mostly makes Harry's chest constrict. "Is that your school uniform?"

And back to depression. Yes, I'm a child. "Yes, it is."

"I like the blazer. It's proper posh."

This might be the moment Harry falls in love. Because Louis commented on the one item of clothing Harry likes to wear outside of school, too. He grins and taps his fingers on his lips, tugging on them distractedly. "Fancy private school, remember?"

It takes Louis a moment to reply. "Why of course, Harold. Turn left here, I want you in built-up areas."

Harry frowns, but turns left onto a side street. "I wanted to go fast."

"I know you do, but you need to learn how to go slow first. It's harder."

He pouts. It all sounds like an annoying metaphor right now. Louis doesn't need to talk to Harry about hard. His time has been neatly divided into "boner" and "semi" ever since he met Louis. "Alright. Can we at least get away from here for a bit?"

"This horrid place of learning? Remember that I'm a teacher."

Harry snorts, slapping Louis' arm without thinking. "Like you're setting such a fine example. I keep thinking about your tattoos."

He probably shouldn't have said that.

He really, really shouldn't have said that. Louis' quiet for such a long time (like, two seconds) that Harry panics and goes to shift gears but his hand slips and ends up on Louis' thigh. They touch each other in, like, a laddy way all the time, a shove here or a tickle there, but Harry's never come in direct contact with Louis' thigh in black skinny jeans. It's muscular and solid, just the way it looked whenever Harry appreciated how… generally curvy Louis is. His eyes dart down and great, now he knows the approximate ratio of his big hand compared to Louis' crotch area.

He snatches his hand away and plasters it to the wheel, apologising profusely and blushing.

Finally, Louis clears his throat. "It's alright, Harold. Let's keep the hands above the belt, yeah?"

Louis' probably smirking at him. Harry probably won't look him in the eyes for the next century. He's entering semi territory, barely five minutes into the lesson. Forty to go.

(He's late to biology because as soon as Louis drops him off back at school he locks himself in a toilet stall and jerks off, fast and angry, biting down hard on his wrist to keep the desperate sounds in. Thinks about biting Louis' strong thigh. Comes.)


Harry's made a mistake. A fatal error.

He has two minutes to prepare himself for a driving lesson, two, because the only time Louis was available was right when Harry's shift at the bakery ended, and Harry just agreed like a dumb idiot. So now he has to tear the stupid apron off him and ask Babs if he looks nice. She pinches his cheek and tells him he looks lovely, of course.

He sighs and washes his face thoroughly, fluffs up his hair so it doesn't look like his head's been stuck in an oven for the past six hours. His cheeks are hopelessly flushed and he burnt his fingers on a scone earlier, but at least he remembered to bring a nice white polo shirt to change into.

He drums his fingers on his lips and contemplates sending Cal a picture of himself for approval, but ultimately decides against it. There's no time anyway. He grabs a couple of sweet buns and some biscuits and skids out of the bakery just before 6 PM.

Louis' already waiting outside in the passenger seat, feet thrown over the dashboard, legs spread. Harry takes very, very calming breaths before he opens the door and spills into his seat. "Hi mate," he says, voice lower than anticipated. It's been two weeks since the thigh incident, but he still can't keep his eyes off of Louis' legs.

Louis tosses his phone into the cup holder behind the handbrake and stretches out exaggeratedly, his jacket riding up his stomach, and then he repositions his legs on the floor. "Hey – oh my god," he cuts himself off, sniffing like a hound. "You smell amazing, what is that?"

Harry flushes immediately, pleased down to his toes. He flaps the bag around. "I know it's a bit late for tea, but I got you treats."

Louis actually claps excitedly. Harry thinks that's what he loves most about him – he looks etched in marble sometimes, with his cheekbones and styled hair, but he's so animated and excited and a little shit all the time. Harry kind of adores him. "I love treats, you're the best," Louis claims, reaching out. At first Harry thinks he's about the snatch the paper bag, but then he ruffles Harry's hair and. That's new. Harry's neck arches into it automatically, but at least he keeps from purring.

"Calm down," he says, mostly to himself, and opens the bag. "Buns or biscuits?"

Louis hums like it's the most important decision he's ever had to make. "Are they sweet?"

"My buns are always sweet." He tries not to grin, so Louis could take it either way, but of course Louis laughs and waggles his finger at his face. It's his usual tactic whenever Harry flirts too blatantly.

"Gimme your sweet buns then."

Harry pulls them out obediently and shoves them under Louis' nose. Louis takes a big whiff and laughs again. "You should really consider racing cars with those yeti paws you call hands." He still takes both buns in his dainty hands.

Harry shrugs and watches Louis take his first bite. He closes his eyes and makes a soft noise that goes straight to Harry's cock. Fuck, why are his eyelashes so long, what purpose do they even serve other than sweeping prettily over his cheekbones? This isn't a desert and Louis Tomlinson isn't a camel.

"This is ace," is Louis' verdict, since he, of course, talks with his mouth full. He must mistakenly think Harry's longing gaze is directed at the food, since he sighs and holds one hand up. "Here cutie, have a bun."

Someone should arrest him for all the fake terms of endearment. They keep making Harry glow and it's unfair. He doesn't even want a stupid bun. "It's cool, they're for you."

"Good, good student." He even eats cutely. Louis' this cross between a sexy professor and a meerkat. Harry should tear his eyes away and actually start driving at some point. "I should repay you."

"Of course not, I made these."

Louis' eyes widen in wonder. "Seriously? Mate, that's amazing, I can barely even boil water."

Harry preens. The point of the treats was to both distract Louis from his driving, and to shove something in Louis' mouth so Louis won't distract him from his driving. That one backfired spectacularly. "That's nothing. I make a mean profiterole."

"Oh, is that the one that…" He trails off, then presses his fingers to his mouth and makes an exploding noise, but his eyes are clinging to Harry's lips. Harry can't help but lick them, like there's actually been a creamy explosion on them recently.

It's unexpectedly intense. Louis' attention on him makes his squirm, and he laughs awkwardly to diffuse the tension. Louis' eyes dart back up to his eyes. "Anyway, you can actually make that stuff? Just this weekend I saw them being made on Bake Off. That Paul is such a size queen, I swear to god."

"You watch?"

"Of course, I binge it. What do you do on weekends?"

He says it with a sly smile, like he thinks he knows Harry's knee-deep in alcohol and pussy or something. Harry spends his weekends babysitting or walking his friends' dogs. He matches Louis' smirk and says, "Homework, of course."

Louis taps his nose unexpectedly. "Obviously." He finishes up his bun and then sucks on his fingers, which, okay, Harry's breathing. "Thanks for real, though. I haven't eaten all day."

Concern surges in Harry ridiculously. "Seriously? Lots of lessons back-to-back?"

"Oh, no, just you today." He pops his middle finger in his mouth. "Every couple of weeks I volunteer at this children's hospice? You know, just hanging out with the kids. It's awesome, but not very appetizing."

This might be the moment Harry falls in love. What the fuck. Louis might be the most inappropriate driving instructor in the world, but he's such a standup guy. Harry almost feels bad for wishing Louis would fuck an underage student driver. "That's incredible, mate."

Louis immediately brushes the praise off. "Whatever. I wanna trade my bun for a biscuit."

Harry makes a big show of shoving the bun back in the bag and pulling out an extra sweet butterscotch cookie. Louis holds it protectively with both hands and takes a long bite. He does the eyelashes thing again. Harry shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

"We should schedule every lesson after your shift," Louis says mid-chew, spraying crumbs everywhere. Some catch on his beard, and Harry thoughtlessly reaches up to brush them off.

It's not even that it's a dumb move, too familiar and domestic and weird; it's that he's actually made contact with Louis' face. His beard, his mature hot older boyfriend beard. And it's marvellous and scruffy to the touch, and Harry pictures it against ten different places on his body, scratching his skin red and sensitive. He shivers, eyes wandering from Louis' jawline to his pink lips. They part slowly, like Louis wants to say something, except nothing comes out but soft breaths. Harry's fingers drift dangerously close to them.

The surreal moment is cut short by Louis' phone ringing. Usually Louis makes a point of ignoring his calls when Harry's behind the wheel, but this time he practically twists in half to salvage his phone from the cup holder. Harry's embarrassingly aware of how his heart is beating a hole in his chest, so he tries to take deep breaths, forget how it felt to touch Louis' skin, listen to Louis' overly loud ringtone. It's some pop song, by a girl band Harry vaguely remembers hearing on the radio.

"Hi babes."

Well that gets Harry's attention. He stares down at his lap, picking at the fabric of his chinos in what he hopes looks like a polite avoidance of eavesdropping and not an obvious sign of sexual frustration. He just wants Louis to rub his beard against his thighs a little bit, is that so wrong?

"I'm just starting a lesson," Louis says. His voice is soft in a way Harry isn't sure he likes. "Yeah. It was alright, I'll tell you about it at home." Harry definitely doesn't like that. His eyes flit momentarily to Louis' hand, but no, there's definitely no wedding ring. That's last year's nightmare. Ben bloody Winston.

"No, he brought me sweets." Oh. So the horrible person on the phone apparently knows Harry? Or that Louis has a male student, that makes much more sense. Louis laughs at something the wretched person says. "I promise I won't, Zayn. I'll see you soon?" Another gut-wrenching pause. "Alright. Love you, bye."

And that would be Harry's heart breaking into pieces. Zayn. What a stupid fucking cool name. He's probably nice and lovely and fit with a name like that. By the time Louis puts the phone back in the cup holder, Harry's imagined the entirety of Louis and Zayn's summer wedding, and is in a full-on strop about it.

Thinking back, Harry suddenly remembers a number of instances where Louis' mentioned a Zayn, but since it was never coupled with babes or I love you, he didn't pay it any mind. That was dumb. He knew it was unlikely that Louis was single, like, he's bloody perfect, of course he has a boyfriend or whatever. And even if he were single, it's not like Harry had a shot anyway. But he still feels the sting of rejection.


Harry meets Zayn one week later. It's brief and probably coincidental, but feels monumental. They start the lesson at the school again, and Harry's actually got his seatbelt on and is starting to chat with Louis before he notices the person in the back seat isn't another student driver, but a startlingly beautiful man. He gapes at the rearview mirror for so long Louis says, "Getting jealous over here."

Harry blinks, looking from the mirror to Louis and back again. He's getting Older Men whiplash. There are too many hot people in this car. Maybe Louis could ride in the boot. "I'm so sorry, um. I'll just. Sorry. I'm Harry. I can't promise it won't be a bumpy ride, but I have great knock knock jokes if you get bored."

"He is a charmer," the man says with a thick accent, looking at the back of Louis' head.

"Very well-behaved," Louis agrees, like he's proud, like Harry's isn't right here, and Harry has no idea what's happening but he feels hot all over. "Harry, this is Zayn, my mate."

"Nice to meet you bro," Zayn says, reaching out a hand like he hasn't just dumped metaphorical ice water all over Harry's lap.

Zayn. Now that Harry knows Other Older Man is essential to the plot, he gives him a better look. So Zayn is gorgeous and cool and very heavily tattooed, and Harry doesn't typically hate people, like, ever, but this one is not to be trusted. He won't be fooled by his surprisingly sunny smile or how he harmlessly says, "Sorry for hijacking your lesson, I just needed a ride to this restaurant and Lou said you were too nice to mind."

Harry bites his lip and plays with his bracelets in lieu of smacking Louis upside the head for making promises and exposing Harry to his tattooed boyfriend who casually refers to him by cute nicknames. Of course Harry's too nice to mind. "No problem. Just give me directions."

"Of course."

Harry's very lucky he's a solid driver. It's the only thing stopping him from wrapping the car around a tree during the ten minute drive to the restaurant. Because Louis looks exceptionally good in a tight T-shirt and two days' worth of scruff (not that Harry charts his facial hair growth in his journal), and Louis has an obscenely good-looking tattooed boyfriend, and they keep talking about stuff they need to buy for their flat or shows they're watching on their telly. The worst part is that they're not even arseholes about it. They really try to include Harry in the conversation, but for everyone's sake he tunes them out completely.

He's really not in the habit of feeling shitty about himself, but this might be one of those rare times. He shouldn't have gotten attached to his driving instructor in the first place.

He swears it's like a knife to the gut when Zayn finally tells him to pull over, and Louis makes him wait while he exits the car. He tries not to look, but his eyes still drift to the window and he catches a glimpse of Louis hugging Zayn tightly goodbye. He's sad. Like, he'll definitely wank to Louis and Zayn engaging in various homosexual activities, because fucking hell are they hotter than 98 percent of the gay porn industry, but he's not going to be happy about it. They'll be sad wanks.

The deep, deep sadness makes Harry give less of a shit. There's no need to beat around the bush.

As soon as Louis returns to the car, Harry doesn't give him a moment to open his mouth. "You could've just said he's your boyfriend. I wouldn't have minded, y'know. I'm bi meself."

He thinks it's an ample way of letting it be known he's upset yet covering his tracks all the same. When Louis turns startled eyes to him, Harry thinks that he's made the wrong move. "He's not, though. I don't have a boyfriend. He's just my best mate. And flatmate. Like, we just dropped him off for a date with his fiancée."

Harry blinks. That's a lot of information he's pretty sure he didn't ask for. Also, Louis isn't fucking Zayn. It means Harry's made a complete twat of himself, but it also means Louis is single and most probably gay and not fucking Zayn.

Alright, he's back in the game. Well, maybe the bench. At least the general area of the field. "Oh."

"Yeah, so." Louis drums his fingers on the windowpane. He seems oddly uncomfortable. Sometimes he just gets like that, though, it's quite unnerving. Especially since Harry's usual tactic of putting people at ease is to smile really wide, and that only seems to make Louis more jittery. Whatever, Harry won't be rude about it. It's just Louis. And Harry's just been incredibly rude to his best mate. Who he isn't fucking. Harry's grinning to himself when he puts the car back in drive.

"D'you wanna talk about it?" Louis asks finally.

"You not having a boyfriend?" Yes, a thousand times yes.

Louis snorts. "No, you casually coming out of the closet to me."

"Was I not supposed to?" Harry glances at the rearview mirror to check if there's a car behind him. And also if Louis' looking at him. It always seems like he is, Harry has no idea how he even criticises his driving if he never looks at the road. "It's not really a big deal to me. I already came out to everyone two years ago. Well, everyone that matters."

He doesn't count it as a huge achievement. He's always been a bit quirkier than his classmates, but for some reason being tall and nice and Niall Horan's best friend spared him any bullying. He told Gemma first, then his mum and Robin, and finally Niall. It sort of spread from there. Not because Niall told anyone, bless him, but because Harry never denied it and kept finding himself in heated debates about gender equality. Also he might have openly wept to Niall and several bystanders about Mr. Winston's face.

"That's great, Harry. Took me a long while to do it."

"Yeah?" Harry leaps on the subject, peeking at Louis from the corner of his eye.

Louis nods, and for a second Harry thinks he'll leave it at that, but then he goes on. "When I was around your age I wanted to be a famous actor. I thought I'd finish college and immediately make it big, and somehow convinced myself that getting a girlfriend was part of the package."

Harry frowns. "Why? There are so many gay British actors today – "

"Harold," Louis interrupts him. "I know. There was… a lot that went into that. I was different when I was twenty. I kept the girlfriend thing up for way too long before I just… gave up."

"On her?"

"On acting." Oh. Surprisingly, Louis forges on, despite sharing more than Harry ever thought he would. "I think I'm just meant for something different."

"Being a driving instructor?" He hopes there's no judgement in his tone. He honestly doesn't judge Louis, feels lucky to even be privy to so much personal information. Also, Louis isn't fucking Zayn.

"No," Louis snaps, rolling his eyes. "I'm getting my teaching certificate this year. Gonna be a drama teacher."

Harry grins, immediately digging the concept. Louis will be a fantastic teacher. "You'll be a fantastic teacher."

"Uh, thanks," he says, like he's surprised by Harry's earnestness. "I just think it's important, you know? For young people to express themselves like that. And my practice school is really nice. The education system isn't that decrepit yet, is it?"

"Not if I know what decrepit means." Louis laughs. Harry's pleased. Louis is single. "You're really just a good guy, aren't you?"

Louis gives him a strange look. "I'm trying really hard to be."

It's starting to come together. Louis being single, Louis never shutting Harry down explicitly, Louis flirting so bluntly he must just be playing the part of the lecherous old man, but what if it's the only way he can flirt for real? What if Harry's back in the game?

Louis unwittingly gives him the perfect opening with his next question. "Do you have a boyfriend or girlfriend?"

Harry could probably weasel out of it, since it is a rather inappropriate question, but. "Nope. Haven't really… found the right person, I guess." Alright, why the fuck not. He's just told Louis how honest he is. He goes for broke. "I have this thing for older men? But they tend to be, like, happily married to women? Or be my creative writing teachers? Or both? It's very inconvenient. I wanna be happily married."

Louis doesn't even try to cover up his laugh. "Even as young as you are?"

"Definitely," he says emphatically, shaking out his fringe for good measure. He thinks Louis says something or makes a sound, but a car honks behind them and Harry instinctively pounds the gas pedal, like it's his first fucking lesson, and Louis has to manage that disaster.

Finally, when Harry's calmed down and convinced himself he's in the right lane at the right speed, Louis tacks on, "I'm sure you'll find someone. You're a good kid, mate."

Disappointment settles heavy in his gut, but he gets over it by the time the lesson ends. He's a positive person, after all. Louis might have just dismissed him completely, but at least Louis' single.

The day's not a total loss.


It's Harry's best lesson yet. He booked an hour and a half, and they're rocking out to Little Mix again and Louis didn't have to brake even once. He knows he's getting ahead of himself, but still, after the time's up and they switch places for the short drive back to Harry's school, he asks, "That was lesson number fourteen, right?"

"Yeah," Louis says, switching lanes annoyingly smoothly. "Have you thought about when you wanted to take the practical test?"

As much as Harry's excited about his driving skills, he's in no hurry to say goodbye to Louis. "Nope. But I am thinking about asking for that car already."

"What?" Louis asks. He's probably making a confused face, but, like every time he drives, Harry's more focused on his hands and forearms, strong and sure.

"That was the deal. I pass the test, I get a new car."

"Sorry, can you repeat that? I couldn't hear you over the quids spilling from your mouth to the floor of my cheap car."

Harry rolls his eyes. Nothing could get him down right now. "If you're fishing for a raise you could probably ask. The private lessons are keeping you from having more students, right?"

It was a condition, Harry found out. Robin pays Louis extra so Harry has the car to himself and isn't more stressed than he has to be. Not that he's got stage fright, but – whatever keeps Louis away from other boys.

Louis barks a laugh. "Trust me, I'm not fishing. If you paid me any more I'd have to start giving you – tips."

It's the high of driving really well and pleasing his instructor, it's this overconfidence that allows a certain thought to sneak into Harry's head. That Louis didn't mean to say "tips" at all. That Louis was this close to bringing up the subject of head-giving during a lesson.

It's that feeling that has him asking, "D'you reckon I could pass the test?"

Louis hums, perhaps still flustered over his slip of the tongue. It's been happening more and more lately. Harry might have also been breaking out the tighter-fitting shirts and making sure to play with his lips all day so they're nice and puffy when he meets Louis. Since he's decided he's back in the game, he's damn well going to play.

"If you drive like you do with me, sure thing," he answers eventually.

Harry beams. Louis looks pointedly at the road. Or maybe he's just driving, whatever. "How awful would it be if I called my dad right now and talked him into letting me get a car?"

"Very awful. You'll see him in a few hours."

"But then you wouldn't be there to back me up in case I needed support." He thinks it's a legitimate reason. Louis probably disagrees, going by his scoff, but he still ends up nodding.

Harry pulls out his phone excitedly. Robin answers after just a couple of rings. "Hazza, how are you? Aren't you at a lesson?"

"I'm alright, actually just finished it. So I've been thinking, like." Louis snorts next to him and Harry flicks his ear. "We might as well go car shopping, don't you think? Just to get the process started even before I pass my test. I'm really close to it."

Robin chuckles. "I don't know about that. Are you sure you're ready?"

Harry nods eagerly, even though Robin can't see him. "Yeah, more than. Even Mr. Tomlinson agrees, right?" he asks pointedly, putting his phone on speaker and looking at Louis pleadingly. Please be cool.

Louis arches an eyebrow at him, mouthing Mr. Tomlinson?

Of course, he's cool. "Mr. Twist, Harry'll pass in no time."

Harry blows Louis a goddamn kiss and turns off the speaker, playing with his own curls happily while Robin says they'll "talk about it at home".

"I hope you appreciated that," Louis says as soon as Harry hangs up. "I feel like a sell-out."

Harry laughs wildly and hurries to cover his mouth. "Very. Thank you, Mr. Tomlinson."

Louis rolls his eyes. "What even was that? Is that what you call me at home?"

Not really, it's just Louis or The Instructor. "Mr. T if I'm in a hurry."

It's Louis' turn to laugh. "Like you even get that cultural reference, you child."

"Hey, not all of us consume shitty reality shows exclusively. I don't keep up with the Kardashians."

"That makes you better than me, then?"

Harry stifles another giggle. "Of course not, I'm sorry. I like watching old shows with my dad sometimes. The A-Team and M.A.S.H. It's funny. He's funny, too, Robin's great."

(This is the turning point.)

"Yeah?" Louis asks. He's probably not expecting a reply, since they've never talked about family stuff – at least, not their own families. They have the Kardashian talk every week, and don't get Harry started on the fucking Duck Dynasty. Reality families are always awful, he doesn't get it.

Anyway. "Yeah, it's. It had been just my mum for a long time before she met Robin and settled down. He's been really great with my sister wanting to go to uni in the States and me coming out and, you know. Raising two teenagers. He's a good dad."

Louis' smiling to himself, like he's pleased for Harry. He doesn't really expect a heartfelt reply, so he's not disappointed when Louis says, "He would've had me at new car, really."

"Well obviously. It's all about him being well-off for me. I'm a right sugarbaby."

(This is the middle of the rabbit hole.)

Louis frowns, surprisingly serious, so Harry falls over himself backtracking. "I'm kidding, of course, Jesus, he's my dad. I'm just playing. Most of our money's from my grandparents, they have this farm. Never mind."

"It's alright, Harry," Louis reassures him. Harry quiets down immediately. When Louis doesn't add anything, Harry just glances outside the window and nibbles on his bracelets, thinking about his family and this awful joke Robin told him that Harry immediately made his own.

"We're almost there," Louis says, cutting into Harry's thoughts.

(It's a mistake. A slip. A dumb, dumb thing to add to the string of dumb things that come out of Harry's mouth in Louis' presence.)

"Thanks, daddy."

He's so distracted by his thoughts that he wouldn't have even noticed his mistake if Louis hadn't swerved sharply. Harry grabs the oh shit handle and turns panicked eyes to the driver's seat, only to find Louis grimacing and cursing to himself. He's about to ask what happened when it hits him.

He gets an actual headrush from the mortification, blushing faster than he can ramble. And ramble he does. "Oh my god, that was so weird, I'm so sorry, I was thinking about my dad and we were talking to him and it just slipped out, fuck."

Louis doesn't interrupt him through the whole thing and Harry just wants to jump out of the moving car, he really does, because it's like accidentally calling your teacher mum.

Only no, not really.

Daddy. That's some porn stuff, or at least a racy Beyoncé song, completely foreign to him, but Harry's even more turned on than usual and Jesus Christ. He shoves his knuckle into his mouth to shut himself up, and Louis still hasn't laughed or said anything. Harry, very slowly, completely terrified, turns his head.

Louis' knuckles are white on the wheel and there's an actual flush working its way over his cheekbones.

An odd sense of calm settles over Harry by the time they reach his house. A sex zen. Louis might have just been hit by second hand embarrassment for Harry, but he might have not. Might have been hit by something else. And there's no reason for Harry to feel awkward if. If he can use this.

Lesson fourteen is very significant.

(Harry tests the theory in lesson fifteen and sixteen. Just teasing, right? Just huffing and saying "Yes, daddy" after the tenth time Louis tries to explain a certain crossroads situation. Because Harry knows, he's a decent driver. And because it shuts Louis right up.

It's not that Harry's goal is to make him uncomfortable, but he's never thought he even had the ability to keep someone on edge, let alone someone like Louis. And it always flusters Louis, and Harry might just launch Seduction Plan 2.0.)


The first time Harry fingers himself, it's Niall's fault. Sort of. It's the weekend after the daddy thing started, and he's basically been wanking himself raw, keeps seeing Louis biting on his pouty bottom lip and glaring at Harry for saying it again. Louis actually asked him to stop. Harry didn't. He's gone mad with power, like a comic book villain. He loves affecting Louis so much. The thought of turning Louis on turns him on ridiculously often.

Anyway, Niall calls him in a panic on Friday with an Official For Real Code Red, so Harry stops wanking for long enough to take a cold shower and then walks over to the farthest Boots from their neighbourhood. Niall greets him with a long hug and a nervous laugh. He's wearing a big Jack Wills hoodie that's definitely Harry's, trying to be shady.

It's very uncharacteristic of him. Harry fully expected Niall to buy condoms at Tesco without even using the self checkout, not drag Harry five blocks over at 9 PM. The whole operation is kind of sweet. "Actual code red?" Harry asks.

Niall nods, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "It's happening. Harry, I'm gonna put it in." It sounds crass, but Niall's whole face says she is a goddess and I am a mere mortal with braces. As it should be, Niall's going to bang Barbara fucking Palvin and fulfil the fantasy of 70 percent of the male and probably female population of their school.

Harry gives him another hug and leads him into the store. "Are you sure this time?"

"Yes, I'm fucking sure, we've been talking about it for a while and her parents will be gone for the weekend. Jesus fucking Christ. What if I have a heart attack in the middle of it? Make a proper cunt of meself?"

Harry's eyes widen. She'll be traumatised for life. "Why the fuck are you asking me? Ask her, she's the one with experience."

Niall looks at him like he's an idiot. "She can't know I'm thinking about heart attacks, Haz. I'm supposed to make it all romantic and shit."

Harry hums. "Oh, I could make you a playlist? To get her in the mood. And maybe distract you so you don't shoot your load as soon as you put the condom on."

Now Niall looks at him like he's a genius. "I love you so much, mate."

Harry knocks their elbows together. "You too. I'm happy for you. Even if it'll leave me the only virgin I know."

"You know that's only because your standards are impossibly high. Bat those pretty lashes at anyone but Louis and you'll get it in no time. Not that you should," Niall adds, frowning like he's offended on Harry's behalf. "Being single doesn't mean you're weak, it means that you're strong enough to wait for what you deserve." Harry blinks at him. Niall ducks his head and tugs on Harry's hand. "Now let's find a condom for me to fuck my girlfriend's brains out with."

Harry rolls his eyes and goes with Niall to browse. He knows he should be inspecting expiration dates or sizes or whatever, but for some reason as soon as they reach the aisle his eyes are drawn to some unidentifiable gel in a deceivingly small tube. "Mate, that's not toothpaste," Niall interrupts his inquiry. "Trust me."

Harry arches an eyebrow, and Niall nods to his right where – oh. Lubricants. Hm.

Since meeting Louis his porn consumption has tipped drastically towards the gay side, and since the daddy thing happened the porn got a bit kinkier. He was apprehensive about it, but then the first video he found featured a bottom actually called "Harry Louis", so he thought it must have been a sign. (Harry Louis also got nailed by two guys with huge cocks, so. Harry Styles will settle for one. If it's attached to Louis.)

It wasn't even about the guys, really. They were just background noise. As soon as he touched his cock his eyes drifted shut and his thoughts went straight to Louis. Rubbing him slowly, skilfully, kissing his neck and leaving beard burn on his skin. Mostly he talked, though. Whispered in Harry's ear how good he looked, how good he wanted to make Harry feel. How much he wanted Harry's mouth on him.

Rationally, Harry should probably be fantasizing about Louis blowing him, not the other way around. Rationally, Harry shouldn't actually open his mouth as wide as he can and get off just to the feeling of his jaw stretching, the thought of Louis sliding in. He probably looks like a proper knobhead when he does it, but whatever. He wanks like no one's watching.

For all that Harry watches guys fuck and thinks about getting fucked, he's never actually tried it out with himself. It just seemed like such a daunting process, getting the right lube and setting the right mood and waiting for the house to empty and preparing himself and all the things the websites say.

And now he's swimming in different lubricants. Of course Harry's got some Vaseline and nice-smelling lotions at home, he's not a barbarian, but these ones specifically, like, have the word anal on them. Right on the tube. Teasing him. And it seems like the first step. And for once, he actually has a last step in mind. An option, as unlikely as it might be, of getting fucked in the near future. He shivers at the thought.

Harry touches one brand of lube with shaky hands, and already knows what his plans for the evening will entail.

He ends up buying the least inconspicuous-looking tube, because if he's doing it, he's doing it right. It's flavoured and everything, kiwi strawberry. Niall doesn't do more than roll his eyes, since he's having his own vagina-related panic attack. They're probably both hard when they part ways. They'll probably take care of it in very different ways.

He should wait for the house to empty out, and he knows his parents usually go on dates on Fridays, but he can't wait a whole day. He's got the lube in his sweaty hands. He's got a plan.

So he locks himself in his bedroom and turns on some ear piercing music. That done, he turns off the lights and strips naked, practically jumping into bed. He's overeager for it, probably. He knows it's going to hurt, that it's supposed to, but whatever. It's just him and his hand. How bad could it be?

He opens some porn on his laptop for inspiration, pretty standard "twink blindfolded and fucked". He's already hard, but he still takes a few moments to just lie there, watch the porn and play with himself. He wants to take his time, start with something familiar. Twisting his nipples until they're puffy, until he's hissing and planting his heels into the mattress.

He slides one hand down, scratching along his abdomen until he can wrap it around the head of his cock. The twink on screen is kneeling on the floor and drooling over a faceless top's cock, sucking sloppily because he can't see. Harry groans and thrusts his hips up instead of moving his fist down, gets hot from the motion of his own hips.

The camera zooms in on his mouth, his bruised and swollen lips, and Harry lowers his other hand to stroke his balls, arching his back a little. He manages to keep his eyes open for just long enough to see the top pull out of his mouth roughly and then jerk off so fast the shot is blurry. Harry's confused for only a second before ribbons of come land on the twink's face. The top rubs it into the flushed skin of his cheeks and Harry's whole body shudders, like he’s the one who's just come.

He's so focused on coming before the movie's over that he actually does, precious lube completely neglected. He's happy and relaxed, cleaning up his belly before he remembers the whole point of this. He could slap himself, seriously.

So he finds another movie, and once he's half-hard again he squirts some of the lube on his hand. It doesn't actually smell like kiwi or strawberries, but Harry guesses it's really not the point. Thinking about the point of having lube with flavours, though… that does the trick.

It feels kind of cold so Harry rubs his fingers together, causing some of the lube to spill over and Harry to curse. He adds more, and then some, because arseholes are generally dry and he's going to put something up his and how scary is that?

He drops one hand to his cock and strokes it, sliding easily with the lube and the come from earlier. It makes an obscene wet sound and Harry focuses just on that, the sounds and breathing, until his apprehension leaves him.

He spreads his legs wide and tries to get his hand to his hole over his crotch, but his wrists bump together and he changes course, getting there from under his thigh. It's a learning experience, really. An experiment. Once he's confident in the angle, he spreads his own cheeks with two of his fingers, so he can flutter the middle one over his hole.

His body jumps on its own, but it's not, like, as exciting as he thought it would be. It's just a finger. He must be doing something wrong. So he shuts his eyes and tightens the hand on his cock, trying to get back into it. The first thought that comes to mind is Louis as the top from earlier, jerking off on the twink's face. It fades easily into Harry's face, his own lips spreading to catch on the head of Louis' cock, and god, that's good.

His hips rut up and the tip of his finger slides inside of himself, so slick Harry barely feels it. The fantasy changes with it, to Louis finger-fucking him for the first time, careful but sure, the way he wraps his delicate fingers around the gear shift, the way he looks at the road in fierce concentration. Harry getting all that attention on his body, getting Louis inside him. He grinds down without thinking, getting his finger up to the knuckle before startling and pulling his hand out. Fuck.

He reapplies the lube, breathes deep a few times, and then tries again. The first push is coupled with rough tugs on his cock, and with the rate his brain is going, it's mostly just an extension of his pleasure, his desperation to come. It's not even that it feels good, it's the idea of Harry riding something, like it was the idea of Harry taking cock and opening his mouth wide for – for daddy.

He moans, far too loudly, has to twist around a bit so he can bury his face in the pillow. He's sweating by now, can only think of Louis' fingers sliding easily down his shivering body, then burying themselves in him. He gets more lube and bends his knees closer to his body, so there's room for his probing fingers.

His back arches into it before he knows it, and he's doing it, he's grinding down on his finger, he's moving his finger in and out, properly fucking himself, and it feels fucking good. It's so different to touching his cock, more intense and all over the place, hot hot hot, like he has to chase this feeling and knows it'll be worth it. He's so close already, it's absurd.

His other fingers start cramping from how he's bent them, so it seems only natural to tuck another one along with the first. And, fuck. He chokes on a long sound, body going taut. It's really uncomfortable and it burns, no other way to look at it, but there's something about the solid pressure, something about the fact he'll still feel it after he comes. Feel... stretched and achy. He tries curling them individually but he's too tight for it to make much of a difference, so he just works his wrist to pump them in and out, making himself moan. He strips his cock faster but it's like his fingers keep distracting him, too many sensations for his body to handle. He's so close he could cry but he needs something to tip him over the edge, someone.

What if… Oh.

His eyes fly open. He knows it's a bad idea, but fuck it, just fuck it. Letting go of his cock is almost physically impossible, but if he takes his fingers out he might not work up the courage to put them back in, and fuck, he really wants to come with something inside him.

Using his now free hand, he scrambles for his phone. It's fairly disgusting to touch it with his slick hand, but it's also fairly disgusting to do what he's about to, so. He sucks it up and looks up Louis' contact. Then he sort of stops breathing. It's rather hard to do, what with how his chest is heaving and his fingers are twisting and his hips keep snapping up as if he's still jerking himself, but he has to stay quiet.

He has to sound normal, so Louis won't know he's jerking off with two fingers inside him.

Who is he kidding, the thought of Louis knowing – watching him makes heat curl in his belly. The thought of Louis telling him to call if he needs to come. Maybe after fingering Harry himself and then leaving him, sweaty and flushed and unbearably turned on with no release.

Honestly, Harry's going to shoot his load in two seconds, Louis might not even pick up in time.

Eventually it's the urgency to get his hand back on his cock that convinces Harry to make the call and put the phone on speaker in quick succession. He bites his lip hard and stills his fingers.

Louis picks up in time.

"Hullo?" he says, and fuck, his voice is lovely and breathy as usual, and he's actually there, actually listening in.

The depravity of what Harry's just thoughtlessly done sinks in all at once, a brilliant rush that has his legs spreading and his fingers moving on their own. He stops chewing on his lip for long enough to say, "Hi Louis."

Shit. His voice is embarrassingly high and broken, but there's nothing he can do, he – he's jerking off with Louis. He wraps his hand around his cock, stifling a grunt and hoping against hope that the loud music might mask the sound of his slick hands moving.

"Is everything alright?" Louis asks.

Harry can't help but smile. He's never been more turned on in his life, yes, everything is alright. "Yeah, I – " he bites down on another moan, can't even tell what's getting him off faster, his fingers or his palm. his whole body feels twisted up. "Alright." Short sentences, that's the way to go.

"You sure? It's rather late, Harry." He nearly comes right then, with his name curling on Louis' tongue in disapproval. Really, considering the situation he's put himself in, he can't feel ashamed about what he wants. And he sort of wants Louis to tell him off. Or tell him what to do. How to touch himself. Jesus, his toes are curling.

"Yeah, yeah." Fuck, his voice keeps jumping from breathlessly high to raspy low, Louis' going to think he's possessed or something. "Sorry about the hour, I just really needed a lesson tomorrow."

"Oh." Oh, oh, oh. It echoes in Harry's head. He's basically grinding on his fingers now, so close there's no way to keep all the sounds in. It can't feel anything but amazing, the pressure and feeling full, feeling open. He can't breathe, has to bury his face in the pillow and bite down so Louis won’t hear him lose it. "Well, I'm sorry mate, I've got curriculum stuff to catch up on. I could do Monday morning, though. Could you come, Harry?"

Oh god, it couldn't have gone any better if he'd scripted it himself. Harry can't free any of his hands to hang up so he just shoves his phone off the bed with his hip and that's about the last thing he can do before he's coming so hard he's dizzy, riding his fingers and jerking himself punishingly fast. Fuck, it feels like it lasts forever, milking it until there's come splattering his fucking chest.

He lets go of his cock first, spent and sensitive. Then he twists his fingers a few times, drunk on how fiercely he can feel it, like he's still coming, weirdly enough. Like he could clench and warm himself up for the real – for Louis – holy shit, Louis.

Harry's brain clears at a frightening pace, and he stops playing with himself immediately. He wipes his hands on the comforter and turns over to peek at the floor where – well, if he'd hoped to drop the phone hard enough that the battery would plop out, he'd been mistaken. The call has been disconnected though, so Louis must have hung up once Harry stopped responding.

Or maybe... maybe he listened. A flash of heat passes him and he makes a helpless noise at the thought. He can't trust himself to talk, would probably sound sex drunk or lazy. So he carefully picks his phone up and texts Louis. Ignoring the stiffness of his fingers. Because, right, he'd just finger-fucked himself. Amazing.

Sorry mate, i didn't realise how late it was and then i dropped my phone and it must have disconnected. Mon sounds good! xx


"What's gotten into you?" Louis asks, incredulous.

Harry can't stop smirking. He half-wants to tell Louis exactly what got into him, just for the shock value. He's chipper and cocky with it. "Nothing, why?"

"You're just... more cheerful than usual."

"Impossible. Maybe you're just grumpier."

Louis rolls his eyes and doesn't comment when Harry puts the car in drive and steers smoothly into the lane. Instead, Louis opens the glove compartment and rifles through it. "DNA or Salute?"

"Salute," Harry says immediately. Louis nods and pulls the CD out, then ejects the CD already in the stereo system. Amazingly, that one is another copy of Salute. "Louis, no judgement, yeah? But I think you're obsessed."

Louis groans. "Fucking Zayn, I swear. When each of them came out he went to HMV and bought, like, thirty copies just to give out to random people in the street. And hide in my cars and sock drawers and fridge. There's supportive fiancé and there's bonkers, you know?"

Harry will probably die before he unsupports Zayn's attachment to his amazing female fiancée who is definitely not Louis. "I think it's sweet."

"Of course you do, you're a sappy – "

"However. What if we don't listen to Little Mix this one time?" he suggests.

Louis gasps like he's just offended him gravely. "That's… possible?"

"Let's check at least? I've actually got a mix CD I made," he says, pointing to his bag in the backseat. And then staring when Louis twists around to grab it. The collar of his low cut T-shirt dips past his tattoo and Harry's throat goes bone-dry because Louis has chest hair. Chest hair.

For all that Harry's cocky and pleased and well-fucked (he basically hasn't left his room since Friday. His fingers are still cramped), he has an inner panic attack when he catches sight of Louis pulling his leather-bound journal out of his bag. "Please don't," he says immediately. "Please, please don't."

Louis puts it back in the bag, but doesn't waste the opportunity to give Harry shit. "Is that your diary? It's full of things about your crush, isn't it? Like their last name and how perfect they are and – "

"It's. It's just thoughts. Lyrics, sometimes."

Louis must realise he's hit a bit close to home, so he pets Harry's thigh and mutters that he's sorry he touched it. "So. Did you mean the CD that's titled All My Stuff And Things, or the one that says Code Red?" Of course he pops Code Red in without waiting for Harry's answer, because "it sounds dangerous, I like it".

Harry stops breathing. He actually forgot he's stuffed his lovingly-made humping playlist into his bag after Niall texted him false alarm no craic parents still home )))): on Saturday.

Why do these things keep happening to him? How does he manage to subtly proposition Louis completely by accident? Even with all the headway he's made, he still has to consider himself as a rubbish seducer. Cookie crumbs, misstatements and now mix mix-ups. Harry Styles has no Lolita game.

The beginning notes of Do I Wanna Know? are extremely different from anything Little Mix has ever released. Before even the first word is uttered Harry's mind derails to gritty sex, perhaps against a wall or in the back of a car. Louis lets out a laugh, but it sounds kind of strangled, and when Harry looks over he sees that Louis' shifting in his seat.

He stops laughing as the tracks change, from more Arctic Monkeys to The 1975 and The Kills. He's dead silent and positively twitchy when they break out the Beyoncé and Lana Del Rey. So basically Louis' mildly uncomfortable for thirty whole minutes, and it's Harry's biggest success yet.

The lesson is coming to a close, almost at Harry's neighbourhood, so he risks it. Drives intentionally slowly and starts singing along. Why not, right? Louis' the one who said he's got an impressively deep voice. Louis' also the one who's squeezing his own knees. It's the most obvious and reckless Harry's ever seen him, so of course he pushes. Harry's a fearless bastard. "You and me baby, making love like gorillas," he sings.

Since they've been silent for half an hour Louis visibly startles, and turns wide, blue eyes to Harry. His hands move from his knees to his thighs, rubbing circles. Harry just smirks and chews his gum particularly obnoxiously. "I got a fistful of your hair but you don't look like you're scared, you're just smiling tell me daddy it's yours."

Louis sucks in a loud breath and then actually covers his face with both hands. "I've made a mistake, I don't like Code Red at all."

So Harry sings even louder, you're screaming give it to me baby give it to me motherfucker, and Louis bangs his head against the window. It's amazing. Harry is mad with power, existentially comforted by the hint that he's not the only one out of his mind from sexual frustration.

Harry's still singing filthy songs even as Louis drags him out of the driver's seat. This is the best discovery since anal penetration.


"So we're dropping you off at home?"

"Actually, can I drive to the city centre? Or is that too far from your next lesson?"

Louis shakes his head. "No, it's no trouble, I actually got a cancellation."

"Seriously?" Who in their right mind would give up on an hour with Louis? Harry considers using this information to make it a double lesson, but he's got an appointment he can't miss.

"Yeah, outrageous, I know. Not every boy is as disciplined as you."

Harry chews his lip. He knows Louis' teasing, considers it just a private joke they share rather than something that makes Harry's cock stir, but fuck if Harry doesn't take it seriously. Harry's a very serious person. He's earnest and honest and level-headed and very mature. And yet. "I'm a good boy then?"

Louis sort of pauses. It's quite painful. And then he ruffles Harry's hair and says, "You know you are."

Harry's so pleased he blanks out for a moment, misses it when Louis removes his hand from his curls and asks a question. He blinks at the road and shuffles in his seat. "Sorry, what?"

"I asked what you're doing in the city centre."

Oh, right. Harry perks up immediately. "I'm getting a tattoo."

Louis' quiet for a moment, but that's okay, Harry can wait for the applause. He's a patient boy. It's not like he's getting it to impress Louis, but he was definitely inspired by Louis' arms and maybe wanting to appear more mature. So Louis would fuck him. But seriously, he's not doing it for Louis.

Finally Louis says, "Do your parents know?"

Harry blinks slowly. "I can keep a secret." (It's obviously bullshit, his mum knows and assured Tom it's perfectly fine, otherwise he wouldn't have bent the rules and tattooed Harry before he turned eighteen.)

"Hm." Very noncommittal. Harry can work with that. "Are you meeting a friend or doing it alone?"

"Oh, the artist is a friend, actually."

Louis tuts. "Don't let some kid give you a tattoo, Harold, you can't exactly wash it off after."

Harry frowns at the rearview mirror. "What? Tom's thirty-two."

He can actually see Louis' expression shift from concerned to annoyed. "You have a thirty-something tattoo artist friend?"

"Yeah? Like, most of them are? Not tattoo artists, but more middle-aged? I love babies so I babysit a lot, like, you know I don't need the money but I like making friends."

He knows he's rambling, but with every word Louis looks more annoyed, and it's kind of precious. "Are you sure they're not, like, predators?"

Harry snorts, trying to imagine James Corden luring him to a sex dungeon. And James is the one he did kiss. "Please, they're not it." He doesn't mention Mr. Winston. Absolutely nothing good will come of thinking about Ben Winston in compromising positions while driving with Louis.

Louis looks like steam might come out of his ears at any moment. "I don't like it," he decides. It's ridiculous and dumb, but Louis' all sorts of ridiculous and dumb, so it makes sense.

Harry rolls his eyes. "Well excuse me, didn't know I needed your permission to make friends, Daddy."

Louis' hand suddenly drops from Harry's headrest to his nape, catching on his curls. He shivers. Hopefully Louis doesn't notice. "Harry, I told you not to call me that. I'm not old enough to be your dad."

That is both accurate and a very important thing for Louis to acknowledge. The tattoo is already making him older and he didn't even get it yet. Bolstered, he attempts to tease. "Sorry. I'll only call Tom daddy."

It's definitely intentional when Louis tugs on the springy bits at his nape. He knows it is because Louis says, quiet and dark, "No, you won't."

It's a miracle they're stuck at a red light, really, otherwise Harry might have veered into another lane. He's getting hard right in the car, Jesus, that hasn't happened in a few weeks. He's slipping. But Louis is, too. "Okay," he mumbles, voice breaking embarrassingly towards the end.

The air in the car turns stuffy and Harry's driving is so shaky it breaks the tension, somehow. Louis mutters something to himself and then snatches his hand from Harry's hair (its rightful place) and puts it over Harry's on the wheel to steady him. He can probably feel how Harry's shaking, and fuck, Harry almost wants to crash the car just so Louis wouldn't know how desperate he makes him. But also he doesn't, because it's comforting to feel Louis' hand on his, it's reassuring to drive with him.

Harry's a mix of overconfident and scared shitless when he says, "You're a bit older than me and we're mates?"

He doesn't breathe until Louis replies, "Yeah, but. I'm not middle-aged. And I'm not a predator. You should only trust me. "

Alright. So they are officially mates. And Louis' insane and possessive and that's so hot Harry nearly crashes the car again. "Okay." Fuck, he knows he sounds dumb but he can't think of anything to say that isn't I do only trust you please deflower me.

Thank god, Louis starts talking before Harry does. "How will you get back home?"

Lou said she'd give him a ride, but bringing up the fact Tom's happily married might tamp down whatever glorious thing Louis' going through right now, so Harry just says, "Tom said he'd take care of me."

Louis squeezes his hand for just a moment. "How about I do it?"

Harry hazards a big-eyed glance at him. "Take care of me?"

Louis' staring resolutely ahead. It doesn't mean anything other than him being a responsible driving instructor. Probably. "Give you a lift. I've actually got some business around here, I could swing back in half an hour and pick you up."

Harry tries not to smile like a maniac. Of all the cards he wants to show Louis, his patent frog smile could probably wait until after he gets his dick wet. However. "I'm not sure I'll be able to drive right after?"

"Don't be a knob, it's not a lesson. it's a favour."

"For a mate."

Louis clears his throat. "Yeah, exactly."

Harry's so smug he could float away. "Alright, mate."


"Does it hurt?" Niall asks as soon as Harry picks up.

"It... sort of." He can't really describe it.  Well, he can, he actually came up with the perfect metaphor while getting the tattoo, but he can't share it with Niall in front of Tom.

See, getting tattooed for the first time is a lot like putting something up your arse for the first time. It was terrifying before, and painful at first, but then he kind of gave into it. The pain became inconsequential as soon as he dared to open his eyes and actually watch Tom work. Then it was just cool, seeing his skin marked by black ink that will stay there forever, a pretty five-point star decorating his inner arm. It still hurt, but it was consistent and thorough and just became a numb buzz at some point, thrumming from his arm and through his whole body. It became pleasant at some point. Like, extremely. Like, Tom actually had to pin his arm down because he was squirming. And that didn't help at fucking all.

Anyway, for all that he was nervous, he can't wait to get another one. "D'you see the pictures?"

"Ew, no, I thought there was blood."

Harry frowns. "Nialler, I took them for you."

"Whatever mate. I'm gonna see it for myself tomorrow at school, right?"

"Of course. I'm gonna walk around shirtless to show off to everyone."

"So basically a regular Wednesday?"

Harry giggles. He can't keep it inside any longer. "Ask me how I'm getting home."

"The fit hairdresser?"

"Nope. Louis' picking me up. "

"Seriously? You're gonna drive after getting the tattoo?"

Harry grins to himself. "No driving, he's just picking me up. As a favour. For a mate and potential boyfriend. His words."

Niall laughs sharply. "I can't believe your Lolita project is actually happening."

That's rich, considering Niall's the one who started the thing. "You don't approve?"

"Well, like. Just a bit worried for you," he admits, surprisingly serious. "I guess I'm glad it's not some forty-year-old weirdo; I did go through year ten with you."

"Hey, I don't have a fetish for older people," Harry protests. Tom clears his throat loudly. Harry whispers the next part, "Virgins can't have fetishes, I think."

"That's not true. Virgins watch the most porn, we're bound to have freaky fetishes."

"Fetish porn grossly misrepresents women, sexuality and healthy habits, Niall." He's obligated to say it, as hypocritical as it might be. "Wait, you think I'm freaky?"

Niall huffs. "Of course not, you're a beam of sunshine. The fact you think about elderly cock most of your day is normal."

Harry chokes. "Elderly? Oh my god – wait, someone's ringing." He looks at the display to find Louis' name. "So sorry mate, it's Louis, he might be outside, I should – "

"Stop apologising and answer, you polite freak."

With an eye-roll he might have picked up from Louis himself, he hangs up on Niall and picks up Louis' call.

Apparently he's already right outside the tattoo studio, so Harry hugs Tom goodbye. And flinches at the direct contact with his tattoo. And gets a scolding by Tom. Whatever. Like Louis said, it's a tattoo, it won't exactly wash off later.

When he climbs into the passenger seat, the first thing he notices is the strong smell of cigarettes. "You smoke?" he asks immediately.

Louis shakes his head. Then nods. "I met up with Zayn, who chain-smokes. Filthy habit, don't go near it. I don't smoke, myself. Well, not always. When I'm stressed, mostly."

"You get stressed?" You're human? Amazing. Harry clears his throat. "Were you stressed then? Why?"

Louis actually lifts his sunglasses to glare at Harry. "No reason, Harold."

Harry lets himself smirk, and then brings his necklace up to his mouth to play with. "The tattoo-getting went very well, thanks for asking."

Louis rolls his eyes. "Cheeky. D'you have the ointment and everything?"

"Yeah, I'm all set. Think I'm gonna throw a pool party to show it off."

"What?" Louis smacks Harry's shoulder. "Firstly, you wo – you're not supposed to expose the tattoo to the sun or to chlorine. Secondly, where even is this tattoo?"

"I'll show you." He could technically just roll up his sleeve. But he could also take off his shirt, and that feels more fitting. To him, at least. Louis looks awkward as fuck when Harry squirms out of his shirt and flips his messed-up fringe to the side, before lifting his arm to show the ink.

The tattooing process went a lot quicker than Harry had predicted, so by the time Louis came to pick him up, Harry'd been waiting at Tom's shop for long enough to remove the bandage. The ink looks raw and like it could smudge at any second, but it's pretty and permanent and Harry's smug as hell.

Especially when Louis lets the awkwardness go and ducks forward to inspect it. He's not touching Harry, but his stare feels heavy and Harry has to bite his lip. "Is it like you pictured?" Louis asks, curious.

Harry fidgets and drops his arm. "You don't like it?"

"No, I do!" Louis grabs Harry's elbow and pins it to the headrest so his tattoo is on display again. "It's pretty and sweet, it… suits you." Harry believes Louis' just called him pretty and sweet. Louis shaking his head at himself seems to confirm it. His fingers are still tight on Harry's elbow. "Dunno why I was expecting a full-on sleeve tattoo with ugly dragons."

Harry cackles at the thought. Gemma would have killed him. "Why would I get an ugly sleeve as my first tattoo?"

"I… thought you were trying to make a statement. To. Impress someone." Louis is flustered, this is the very best day.

"I like staying true to myself," Harry claims, instead of yes I was trying desperately to impress you please lay me down.

"It's the best thing about you," Louis admits. He must not have meant to, because he shakes his head again, shaggy hair floating majestically everywhere, and really, if Harry were to get a full-on sleeve it'll be an unworthy rendition of Louis Tomlinson's face with like, an embarrassing arrow-pierced heart or something.

Distracted by the thought, he says, "Yeah? The best?" and stretches to his full height so his just-starting-to-show abs and perpetually hard nipples are more in Louis' eyesight.

Louis notices. Like, full on checks out Harry's pecs and tight stomach, for two whole seconds (that get Harry vaguely heated), before he lets go of Harry completely and looks at the road. While starting the engine, he says, "Well Harold, you need a good personality to make up for your shitty driving skills. Put on a shirt."

"What the fuck ever, Lewis. I have the best personality." The fact he knows Louis' joking – the fact they're actually mates and can banter and swear and tease each other – it sends something warm through Harry's chest. "And you know I'm a good driver," he adds while pulling his shirt back over his face.

Louis looks like he's about to say something, but then thinks better of it and starts reversing out of the parking lot. Like always, Harry loves watching Louis drive. He's sure and confident when he grips the wheel, eyes flitting to take in the road conditions and then he shifts gears imperceptibly. Harry's sort of stuck on that, Louis' dainty little hand tight on the knob of the gear stick. The way he manipulates it smoothly. The way his thumb makes circles over the tip. The way that same digit was on his naked skin, centimetres from his throbbing new ink, a few minutes ago.

The ride to his house is short, and that's probably a blessing. Jumping Louis while he's driving would have resulted in disaster.

"Thanks for the lift," Harry says, putting his bag strategically over his lap before opening the door and slipping out of the car without waiting for a reply.

"Hey, H," Louis calls out, rolling down the window. "It really is nice. But wait before you get another one. And don't hang out in the sun too much."

Harry doesn't really know what to do with all this concern. It depends on whether it's patronising or friendly or. Something else. So he just smiles weakly and says, "Yeah, alright."

Louis sighs exaggeratedly. "C'mon Haz, give me the twinkly eyes."

Harry's smile broadens on its own at the nickname. It must have some effect on his eyes because Louis nods and says, "Good boy."

Which. Has Harry pressing the bookbag tighter against his crotch. He couldn't walk up the driveway fast enough.


"How can I help you?" is a delightful way to start a phone call.

Harry picks at his lip to keep from smiling helplessly. Even though he's sitting in his empty room, he's sure Louis would hear it. "Lewis, are you doing anything right now?"

"Nope, just waiting for you to call."

Fuck it, Harry's just going to smile. "Really?"

"No, Harold, I'm with a mate." Oh. Harry pouts. "Don't pout, it's just Zayn."

Great, Louis can hear both smiles and pouts. What if he has Harry's room bugged? Jesus, Harry hopes not for Louis' sake. The amount of times he’s come saying Louis' name would probably scar him for life. Harry stops looking for suspicious nanny cams when he hears who must be Zayn on the other line whine, "Just Zayn then? Because I don't have curls or a nice smell?"

The rest is muffled, maybe because Louis was quick to cover his phone with his hand, maybe because blood is rushing to Harry's ears along with his cheeks. He touches his hair automatically, ruffling it and sweeping the fringe to the side. "Anyway," Louis says, finally returning. "I'm sorry, I'm not working today. But we had a lesson just yesterday, don't tell me you miss me."

"First of all, of course I miss you, you know I live for our lessons. And secondly, I'm not calling for a lesson, I'm calling for help."


"Right, so I'm going with Robin to the car dealership soon, but the truth is I know fuck-all about cars? I'm not asking that you come with me," because I'll just end up pushing you into backseats and it'll be awkward, "But maybe I'll text you models and you'll tell me what's best?"

Louis hums. "Will you pose with the cars and make silly faces?"

"You bet."

His laugh is warm and lovely, and Harry can't remember what made him decide against humping him in pricey new cars.

It'll have to be texting.




The unthinkable happens. Harry actually forgets about a lesson. Getting his new car made him giddier than he thought possible, even though he couldn't even drive it on his own. He's not even much of a car guy, but it's a '66 Mercedes-Benz convertible. And a gorgeous one at that, sleek and white and his.

He keeps sending Louis random pictures of it from different angles. Most of the replies he gets are sad emojis now. He's not bothered. The only thing he stops himself from texting is the most important observation: this car is basically Louis. Like, the sign next to it said "hot, small luxury cars target younger buyers". It blew his mind. (Louis didn't reply when Harry texted him the picture. Maybe he texts his driving instructor too often.)

Anyway, he was so chipper it must have affected destiny itself, because Maths was cancelled and he got to come home early. Also, the weather was surprisingly lovely. It all conspired together to make him forget about the time and go for a dip in their pool.

He doesn't know how long he's out for, since no one else is home. He just floats on his back, feeling the warm water lapping at his weightless body and the sun warming his skin. At some point he starts swimming laps, his only form of exercise these days. Vague thoughts creep up on him, about his new car and tattoo, about maybe trying out yoga, about cats, about how much he looks forward to summer, about how pretty Louis is in the sun, about making pizza. Mostly he just listens to the water rolling with every push of his arms, every stretch of his muscles. It's relaxing and nice and quiet.

Until someone says, extremely loudly, "Oh buggering fuck."

Harry's so startled he flops in the water like an idiot, nearly snorting the whole pool. Once he stops inhaling chlorine and sputtering unattractively, he looks around and finds Louis, in his backyard. He rubs his eyes, feel his eyelashes clumping together with water, but no, it's still Louis Tomlinson. Or maybe he drowned.

He's still gasping for breath and treading water when Louis finally speaks again. "I'm sorry, I – I kept calling, we have a lesson, I just thought I'd have a look before leaving, I didn't know you were – doing that."

The ringing in Harry's ears is starting to subside. And shit, Louis' right, they did book a lesson. "Fuck, I'm so sorry, it slipped my mind," he says, and paddles to the pool's edge. He resurfaces practically at Louis' feet, and shakes his hair everywhere before wiping his face.

The Moment That Changes Everything:

Harry looks up, biting his lip in apology. The look Louis' giving him is so heated he feels the urge to sink back in the cool water. Louis' got his hands fisted at his sides, and he's in black skinnies and a big tank top that scoops past his collarbones and his hair is wild from the wind, one day's worth of scruff, and the point is that he looks fucking edible, but the real point is that he's looking at Harry in the same way. Like he wants to sink his teeth into him.

It hits Harry fast and hard, the (still unconfirmed) realisation that Louis wants him back. That he hasn't been imagining the tension between them. And all it took was getting wet. Harry could've done this ages ago. He could invite Louis into the pool right now, ask him to take his top off and jump in, touch his golden, slippery skin.

Instead he plants his hands on the surface of the pool and hauls himself up using the strength of his arms alone, climbing out and dripping everywhere. Louis must be rooted to the spot, because he hasn't stepped back from the splash zone, leaving Harry right in his face when he finally emerges. And Harry didn't plan this at all, but the moment just keeps getting better and better because it turns out he's quite a bit taller than Louis. He never noticed it because they're always sitting, but right now, standing right in front of him, Harry can't help but step even closer so that he's towering over him.

Louis' still staring straight ahead at Harry's throat, which is working overtime for how dry it's become, and slowly his gaze travels up, over Harry's jaw and cheeks. Finally, their eyes meet. Louis having to look up makes his cheekbones all the more pronounced, actually casting shadows under them, and his eyes are fluttering like he's completely dazed just from looking at Harry. His pupils are dilated.

It doesn't seem like he means to speak when he whispers, "Fuck." Harry knows that because his mouth snaps shut immediately afterwards, and Harry knows that because he's staring at Louis' pretty lips. He's close enough to hear him breathe, close enough to count his lovely lashes, close enough to naturally get closer.

In that moment, he's convinced Louis would let him. He'd kiss him back, he'd tangle his fingers in Harry's wet hair or tug on his bright purple swimming trunks. He wouldn't let him drip all over the ground and shiver. He'd touch him.

For a long minute nothing happens. Harry's standing, hyper-aware of everything, from Louis' short breaths to his own nipples hardening as the wind hits his wet body, to the itch in his fingertips. They're suspended. Until they're not. Harry is so focused on watching Louis' mouth, practically feeling the stubble against his own smooth skin, that at first he doesn't even hear the words coming out of it. "What?"

"I'm saying, you'll catch a cold."

Harry rolls his eyes. The tension isn't exactly broken, like they're in too deep, but now that Louis brought rationality into it, Harry blushes to the tips of his ears. He wants to cover his chest. With Louis' chest. He tries to dismantle the situation, by, of course, making it worse. "Stop worrying, Daddy."

Louis doesn't glare, or scoff, or laugh it off. He clenches his hands and says, very evenly, very controlled, "Then be a good boy and cover yourself up."

Harry nearly whimpers pathetically. Louis has started playing along with him, but it was always clear that he was joking. Playing up the fatherly concern or affection. There's absolutely nothing fatherly about the way he's looking at him right now. The difference between dad and Daddy is acute. He has no idea how he's supposed to catch a cold when it feels like he's about to catch on fire.

Okay, he needs to reassess. Louis isn't exactly going to fuck him poolside, despite the fact Harry's getting half-hard right in front of him. He's big on taking leaps of faith, somewhere between optimistic and careless. "I'll go shower, then. Don't wanna stink up the new car. You could wait inside?"

Louis actually hesitates, which is good, and then says he'll just wait by his car and make a few calls, which is awful. Harry trudges into the house, taking a five minute shower and wank, and then ten minutes to pick his clothes (dark jeans and his Ramones shirt) and fluff his hair back up, making sure it smells nice. His face is still flushed from the sunny afternoon, but he thinks that looks nice too. Not all could be lost, right? Louis didn't cancel the lesson. Louis broke into his house.

He's slightly reassured when he finds Louis outside of his car, sucking on a cigarette. Both because it's so hot his knees get wobbly, and because he remembers that Louis smokes when he feels... weak. As soon as he notices Harry, he drops the cigarette and puts it out with the heel of his beat up Vans. "Alright?" he asks from afar.

Harry just nods, shaking out his wet hair. He should have brought a beanie; it'll be just like him to actually catch a cold. He meets Louis' eyes again. Okay, maybe loose curls were a good idea. "So? Like what you see?"

Louis nods instantly, and then shakes his head like he's annoyed with himself. "What?"

Harry smiles, wide and happy and dimply. "The new car." He traipses over to it and plants his arse on the bonnet. Of course it's more graceless than sexy, with how he loses his footing and slides a bit down, but Louis smiles back at him fondly and fixes his fringe.

"Look at this gorgeous baby," Louis coos, voice still a shade darker than normal.

If he's trying to be sneaky about moving toward the driver's side, he's doing an awful job. Harry clears his throat. "Louis, would you like to drive the car?"

Louis practically runs to the driver's seat and throws himself inside. Harry moves more slowly, as usual, but quick enough to catch the best thing he's ever seen – Louis adjusting the seat. Because he needs less leg room. Because he's shorter than Harry. He's so smug it must show on his face, because Louis smacks his shoulder. Harry rolls into it instead of away, and Louis snatches his hand and plants it on the wheel.

As if that weren't awkward enough, as soon as he turns on the car, the stereo system blasts Harry's cherry-popping playlist. He was not prepared for this lesson. (Or is actually the smartest sneaky seducer in history.)

Then there are the most awkward fifteen minutes of his life. Louis, of course, drives attractively smoothly, and Harry, of course, is restless in his seat, drawing his knee up and chewing on his lip distractedly. Louis obviously has comments on the car but he stays quiet, and the silence only makes the music sound louder, Matt Healy moaning between them. Harry can't take it anymore. He opens his mouth to apologise for making things so uncomfortable, but abruptly stops himself as soon as he looks over.

The Moment That Really Changes Everything:

Harry realises he's not the one making things awkward. Louis' quiet and stilted because Louis is hard. There is a bulge, so obvious in his jeans, which are tight enough that Harry can actually make out the shape of it – of him – of his hard cock down his thigh. His eyes widen and his cock twitches in sympathy and his mouth practically waters the longer he stares at Louis' lap. He made him hard. He's been right all along. Louis Tomlinson is into him.

He thinks he can hear angels singing in the distance. He swallows hard, then realises his mouth is still hanging open, so he just blurts it out. "Louis, will you take it the wrong way if I asked to suck your cock?"

"Jesus Christ," Louis hisses. The car jerks forward because his leg must have slipped, and even under the rush of delighted thoughts, Harry takes a second to appreciate the irony of Louis driving like an idiot because of Harry. Then Louis' hand jumps from the wheel to his crotch, like he's relieved Harry finally noticed his hard-on so he could adjust it. It's mesmerising, Louis' hand on his own cock, it's – Harry's fantasies are actually coming true one by one.

He can't even wait for an answer, just instinctively leans closer, puts a daring hand on top of Louis' and presses his nose to the soft hair curling behind Louis ear. He breathes deep, then whispers, wet lips brushing over Louis' skin for the first time, "Would you like me to?"

Louis hisses again, and grabs Harry's chin so he has to pull back. He doesn't remove Harry's hand from his crotch though. Isn't that fantastic? Harry would like to keep it there forever; his big hand belongs in Louis' warm lap. The car stops abruptly, probably a red light, Harry doesn't even care. Louis looks deep in his eyes and says, flustered, "I don't think you really want to."

It's probably his way of trying to let Harry down gently, but there's lovely colour high up on his cheeks and his hips are rocking into Harry's hand, rubbing up against him, and that answers that question. So Harry answers Louis' question by tugging on his seat belt and ducking down to nuzzle his zipper, blood roaring in his ears and rushing to his cock. He's so turned on he could burst with it, absolutely in love with the way he can feel Louis' dick twitch against his cheek. He doesn't know what he's doing, but yes, he really, really wants to do it.

He's too distracted and overwhelmed to hear Louis cursing, but one thing stands out, gets him even hotter. "Harry, anyone can see."

He presses his flaming face harder into Louis' crotch and makes an embarrassing little sound. His heart is racing at the thought of someone seeing, some stranger catching Harry with his head between Louis' legs, finally getting what he wants. It's all moving so fast but Harry feels like he's been waiting from day one. He's not going to quit while he's ahead. Ha. Head.

"Yes," he mumbles, even though he doesn't even remember the question, if there even was one. Just. A big yes to this whole situation.

Louis still makes disapproving noises, might even be telling Harry that they shouldn't, that he'll take care of it on his own, but he never says he doesn't want him, so Harry clenches his hand so hard his nails are digging into Louis' thigh and he says it, his lips getting Louis' jeans damp right over his cock. "Daddy."

He thinks it's not even the word that breaks Louis, but the reproachful tone. Like Harry accused him of being an inadequate daddy, by not letting Harry have his cock. His reaction is stellar. He drives extremely fast over a speed bump, so Harry suddenly gets a face full of his crotch. It's probably fucked up, but his first thought is that if the fly had been undone, if Louis' cock had been in his mouth right then, he would have choked on it, would have gagged when it hit the back of his throat and filled him like – Jesus, he wants it so much he squirms desperately.

He's so caught up in it, panting wetly over Louis' hardness and feeling his face redden, that he misses the moment Louis pulls over. Until he feels Louis' fingers tangle gently in his curls, rousing him, and that's it, it's his moment. He trails his nose over the inseam of Louis' jeans and moves his hand to the zipper, already breathless. Only Louis tugs on his hair, hard enough to pull his face up and away. Harry whines from both the feeling and the result, and Louis tuts at him, fingers just petting him pleasantly rather than painfully. "Let's talk first, love."

Harry opens his eyes slowly, shaking his head to focus. He barely notices when Louis unfastens both their seat belts. "Talk."

"That's right." He's still got his fingers in Harry's hair. Harry would like them to never leave.

His hand is still on Louis' thigh, so he inches it higher and presses down. Louis' even harder by now, obvious. Harry's just – amazed by everything, doesn't want to let a minute go to waste. He's touching Louis, actually, unapologetically. "Do you – not want me to?"

He sounded sickeningly vulnerable, but Louis scratches his scalp and shakes his head. "I – of course I do, Jesus, just. Have you ever done it before?"

Harry's muscles loosen at once, both because of Louis' clever fingers and because of the long-awaited admission. So Louis wants him. He can work out the rest. "You know I'm a fast learner."

Louis laughs, pulling a lock of hair. "Don't say things like that. Sounds like I'm in a porno where you're my naughty student who will do anything for a good grade. "

Harry doesn't like that at all. "You know it's not why, though," he mumbles, frowning. "Like, I really, really like you, it's got nothing to do with the lessons."

"Yeah, hey, I know you're not just trying to seduce me." His thumb sweeps over the back of Harry's neck. "You haven't got a conniving bone in your body. You're a pretty good driver, too."

Harry bites his lip, feeling coy. "I am trying to seduce you, though. You're not, like, taking advantage."

After all the things Harry's done in the last few minutes, this sentence gives Louis pause. "Well. You're smashing it."

He smiles at that. "Yeah?"

"Are you kidding?"


Now Louis frowns at him. "Harry, I haven't slept a wink since I met you. I keep thinking of you when I jerk off and then I feel so guilty I have to make lists of why it's wrong to wank to fucking schoolboys, and then I think about fucking schoolboys again and I swear Zayn wants to evict me."

Harry should argue. Or, like, explain at length why Louis shouldn't feel guilty about wanting to fuck Harry, but Louis wants to fuck Harry. Louis wanks to Harry. (Harry kind of wants Louis to wank on Harry.) He shifts in his seat, about ready to just crawl over to Louis' lap and set up camp. "You think about me? What about?" He's just making sure.

Louis shakes his head like he can't believe what he's hearing. "You're bloody sinful. I think about your big mouth and your soft hair and your lovely hands and – how nice your smile is and how you're always honest and you know what you want, much more than I did when I was your age."

Harry ducks down and nuzzles the side of Louis' neck, too happy to look him in the eye. "Can I please suck you off now?"

"Only if you kiss me first."

Harry's so eager for it he nearly knocks his elbow into the horn. He takes Louis' chin gently, feeling the stubble rasping his fingers, but more importantly, feeling Louis smile. When he finally presses their mouths together he starts smiling too, and it's horribly counterproductive but he's glowing. He feels Louis' sharp little teeth nipping at his lip, though, and that gets his head back in the game. He parts his lips and meets Louis' tongue and presses closer, sucks on it a little, like a prelude.

Louis' hand tightens in his hair and tips his head back, making him gasp into Louis' mouth. He lets him take over then, gets snogged so thoroughly his lips tingle and his dick presses hard against his zipper. Harry knows he's a good kisser, but it's not about showing off to Louis anymore, it's about taking whatever Louis wants to give him.

It gets hot and desperate soon enough, once Harry dares to bury his fingers in Louis' feather-soft hair and gasps at the feeling, once Louis bites Harry's bottom lip hard. He can't take it anymore, gets his hand back on Louis. This time Louis doesn't protest, snaps his hips up immediately. Harry makes an appreciative sound that almost drowns out the noise of him pulling down Louis' zipper.

He doesn't bother to wait, instantly dipping his hand under the waistband of Louis' boxers, and gets a grip on his cock. It's a Revelation, touching another dick for the first time. Like, there's a head and a shaft and foreskin, no shocker there, but there's also Louis gasping against Harry's cheek, and Louis wriggling against the leather seat to shove at his hand, and Louis' fingers wrapped tight in his hair.

It takes Harry a few moments to figure out how to move his hand, since the angle is foreign and Louis' pants are getting in the way, but there's nothing discouraging about Louis kissing the side of his mouth and murmuring, "There you go."

It's hot in his grip, incredibly hard, and when Louis frees his mouth to kiss his neck, Harry brings his hand up to lick it. He doesn't know if Louis notices, as he's busy running his tongue over Harry's pulse point and then sucking his skin, but he definitely notices when Harry's hand comes back wet. He groans right in Harry's ear. Harry's heart stops for a second, like he's actually going to come in his pants because he did that. He brought a sex noise out of Louis. A high, involuntary, beautiful noise that will probably haunt him forever.

He's surer from there, gets a good tight grip and pulls the way he likes it himself. His wrist hurts a bit, but he could keep going, could make Louis come, if he didn't remember his goal. He just wants to get his mouth on him. Wants his first blowjob to be messy in a parked car in the middle of the day, just a few blocks from his house. Wants Louis to have to drive afterwards and think about Harry's lips.

The moment he finally works up the courage to duck his head, Louis makes a distressed sound against his throat and pulls back. "Shit, I don't have a condom on me."

Harry opens his eyes very slowly, miffed about Louis letting go of his neck. "You need a condom for blowjobs too?"

"Of course, you don't know where I've been." Louis fixes Harry with a Pointed Look. "No matter who you're with, always use protection."

Well, that's just silly given the context. "Louis, you know where you've been. I trust you. Are you, you know, clean?" Louis nods immediately. Harry grins and kisses Louis' cheek lightly. "So what's the problem?"

It takes Louis a moment to figure it out. Maybe there wasn't a problem, or maybe he's distracted by Harry kissing his beautiful jawline. "I'm trying to teach you a lesson for the future."

Harry tries to bite down on a smile. "Who the fuck else am I gonna be with?"

Louis hesitates before something kind of settles in him. He pushes Harry back and gives him a dark look. "No one else will lay a finger on you." Harry could purr from joy, honestly. Louis grabs his jaw, and his breath hitches. "I'm not your sex ed teacher, am I?"

"No, Daddy."

He half-expects Louis to argue about the name again, but all he gets is a proud smile and Louis shoving his own jeans and boxers halfway down his thighs. "Have at it then, baby."

That's all the invitation he needs. He shuffles back in his seat and then leans down and, okay, there's a dick in his face. He knew it would be there, it's what he wanted, but being so turned on doesn't actually affect his inexperience. He's never even gotten a blowjob before, didn't get this far with anyone. So he breathes deep and then darts out his tongue to lick along the head of Louis' cock. It's smooth, and – and Louis makes a soft noise that makes Harry stop analysing the moment. He licks again and keeps his hand tight around the base of Louis' cock to keep it in place. "You're teasing," Louis hisses.

Harry doesn't think it's meant as a criticism, but he still kind of panics, wants to make it good, so he takes the head of Louis' cock past his lips and keeps going until his eyes drift shut and he forgets to breathe. He can hear Louis cursing over the ringing in his ears, and then there's a hand scratching his scalp and pulling him up by the hair.

He breathes in deep and nuzzles against Louis' stomach. "Sorry," he whispers automatically, and startles when his voice sounds rougher. Of all things, that's what's got his dick straining. He's sucking cock. Actually.

"Don't apologise, love," Louis says fondly. There's a roughness to his voice too, which might have something to do with Harry slobbering all over his cock. "Want me to tell you what to do?"

Harry's immediate reaction to that idea should be alarming, or at least explored, but he ends up just nodding quickly, tugging on Louis' tank top with his teeth. Louis pets his hair again, and his stomach twists with pleasure. He's got a feeling Louis is waiting, so he says, "Teach me, then. I wanna suck you good."

"Jesus," Louis breathes, giving Harry's hair a sharp tug that might not have even been intentional. "Lick your hand again and get me wet."

It's easier. Harry attunes himself completely to Louis' voice, so he doesn't get overwhelmed by the width or the smell of him. Does just what Louis tells him to and gets praise in return, an extra pull on his hair if he does well. He gets Louis slick so it's easier to take him in, but before he can get ahead of himself, Louis tells him to jerk him off at the same time, so his hand can meet his mouth. Louis gets considerably less coherent when Harry gets the synchronisation of that down. "Now – yeah, now there's room for your tongue to move, isn't there? Just push the flat of it up so – oh fuck, that's it, that feels amazing."

There's little Harry won't do to keep Louis this affected. He pushes like he was told, so there's pressure from his lips and his tongue, so there's spit sliding down his shaft. Harry finds himself moaning when he feels it drip down his knuckles, because it means his mouth is too full, it means he's getting Louis messy. He rides on that rush, starts twisting his hand up and sucking Louis down, gets his lips tight on him, gets Louis to curse and tug hard. Harry moans again, sparks shooting down his spine the longer Louis plays with his hair.

"That's so good, Harry, you – god," Louis says, raspy and incoherent, and Harry hums and pulls up so he can play with the head, suckling on it and swirling his tongue over it. All the while, his hand flies over Louis' cock, pumping him so fast it makes a wet noise Harry could get addicted to.

He tilts his head and slows his hand down so he can kiss along his length, licking from base to tip. He knows he's teasing again, but this time he's confident, this time Louis makes a frustrated noise and grinds his hips up so Harry's chin digs into his thigh. In retaliation, Harry scratches Louis' thigh with his free hand, and why the fuck does he even have a free hand? He inches it up Louis' leg and then tucks it under his own head so he can brush over Louis' balls. Louis has no comment on that, other than a choked-off noise and another thrust. He's got Louis desperate for it.

With no free hand, Harry doesn't have a chance to open his zipper and relieve some of the pressure on his own achingly hard cock. The terrifying thing is that he might not even need to. If Louis keeps pulling his hair and... being... Louis, Harry might just come untouched. The thought is so embarrassing he blushes even harder, but also burns hotter, gets off on getting off.

He doesn't want to come yet, though, so he tries to focus. Louis' absolutely, magnificently unhelpful by now, so Harry just goes with his gut. Plays with the tip and then sinks down, lower than he did before, daring. It's uncomfortable, but undeniably hot, less about his aching jaw and more about Louis panting and rocking his hips subtly, like he wants to just fuck into Harry's mouth but knows he shouldn't.

Knowing how tightly Louis' got himself wound makes Harry more comfortable, enough to open his mouth that much wider and take another inch in. He pulls off abruptly when his eyes start to water, but not before he sucks hard. He does it just to stop from slobbering over his fingers, but Louis' mental for it, twists a handful of curls between his fingers.

Harry doesn't even come with a mouthful of cock, accomplished. He comes untouched after pulling off, lips loose around the crown. He comes because Louis yanks especially hard on his hair and grits out, frustrated, "Harry, take it." He comes because Louis might as well be saying please.

Harry ruts desperately in his seat and blanks out for a moment, shocked and overwhelmed and shooting off hard in his briefs just from blowing Louis. He makes an alarmingly loud sound and hurries to take Louis deeper, stuff his mouth with it on the off-chance Louis didn't notice him embarrassing himself. He can't really take the deep breaths he needs around a cock, and ends up even more short of breath and spacey, almost like he's still coming, borrowing the pleasure Louis gets from his mouth.

He's sloppy from there, doesn't even try to come up with a technique beyond wet and tight. Louis doesn't complain, doesn't even bother with full sentences. "Yeah, yeah, you feel so good," he whispers, pushing up in the tiny movements Harry allows him. Harry moans around him and feels a bit gone, scattered everywhere. Buzzing from how he can only take shallow breaths, from how sticky his pants are, from how tightly Louis' still holding his head.

"I'm close," Louis breathes out finally. Harry hums happily and moves his hand faster, swallowing him down farther. He can actually feel Louis getting closer as he bobs his head, until Louis stops him roughly. "Fuck, I – baby, you've gotta pull up, pull up now."

Harry does as he says, can't do anything else, but even as Louis comes hard into his own cupped hand, Harry mouths at the side of his cock, so he feels it pulsing, so some come lands on his cheek. It might just be the best moment of his life. He's still a bit loopy from lack of oxygen, and his jaw hurts like a motherfucker, never mind his neck and back, but he can't stop smiling. He kisses the back of Louis' hand, because it's there and why not.

Louis untangles his hand from Harry's hair slowly and carefully, even tucks the sweaty mess behind Harry's ear before he hooks his finger under Harry's chin and pulls him up gently. Harry can actually hear his joints popping when he sits up straight after crouching for so long. He doesn't feel it, though, not yet. Too satisfied to care.

"What are you smirking about?" Louis asks, because he's still Louis, but Harry doesn't get to answer because Louis kisses him. It's not nearly as hard as before, more appreciative and – sweet, adoring, so lingering Harry flushes and curls his toes. He would like Louis to kiss him always, but especially after giving head, because his lips are swollen and tingling and his chin is messy and his throat feels raw and he can taste Louis, shares it in the kiss.

Louis only lets go of him for long enough to rifle through his bag and wipe his hand on something, and then he gets both of his hands on Harry, messaging his burning scalp and stroking his neck, kissing him and whispering about how good he was. Harry's so dazed he forgets why it's a Bad Thing when Louis' hand trails from his chest down his stomach and to his lap. He squirms when Louis lays a heavy hand on his spent cock, and then gulps when he feels Louis freeze. "You're all wet," he notes. "Christ, did you come?"

Harry's so embarrassed he buries his head in Louis' neck and coughs obnoxiously. "I, um. Might have? I'm sorry, you're just so fit and I liked – "

Thank god Louis stops him before he rambles more. He kisses him again, steals the words right from his mouth. "Don't worry about it, it's hot, I love how much you liked it. I just wish I could return the favour now."

Harry whines and tucks his nose under Louis' jaw. "I want it."

"I know you do. Let's get you home, I don't want you to drive like this."

Harry nods slowly and pulls back, suddenly exhausted. He looks at Louis through half-lidded eyes and smiles when Louis leans in to kiss him again, sucking on his bruised lips. "So pretty like this," he whispers, making Harry preen and kiss him back harder. "Always wanted your lips."

(x) (x)

It takes them ages to get the car started again, Harry drifting from needy kisses to being too tired to even fasten his own seatbelt. He's half-asleep when Louis pulls up at his driveway, his hand flung over the headrests so he can tangle his fingers in Louis' hair. "Hazza, we're here."

Harry just burrows deeper into his seat. "Hmm."

Louis laughs. "Should've known you'd be useless."

"Hey," Harry mumbles, vaguely offended. "Not too useless to make you come."

"Right." Harry waits for more banter, but none comes. He cracks one eye open and sees Louis staring into the wheel. It's weird, Louis always has to have the last word. Harry leans closer to kiss his beard, but Louis pulls back and clears his throat awkwardly. "Your, um. Your parents might be home."

Cold is starting to infiltrate the happy daze Harry's found himself in. "So?"

Louis still won't look at him. "So they can't exactly see me."

Right. Because Louis is his twenty-five year old driving instructor and Harry's still in sixth form. Jesus. He tries to be mature about it, even though he just wants this soft, content feeling to last. "Of course. I guess I'll... Just go then?"

He's a bit disappointed when Louis doesn't argue. Just a tiny bit. But he's got bigger things to worry about, like the crick in his neck or his soaked briefs. As soon as he climbs out of the car, the fresh air makes him woozy, and he notices that it's barely been an hour and that his parents' cars aren't here. He turns to tell Louis, maybe make a suggestion, but Louis' already jogging to his own car and pulling out a cigarette.

Harry feels like shit rather quickly. Every muscle in his torso hurts and he's still obscenely dirty, but it's not really hot without Louis looking at him like he's the best thing he's ever laid eyes on. He tries not to feel hurt or disappointed, but he's never been one to repress, and his jaw still aches. He doesn't want to be passive aggressive, either. So he just walks up to Louis' car and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Louis, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Louis lies, but at least he turns around to face Harry and leans up to kiss him. It's short but it's sweet, normal for him. As much as Harry can judge, anyway, considering the fact that just yesterday kissing Louis was a far-off dream, certainly not something to get used to.

Louis pulls back and rubs their noses together like an idiot, distracting Harry enough to open his car door and fold himself inside. Harry blinks at him for a moment. "Okay, um. What about the next lesson?"

"Just text me when you're available, yeah?"

Harry shrugs. Something weird is definitely happening, but Harry just wants to shower and lay down and kiss Louis again. He'll text him. They'll figure it out.


The problem with having a crush is that you don't actually expect to feel crushed. So when Louis doesn't text him back, doesn't answer, sends another guy from the driving school instead, it hits Harry hard. Because in all his hopes and fantasies, it never came to this. He never got shut down so thoroughly. And it just makes him realise how much he's actually come to rely on Louis, how much time he spends thinking about him, how he doesn't stop texting him even though it's been three days of radio silence.

So basically, he's being a pathetic shell of a person. Niall gives him three days to mourn Louis before calling him on it. By calling Louis all kinds of names.

They're cuddling in Harry's bedroom, where he's barricaded himself to have a cry and listen to sad music and actually do his homework. He didn't even get up to let Niall in, his mum had invited him to get Harry "out of his slump". She doesn't know about the Blowjob of Doom, of course, but Niall does. "I bet you give amazing head," Niall says proudly, stroking Harry's back. "Louis' a motherfucking twat."

Harry appreciates that. "Thanks, mate. I do think he liked it. Maybe he just realised he didn't like me."

"Again, then he's a knobhead. I bet he does like you, what the fuck's not to like?"

Harry buries his face in Niall's shoulder. "I dunno, since he never told me. I know," he says before Niall even opens his mouth. "He's a total ding-a-ling. Wanna hear the saddest thing?"

"There's something sadder than me catching you crying in your brand new expensive car?"

Ugh. "The saddest thing is that I don't even regret it."

"What, blowing him?"

"No, falling – well, yeah actually. I quite liked it." He nuzzles Niall's shoulder again, embarrassed, but Niall just hugs him tighter.

"It's alright mate, I get it. I mean, I don't get it, but B always gets wet when she does it to me."

You learn something new every day. "Oh."

"Yeah, so. Don't feel bad about anything. He's the sexual deviant who fucked a seventeen-year-old and the heartless shit who left him hanging."

He doesn't necessarily feel bad. "I'm mostly sad."

"Well, you should probably stop moping before it becomes permanent then."

"Heeey. I thought you came to join the moping."

"The only reason I have to mope is that my best friend is mopy. I'll be happy when you're happy."

He sighs in utter despair. "How do I get happy then?"

"You get plastered, of course."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Last time I got drunk I puked in your hat and you didn't talk to me for two weeks." Or days. Whatever.

"My ha – my designer snapback – isn't going anywhere near you this time. You're gonna go out and find a cock that isn't attached to a dick."

Harry snorts a laugh. "You're encouraging me to have casual sex while drunk?"

"No, if it happens it'll be 100 percent safe and consensual," Niall says resolutely. "I'm just encouraging you to have some fun. Without peeing in a bush and letting someone post a picture of your bum this time."

"My peachy bum," Harry emphasises.

"Please don't make me talk about your bum. I'm going to a gay club with you, who knows what I'll see."

Niall is just the best. "You're not coming with."

"What? Why not?"

"It'll just be easier if I go with a gay friend. I'll be okay. If I go."

Niall nudges him to look up and note his deep frown. It disappears as soon as Harry looks, though. Niall can't physically be disapproving or unsupportive. (He gives up on being the wingman when it turns out Barbara will really have an empty house this weekend. Harry doesn't hold it against him. He thinks it'll definitely strengthen their bro-bond if they both lose their virginities on the same night. Like some ritual.)

Saturday night, he goes. After five days of nothing from Louis, Harry finally became convinced if he didn't shake it off, he'd either shrivel up and die. And he's too young to die. He's too young for this club, too, but showing up with Nick Grimshaw has its perks. The first stop is the bar, naturally, and Harry buys himself a sugary cocktail and then lets someone buy him two shots of tequila. Once he gets a good buzz, he realises he's managed to lose Nick at some point.

The place is massive and crowded and loud, strobe lights and deep bass taking over Harry's mind. Right now, it's blissful. Nothing bothers him here, except for the tacky sweat he feels forming on his back. Good thing he's wearing a mesh shirt and no pants under his tight jeans. He downs one last shot and then steps onto the floor, where he's sure he'll forget even that.

He drifts on his own for a while, getting used to the music and the alcohol flowing in his veins. He starts moving before long, swaying his hips to the beat and mussing up his fringe. It's not his usual brand of "embarrassing dad dancing at a barbeque" moves, as Niall lovingly dubbed his dancing style. It's lazy-drunk and smooth. He sings along but he can't even hear himself, and thinks that's nice too, that he can scream out and only hear his loud pulse. He should've gone out sooner.

It doesn't startle him when he feels strange hands settle on his hips, more like a pleasant surprise. The further he moves onto the floor the more crowded it gets, and they're not just touching his hips. There are hands on his shoulders, people against his sides. He loves it. Loves feeling wanted. He's always been friendly, but this is decidedly raunchier than chatting to strangers on the bus. This is someone sweaty and big clinging to him, someone dancing right in front of him, and next to him, and behind him.

He likes that one best. He can't even see him, but maybe that's part of it. It's so much easier to dance when he's following, when all he has to do is match the curve of someone else's body. It's more than dancing, though. The stranger is full-on grinding up against his arse, and Harry might have moved on from him if it weren't for the hand in his hair. Not because the grip is strong enough to restrain him, but because it's strong enough to turn him on.

He grinds back, and the hand tightens on his hip. The music gets louder, or maybe it's his pulse. He wants another drink, but he can't seem to stop dancing, or wanting all these people around him. What if he loses his place in the crowd? What if he misses the guy draped over his back? He can't have that. He leans so his back is pressed to the stranger's chest and he thinks they're sharing a heartbeat.

He makes a disappointed little sound when the guy lets go of his hair, only then he pushes it back and presses his lips to Harry's ear. He slumps, too sensitive, nearly misses it when he hears, "Christ, you're fit. What's your name?"

He hums at the compliment, arching his back so his arse is pressed more firmly against the guy's crotch, and it feels like he's playing the character of someone who's got far more game than him, but the stranger doesn't know it. It gives him a wonderful rush.

He doesn't want to tell him his name. The only course of action is to turn his neck so the strange hand still behind his ear is closer to his mouth. So he can bite at his forefinger. He hears a curse from behind him and shudders, wraps his lips around the digit.

Finally, the guy gets it and shoves two fingers into Harry's mouth. It's unceremonious and kind of perfect, or at least he's drunk enough to pretend it is perfect, that he knows these fingers, that he's back in his car with Louis. He sucks on them and shoves his hips back, so turned on his jeans feel uncomfortable. The guy keeps whisper-yelling about how fit Harry is, and right now he believes it. It doesn't even matter what he says, because the moment he thought of Louis it became all he could think about.

And when he hears some yelling and feels someone new grab at him and start hauling him off, he doesn't think about how hot Louis is; he thinks, meanly, vindictively, that he doesn't need Louis at all. That he could just blow someone in the toilet of a club, right now, because that's how these things usually go, right? He wasn't supposed to find someone older and hotter and into him, for however long that lasted. He just wants to suck a cock that isn't attached to a dick. He turns around to face the man still drawing him away, to politely ask whether he fits that category, and.

Well, just. Fuck. He can't fucking get away from Louis, can he? Can't even stop in his tracks or struggle when he realises he's really awake and it really is Louis Tomlinson dragging him angrily away from the nice men who actually wanted to fuck him.

Harry's dumbstruck, can't even find the rage not to check Louis out. It's been a million years and Louis' wearing rudely tight black skinny jeans and a black T-shirt, because he's an arsehole who'd dress casual to his own wedding and still be more gorgeous than anyone on the continent. If Louis would just stop the pulling and stand still, Harry would much rather grind against him than anyone else. He'd be facing him, though, keep his arms locked around Louis' neck and kiss him and rub their cocks together right on the dance floor.

That doesn't seem to be in the cards. Which is just as well, really, seeing as the farther Harry gets from the nerve centre of the club, the more he remembers that he's mad at Louis. At least Louis' mad at him too, his hand tight around his wrist, unrelenting and possessive and kind of hot, but also annoying.


The destination isn't the bar or the toilet. Louis' actually been leading him to the exit, and as soon as the doors are flung open, Harry's hit with an intense, sobering cold wave. He blinks against the wind and shivers, mesh shirt doing nothing to cover his sweaty skin. He looks up hesitantly, and feels another chill when he sees that Louis is livid. Still uncomfortably fit, but furious. What Harry doesn't miss is the fact Louis' still gripping his hand like he's misbehaved.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" is what Louis finally says, voice raspy even to Harry's pounding ears. Not how are you or remember when you blew me and then I blew you off or I'm so sorry about that.

Harry frowns at him. "I thought that was pretty obvious, Louis. I had no idea you would even be here." It's not like he was trying to get his attention or anything.

Louis' expression softens marginally. "I didn't say you did. But I know you're too young to be here, let alone drinking. Who are you with?"

Great. After fucking off for nearly a week, this is what Harry gets. "A mate."

"Which mate? Where are they?" he snaps.

Harry shrugs. "I dunno, maybe off with some guy." His eyes widen when Louis pulls out his phone, with the hand not still on Harry. He blurts the first thing on his mind. "Please don't call my mum."

Louis rolls his eyes, probably biting back something sarcastic. "I'm not, I'm texting my mate to tell him I'm taking you home."

"You – are?"

"I'm not just gonna let a cab drop you off." He says it so angrily it takes Harry a moment to understand that he's actually being considerate.

He bites his lip. "I – thank you, but I can't come home like this. I told them I'm at Niall's."

Louis' gaze turns steely again. If Harry's dick were just a bit softer he'd be so fucking annoyed right now. "Where were you going to stay?" Louis bites out.

Harry's eyes flit to the club, thinking about any of the men who touched him. But no, he probably would have found his way to Niall's house. Would have chickened out. He shrugs, and Louis sighs. "Come on then, I'll take you to my home."

Oh. That's. An option.

He leads him to some side street, hand still hot on his skin, and the more sober Harry gets, the more absurd this seems. Running into Louis after a week at the very place that was supposed to help him get over him. Louis throwing a fit and running Harry out of the club. And then making sure he got home safe.

There's something aggressive even in the way Louis slams his door shut, and Harry just. Can't have this tension between them. "You realise I'm legal, right?" he asks, innocently enough. Louis arches an eyebrow at the rearview mirror. "Okay, not to drink, but to fuck. The legal age of consent is sixteen."

Louis narrows his eyes and turns the wheel in a white-knuckled grip, kind of exactly like how Harry wishes he'd grab him. Fuck, he's bloody awful at confrontation.

"Not when I'm in a position of trust over you," Louis mutters. So someone did some Googling. Interesting. "And either way, it doesn't mean I liked watching you grinding your underage arse against some random creep."

More interesting. "Watching?"

"Seeing. Whatever. I can't believe you'd be so irresponsible." Harry ducks his head and breathes through it, knows he's in for a rant. "What if I hadn't been there and some old guy had gotten his horny hands on you and took you home and fucked you too rough? You know who goes to these places, people like Nick Grimshaw." Yeah, Harry definitely stays deathly silent. He'll have to ask Nick how he knows Louis, if he survives the most awkward car ride in history. Without crying. Nor understanding why Louis suddenly dislikes him. "They don't care about you, they just wanna use you."

Harry hates how sad he sounds when he says, "Like you, you mean?"

Louis comes up short. He's quiet for a moment. "What?"

Harry scrubs a hand over his face, pressing hard over his eyes. "I'd say having your student blow you and then dumping him without another word is a pretty good definition of using. If this is you being possessive after all that, you can fuck right off."

"No," Louis hisses, distressed enough that Harry looks up at him again. "This is me... caring about you and driving you home."

That's even worse. "So you care then?"

Louis looks shocked and starts driving faster. The roads are virtually empty at this hour; wherever they're going, they'll be there soon. "Of course I care, that's why I was ignoring you in the first place."

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. No offence," he adds.

Louis just sighs. "None taken, I'm obviously dumb if you think I was dropping you just because I already had you."

Harry's not quite ready to let that thought go, but he does recognise the fact Louis thinks he's just rescued him from some satanic virgin sacrifice (at a club Louis went to himself). So maybe he's not quite over Harry yet. "I don't get you at all."

"You do, that's the – you know what, we're doing this. But not now. I want you to at least be sober and smell less like…"

Harry sniffs at himself when Louis trails off. "Sweat and cigarettes?"

"Someone else."



Louis and Zayn's flat is a bit of a shoebox. Which is to say it's small and cosy and has shoes everywhere. Harry's still drunk enough to wonder how many legs they have, but not drunk enough to ask. Of course his first act as a guest at Louis' place is to knock over the wooden key dish and cringe at the noise.

Louis sighs and stops Harry from trying to pick it up. "C'mon love, let's get you tucked in," he says, leading Harry past the kitchen to one of the bedrooms. At least he's less prickly now, whatever possessed him at the club dissipating.

So he's in Louis' bedroom, a magical, wonderful place that Harry didn't even hope to see. He's sluggish, and if Louis weren't pouring him into the bed he probably would have knocked over a dozen other things. As it is, he's sweaty and smelly, and splays himself over Louis' covers. "You gonna sleep with me?"

Louis shakes his head, but leans closer to run his hand through Harry's hair. It's an irreparable mess probably, nothing could save it but a shower, but he's too tired to move, not to mention have Louis stop touching him. It's just. Absurd that he's so desperate he's willing to forget how Louis had hurt him. But he's always been a bit desperate for Louis.

"No, I'll take the sofa. Don't want Zayn to bother you when he comes home."

Harry's devastatingly disappointed. He curls in on himself. "Right."

"Listen, don't fall asleep yet, I wanna get you water and some Paracetamol. Take off your shoes though, you animal."

Harry groans at the thought of moving, but Louis leaves before he can protest. So he straightens up slowly and slips his shoes off, then his socks, and then his shirt. He knows he'll be freezing soon, but for now he's so relieved, slumping back on the cool sheets. He reaches both his arms up until he can grab at the headboard and points his toes, stretching his muscles and making his body strain. There's still something restless under his skin, the phantom touches of the multiple men who were all over him, adoring him before Louis swooped in and "saved" him. Maybe Louis thought it was chivalrous, but the truth is it just left Harry frustrated.

He whines to himself softly, and that's how Louis finds him. Harry can only watch as Louis rakes his eyes over Harry's long form sprawled on his bed. He snaps out of it too soon, shakes his head and dumps the water and pills on the nightstand. "Good night," he says stiffly and retreats, closing the door behind him.

Disappointment still coils in him, that he's come so far but Louis still can't even look at him. He turns over to bury his face in the pillow, but all that accomplishes is flooding him with Louis' smell, clean and lovely. Christ, he's in Louis' bed, and all he can think about is blowing him. It's haunted him since the moment it happened, and the memory is too strong now, coupled with the familiar scent, with the knowledge Louis is just outside. He can't really skip out on him when Harry's in his bed. It just reminds Harry that he's been packing a hard-on for like, three hours, and he rubs against the mattress unthinkingly.

It feels too good to stop once he starts, and he's still got his hands clamped around the bars of the headboard. He rubs his face into the pillow to stay quiet, despite the fact it's getting harder to breathe, and the less focused he gets the more he thinks about Louis. First it's his cock filling Harry's mouth, something he's miraculously familiar with, but then it's his cock in his own hand, lying right where Harry's lying and tugging himself fast. I keep thinking of you when I jerk off.

Harry bites the pillow and grinds down harder, thinks about Louis saying his name and touching himself, his beautiful skin glowing and sweaty, his muscles stretched tight and his tattoos standing out, begging Harry to lick over them. Thinks about Louis clubbing with him, fitting his smaller frame to Harry's and dancing, getting to wrap his arms around Louis and press tight against him. Dragging him off to blow him in a toilet stall with the door wide open. He gasps when he finally comes, so relieved and satisfied he doesn't even think about his pantsless situation and staining his jeans.

He lifts his head so he can breathe properly, and once he comes down, he shoves his jeans off and dumps himself back in the bed. He remembers to drink the entire water bottle, and then curls up around Louis' pillow and falls asleep in seconds.


When he wakes up, he's less hungover than he is disoriented. His stomach keeps turning and there's dried sweat all over his body. He's pretty sure he stinks. He groans to himself and stumbles to his feet, feels his way outside of the bedroom to find the shower.

He's halfway into using an industrial amount of shampoo when he realises this is not his flowery shampoo because this is not his shower because this is really not his house. He actually gasps aloud and clutches the showerhead to his chest, looking around in horror. Jesus Christ, it's all coming back to him, dancing with a stranger and making Louis so jealous he abducted Harry to his bed. In which, fuck, Harry wanked. What was he thinking. Louis will hang him if he finds out.

If Harry ever gets out of the shower. This is the rudest thing he's ever done. He's definitely supposed to ask before using someone's shower. Fuck, he didn't bring clothes with him, too used to walking around naked in his own house. He didn't even check the time, it could be the middle of the night and he woke everyone up. Woke Louis up. He's just used Louis' shampoo. Yesterday he thought he'd never see Louis again, and now he’s christened his bed. Harry should consider a career in this unwitting seduction thing.

Alright. He showers as thoroughly as possible, to get the smell of the club off his skin, and then steps out and uses mouthwash he hopes isn't expired. His clothes haven't magically appeared, so he finds the one towel that isn't wet on the floor and wraps it around his waist. Alright.

With a racing heart, he opens the door, and, surprisingly, doesn't find Louis and Zayn standing outside with the police. He tiptoes out, and notes that the living room is empty, which probably means Louis is awake. He doesn't flee, more like a graceful gallop back to the bedroom. Once he's finally safe, he closes the door softly behind him.

He rounds the bed and cracks open a window, so there's a sliver of light and fresh air in the room. It leads to the disconcerting discovery that his shirt is too disgusting to be worn unwashed, and his jeans are unusable too. Jizz jeans. Not something he wants to parade around Louis' house at the moment.

The only option is to crawl back into bed. He's too anxious to fall asleep now, keeps thinking over what happened, why Louis could have brought him here. If Louis would appreciate him sleeping naked in his bed or actually hang him.

He's a bit relieved when Louis finally knocks on the door. He pulls the duvet up to his chin and fixes his hair, curlier than normal after the shower. "Yeah," he croaks out.

Louis opens the door slowly and shuffles into the room elbow-first, carrying two cups of tea.

It's been the most frustrating week of his short life, and he spent most of it mad at Louis, sad over Louis, and convincing himself Louis is some evil mastermind. But right now all he sees is his mate, who cracks inappropriate jokes just to make Harry laugh and gets weirdly intense over salad choices and got under his skin somewhere around day one. And he looks sleep-rumpled and fluffy and Harry wants to crawl into his lap and kiss his face. He's brought tea for Christ's sake.

Louis gives him a once-over and sniffs. He probably meant to open with "good morning" or "I hope you like tea", but instead he goes with, "You used my shampoo."

Harry shrinks into the blanket. "Sorry."

"No, it's alright. I like the. Smell."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Yeah, that makes sense. Since you own it."

"No, I meant – okay, let's go with that."

Harry suddenly remembers something Louis said last night, about Harry smelling like someone else, and he knows it's dumb and weird, but now, in Louis' bed after using his toiletries, he thinks he probably smells like Louis and. That's probably what Louis meant. Harry runs a hand over his face to cover the blush, hopefully. "Um. It's weird seeing you standing up since I've only ever seen you in a car."

Honesty is the best policy, and at least it breaks the tension. Louis snorts and moves into the room, closing the door behind him and locking it, which. Okay. He then steps closer to the bed and hands Harry a mug. "I know you're probably a weirdo who likes green tea, but I only have black, so. Deal with it."

"You're a shit host," Harry says, making Louis glare. "Is there sugar at least?"

"Fuck. I figured you were sweet enough?" he tries.

Harry rolls his eyes again, and bites back a smile. "Thanks." It's just the right temperature to drink in gulps, which means Louis' waited a while. Harry imagines Louis standing in the kitchen over piping hot tea and psyching himself up to come face Harry. "So. I'm sorry about last night, I guess, you really didn't have to stash me here."

"No, I. I think you're due an apology. Can I sit?"

"It's your bed." He shuffles back, making sure to keep the duvet bunched well over his waist. Louis doesn't need to know he's naked right now.

Louis sits down gingerly, curling his little hands around his mug and tucking his legs up. He's close enough to knock their shoulders together, never one for personal space. Harry bites his lip again and waits for him to start, setting his tea on the nightstand. Finally, Louis says into his tea, "Sorry I've been ignoring you."

When it doesn't look like Louis' going to add anything, Harry clears his throat. "Did I do something – "

"No, of course not," Louis cuts him off, wrapping a hand around Harry's wrist and tangling his fingers in the bracelets. It's oddly intimate. "You did all the right things. I'm the…" He takes a deep breath. "The moment we kissed I felt – I knew that it's gonna be a thing that, like, I won't be able to stop doing. And then you blew me and it hit me how much you wanted this too, and I was – am afraid that you're just trying to please me, because you're so young, Harry, how can you know what you want?"

Okay, Harry needs a moment to stomach all that. "Louis, have I ever jerked you around? I've been pretty fucking obvious, like. I know what you want." He turns his hand so their fingers clasp together.

Louis sighs. It's so hard to see vibrant, loud Louis this defeated. "But you don't really. Your first boyfriend should be your own age, okay? It should be normal, you deserve to experiment and explore stuff, you don't need someone like me."

Harry can't believe it's coming down to Louis' insecurities. "You're saying I'm – not normal?"

Louis sets his tea aside and catches Harry's eye. "Of course you're not, you're fucking amazing."

Harry turns to him, squeezing his hand. "So – "

"And I get the appeal of sleeping with someone experienced, but – "

"Louis, that's not it at all," he cuts him off, leaning down to nudge his shoulder with his forehead on instinct. His instinct will always be to touch Louis. "It's not an older man thing, it's a you thing. It's you being funny and caring and getting me. I want you, I know I do. I'll want you when I'm eighteen and when I'm twenty-two, okay? And if you were mad enough not to realise that, why did you even bring me here last night instead of dropping me off at Niall's?"

Louis' face hardens. "Didn't want anyone touching you. I just wanted to get you out." His voice is harsh and Harry kind of wants to melt into the mattress. "What were you even doing there, really?"

Harry shrugs, moving closer to Louis. It feels like time. "Trying to get over you."

Louis starts chuckling, and when Harry frowns at him he just shakes his head. "Me too. Fucking poetic, innit?"

Harry bites his lip hard and nuzzles the soft fabric of Louis' loose T-shirt. "So we agree that you're dumb and that I want you to kiss me right now and possibly fuck me later?"

"Excuse you, I'm not dumb, I'm having very legitimate moral dilemmas like any lecherous old man who – " Harry kisses his dumb mouth then, because it's there and being assertive with Louis is crucial.

He's rewarded by Louis leaning into it immediately, wrapping his hand around Harry's neck so his fingers tangle in his curls. Harry parts his lips, fitting perfectly against Louis' mouth. He sighs when he feels Louis' stubble scratch his chin, since he didn't shave this morning. Harry would like to think of it as a gift.

He's distracted by Louis' tongue licking into his mouth, and somehow misses the moment Louis puts a hand on his chest and pushes him back against the pillows. That is until Louis rolls half on top of him and kisses him deep and hard and the blanket tangles between their legs. Harry tries to right it so he could get his hands on Louis, but somehow that leads to Louis' leg slipping between Harry's thighs and – Jesus, Harry's back arches at the contact and his legs clench around Louis'.

Louis stops snogging him and freezes for long enough to make Harry open his eyes, confused. He finds Louis staring at him with his beautiful mouth hanging open, puffy from kissing. Harry leans up to kiss him again, but Louis pushes him back down. "You're naked. Where are your pants?"

Harry flushes instantly, trying so hard not to rub up against Louis' conveniently-placed thigh. "I, um. Never had any?"

Louis blinks at him. His eyelashes are indecently long. Harry wants to kiss him. He's naked under Louis and kissing is an option, what a wonderful morning. "So last night…"

"Yeah," Harry says, even though he's not sure what Louis' thinking. He just wants the discussion to end so he can go back to kissing and maybe see about Louis moving against him. "Slept naked in your bed."

Louis' still annoyingly immobile. "I meant at the club."

"Oh. Then you probably don't wanna look at my jeans."

Of course Louis does. At least he moves in a way that brings him in contact with Harry's hard dick again, so he counts it as a win, for the half-second it actually takes Louis to piece together what the jizz jeans mean. Then Louis makes a deep sound and his hands fly to Harry's shoulders and pin him down. It's not like he was going anywhere, but Louis manhandling him – yeah, that could be a thing.

Louis perches on his thighs, so beautiful and so close to his cock. He bends down to kiss Harry's neck, but no, this could hardly be considered a kiss. He bites the skin hard and sucks it into his mouth, makes Harry gasp and throw his head back.

"Harry," Louis growls in his ear, then bites that too, tugs on his earlobe. His nails are still digging into Harry's shoulders. "Jerking off in my bed?" he asks, scolding. Harry knows he can't actually be mad, since he hasn't kicked him out of bed for being weird and sneakily wanking in another person's house. So he's pretending. Acting. It hits home when Louis adds, "Is that what good boys do?"

Even Harry can't believe how much he gets off on it. He could have been perfectly content just snogging Louis and grinding against his thigh and having normal, lazy morning sex, but as previously established, he's not really normal. And this is so much better, this feels like Louis' turned up the heat in the room, this feels like giving. Harry's always been eager to please.

He arches up when Louis sucks another bruise into his neck, and Louis has to pin him back down and twist a nipple in reprimand. Harry makes an embarrassing, helpless little noise, because his nipples have always been sensitive and Louis' not gentle at all. The best part is that Harry knows it's because of him. That Louis wouldn't be like this if Harry hadn't reacted the way he did when Louis pulled his hair and got rough with him.

He bites all along Harry's collarbones, sucks and licks and keeps rubbing his beard against his skin. It burns and it makes it so fucking hard not to thrust his hips up. Louis isn't even done. "You made me so angry last night, dancing like that, sucking on some guy's fingers – " He cuts himself off with a flick of his tongue against Harry's hard nipple. "I could see everyone looking at you and I couldn't even blame them, you were fucking obscene. Could have given it up to anyone."

Harry squirms and shakes his head. "Only wanted you."

"Didn't seem like it," Louis says, tugging harder on his nipple and kissing him right under his jaw, where his pulse beats the hardest. "Looked like you were ready to bend over for them all. They wanted you to. Wanted your arse, wanted your pretty lips around their cocks. But I'm the only one that had your mouth, aren't I?"

Harry nods this time, eyes screwed shut and mouth hanging open. His cock twitches against his stomach but Louis' keeping him firmly pinned down, sitting on his thighs and splaying a hand over his heart. "You are, I swear, I didn't mean to make you angry."

That gets him a kiss, at least. It's unexpectedly sweet, considering the bruises he can feel blooming on his chest, but with his mouth Louis is gentle, sucking on his lower lip and pressing them close, opening Harry's mouth carefully. Harry sighs into it, draws a sense of calm from the moment. It shatters as soon as Louis starts talking again. "I know you didn't. You were still very bad. Should I punish you for it?"

Harry's nodding before Louis even finishes the question. Whatever Louis wants, he can have. He doesn't know why he trusts him so much, when their bond became what it is, but he's pretty sure he'll be losing his virginity to Louis by noon, so. Whatever gets him there. Louis kisses him slowly again, bringing his hand up to tug on Harry's damp hair in reward. "Alright. Wanna know what I'll do?"

Harry considers this, despite the fact he's so turned on he can barely think. On one hand it might be hot to just let Louis take over completely and keep him in the dark, but on the other he needs Louis to talk. So he nods again. When Louis doesn't react, doesn't even twist his nipple again, Harry breathes out, "Yeah, yeah, I do."

"Well, I guess the classic would be to spank you, but I don't want to hurt you for your first time. Not that much, at least." Harry's stomach twists and his toes curl, both from the thought of Louis spanking him like he really is in a porno, and Louis saying first time, like this is actually happening. It's beyond anything he could have hoped for. He got it. He got what he wanted.

Louis takes his sweet time with the explanation, keeping Harry on edge. Since he didn't even think to open his eyes he keeps being surprised; one second Louis' mouth is latched to the spot behind his ear, the next he's scraping his nipple with his teeth. "I could... not allow you to come. Keep you desperate and on edge for hours. Don't you think you deserve it, after coming in your pants two times and not letting me take care of you?"

Like it's a privilege Harry's denied him of. He ruts up involuntarily, but Louis' strong thighs are still keeping him trapped, which just makes him struggle more. He thinks about Louis keeping this up, just this, staying close but not close enough, touching him but pulling away, teasing him but not allowing him to come. Controlling him like that. He nods frantically, wriggling under Louis, who quiets him with kisses. "I couldn't, though. Not right now," he adds when Harry makes a disappointed sound. "You're just so beautiful, open and clean and naked in my bed. I couldn't keep myself from playing with you."

He emphasises it by wrapping his lips around Harry's nipple and sucking hard, making his back arch into it again. Louis just rolls with it, careful not to give Harry even a glancing touch to his cock. He'll probably die soon. He still doesn't want it to end. He wants Louis to play with him for the next fifty years or so.

"Open your eyes, babe," Louis whispers. Harry obeys immediately, and blinks at the sudden light. He abruptly stops when he catches sight of Louis. He's absolutely stunning, straddling Harry's thighs and curved over his body. Harry's breath catches in his throat when he catalogues all of Louis' features, how flushed he is, how his eyes look almost drugged, how Harry brought this out of him. And he's still fully clothed. And he's still talking. "You look so wrecked just from this. I wanna see how far I can get you."

Harry doesn't know what it means, but he can't even think it over because Louis lets go of his nipple and brings his hand up to his own mouth instead. Harry watches helplessly when Louis licks his palm, his eyes glued to Harry's and a bloody smirk playing on his lips. Yes. Harry cants his hips up, so ready for it he scratches his own hips distractedly.

He definitely isn't prepared for Louis to draw his waistband down and wrap his hand around his own cock. He strokes himself slowly, so Harry can see the length of him, and. He's had it in his mouth not too long ago, but it was in a car and it was his first time and Harry had various concerns. Right now Louis' stripped him of any possible worry, and he's sitting on him, couldn't be more obvious if he tried. Harry can't stop looking at Louis' hips work, barely feels his own jumping up in sympathy. His eyes snap back up to Louis' face when he hears him make a soft noise.

His face is just blissful, eyes half-lidded and harsh breaths escaping from between his pink lips. Harry can't believe he gets to watch this, gets to have Louis fucking his fist on top of him. "Stop whining," Louis says suddenly. Shit, Harry didn't even notice that half the sounds he was hearing were his own. He clamps his mouth shut, even through Louis' next instruction. "You can touch your cock now. Want you to get yourself off."

Louis could be a decent MI6 torture person, probably. Seeing as he's making Harry watch him jerk off artfully with his delicate, veiny and tattooed hand, but forcing him to settle for his own clumsy hand. He wants to whine some more, but he already knows what Louis will say. That he doesn't deserve it after his behaviour. Hasn't earned him yet.

So he does as Louis says, like always. Untangles his clammy hand from the sheets and gets it on his cock, eyes drifting shut and legs stretching as soon as he touches himself. It feels like it's been years and he knows he's loud but he can't help it, because Louis' always loud, because the sounds of them both mingle in the air, because his hand feels so fucking good after all the teasing.

Louis doesn't help him along, extremely careful not to go near his cock, but he's still the one that makes Harry come, when he leans down to kiss him again, steal his breath away. It's not even his eager lips, it's when he mutters, "You're so big" and "I want to see you come now".

He just falls apart, shoots as high as his chest and writhes under Louis' weight on his thighs. Louis kisses him through it, which eases the niggling disappointment of making himself come when Louis' just sitting there. Next time, he guesses. After he catches his breath.

Only, he doesn't actually get a moment to catch his breath. Because as soon as he tries to let go, he feels Louis' hand wrap around his wrist and move his hand for him, stroking over his sensitive dick. He grunts and opens his eyes slowly, unfocused and confused. "Keep going," Louis says simply. "You need to stay hard for this."

"For what?" he asks, and realises belatedly he hasn't spoken in a while, because he can barely recognise his own voice. It's deep and raspy and sort of meaningless, because he does what Louis says, keeps pumping his cock with his own come, even when his body feels spent and drawn tight all at once, struggling to keep up.

"You tell me," Louis says, and he's stopped touching himself now but his sweatpants are still lowered so Harry can see his cock. It looks flushed and achingly hard, it looks like Louis' just waiting. Harry's basically drooling.

If the question was what Harry would like next, he doesn't even need to think about the answer. "Fuck me."

Louis' eyes actually widen for a second, like he's surprised it even crossed his mind. Like he hasn't been thinking about it at least once a day since the Fateful Fingering. What it'll be like to have Louis hold him down and fuck him, fill him up and stretch him and make him come on it. He squirms just thinking about it, his hand still jerking his sensitive cock.

Louis recovers fast enough. "Yeah? You want that? Want me to pop your cherry? Fuck you so good you'll be ruined for anyone else?"

The words send a rush through him, flip some switch, something that makes the friction on his cock stop hurting and turn mindblowing, something that makes him whisper a word he didn't think he'd actually use during his first time having sex, but fuck it. "Daddy."

Louis visibly shudders at that. Harry thinks a switch flips in him too, can somehow sense it in the way his shoulders tense and his eyes get darker. He's fucking gorgeous like this. He's always gorgeous, with his cheekbones and wild hair and scruff, but right now he looks like he wants to tear Harry apart, and Harry wouldn't have it any other way. It makes it even worse when Louis says, "I won't. I don't think you've earned it yet," because Harry knows he means it. And it devastates him.

He arches up and squeezes his own cock, whines and brings his free hand up to tug on his hair so he's at least a bit distracted by the pain. And the floodgates open. "Please, Daddy, just fingers then, I need something – I need you, please make it good, when I tried – I needed you too."

He can't be bothered to feel embarrassed, just hopes it gets him somewhere, because he finds that he meant it. He has to have more of Louis, could take anything. Louis keeps his face impassive, bless him, but Harry can see his cock flush even darker against his stomach. His grip on Harry's wrist tightens and stills his hand. His body keeps rolling with it, cock pulsing in his hand. It's unbearable, but he feels sort of… detached from it. He shakes his head and focuses on Louis' voice. "What's that? What do you mean when you tried?"

Harry bites his lip. If there was any time to be honest, this is probably it. "When I tried fucking myself for the first time, I couldn't – I was close but I couldn't make myself come, so I, um, called you."

Louis' eyes flutter shut for a second, and he takes a deep breath. "And?"

"And what?"

Louis' grip on his hand is almost painful now, and Harry thinks about bruises around his wrists and a sudden wave of arousal hits him. "And did you come once you called?"

Harry blinks up at him. "Of course. I heard your voice."

Louis' nostrils flare, and he has to take another calming breath before speaking. "So that's three times you came without letting me know. Remember that number." He suddenly ducks down, presses his lips to Harry's overheated cheek. "Calling someone while jerking off? That's fucking filthy, Harry. Is that what good boys do?"

Harry remembers that Louis' asked this before, at some distant point. He can't remember if he answered then. He knows the answer now. He shakes his head, embarrassed and weirdly disappointed with himself for something he did weeks ago. "No. I'm so sorry, Daddy."

He shouldn't be apologising, should he? Louis seems to think he should. He hums sympathetically and says, "That's right baby, they don't. Don't ask for my cock if you're not good enough yet. Don't even deserve my fingers."

Harry could cry, honestly. He whines low in his throat and twists under Louis, happy he can't see his eyes because he's so embarrassed by being caught as a bad boy. He knows he can be good, he has to be. He will be for Louis. "Please," he whispers. It sounds sad and broken.

Louis pulls up abruptly, and places a gentle hand on Harry's chin to tilt his head up. His eyes look clear all of a sudden, and it helps Harry when he focuses on them. Thinks of their colour. It's easier to breathe. "Harry, do you want to stop?" he asks. Before Harry can shake his head, Louis adds, "I mean stop playing. I'll still fuck you and it'll be just as good, okay?"

Harry considers it.

It won't be, though.

He shakes his head anyway, and the rush Louis' proud smile gives him is proof that he's on the right track. Louis kisses his forehead sweetly and whispers, "I'm having so much fun. You're doing so well. Promise to tell me if the light turns red."

"Promise," Harry assures him. "Promise, promise. It's all green." His fingers tighten in his hair. Now that there's… a boundary, he wants to go back under it. Wants daddy back.

Louis recognises it, and his face is imperious and disapproving when he straightens his back again. Harry shudders. Anticipation coils in his gut, and he loves this. Has no clue what Louis will do next.

He sucks in a sharp breath when Louis kneels up and shuffles back so he can settle between Harry's aching thighs, instead of on them.

The first time Louis touches Harry's cock, he wraps his hand tight around it and says, "You're gonna come empty again. No fingers. Just my mouth." And then he draws him in between his lips and Harry shuts his eyes and moans so loudly it echoes, might have even crossed the border into yelling.

If he thought giving head was a big deal, getting head is something else. Louis' lips are tight around him, and he wastes no time in taking him in, tongue first. Harry's never felt anything like it before, completely overwhelmed by the wetness of it, by Louis sucking around him. He didn't even think it was possible to get this hard just minutes after coming, but Louis' mouth does the trick.

Heat courses through his body, makes him shake under Louis, utter words that don't make sense. Louis goes achingly slow, swallowing him inch by inch but stopping before even reaching halfway. Harry never thought there would come a time he'd wish he didn't have a big dick, but.

His eyes flutter open and he nearly snaps them closed again at the sight between his legs. Louis' got his own eyes closed like he's… relishing this, and his hair is flat on his forehead and his cheekbones are jutting out with the way he's sucking. It's nearly dwarfed in comparison to the view of Harry's hard cock disappearing between his lips, and they're pretty and puffy and stained with Harry's come from earlier. Louis can taste it right now, he doesn't even need to come in his mouth – fuck, Harry's hips snap up to bury his cock deeper in Louis' mouth.

Louis doesn't punish him for it, just takes it and keeps bobbing his head, giving Harry the friction he needs. It strikes Harry that Louis can take it, that he's experienced with this sort of thing, and it lets loose another small piece in Harry. Knowing that he doesn't need to think about anything because Louis' got this.

He can only watch helplessly as he jerks his hips up in short thrusts and Louis opens up wider, keeps his tongue flat on the underside that Harry knows is covered with come. Watches Louis get a little sloppy, feels and sees spit dribble down his cock, enough to get him slick, enough so that when Louis wraps a hand around the base of his shaft it's as smooth as his mouth.

Harry throws his head back against the pillow and fights the headrush, probably caused by not being able to breathe, definitely caused by Louis' face. Louis pumps him fast but sucks him slow, so his lips and hand don't exactly meet, so Harry doesn't have any one particular feeling to cling to. Louis keeps distracting him with his tongue against the head or with twists of his small hand that only makes Harry's cock look even bigger. Harry's well on his way to losing his mind.

He definitely loses it when Louis starts licking over his cockhead and making pleased little noises, barely audible over Harry's own ragged breaths but more overwhelming. Louis' loud even with a cock stuffed in his mouth, and Harry wants him to stay right there forever, but he can already feel the tight pulling in his gut, the pleasure getting to be too much.

He manages to hold off for a while longer, just watching Louis expertly work over him. He's not sure he'll ever get used to the sensation, but he probably won't mind if it makes him this weak every time. Louis takes him deeper again, and Harry's legs spread uncontrollably. He turns his head into the pillow, embarrassed by his own reactions. He doesn't want to look too eager in case Louis thinks he still hasn't earned this.

Louis just props Harry's knees up and over his shoulders and starts running his tongue over his length, before pulling his balls into his mouth. Harry whimpers, weak weak weak, thoughts and feelings colliding inside him, his heart thumping violently against his chest. Louis slides both his hands up Harry's calves until they're tucked under his knees and he pushes them apart. Harry's legs fall open again and he clenches on nothing, his heels digging into Louis' back to hopefully pull him closer. It rips out of him. "Please."

Harry whimpers pathetically again when Louis pulls back and just breathes on his wet skin, still so close Harry can practically feel his lips brushing over him. It's not his lips in the end, though. It's his beard, suddenly rubbing hard against his thighs, and it burns but it's so good, it's too much -

Fuck, Harry can't get any air in his lungs and his muscles feel on fire and then he arches up and comes again, splattering over his already filthy stomach. It doesn't last as long but it takes him more time to recover. As much as he can, at least. Breathing, for example, is problematic.

He throws his legs out with Louis still between them, stretches out like he can spread the feeling down to his toes. He's still wet from Louis' mouth, like he can still feel him on his cock. Every time he thinks he's alright, he just remembers again and twists in the sheets.

So he's pretty shocked when he feels Louis touch him again. He recoils, way too sensitive, but Louis just follows him and kisses along his dick, sweet and dirty at the same time. Harry opens his eyes slowly, his vision actually blurry around the edges.

Turns out there have been developments while he was coming his brains out. Louis is now naked, and Harry's so out of it he can't even look at him for a moment, offended by every tattoo and muscle and inch of tan skin. Louis ducks down again and Harry stares at his strong shoulders flexing, the way his collarbones pop out. He makes a high noise he's never made before when Louis licks along his soft, spent cock. He doesn't even have the energy to flinch. "I – I can't, it's too much," he whispers.

"Harry," Louis tells him off in a rough voice, and Harry knows it's not a daddy thing, it's his throat being fucked raw from sucking cock. He whines again and tries to shuffle away from Louis' face. "How many do you owe me?"

There's a long moment in which Harry has no idea what's happening or why he's expected to function well enough to answer a question, followed by a more horrible moment where Louis lifts his head and Harry instinctively follows him with his hips. His body still begging for it, even after everything. He shudders when he understands. "Three."

"That's right," Louis says warmly, kissing Harry's bruised thigh and making him yelp. "I know you can give me three. Don't you want to make me proud, baby?"

Jesus, Harry can barely move his legs, let alone promise to be able to come three times in sequence, but even as he thinks that, he knows it doesn't matter. All that matters to him right now is making Louis proud. If he needs to come three times, come sore and – dry, push his body that far, so be it. "I can…" It's hard to form words right now, still reeling from everything, and from Louis asking for even more. "I can try, Daddy."

"Good. Good boy," he corrects, making something warm fill Harry's chest. A big smile spreads on his face, and he doesn't struggle when Louis kisses the head of his cock again. He rolls with it, feels so good he's high on it. It's not even that uncomfortable anymore, now that Harry knows there's a goal. He's a good boy.

"You have no idea how lovely you look, making a mess of yourself over and over again for me," Louis continues. He's moving around, but Harry's too busy lapping up the attention to notice. "Your innocent face all flushed and perfect. You're so spent but you want more, don't you?" Harry nods frantically, spreading his legs even wider. Louis hums. "I just want to give you everything."

Apparently everything starts with a finger brushing over his hole, and Harry's breath catches so fast he wheezes, back locking but hips nudging closer to Louis. He circles his rim for a while, getting it slick with lube, and Harry moans impatiently. Louis tuts at him and Harry's about to apologise again, but – nothing comes out of his gaping mouth because two of Louis' fingertips are entering him.

His whole body clamps down and he scrabbles for purchase, anything. He finds the headboard and grips it hard. Louis' fingers are perfect, better than Harry could have imagined even when he had three of his own fingers thrusting deep inside him. They're thick and nimble and keep fluttering when Louis pushes in in in, filling him up. He's so oversensitive, overstimulated, overfucked, overeverything that the stretch feels nothing but glorious, that he grinds back and makes soft sounds and doesn't have to wait for it to feel good. It feels amazing from the word go.

Only when his thighs start burning does Harry realise how much he's spread his legs. He doesn't even feel the pang of humiliation because just looking down at himself, his long legs framing Louis, his hips pushing down against his fingers for more, it's hot. He likes feeling this way, exhilarated, stretched in every direction for Louis, eager and easy and – Louis likes it too, given the dark look he's pinning him with. "Fuck, you're so tight, I didn't think – you feel so good for me, baby."

Harry feels like he's floating, so pleased with Louis being pleased with him. He beams and bucks down on Louis' fingers, finally getting them all the way inside. He clenches hard just to hear Louis gasp. "Ask me for it again," Louis says.

Harry doesn't know what he wants to hear, so he just lets it all out. "Fuck me, Daddy – " His breath hitches when Louis shoves his fingers even deeper. "Please make it good, I've waited – ah – for so long, only thought of you – "

One of them does it. Louis pulls his fingers out almost all the way and then thrusts them back in hard. It hurts but it doesn't, it's too good to hurt, it's everything all at once, it's getting Harry hard again. He keeps fucking in and out of him, making Harry pant out little broken gasps every time. The rhythm is so easy to fall into, Harry times his own movements, can tell when to brace himself and when to grind back.

So of course Louis changes it up by keeping his fingers buried deep inside him and then moving them. He curves and curls and twists and makes Harry cry out because he could never get that deep himself, he's never had it like this before. He feels too full and like – Louis' keeping him suspended somehow, like he's breathlessly waiting for something –

And then he feels it. Like a spark. Like when he's really hard and hasn't touched his cock for a week, and he knows right when he gets his hand on it that that first stroke is going to feel amazing. It's that tingly feeling only it's not just his cock, it's his pelvis and his balls and his inner thighs and it's strong, it's fucking paralysing.

Louis thrusts against that spot slowly, confident now that he's found it, and Harry can't make a sound. His mouth is wide open but he can't get enough air, and he is wide open but he can't move, so afraid Louis will stop.

"How does that feel, baby? Did it ever feel like this?" Louis asks. Harry shakes his head violently, his sweaty curls flopping over his closed eyes. His whole body's drawn tight as a bow, and this time the feeling does spread all over, with the heat shooting down to his fingertips from Louis'.

Even though Harry didn't answer, Louis starts really going at it, curling his fingers just right and rubbing them in unrelenting circles, not giving Harry even a second to breathe. He feels suspended again, like he's caught in the perfect few seconds before coming, only he doesn't come and it just doesn't stop. He starts babbling at some point, whimpering and whining, too afraid to actually listen to the words spilling from his mouth because he knows he's begging. He can't take it, not after two orgasms, he feels like he's going to explode.

He tries rocking back so at least there's movement, something to ground him, Louis fucking inside him, but Louis grabs his hip with his free hand. It's not strong enough to pin him down, but Harry freezes on his own, knows better than to disobey Louis right now. And Louis keeps with the maddening rubbing, pushing Harry further and further out of his mind.

When it finally happens, it's barely more than a dribble, yet it's so intense it hurts a little, feels like he's coming for whole minutes after he stops. He whines when Louis keeps going and whines when Louis pulls out. He's just a sobbing mess, feels completely out of control, and it only gets worse when Louis crawls up his body and kisses him again for the first time in ages, his lips and his cheeks and his nose and his ear, where he stops to whisper, "You did so, so well baby, made me so proud. You're just perfect."

Harry whimpers again and manages to move his limbs just enough to wrap his legs around Louis' hips and pull him flush against him. He hisses at the contact against his cock but he needs – it doesn't feel right yet – but he can't explain it, knows Louis won't believe him. The only thing he can say is, "Daddy. Fuck."

Louis groans and puts his hands on Harry's thighs, digging his nails in. He stops himself, though, pets Harry gently instead. "You only owed me three, love."

Harry shakes his head, searching for the words. "Daddy – you said if I'm good, said if I earn it you'll fuck me, didn't – don't I deserve it?"

Something dark creeps inside him, but Louis nips it in the bud quite effectively by kissing him, deep and needy. "You deserve it, you know you do, you broke down so beautifully, I can't even believe I got to see it. I'll fuck you now, okay? Daddy will take care of you."

Harry feels so content he's sure it shows, like his skin is glowing under Louis' fingertips. He's holding him so tightly Louis has to pry his legs apart so he can – do something, maybe get a condom on, get lube, whatever. The important thing is the way he finally, finally slides into him, his cock so much bigger than his fingers. Harry feels full and stretched and heavenly, so sensitive there's a fair chance his face is getting wet from more than sweat.

He curls around Louis and forces his thrusts to be slow and deep, to nudge his prostate again and rip a shout out of him. It's only a few thrusts later that Louis comes, moaning in his ear and clamping his hands on Harry's arse. Harry refuses to let him go before he's fully soft, dares Louis to complain about feeling sensitive.

Once he does slip out of him, he gets rid of the condom and then settles right back against Harry. He reaches for his hands, which are still clinging to the headboard so tightly they might be glued there. But he takes them and pulls them down his sides, kisses his aching biceps and then his wrists and palms. He kisses the tattoo on his inner arm and the marks he's left along his chest and the hollow of his throat and his Adam's apple and his chin. The sides of his eyes, where Harry's sure tears have been trailing down.

He's purring into Louis' shoulder by the time he reaches his hair, feels precious for pleasing Daddy. Louis drags his fingers through his hair, sorting out the tangles. It's a painstaking process, considering the chaos his hair currently is, but it's just the right mind-numbing, meticulous action to settle Harry down. "So beautiful," Louis murmurs, like he can't help himself. They're both quiet and soft and slow, and it's perfect.

"Thank you," Harry says. There's still this… spell on him, and it's like his whole body's numb, as if he's already passed out, but as long as he isn't he needs to say it. "Thank you so much."

"Don't thank me. Silly baby. You did all the work."

Harry smiles when he feels Louis' lips on his forehead. He cuddles deeper into Louis' chest, trying to curl up small. "You won't go away again?"

Louis tightens his arms around him protectively. "No. I promise. As long as you'll have me."

Harry thinks he feels something like bliss. He knows he shouldn't initiate a relationship talk right now, with his brain basically mush, but. Before he even opens his mouth Louis says gently, "Love, let's save it for after a nap?"

"But I – "

"Because I'll do anything you want me to right now," Louis cuts him off. "Can't really think."

Harry beams, he absolutely loves that. The fact Louis was the one who... dominated him, but Harry's got just as much power over him in return. He hums contentedly and nuzzles into the crook of Louis' neck. Falls asleep wrapped up in him, sure in the knowledge Louis will stay right there.

Chapter Text

He wakes up to Louis pressing gentle kisses all over his face. It makes him giggle breathlessly, before he remembers that he's not supposed to giggle, manly man that he is. Of course the sound bursts out of him again when he feels Louis smile into his cheek.

Louis just kisses him for a while, and then manages to roll him out of bed and have him standing up. It's hard not to wobble; he's still sort of disoriented, and did just have a cock up his arse. Louis' right there to support him, though. He feels like a flower turning toward the sun, eager for attention and care and being indulged with so much of them.

"Is, um. Zayn around?" Harry asks when he realises Louis' pulling him toward the door.

Louis shakes his head and leads him out to the hallway. "Nah, he's at Perrie's place most of the time. The only reason he hasn't moved in with her yet is that she travels so much with the band and we don't want him to be alone."

"Right." The only thing he gets from that is that they have the flat to themselves. So he doesn't necessarily have to curl up around Louis to shield himself from the world as they walk. He does anyway.

They reach the bathroom door, and Louis turns in his arms to kiss Harry deeply. Harry sighs and leans back against the wall, knotting his fingers together behind the small of Louis' back. He notices that Louis' wearing soft pyjama pants and that his skin is damp under his hands, which probably means he's already showered. He also notices that he himself is absolutely filthy and rubbing his bare arse against Louis' wall.

He blushes deep red, but Louis just kisses him harder. When he finally leans back, he's grinning up at Harry. "Get in the shower then. I'll make us some lunch, I'm starving."

He doesn't like the thought of being alone, but he won't ask Louis to wash him. He's not a kid. He kisses Louis one last time and then steps into the bathroom and straight to the shower, not bothering to close the door.

He stands under the spray for a long while, scratching off the come and sweat all over his body. He still feels sensitive, so the mere touch of the hot water on his skin feels good. By the time he steps out he's no more clearheaded. Unlike after his illicit shower from a lifetime ago, this time he's got clothes waiting for him. Not his own, thank god. Louis dropped on the sink a band T-shirt Harry's seen him wear a couple of times and a pair of boxers.

The shirt doesn't fit him quite well, tight on his still-broadening shoulders and growing muscles, but that just makes it obvious that it's Louis', and Harry likes that. The boxers are short enough on him that the beard burn Louis' branded him with is still visible just under them. Harry likes that a lot. He fluffs up his hair with the towel and steps out without looking in the mirror.

They just hang around the flat all day, watching telly and napping and munching and kissing a lot. Louis keeps playing with Harry and lavishing him with attention. He feels like he's walking on air, his heart too big for his chest. But it's starting to fade.

It's a slow thing, but by the afternoon he feels... different. More like himself. Or at least like he won't die if Louis doesn't touch him. It's like coming down from a high, but he's sure he didn't smoke anything last night. Not that he smokes up all the time or anything, just when he's in Niall's basement and they're playing FIFA and the spliff is just sitting there.

Anyway, he stays curled up in Louis' lap. Just because he's no longer sex-high, it doesn't mean Louis should stop playing with his hair.

It's weird, isn't it? Feeling like that just from sex. Not that it was "just sex", it was exceptional, he thinks, from his limited experience. But he's the weird one. He should probably Google it at some point. Should've Googled it before... letting go like that. It was very irresponsible. He should tell Louis, maybe he'll think it makes him bad.

He shakes his head and slowly straightens up. Louis' eyes snap to him immediately and he brushes a hand over Harry's stomach, under the T-shirt. Now that he feels normal, he's starting to feel other things, like how nice it is when Louis touches him casually. "Alright, baby?"

Christ. Harry needs to... put some distance before he actually gets hard again. He doesn't want Louis to think – to know how desperate he is. What if it turns him off? He clears his throat. "Yeah mate, I just thought I'd send my mum a life signal."

He immediately wants to kick himself for bringing up his mum, or the fact he still lives with her. Louis doesn't seem bothered, probably used up all his panic after Harry blew him in the car. He just kisses the corner of Harry's mouth and says, "I'm here if you need anything."

Harry nods and climbs out of Louis' lap. He doesn't flee to the bedroom, more like a graceful gallop. He hears Louis turning up the volume, but he closes the door behind him anyway. He takes a deep, calming breath, and then the smell hits him like a punch to the gut. Sweat and sex and – he did this, he had sex. He had sex with Louis. He had a lot of sex with Louis.

He's more giddy than nervous now, practically skipping to open the window and let some fresh air in. He picks up his clothes and pulls out his phone. There are a few missed calls from Nick, and some texts from various people, but Harry closes all the notifications without looking and calls the only person he wants to talk to.

"You piece of shit, did you sleep until now?" Niall asks after just one ring. It sounds like his mouth is full and it's so familiar.

Harry grins to himself. "Nope, just lost track of my phone."

"Whoa, your voice is weird. Is Nick holding a pillow over your face or something? Did you call me instead of the police again?"

Harry tugs on his lip and starts pacing. "Not at Nick's."

"Oh, you went back home? Couldn't pull? I told you I'd be a better wingman, have you seen my girlfriend – "

"I'm at Louis'," he cuts him off, can't keep it inside anymore. His breath stutters. Saying it to someone outside of the HarryandLouis bubble of the past twenty-four hours is exciting.

Niall curses on the other end. "How did that happen? Please don't tell me you drunkenly stalked him and followed him home until he confessed his love."

Harry frowns. "Excuse you, he brought me to his home. We met at the club accidentally, it was weird."

"Well, did he apologise for being a twat?" Of course Niall only cares about that. Niall's the best best mate ever.

"He did more than that." Ridiculously, he covers his mouth and whispers the rest. "Niall, we did it."

Niall gasps. Or he just chews loudly, but gasping is more dramatic. "Did what?"

"The do."

Now he really gasps. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, he seriously fucked me," he says excitedly.

Niall makes an undignified noise. "Ugh, you let him put it in you?"

"Well, it was technically already in me when I blew him."

"Yeah, but not up your bum," Niall counters quickly. "Did it hurt?"

"Sort of, but by then – " He cuts himself off. There's nothing he won't tell Niall, but right now he wants to keep just some of it to himself and Louis. "It just felt unbelievable."

Niall hums sceptically. "I can't even imagine having a dick inside me."

"Well, you should!" Oh god, he sounds like he's preaching. On second thought, he does wish it on Niall. If anyone deserves to feel as good as Harry felt, it's Niall. "I mean, since you intend to put your dick in your girlfriend. You should always think about what it's like for your partner." He loves not being a virgin. Niall has no choice but to believe him. It's like street cred. Sheet cred. "Louis could give you tips," he adds, just to be a shit.

Niall makes another disgusted noise. "Is that what it's gonna be like now? You're gonna be obnoxious about your perfect boyfriend while I'm still a virgin?"

Harry beams. "Yup."

"At least spare me the sex details, I don't love you that much."

"That is a lie, you are so curious."

Niall grumbles. "Stop it, I'm gonna hang up. Fuck, I can't believe you did it in his love nest."

"Did you think he'd take my virginity in the back of the car?"

"Is he not your driving instructor?"

Harry shrugs, glancing at the rumpled, filthy bed. "Well, he's a lot of things now."

"So why are you talking to me?"

"Clearly because I'm an idiot," he says, rolling his eyes. He should probably go back to Louis and ask for more cuddles. He walks up to the full-length mirror on the closet door to fix his hair, and then gasps when he sees the state of his neck. Louis absolutely went to town. "Oh my god."

"What is it?"

"Are lovebites supposed to be purple?" he asks, leaning closer to the mirror and thumbing over the various marks. He doesn't feel anything, but they're so obvious on his pale skin that he imagines he does. He sticks his finger in the middle of the biggest mark and gulps. "It looks like I was mauled by a wild animal."

Niall snorts a laugh. "You should ask your mum for concealer or summat before you go to school, if you don't want people giving you shit. Wait, can you even tell your mum?"

Oh. Harry didn't think of that.

He doesn't really want to think much, so he returns to inspecting his neck. "I don't know."

"Mate, I think you should talk to Louis."

He's right, of course. Harry flips his fringe to the side and adjusts his shirt collar. "Alright. I'll talk to you when I get home, then. Love you."

"Whatever. Love you too. I'm at B's house now so let's hope I get laid by then, I can't stand you hanging this over my head."

Harry's still laughing after Niall hangs up. When he stumbles back to the living room, Louis' on the phone himself. He supposes he could be respectful and busy himself in the kitchen. So he walks straight to the sofa Louis' lying across and nudges him closer to the backrest with his knee. Louis rolls his eyes, but moves his arse until Harry has enough space to curl up on him. "I'll see you later then," Louis says to the receiver. "I think someone wants attention."

Harry blushes at that, but he can't keep the smile off his face. He tries to bury it in Louis' bare chest but he's obviously unsuccessful, since Louis pokes a finger into his dimple. "Bye, mate."

He drops the phone on the floor and wraps both arms around Harry. "Just wanted to crush me then?" He makes a choking noise for emphasis.

Harry's astounded by the difference in size between them, the way he is crushing Louis, draped over him completely. He wishes he were smooth or coordinated enough to manoeuvre them around so Louis would be on top of him instead, but when he tries to move he nearly falls off the sofa. "Switch then."

Louis makes a long-suffering sound and slides up from under Harry, curling over the backrest before dumping himself over Harry and elbowing his gut hard. He huffs in pain, but Louis just laughs and kisses his nose. He's got his arms folded over Harry's chest and his legs crossed in the air. He's smiling so hard there are crinkles by his eyes. Harry loses his breath for a reason completely unrelated to errant elbows.

"Forgot you're only tiny," he says, running a hand along the knobs of Louis' spine. "Like a pixie. Who even let you be a driving instructor? No authority whatsoever."

Louis headbutts his chin. "Didn't hear you complaining this morning," he reminds him angrily. "I'm not a pixie."

"Of course. You're a man." He emphasises that by squeezing his arse, and then sort of keeps his hands there. Oh god. He lifts his head to look. Louis' got the best arse he's ever seen in his life, defined and curvy and soft and – fuck him, how did he not notice this before? How did he live ignorant of Louis' bum?

Fucking cars. Harry never wants Louis to sit down again. He slips his hands under Louis' pants without asking and rubs over the curve of him, cupping the cheeks perfectly with his big hands. They fit. It was meant to be.

Louis brings him out of his awestruck groping by laughing and shaking his head. Whatever, Louis' totally wiggling. He can't hide anything from Harry when he's sprawled on top of him. Louis slides his own hands up Harry's chest and then plants his elbows over Harry's shoulders so he's propped up, back curved. His fingers naturally tangle in Harry's hair, and he pushes his fringe back so there's a curtain of curls over the armrest Harry's leaning on. "You know I am. You're obsessed with my beard."

Harry nods. He'll admit he's more focused on subtly kneading Louis' arse than the banter. To think he ever called his own bum peachy. He wants to bite into Louis'. Louis rolls his eyes and tugs on Harry's hair for his attention. "Talked to your mum then?"

Harry frowns and slides his hands up to the deep curve of his lower back. He can't talk about his mum with handfuls of arse. "Nah, chatted with Niall."

"Of course. Wanted to brag, yeah?" Louis asks smugly.

"Whatever." If he weren't so charmed he'd put up more of a fight. "So I wanted to ask, um. About my mum."

Louis doesn't magically follow. "Lovely lady, your mum."

"Do we tell her?"

The humour leaves Louis' face. "Oh. I don't think you should," he says hesitantly. "I can't imagine she'll, like, give us her blessing."

Harry pouts and rubs his thumbs into the dip above Louis' arse. "You don't think she'll like you?"

Louis arches an eyebrow. "The grown man she didn't pay to defile her child?"

Oh. Harry pouts harder. "I told you it's legal. Or will be when I pass my test."

Louis kisses him suddenly, soothingly. "I know, but it's still hugely inappropriate and I don't think your mum will care about the sexual offences act."

Harry can see his point. As supportive and awesome as his mum is, it might be a bit much. "That sucks."

"Babe," Louis hums, kissing along Harry's jaw like he's trying to comfort him. "Just a few months till you're eighteen, right?"

Harry lights up at that. He can totally wait a few months. Then he realises what Louis meant by that. Shit, they've been having a relationship talk right under his nose. He beams and nudges Louis' face so he can kiss him again, this time lingering and happy. "Alright. I won't tell anyone then."

Louis strokes through his hair, for some reason less happy than Harry. "I'm sorry," he mumbles.

Harry tilts his head and steals another kiss. "What for?"

"Causing… problems. You shouldn't have to – "

"Hey," Harry cuts him off, pulling him closer. By his arse. "It's not a big deal. You're well worth it. So."

Louis gives him a small smile but doesn't seem that convinced. Harry must diffuse this with humour. "I'll have to at least tell her I have a boyfriend though."

"Have to? Why?"

Harry quirks an eyebrow and throws his head back, baring his throat. "I doubt she'd believe I gave these to myself. Or got attacked by a rabid dog."

If he expected Louis to be bashful about it, he was an idiot. Louis grabs the back of his neck and pulls him closer, attaching his lips to the column of Harry's throat and sucking hard. Harry gasps and tightens his grip on Louis' bum. At this rate he won't need concealer, he'll need a ski mask.

"You're my boyfriend though," Louis states resolutely, nuzzling up to his ear.

Harry hugs him closer, no doubt smiling like an idiot. "So you're not mine?"

"Of course not," Louis says, shaking his head so there's hair all over Harry's face. "I'm your manfriend."

He laughs obnoxiously at that. "Oh my god, you're ridiculous, why do I want you to fuck me again?"

Louis perks up immediately, smile more lewd than amused. "Yeah?"

"Mm-hm." He spreads his fingers over Louis' bum again and drags him closer. There's nothing more to say, he's been pretty horny since the moment he found himself with Louis all over him. Of course he wants Louis to fuck him again. Maybe once a day for the rest of his life.

Louis seems on board with it. He crawls down his legs so their dicks line up and then rocks against Harry. Harry does him one better and wraps a leg around Louis' hip.

"Want it like this?" Louis asks, kind of breathless. His hand drifts from Harry's chest down to his thigh, curls it even tighter around himself. "Want it fast in the middle of the living room, where Zayn could walk in any minute?"

Harry grunts, digging his heel into Louis' thigh so he's moving faster against him. "Want it…" He's not sure how to explain what he wants right now. How to say he doesn't want to… lose himself again, that he wants straight-up dick in arse action this time. He suddenly remembers the word Louis used earlier. "Don't wanna play this time."

Louis just nods, undeterred. The bulge in his pants only rubs against Harry's harder, making the friction heavenly. "Don't need to play." His hips stutter to a halt then, and Harry can't help but push his own hips up, frustrated. Louis bites his neck to stop him. Harry just. Makes a noise. "Do need a condom, though."

Harry makes another noise and shifts so Louis' leg slips between his own two. This time when Harry squeezes his leg around Louis, his cock grinds against Louis' strong thigh and Louis bears down, humping him a little. The weight of him sinks on Harry's chest and it's hard to draw in a breath, but Harry's not bothered. Not when Louis' humping his leg. He'd come just from this, right on the sofa.

Now that he's had it, though… "C'mon, I really want your cock now. Do we really need a condom? I told you in the car – "

"Harry, stop moving," Louis says, serious but high-strung all the same. Harry does stop. He's considerate. He keeps his hands on Louis' arse, though. Louis makes sure he's looking in his eyes before he says, "This is different, okay? Not up for discussion."

Harry pouts. Louis flicks his bottom lip with his tongue, as if to say you're ridiculous or I want to fuck you. One of the two. Harry snatches a kiss and starts moving his hips again, so he feels Louis' hard length pushing into his thigh.

Louis clamps a hand on his leg and bites on his lip vindictively. It only sets Harry off. He wants it now. "You're impossible," Louis says before Harry even opens his mouth. "Look, I already have a check-up scheduled in a few weeks. If you still want it by then I'll do screenings. Now, though, get your leg off me so we can move." He ducks down to lick along the shell of Harry's ear and whisper, "I want you to ride my cock and I don't trust this couch to survive it."

Harry is so into it, he doesn't give Louis even a second to reconsider. He gets his foot flat on the floor and then hauls himself up so he's somehow leaning against the backrest with a lapful of Louis. Despite the fact he's just had Louis on top of him for so long, this feels like they're closer. With Louis' knees digging into his hips and his arms wrapped around Harry's neck. He looks up and has another one of those dumb moments, where his brain picks out the fine details of Louis' sculpted face and he can't breathe from how lucky he is.

Louis' fingers trail through his hair before coming to settle on his neck. He tilts Harry's face up, and his mouth even opens for a kiss, but then he starts laughing. And doesn't stop. It's lovely and lilting but totally inappropriate. Harry furrows his brows at him. "What's so funny?"

"Just wondering how I'm going to pry your hands off my bum."

Right. Because they're still there. Harry shrugs, completely unapologetic. "You won't. I actually used hot glue. We're gonna be stuck like this forever."

Louis sighs. "Well that was just irresponsible, Harry. I'm teaching until May. You're in school, you can't join every lesson I have just so I can sit on your hands."

Harry would like to argue – in fact, he's got a few suggestions that will possibly make them millionaires, but Louis slides up his thighs and presses their groins together. Harry's eyes flutter, and he ends up just saying, "Thought we were talking about me sitting on your cock?"

Louis makes a soft noise and lifts his bum up to get even closer to Harry and rub his cock harder against him. Harry gets a good grip on said bum and then climbs to his feet. He doesn't collapse. Louis yelps and wraps his legs around his waist and his arms around his shoulders, and Harry still doesn't collapse. He is clearly a sex god.

"Jesus Christ, Hazza," Louis says on a chuckle, clearly awed by Harry's divinity. Of course, the tighter he holds Harry the more friction Harry gets on his dick. He's hard enough to nudge the waistband of the boxers, it's ridiculous. They're not even naked yet but he's so far into the mindset of Louis fucking him again that he tightens all up and basically runs to the bedroom.

He wants to throw Louis on the bed and ravish him, fuelled by the macho godliness, but of course he lays Louis down gently on the fluffiest pillows and lets go of his arse in order to fix his flyaway hair. Louis tilts his head up for a kiss and Harry gives it to him eagerly, marvels at the softness of his lips. Little things he was too excited to notice before.

He's too caught up in it to realise what Louis' hands are doing, until they brush over the back of his knees. He squeals way too loudly and instinctively hunkers down, which has him straddling Louis' thighs. So. That works. Still, "You cheated," he complains, tapping Louis' nose aggressively.

Louis seems shocked for a moment by the way Harry chose to express his outrage, and then he throws his head back and laughs. Which is charming and all, and his jawline is like – anyway, it's rude, so Harry takes his shirt off while Louis' not looking. It's nice when Louis' laugh dies down as soon as he looks at him.

His eyes rake over Harry's torso, and Harry bites his lip awkwardly and flips his fringe. When nothing happens, he feels painfully self-conscious, on display like that. Especially considering the fact he spent all day staring at Louis' tattooed and slightly hairy chest. Harry's got bloody love handles.

Eventually Louis, in a stunning show of athleticism, sits up using just his abs and kisses along Harry's already bruised collarbones. His hands come to rest on Harry's sides, warm and comforting. "You're so fit," he mumbles against his skin. "I swear if they arrest me that's all I'll have to say in my defence."

Harry snorts and runs his fingers through Louis' hair. "I'll come visit you."

"Harold, the jailbait doesn't go to jail. I don't think they allow boy toy conjugal visits."

Both jailbait and boy toy in the same breath. Harry liked it better when Louis called him fit. "I could say you're my baby daddy. We could be like Americans."

Louis laughs into his chest. "That why you want me to fuck you raw? Waiting for me to knock you up?"

"Shut up, oh my god."

"Okay, fine," he concedes. He does mutter to himself baby daddy, honestly. "Are you going to keep cracking jokes or get on with it?" His hands slip from Harry's hips to his arse and he gives it a friendly little smack, which.

Harry would very much like to get on with it. He crawls over Louis to look for the lube and a condom, and when he looks back he finds Louis propped up against a mountain of pillows, minus pants, plus a hand stroking himself to full hardness. Harry, of course, reacts by dropping everything and making Louis laugh again. He doesn't stop the lazy movement of his hand on his cock, pulling the foreskin back and generally making Harry's mouth water.

He gets rid of his own boxers and grabs the items again. He doesn't bother waiting for Louis to stop touching himself before he swings a leg over his hip. This time Louis' right in his face, since his back is straight, and Harry decides he likes that. Likes how easy it is for Louis to loop his hands around Harry's lower back, how easy it is for Harry to lean forward and kiss him hard, draw his tongue into his mouth and suck on it.

Louis takes Harry's hands and wraps them around his own neck, so their chests are pressed flush. He gasps into the kiss, imagines he can feel Louis' crazy heartbeat against his own. Louis uses the moment to turn his head to the side, and somehow his mouth finds the tattoo on Harry's inner bicep. Harry should probably, like, keep him from leaving so many marks on him, after seeing the results, but he can't. He loves having Louis' attention on him like this, the way he focuses and looks over the bruise to make sure it's satisfactory.

He starts biting up his bicep, and Harry instinctively moves forward so their dicks slide together. It doesn't even compare to the way it felt when they were both wearing pants. He can feel how hard Louis is against him and it's hot and intense and his knees tighten around Louis.

Louis makes a small noise and lets go of Harry's hips to grab the lube. Harry's not overly interested in it, too busy rocking against his crotch. He stops abruptly when Louis gets a finger against his entrance, though. Like, stops moving and breathing and thinking. Everything screeches to a halt, because it hasn't been that long but he feels sort of removed from the mindset he was in, so he's not really sure what to expect this time.

When Louis slides his finger in slowly, Harry just chokes out a sound and buries his face in Louis' neck, slightly sweaty but familiar. The automatic recoil from Louis' finger just brought him against his cock again, and since Louis' hand followed he's caught between a rock and a hard place.

"Stop laughing, what the fuck," Louis says, but he sounds amused at least.

Harry shrugs helplessly. "I can't. A hard place," he giggles, mostly to himself. It comes out breathy and odd, since Louis hasn't stopped the push and pull of his finger and it's like Harry's throat closed up.

"Idiot," Louis mutters fondly, and starts moving his finger faster. At this point Harry's laughing just because he's sort of… giddy, one finger enough to make him content. He's still loose and pleasantly sore from earlier, so it's not long before he grinds back and asks for more.

Louis gives him three fingers then, and Harry clenches down hard. It's a lot, but he gets used to that too, keeps rubbing up against Louis' cock and down on his fingers. Louis' other hand is playing with his hair soothingly, only not really, tugging hard on it whenever his fingers hit his spot. He's shuddering constantly, like it's too many sensations for his body to take, and he knows he could come from this because he actually did this morning. So he whispers into Louis' neck, "I'm ready, just fuck me."

Louis gives him one last thrust and then pulls his fingers out. He uses his grip on Harry's hair to pull his head back and give him a good look. Harry wants to lean on his shoulder again, but when he looks at the crook of Louis' neck he sees that the skin is wet from his own spit, because he's been panting there for a while, and he feels kind of embarrassed.

He's distracted by Louis suddenly waving a condom in his face. "You do the honours, then. Unless you can't."

Harry rolls his eyes and takes the condom. He knows how to use it, totally practiced when Niall and he bought the batch on the Code Red That Never Happened. The only challenge is to distance himself from Louis' cock to roll it on him. Then again, he guesses he can sacrifice the friction on his cock if he gets Louis to fuck him again.

He's all hot and twisted up, excited and eager and thankful when Louis leans back against the pillows and lets Harry do what he wants. He puts a hand on Louis' shoulder for support when he props up on his knees and angles Louis' cock right. They're both reverently silent when he sinks down on it, slow and steady all the way to the base.

It's. Oh, god. It's thick in him, spreads him open, and he can feel his body adjust. It's so weird that for a long moment all Harry can do is stare at Louis' chest tattoo and try in vain to breathe. "Lou," he mumbles, red-faced, like he's asking for help.

Louis immediately springs into action. Or, well, a speech. "Babe, you're so tight around me, feels so good," he says, breath hitching, and his hands come to settle on his hips. "Start moving a little when you're ready, just fuck yourself on my cock any way you like."

Harry nods to himself, and then buries his face in Louis' neck again and lifts his hips. Oh. The drag in him feels… beautiful, makes him feel full and tight around Louis, so much of Louis, in his arms and around him and in him, and that's beautiful too. As soon as he finds a slow rhythm to get used to, he opens his mouth to ask Louis if that's okay, but all that comes out is a long moan. Christ, it's starting to get good, brushing all the right places.

He starts bouncing on Louis' cock a little, overwhelming himself and drawing groans and praise out of Louis, like he can't help it. "Yeah baby, there you go, so good for me, using me to get off." It's like fire shooting up Harry's spine, every subtle shift of his hips, every new word leaving Louis' mouth.

With Louis' hands on his hips, they're close enough that he has to keep it slow, so he moves in small circles and shudders when his cock rubs against Louis' stomach. He's starting to get that tingly feeling, like he's stuck in some loop, and he wants to change it up. He's got the reins this time.

He uses his leverage to experiment with the pace and angles, leans back instead of moving up. It's so good he feels it all over his body, ends up sinking his nails into Louis' shoulder. It's like his brain shorts out when he finally finds the right angle, a glancing drag against his prostate. He chases it, hazy and desperate, gets up from his knees to his haunches and curses when Louis slips out of him because Harry's an uncoordinated idiot.

Louis doesn't give him shit for it, though, just keeps a steady grip on him and helps guide his cock back inside. "It's alright baby, it's your first time," Louis tells him. Before Harry gets a chance to feel like an inexperienced oaf unworthy of Louis' dick, because of course that's where his brain goes, Louis fucks up into him and adds, "You know how lucky that makes me feel?"

He whines and wraps his arms around Louis' shoulders, works together with him to regain momentum, to find that angle again. When he does he rides him fast, up and down, glorious, makes nonsensical noises into Louis' ear. His thighs are burning but he can't stop moving, focusing only on the way Louis feels thrusting up into him, the way their bodies slide together.

He's getting too sweaty and uncoordinated, ends up slipping again, but he's too close this time, can't think, can't focus. Just makes a desperate noise and presses his nose into Louis' neck. Thank god, Louis gathers him in his arms and topples him over so he's flat on his back. He blinks up, confused by the sudden relief on his calves, and then Louis' right there and fuck. He's sweaty and flushed and wild, gets more lube on his cock and then grabs Harry's ankles and throws his legs over his shoulders.

Harry barely manages to nod before Louis slams back inside him, deep and rough. Harry's back arches up while his legs clench together, but it doesn't stop Louis. He fucks him steady and unrelenting and so, so good, pounding into him and driving him insane. He throws his head back in pleasure but keeps his eyes wide open, transfixed by how gorgeous Louis looks between his long legs, his muscles all bunched up in effort and his hair all over his pinched face.

He's getting closer and closer, his cock spurting pre-come on his belly. He knows Louis is getting there too, from the erratic way he's thrusting, from the way he's chewing on his lower lip. Harry wants it suddenly, releases his death-grip on the sheets to drag his nails over Louis' chest for his attention, squeezing his hard nipples. Louis opens his eyes and fixes Harry with a dark look, gives it to him extra hard.

Which makes it difficult to say anything but ah and variations, but he catches the letters, manages to make a word. "Kiss."

Louis doesn't hesitate before leaning forward and bending Harry in half. It's not really a kiss, more of a clash, a violent thing, biting and grunting at each other. It's the combination of not being able to breathe and the change in angle that finally pushes Harry off the edge, Louis following a few desperate thrusts later.

"Fucking hell," Louis summarises, and stays inside him for another moment. Once he pulls out, he helps Harry stretch his legs, kissing his knees before Harry grunts and makes a grabby motion. Then Louis flops over him happily and lets the cuddling begin.

This time it gets disgusting pretty fast, so Harry's the one who decides on a shower. Louis agrees to join him as long as he gets to pick Harry's clothes again. Like he wouldn't have joined him anyway, or like Harry would've scrounged through Louis' closet to pick something himself.

It's jeans and a T-shirt this time, which probably means he's preparing Harry to leave. And that makes sense, it's quite late and Harry's got, like, homework and parents and stuff. He doesn't pout when Louis dresses him. He'd never waste an opportunity to kiss Louis.

Really, he thinks they're quite cute for an age inappropriate couple. He'd totally visit Louis in prison.

Not that he'd need to. Project Lolita is officially over.

Now he just needs to crack this boyfriend thing.


He's still at Louis' place come 7 PM. It's dangerous, because it's like the more time they spend together, the stronger the magnetic pull between them gets. At least, that's his excuse when he ignores another call in favour of making out with Louis on the sofa. It won't be too much to stay over another night, will it? It's not like he slept with Louis last night. He'd like the full experience.

Before he can suggest it, though, they're both jolted by the sound of keys from the front door. They have just enough time for Louis to sprawl over Harry's body, like he could shield him from view. Harry ends up laughing too loudly, because Louis' quite smaller than him. Harry's not even naked, as Louis insisted he kept the jeans on to "avoid temptation". Not that Louis isn't freeballing it in sweatpants. Louis' a topless, hypocritical dick.

"Tommo, why's the dish on the – oh, that's. Oh."

Harry cranes his neck to see Zayn over Louis' shoulder. He's staring at him. Harry clears his throat and then pastes on a smile. "Heeey."

Zayn's eyes widen. "What did he do to you?"

Harry bites his lip. It's swollen and tingly. The last time he looked in the mirror he didn't look that fucked, but that was before the recent snogging session. He kind of… likes it, though. Likes Zayn looking at him.

"Jesus," Louis mumbles into Harry's neck, echoing his last thought. He sighs and then heaves himself up and off Harry. "Hi Zayn, welcome home, remember Harry, he's legal."

Zayn snaps out of his shock at that. "Hi again Harry, I'm also legal. Twenty-four, in fact. Which is younger than Louis."

It's more biting than he was expecting. Harry sits up and fixes his hair fervently, wondering if he should address that as criticism or –

He doesn't need to address it at all. Louis squeezes his knee reassuringly and then gets off the sofa and drags Zayn off to the kitchen.

So far, coming back to reality hasn't been the most positive experience. He should have expected it, Zayn's bound to be protective of his best friend, and he guesses his relationship with Louis isn't exactly normal. Louis himself had reservations in the beginning. It just sucks that he can sort of hear Louis yelling in the kitchen. He's used to charming people, not setting them off.

He sighs and grabs his shirt from the floor. He picks up the key dish he doesn't even remember knocking over, because he's well-behaved. Then he bypasses the kitchen to grab his phone, wallet and used clothes from the bedroom. Then there's nothing left. Should he just slip out? It seems rude, but maybe that's the adult thing to do?

By the time he slinks back to the living room, Zayn and Louis are there. They're chatting quietly, like they're waiting for him, so he clears his throat. Zayn clears his, and then gives him a friendly smile. It's shocking, because he has the most intimidatingly beautiful face Harry's ever seen, but when he smiles he turns into a goofy puppy. Harry's helpless not to smile back. "Alright mate?" Zayn asks.

Harry nods. "Yeah, just grabbed my stuff. Um. Good to meet you? Again?"

"Yeah, you too." Louis, who's been watching the exchange curiously from his precarious perch on the armrest, elbows Zayn's ribs and prompts him to add, "I'm sorry about earlier, I was kind of caught off-guard. I didn't think Louis was serious when we talked, but I guess he was." He grimaces when Louis elbows him again. "Sorry for interrupting and making it awkward."

Louis nods proudly and kisses Zayn's cheek. Harry isn't sure how he feels about that, but he's quick to accept his apology. "It's okay, I get it. I should probably go, like, I'm sure you have plans."

Louis leaps up and wraps an arm around Harry's waist. "I'll give you a ride, come on."

He hesitates before putting his arm around Louis' shoulders, but Zayn just nods when he does. "See you around, Harry."

Only once the door is shut behind them does Harry manage to breathe. "Christ, that was scary."

Louis laughs and nudges his shoulder. "Don't be daft, he'll get over it."

"Right. Um, you don't really have to give me a ride, I could – "

"Harry." Louis curls his finger in Harry's belt loop and pulls him closer. He blinks up at him with an affectionate little smile, practically forcing Harry to lean in and kiss him. He's infinitely calmer as soon as they touch, moulds himself to Louis' chest and waist. They just stand there for a good minute, kissing sweetly.

By the time they separate, Harry's forgotten all about the stressful encounter. He's happy and loose. Louis fixes his fringe for him. "Want me to take you home?"

"Niall's, actually. Can't tell my mum that's where I've been without actually being there."

"What a good boy," Louis says jokingly, making Harry roll his eyes. "Not very practical, though. I've got a feeling you'll be telling her you're staying at Niall's very often." He squeezes Harry's arse for emphasis.

"Fine, I'm hoping not to see her until these fade a bit." He makes the crucial error of stretching his neck to show Louis what he means, which Louis uses to latch his lips to his skin again. He gets flustered, like Louis pressed a horniness button, and he has to shove Louis back and run down the stairs without looking at him.


Niall takes it a lot better than Zayn. But that's to be expected, since he doesn't actually see Harry and Louis together, and Harry gave him frequent updates throughout the day. Niall did the same during his own code red. Louis was a good sport about it, bless him, only whining a little when Harry interrupted round four to answer Niall's call and gush about Barbara's pussy for five minutes.

As soon as Niall opens the door, he gives Harry a good hug, and then hauls him to the basement where the spliff's already been rolled. They just watch Top Gear for a while instead of dishing, because Harry doesn't trust Niall to be respectful to Barbara and Niall doesn't really want to know all that Harry can tell him. They're really bloody awful company, as they keep texting, but it's nice just hanging out and being non-virgins together.

"S'your car, innit?" Niall suddenly asks through a mouthful of taco.

Harry's head snaps to the telly, where he finds Clarkson in a classic car that doesn't look anything like his Merc. "Maybe if it's a transformer."

"Why would a car transform into another car?" Niall wonders.

"I dunno, if it's going undercover. Like if you're a gangbanger."

Niall starts laughing hysterically, spraying salsa everywhere. "Your dad got you a gangbanging car?"

"Hey, I picked it," Harry corrects.

"Right, right. Hey, bro, do you, like, automatically get a license? Since you fucked your instructor?"

Fucked your instructor. It sounds so illicit. Harry loves it. He collapses and plants his head in Niall's lap. "I don't think so. But I could pass the test like, tomorrow, I've been driving a lot with my dad since I got my car and with Louis since I got my Louis."

"Of course." He threads his fingers through Harry's hair. It's nice. "Don't you have a lesson tomorrow though? Every Monday during the free period?"

"You remembered," Harry coos, smiling up. Niall's got food stuck in his braces, but he's still the best thing ever.

"Of course, B's got a free hour – oh Jesus, I actually fucked her."

Harry pets Niall's knee proudly. "You did. Twice."

"Amazing. How amazing are we?"

"The most," Harry agrees, turning to kiss Niall's hoodie. "Should I text Louis about the lesson?"

"You didn't already?"

"Nah, I've been texting Tom. Thinking about another tattoo."

"Yeah? Gonna get something actually hardcore this time?"

Harry mumbles noncommittally, thinking about Louis' pretty compass. Then about Louis' general prettiness. "I'm gonna text him."

"Alright, you didn't smoke that much."

Right, Harry's totally coherent.



It's been barely fourteen hours since he's seen Louis, but Harry's antsy when he's waiting for him outside the school. Alexa told him once that having sex releases, like, the hormone or whatever in women that creates feelings, and that's why they get attached to men and find it hard to separate sex from love. He doesn't know how legit it is, and it doesn't apply to him anyway because he's not a woman, but that's what he's thinking about right now. He should text Gemma, maybe, tell her what's going on.

He straightens up when he hears a car approaching, and suddenly his heart's in his throat. It feels like they haven't had a lesson in forever, but Harry's still got marks on him from what they were up to just yesterday. He gulps, rooted to the spot from nerves. He hasn't spoken to Louis since the mortifying texts he sent him while high. Last time they said goodbye, he lost Louis for a week.

It's definitely not the substitute instructor, though. Louis' the one getting out of the car. He takes off his sunglasses slowly, like a fucking movie star, and then gives Harry a bright grin. Harry's instantly soothed. It looks like Louis' about to approach him, maybe sweep him off his feet, but then he makes the trip to the passenger seat and nods his head for Harry to get in the car.

Harry walks to the driver's seat so fast he stumbles. "Hi," he starts, but he sounds breathless and weird, so he clears his throat and says in his normal, morbid pitch, "Hey."

Louis' still smiling wide. "Hi. How are you?"

"Disappointed," Harry blurts.

Louis frowns. "Why?"

"I spent a whole day naked with you and now you're wearing clothes." Jeans. Probably with pants under them. They're lovely and tight, but would look better pooled around his ankles. Harry should stop staring at Louis' lap.

Louis must agree. "Harold, unless I literally fucked your brains out, we start the lesson by starting the car."

So Harry does. Getting them away from the school feels paramount, especially when Louis throws a casual hand over his seat and tangles his fingers in Harry's hair. "Did you make it home alright?"

He bites his lip, embarrassed. "Yeah. Parents didn't catch me. My dad saw me this morning though, thought me and Niall got into a fistfight. I'm, um. Sorry for the texts. Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"It's alright, you knobhead," Louis says, scratching his head pleasantly. "Turned me on."

Harry glances at him. "Yeah?"

Louis nods, and gives Harry an obvious onceover. "Turned on just looking at you."

Harry's hands tighten on the wheel. The wonderful thing about this is that it's not just sexual frustration talking. They're not there anymore. It's out in the open, how much they're into each other. Harry could just park somewhere deserted and they'll fuck in the backseat.

It was inevitable, probably.

It takes them fifteen minutes to find themselves making out in the backseat. They're in a random car park and they put up the sun shade on the windshield, so they're mostly well-hidden, except for the part where they're in a car outside in the middle of the day. Harry can only hope Louis' getting off on that as much as he is.

He's got his back to the door with Louis sitting between his legs and kissing him hard, hands buried in his hair. Harry can't stop touching him, moving from Louis' hips to his arms to his soft hair, but it's not nearly enough, Louis' treating him too heatedly for it to be enough. So he pulls back and tugs off Louis' T-shirt. His hands immediately go to his chest tattoo, tracing it and fluttering over his nipples.

He goes to shrug off his blazer, but Louis stops him with a harsh tug on his hair. "Want me to fuck you?" he asks quietly.

Harry nods, doesn't even have to think about it. He's rewarded by a delighted smile from Louis. "I want the blazer on. Let's get rid of the pants though." He moves back a seat and opens Harry's belt buckle, the heel of his hand grazing his cock probably on purpose. He's almost embarrassed by how hard he is just from kissing, but he still lifts his arse up for Louis to pull his pants off.

It probably looks weird, that he's naked from the waist down and Louis' naked from the waist up, but it doesn't stop them from throwing themselves at each other again. Harry bends his knee and rests his leg against the backrest while the other one is planted on the floor, so Louis' got room to settle between his thighs and press up against him.

He gasps when Louis' hands bypass his cock entirely to drift lower, brushing and scratching his still sore inner thighs. Harry doesn't even notice pushing up into the touch, until his arse is in the air and Louis gets both hands on it, kneading and squeezing. He's kissing his neck now, licking a long stripe from his shoulder to his jaw and then nipping along that trail.

Harry feels as graceless as usual touching Louis, like his hands are awkwardly big on his hot skin, but he can't stop. Louis feels too good, close like this, the way his heart beats hard, the way his back is arching into Harry's hand. Suddenly he realises that the warm puffs of air on his neck aren't Louis teasing him, but laughing.

"What?" he asks absentmindedly, still busy running his hands all over Louis' back.

Louis drops his forehead to Harry's shoulder. "The radio. Quite a mood-killer."

When they started fooling around it was Top 40 background noise, but it must have cut off at some point because now they're making out to the sexy notes of a Heinz ad. It's unacceptable. "I should switch it, I don't want it to get into my subconscious. Imagine getting hard whenever you think of ketchup."

Louis leans back just to give Harry an incredulous look. "You do talk some shit, Harry."

Harry flaps his hand toward the radio. "Next it's gonna be cleaning agents!"

"Go on then." He lays off Harry but sits down in the middle seat. The car isn't that big, to lean over to the front seat he'll need to – Christ, Louis' smirking at him.

Harry swings his leg over Louis and squeezes himself between the front seats to reach the stereo, painfully aware of the fact he's got his bare arse right in front of Louis' face. Louis doesn't touch him, might not even be looking. Only, a particular noise reaches Harry's ears. Unzipping. He freezes, but Louis clicks his tongue at him. "Just play the CD. I might have nicked your sexy disc."

Right, okay. Harry can ignore Louis' face near his arse, he can ignore Louis getting a hand on his dick, he can ignore imminent bumfuckery. What he can't ignore is when he presses the button and Perrie Edwards' high note from track eight pierces the car. He gets a fucking heart attack. "When did you manage to change it from my mix back to Salute?"

"Harry." He can't decipher his tone, his ears still ringing.

He turns the volume down considerably. "Like, I know it's for Zayn's sake, but – fuck – " He slumps between the seats when he feels Louis' slicked finger prodding between his cheeks. "Lou."

"Harry. Waving it in my face. Should get a slap for keeping me waiting." He pushes his fingertip inside and Harry's back arches, his shoulder blades popping with how he's cramped between the seats. He goes to retreat to the backseat, but Louis shoves his finger in all the way and slaps Harry's arse, more loud than hard, startles him into sagging forward again. "Change the CD, love. Yours is in the glovebox."

God. He has to stretch to reach there, twist around. He doesn't intentionally move his hips back, but then Louis' mouth meets one of his arsecheeks and Harry can't breathe. Louis keeps moving his finger slowly in and out, and Harry would be totally cool with it if Louis weren't sinking his teeth into his arse and making pleased little noises.

He needs… He knows what he needs. He changes the bloody CDs and doesn't bother turning up the volume before he grinds back on Louis' hand, his mouth. In a second they're both gone, though, leaving Harry gasping into his own arm and suspended over Louis' lap. He just wants to sink down and take him in, wants to feel Louis again.

"Facing me," Louis says gently, putting a hand on his hip. "I wanna see you. So lovely."

Harry bites his lip and somehow manoeuvres himself to turn around. His only way of getting it is to ride Louis, so he climbs over his lap and straddles him, knees tucked against the backrests, feet planted against the front seats for leverage. Louis leans up to kiss him, which isn't helping the breathing thing, and then slips two fingers inside him. Which makes him jump and bang his head hard against the roof.

They freeze, staring at each other for a moment, and then Harry says, "Motherfucker, that hurt", and they both burst out laughing. Louis shushes him and rubs his free hand over the top of Harry's head, soothing the pain slightly. "You are an idiot," Louis claims, even while playing with his hair.

"Whatever, you like it." He rocks back against Louis' fingers, which are still inside him. His back arches, but there's no room for it, he has to keep himself under control for this. For Louis. "Can we – "

"Yeah, another sec," Louis rushes to say, slamming his fingers into him and spreading him. It's startling, how the small space makes his voice sound louder even with the music. How his moaning for it is so obvious. He bites his lip but keeps grinding until Louis finally says it's enough and puts a condom on.

Harry sinks down slowly on his cock. There's no other choice, there's absolutely no room for movement. He does manage to bang his head on the roof five more times, but he accepts that because he's got Louis' cock opening him up and he couldn’t ask for more. Once he's fully… seated, he tries to bounce up and take some of the pressure off, but Louis' hands tighten on his hips. "Hold still," he asks. Says. Instructs.

Harry squirms, but he manages. There's no slipping this time, or changing positions midway. Harry has to stay in place so he won't give himself a concussion, and Louis' just in so deep, can only give it to him in short little thrusts. Harry bows his head and grips the back of the seats, clenches down when Louis uses his leverage to snap his hips up.

"Fuck," Harry whispers. "Feels so good." They can only grind on each other, torturously slow, so Louis goes from deep to deeper. It makes the motion impossibly continuous, like Harry'll always feel this full, and he's so okay with that. Every time he rolls forward for relief, his cock rubs up against Louis' abs, catching on his own shirt, but that's really all the friction he gets because Louis' got a bruising hold on his hips.

Louis' hands drift up his sides then, sneaking under his shirt and pulling it up until it's caught under his armpits. The rough fabric of the blazer against his bare skin feels weirdly good, but he'd probably say that about anything right now, sitting on Louis' cock. But Louis had a plan, apparently. He leans forward and wraps his lips around one of Harry's nipples, flicking the hard nub with his tongue.

Harry feels the jolt straight to his cock, and has to bite down high on Louis' neck. Louis pays him right back by scraping his nipple with his teeth, and Harry's hips stutter over him, nudging him just right. He curses again and removes his hand from the seats to wrap them in Louis' soft, long hair. He doesn't dare push his face closer to him, but Louis must get the message because he bites him harder. The subtle pain feels electric, like it's just fuelling the pleasure he gets from Louis' cock buried in him. And he has to just take it, because there's no room to move away. Because they're in a car, in public, in the middle of the day, in his school's neighbourhood.

It's like Louis remembers that at the same time. He rocks his hips up harder, grinding right against his spot and making him bounce a little. He lets go of Harry's sore nipple, but makes it up to him by wrapping a hand tight around his cock. He pumps him fast, in a shocking contrast to the slow push of his hips, and it feels so good Harry could scream. He bangs his head on the roof again but barely even notices, it just makes him dizzier. Louis talking dirty certainly doesn't help. "Better hurry up and make Daddy come before someone catches us."

Jesus, Louis calling himself daddy makes heat shoot up Harry's spine, makes him bear down harder. Louis lets out a moan, blowing over his sensitive nipple. "You'd like that? Someone seeing how good you're riding me?"

"Daddy," Harry breathes, grinding faster against him. He's desperate to get off, can't stand the slow drag of Louis' cock or the hot-fast strokes of his hand. "Yeah, fuck, yeah."

It all comes down to Louis twisting his nipple hard with his free hand and whispering, "Want them to know how you're pleasing Daddy?"

He comes hard into Louis' fist, grinding into him so there isn't an inch of space between their bodies and Louis' hand is squeezed between their bellies. He wants him even closer, hugs him with his legs and clenches tight around his cock, until Louis' frantic hips freeze up and he grabs Harry's arse with two hands, spreading him wide for a last thrust before he comes.

He stays in his lap for a long time, trying to catch his breath after Louis slips out of him and chucks the condom somewhere. "That was great," Louis says, his voice still rough.

Harry just nods weakly. "Yeah. You might say… delightful."

Louis stops petting his hair abruptly. He's clearly comedically inferior. "Get it? Afternoon delight?" Louis' still silent. Harry sighs. "Just let me have this, I still can't get over the fact I'm a person that has quickies in the backseats of cars now."

"Sure, babe," Louis concedes, and finally goes back to playing with his curls. "You really like that, don't you?"

"The hair thing? Of course, I feel like a cat. And everybody – "

"Wants to be a cat, don't even say it. But no, I meant the getting fucked thing."

Harry shivers, like a very delayed aftershock. "Guess I do. Is that… not normal?"

"It's lovely," Louis says quickly, kissing his ear. "I've just never… had someone like you. I don't like it that much."

"Oh." Harry's suddenly overwhelmed with mental images of Louis getting fucked, spreading his marvellous arse and squatting over Harry's big cock like Harry is right now. Christ. It's hot, but Harry finds it stressful for some reason, like it'll be too much responsibility. (Like, what if they did it and he couldn't make Louis come? He'd be mortified.) They should probably master this first. He thinks they're well on their way.

Louis pushes Harry back against the front seats and kisses him before he can protest about his aching thighs. He makes Harry spread his arms and then rolls his shirt back down, like he's trying to make him appear more proper. Harry feels oddly groomed. Louis obviously had an agenda. "Oh, look, it's all dirty."

Harry looks down at his clean, albeit sweaty, white shirt in confusion. "No it's not, what – "

And then Louis slaps his come-covered hand over Harry's chest and rubs it around. Harry just. Can't believe it. "You're a little shit, did you know?"

"I've been told, yes," Louis agrees, smirking at him wildly. "Take off your blazer."

Harry widens his eyes. "Don't mess up the blazer, I'd have to ask my mum how to clean it – "

"I'm not messing with the posh blazer, just take it off so you can change shirts."

Harry quirks an eyebrow. "Into what?"

Louis grabs his own discarded T-shirt and waggles his eyebrows. Harry shakes his head, but shrugs the blazer off dutifully. "You're the worst. People will notice I changed shirts in the middle of the day. And it doesn't go with the blazer at all."

"Aw, poor baby," Louis ribs him, pulling off Harry's T-shirt and dressing him up in his black band shirt. "His boyfriend forcing him to wear his clothes because he thinks it's hot."

Well, if it's like that. Harry stretches the shirt over his shoulders and puts the blazer back on. He doesn't think it looks too bad. Sort of rock 'n roll. What a punk schoolboy he is, wearing band shirts and skipping class to fuck his boyfriend. "Alright. I guess I approve."

"Good." Louis leans over to give him another kiss, and then slaps his arse again. Thank god he swallowed the weird sound Harry made at the sharp contact. "C'mon, we're gonna run late. Get your pants on."

It's weird to wriggle back into his clothes in the cramped space, even after Louis hops out of the car to make room. It's weird because he's still sore, still feels vaguely full. He just wants a nap.

When he collapses back in the driver's seat, Louis' already sprawled in the passenger side, wearing a hoodie with probably nothing under it. There's a bright red mark on his neck, which Harry's definitely pleased about. They pull down the sun shade together, and Harry sighs when sunlight floods the car.

"You seem disappointed," Louis comments after a moment. "Is it the clothes thing again?"

"No, I just thought the windows would steam up, like in Titanic."

Louis laughs. "I think in Titanic it steamed up because they were near the coal room. It depends on like, the insulation or air conditioning or if we're smoking."

"Oh. We'll have to try again, then," he decides. When he goes to open the windows and air out the car, Louis stops him. Harry quirks an eyebrow. "It smells like sex, don't you have another lesson?"

Louis shakes his head. "No, gotta go to uni. But you have another lesson."

Shit, he's right. He'll have to sneak to the gym somehow and take a shower.

Or maybe he won't. Maybe he'll go back to class like nothing happened, sit through chem smelling like sweat and sex, like he just called his boyfriend daddy and got fucked in the backseat of his car.

"Start the car," Louis reminds him. Harry shakes his head and starts driving.

When they finally reach the school, Harry's ten minutes late to chem, but he's reluctant to get out. It takes Louis kissing him to get him to unfasten the seatbelt. "Go on already. Call me later."

Alright. That's a plan. Harry can do plans. "Do I, um. I should pay you for the lesson."

Louis laughs, shaking his head. "Not a rent boy yet. You don't have to pay me for fucking you."

"But I did drive. I can't not pay you because you fucked me." It makes sense.

"Fine, pay me for the twenty minutes and book the fucking test already, you know you'll pass."

Harry shrugs awkwardly. Robin actually already booked the test for him when they bought the car, so he's only got a couple of weeks to wait. "Wanted to keep seeing you."

Louis rolls his eyes. "You will, dumbfuck. I told you we're doing this. Pass the test and I'll take you to a pub myself."

Harry stops searching for his phone and gives Louis a hard look. And then kisses the living daylights out of him.


Harry passes the test on the first try. He's so happy he actually hugs his examiner and thanks her for five minutes, making her drop the tough act and smile at him. When he comes home, both his parents are there with congratulation streamers and strawberry shortcake. He might be crying for joy. Niall swings by in the afternoon and insists Harry drive him around for an hour. It's so weird doing it without Louis, but hey, Harry passed his test on the first try, he must be qualified to do it.

They're just starting the trip back home when Louis finally texts him. Not that he's been waiting, but he totally was. "Read it to me," Harry asks, slurping on the ice cream Niall's holding in front of his mouth while he drives. Expertly.

Niall stuffs the rest of his tortilla in his mouth so he has a free hand to pull Harry's phone out of his pocket, giving him a good grope for his trouble. Harry glares at him but Niall is, as always, unrepentant. "It's from Louis New Instructor," he informs him.

"I know. I sensed it."

Niall snorts. "Can I change his contact name, since he's not your instructor anymore?"

"Sure. I trust you," he adds pointedly.

Niall beams. Harry only peeks at his phone, like, twice. He's totally trusting. Niall's never failed him, bundle of joy that he is. "Alright, new text from Louis BF emoji emoji." That's fine. That's lovely. "Sorry, was at class all day. Congratulations exclamation mark."

"Send him a smiley. But an emoji, not a creepy colon-parentheses." He's totally ready for his English final.

"I can't find an emoji for your face right now. I'll just write grinning into ice cream like a knob."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Fine, whatever."

"Aw, he's sending back x's."

Harry licks some more ice cream to contain himself. "How many?"

"Three. Proud of you."

"For not choking on ice cream?" Harry asks, furrowing his brow.

Niall shoves ice cream into his nose. This was a terrible decision. "No, that's what he wrote. X x x, proud of you." He bursts out laughing so suddenly Harry's leg jumps on the gas pedal. Niall doesn't even apologise, tries to explain through his laughter, "He says he hopes you didn't have to seduce the examiner too. He's funny!"

Harry likes how approving Niall sounds, even though it's at his expense. "He is. And I didn't. Tell him what happened between me and the examiner is private."

"Won't that annoy him?" he asks, but starts typing anyway.

Harry doesn't know how to explain that he's just trying to rile him up. "Let's see."

"Oh, he's already typing. Ha, he says at least he knows who you'll be celebrating with. D'you think he'll come to terms with how you'll always love me more than him?"

Harry laughs and takes a bite of his cone. His whole face is a sticky mess, but he loves ice cream and he loves Niall and he loves driving, so. "I don't think he meant celebrating with you, mate. Tell him – "

"Wait, he's still typing. He says and how. Did you make plans or summa – oh, he's explaining, wait. I'm gonna spread – Jesus Christ," Niall exclaims, dropping the phone between his knees and making a show of wiping his hand. Harry nearly chokes at the look on his face. "H, don't ever involve me in your celebrations again."

"He's gonna spread Jesus Christ? I didn't know he was religious."

Niall shakes his head violently. "That was unnecessarily graphic."

"Was it? Someone stopped before the good stuff."

Niall's a little red in the face, it's adorable. "Fine, I'll read you more, but I have to wipe your face, you look ridiculous."

Before he can do either, Harry's phone starts ringing. Niall picks it up reluctantly, and Harry sneaks a glance down to the screen. Louis BF peach emoji banana emoji. "Oh my god, Niall, I trusted you."

"What, it's funny. D'you want me to answer?"

"Yeah, put it on speaker."

Niall throws the rest of the ice cream in the bag and accepts the call. "Hi Louis this is Niall, I'm with Harry, you're on speaker," he starts, very loudly.

Louis' laugh sounds lovely even on the phone, how amazing. "Hi Niall, Hi Harold."

Harold? Niall mouths to him. Harry just shrugs, smiling to himself dumbly. "Hey Lou."

"Are you driving?"

"Yup. I passed my test. Did you hear?"

Niall and Louis snort at the same time. "Yeah, I got your thirty texts. It doesn't mean you should distract yourself while driving."

"You're the one who called," Harry points out.

"Well, I just wanted to congratulate you. And ask if you wanted to get together tonight."

Niall clears his throat obnoxiously. Harry bites his lip. He sounds very chill when he says, "Yeah, sure, I guess. The pub I wanted with the open mic?"

"Actually, there's a nice place a little more… private? There's still an open mic, don't worry."

"Oh. Like… out of the way?"

"Yeah, exactly."

Harry's stomach sinks a little. "It's not like anyone at the pub will tell my mum, you know."

Louis sighs. "Harry, I'm getting a certificate to teach teenagers. I can't be caught fucking one, it'll look bad."

He knows it makes sense, but still, a little hurt creeps up his chest. Before he can reply, Niall pipes up. "Wey hey, Louis, I heard you like footie! Which club do you support?"

If Louis notices Niall's overt save, he doesn't say. "Hey, Niall, yeah, I'm for Man U, of course. Harry tells me you're a Derby lad?"

"We might get promoted this year, we're having a great season," Niall boasts. "Unlike some, I suppose."

"Watch it," Harry and Louis warn at the same time. "You're not even in our league," Harry whines for what must be the hundredth time.

"Relax, bros," Niall laughs. "You win some, you lose some."

"You're alright, Niall," Louis says, smile clear in his voice. "And at least you're not for City."

"What, support the scum of the Earth?" Niall gasps dramatically. Harry pats him on the back. He's taught him well.

"We'll make a proper Cheshire lad out of you yet."

Harry tunes out the conversation then, concentrating on the intersection. Louis says he'll talk to him later just when Harry reaches Niall's house. He stops the car but keeps a white-knuckled grip on the wheel. Niall nudges his shoulder lightly, and Harry immediately whirls on him. "Do you think I'm being dumb about this?"

"I think there's no way I'm stepping into that. You know me, free-spirit, no-judgment Nialler. Unless we're talking about eating fruit you found in random places, because once is too many times, Harry."

Harry pouts. "It was just an orange, the peel is there to protect it from harm. Just… help me think about this."

Niall sighs like Harry's forcing him to put nail polish on him again. "I think maybe it doesn't really matter where you go? And seeing the state of your neck, I doubt you actually left the bed since you hooked up three weeks ago, so it'll be your first date, innit? Think about that."

Oh. His stomach twists with a wave of nerves so intense he thinks he's going to throw up or piss himself. "That's exciting, right?"

"Chill out," Niall says, reading him perfectly. "You'll go out for a couple of hours, get pissed, and then go home and do whatever you do. I can join if you think it'll be awkward."

Harry just pulls him into a tight hug.

As soon as he gets home, he calls Louis to apologise, and then spends the next few hours obsessing over his hair and clothes. At some point, he just gives up and sends Louis pictures, asking him to choose. Of course Louis' less than helpful. 'Naked please.'

Eventually he goes for a red button-down rolled up to his elbows and his tightest jeans, which aren't really that tight at all. Maybe he should finally invest in nice fuck-me jeans. Not that Louis won't fuck him in these, but. He wants to make an effort. He decides to leave the blazer behind, since the point is to look older. Fluffing his hair into submission takes more time, but that Harry's sure is worth it. Anything that will encourage Louis to run his fingers through his hair.

He can only sigh dramatically when Louis pulls up outside his house and steps out. Those are tight jeans, hugging his perfect thighs and perfect arse perfectly. There's also the situation where he's wearing Harry's Ramones shirt. It's slightly big on him, dipping past his collarbones, and it's Harry's favourite shirt. He doesn't even remember leaving it at Louis' place, but he'll be happy to never wear it again if it'll hang off Louis like that. There's also his perfectly trimmed scruff, and his shaggy hair is styled in a swooping thing instead of the usual spiky fringe.

His biggest problem with all these things isn't that he's overwhelmed, but that he's seconds from dropping to his knees right here in the driveway and calling him Daddy. "I can't believe how much time I spent on my outfit and you're just shitting all over it with your face," he blurts, accusatory.

Louis throws his head back and laughs, making his hair bounce around a bit. Harry's throat is bone-dry. "I've got a fancier shirt if you think it's inappropriate – "

"No, nope, you're good," Harry says quickly, and shoves Louis to the passenger seat. For a moment he's tempted to just sit in his lap and close the door, but they're a bit too close to home. So he rounds the car to the driver's seat. And then turns and kisses Louis, deep and dirty. "Looks better on you," he mumbles.

"Your shirt or you?" Louis asks, rubbing his scruff all over Harry's jaw.

"Stop that. Won't be able to sing with a dick in my mouth."

"You stop touching me, then."

Ugh, right. Harry untangles his fingers from Louis' long hair and kisses his lips one last time before starting the car. "You look really good," he clarifies.

"You too, babe. It's so great you passed the test, congrats."

Harry nearly forgot about that. He looks over to thank Louis, but stops short when he notices that Louis' folded his legs over the seat. It could be a trust thing, showing him he won't use dual control pedals, since it's officially not a lesson. It could also just be a horrifyingly cute thing, Louis folding himself up and leaning his scruffy chin on his knees. "You're horrifying. Where am I even driving?"

Louis responds by spreading his knees wide, knocking one against the door handle and one against the gear. He looks open and relaxed and amused, and his hands come to rest on his thighs, and Louis should really stop touching himself if he expects Harry not to. He should set an example. He's a teacher. "Start by pulling it out. The car. Out of the driveway."

The place is really out of the way, but Harry's being Zen about it. The long drive allows him to brag about his ace driving test, and Louis' still being cute with his legs and his dumb anecdotes. The place itself is really nice, a cosy little pub mostly dominated by a stage. The place Harry knows is basically a shitty karaoke joint, but this is, like, for serious artists. "How did you find this place?" Harry asks, charmed by every little thing. Starting with Louis wrapping an arm around his waist without hesitation.

"Me and Zayn used to play here. Well, I played, he sang."

Oh. It suddenly hits Harry that Louis being a grown man isn't so much an obstacle as it is endlessly fascinating. There's so much for Harry to learn about him, and he wants to know it all. "Were you in a band?"

"Not really," Louis says quickly. "Just something we did to blow off steam when we first started uni. It was his idea, really, I went along with it because I was high most of the time. Zayn, though. Voice like an angel."

Harry doesn't know what to address. First started uni, because Louis already started and finished Harry's oncoming nightmare, and is now wrapping up a bloody postgrad course. Wow. Also, got high a lot, that's worth investigating. Also, voice like an angel. Fuck. Harry's suddenly grateful they're in the middle of nowhere, because singing on this stage will surely be different from singing in the back room of the bakery. Harry hopes he'll be able to deliver.

"Let's start with drinks," he decides, nervous. "What do you want?"

Louis smiles at him mischievously. "Shouldn't I get them? What makes you think you'll get service?"

Harry shakes out his hair and flutters his lashes. "I can get drinks, Lou."

Louis' face hardens instantly. "You sit down where I can see you. I'm getting beers."

"Alright," he agrees, giggling. Harry grabs them a table for two near the stage and makes sure there's a candle on it. He's going to ace this date. Super romantic.

Louis comes back with two pints, and of course the first thing he notices is the candle. "Really?"

Harry grins at him. "Candles are very calming. I have a collection of scented candles at home. Cinnamon."

"Calming?" Louis asks, then takes a swig of his beer. When he puts the glass back down, he runs his damp fingers over the back of Harry's hand, causing goosebumps to rise on his skin. "Are you nervous? You don't have to go up and sing, you know."

"No, it's not that." He's excited about that, loves singing. Instead of explaining further, he takes a swig of his own beer, comforted by the smooth, bitter slide of it down his throat.

When he opens his eyes again Louis' got an eyebrow raised. "Are you nervous about, like. This?" He points between them.

Harry bites his lip and nods. Louis turns Harry's hand and clasps their fingers together, then leans forward, careful of the candle. "You really shouldn't be, it's not an awkward first date. Think of every driving lesson as a mobile date." In a whisper, he adds, "I'd have to know you pretty well to lick you out like I did two nights ago."

"Suppose you're right," Harry says, totally not shuddering at the memory of Louis' wet tongue jabbing inside him. "This is different, though. Official."

Louis leans back in his seat with a nod. "Alright, let's do an official date thing. Ask me something about myself."

Harry smiles, remembering Louis first introducing himself so long ago. He relaxes a bit (totally thanks to the candle, it's got nothing to do with the smile Louis' giving him). "You said you went to uni with Zayn. What'd you study?"

"Drama, of course," he answers, swinging his head around. "Have you thought about what you want to study?"

"Nope. Rock stars don't study, Lewis." He waggles his finger at Louis for emphasis, and Louis knocks his hand aside before he burns himself on the candle. Thank god for Louis' life-saving instincts. It's probably what got him in the driving school. And might buy Harry a few more years on this Earth.

Niall's appointed two hours fly by with them just talking and drinking, Harry's nerves reduced to vague butterflies. Even when he doesn't have anything to say, he's content just looking at Louis, pretty and animated in the candlelight, always with a story to tell. He loves it.

The practice school's got Louis really excited. It's not Harry's school, much less posh. Louis dominates it, of course, made all the teachers and students fall in love with him on his first day of the Teacihng Practice phase of his course. "I guarantee they all wanna fuck you," Harry comments, sucking on his beer begrudgingly.

"There have been seduction attempts from one girl, a transfer from Manchester. What can you do when you're the hot young teacher?"

Wait. "Seriously?"

Louis shrugs. "Yeah, you know. Pushing up perky tits and asking for a personal touch. Bit tacky in my opinion."


"Yeah, I prefer the low-key version. Inviting me to a pool party of one or making me jealous of other men or forcing me to listen to sex songs."

Harry's pretty shocked. They never actually talk about what got them here, so Harry didn't know his failed attempts were the ones that broke Louis. "None of that was intentional."

"I'm sure it wasn't."

Harry glares at him until he gets a kiss. It's pretty effective.

The performers come and go, until suddenly someone drops by their table to tell Harry he's up next. He wasn't even aware of Louis signing him up. "Will you both be performing?" she asks, not even acknowledging their clasped hands.

Harry's so happy his heart feels like it's ready to burst. He squeezes Louis' hand. "I dunno," Louis says eventually.

She just nods kindly. "Well, you've got a fifteen minute slot. Do whatever you want."

Harry waits for her to leave before punching Louis' shoulder. "Fifteen minutes? What the fuck am I gonna do for fifteen minutes?"

"Relax, it's only three five-minute songs."

"Yeah, or five three-minute songs!"

Louis snorts. "Don't Arctic Monkeys songs have a four minute minimum?"

Harry hopes his delighted smile doesn't cover up his rising panic. "Why'd you think I'd perform Arctic Monkeys songs?"

"Because your voice is deeper than the Earth's crust and raspier than sandpaper?"

Harry really hopes his manic burst of laughter doesn't cover up his hysteria. "You just want me to sing something sexy."

"Obviously. Like an acoustic version of Do I Wanna Know."

Which brings up another problem. "Shit, I didn't bring Niall's guitar."

"Ask for someone to play for you then. Since you can get drinks, apparently."

"Is that a challenge?"

Louis shrugs, jutting his chin out.

Ten minutes later he's on the stage with a guitar player and a bass player. Louis can suck it. The place isn't packed, but twenty-five punters are more than enough to get Harry antsy. He likes the pressure, though, thrives on the unsuspecting eyes looking at him. He drags the stool to the edge of the stage and chooses to stand instead, dragging the mic stand between his knees.

"Heeey everyone. I'm Harry, and this is my first time here," he confesses, pasting on a sweet smile. His eyes automatically drift to Louis, who gives him a supportive thumbs-up. "So, um, I wasn't really sure what I wanted to perform, but my boyfriend asked for something sexy, so." A few people laugh, but Louis just rolls his eyes. No one cares that he has a boyfriend. No one knows how old he is. He shakes out his hands and nods to his players.

And then they start playing an acoustic version of a Christina Aguilera song. He chose it mostly for shock value, and as soon as people recognise what he's singing they clap and hoot. Harry smiles and drops his voice even lower, so the connection between his raspy baritone and Christina fucking Aguilera is even more flimsy. Louis' laughing his arse off in the front row, clapping helplessly, and Harry's ridiculously pleased with himself. "He had tattoos up and down his arm, there's nothing more dangerous than a boy with charm."

Harry isn't inconsiderate, though. Per Louis' request, he did pick one of her suggestive songs. He's definitely not laughing when Harry fixes him with a heavy-lidded look and wraps his hands around the mic to sing slowly, "By now I'm getting all bothered and hot, when he kissed my mouth it really hit the spot. He had lips like sugarcane, good things come for boys who wait."

He feels high on the adrenaline and the cheering, confident enough to assume that Louis leaning forward and sucking his lip into his mouth means someone is getting bothered and hot. So he suppresses every urge to throw his hands up and dance like an "embarrassing dad dancing at a barbeque", and instead grinds on the mic stand shamelessly and moans for, "He's a one stop, got me hot, making my ah pop."

It's not the people whistling and reaffirming his potential as a rock star. It's Louis' jaw dropping and reaffirming his potential of getting fucked out of his mind tonight. That's what carries him through the song. He doesn't even look at anyone but Louis.


He's especially pleased with himself when it ends and the audience actually claps for a while, most of them stunned. Harry loves that no one expects a kid like him to have such a deep voice. He never expected to do what he just did to that violated mic stand. His cheeks ache from smiling and he can feel himself blushing furiously, from the rush and from the lights on him. He pops open a couple of buttons, smirking when someone actually wolf-whistles. "Well, was that sexy enough?" he asks, while the guitar-wielding angels behind him tune their instruments. He gets a loud yes. It might be the best night of his life.

The rest of his set is as Louis expected, Arctic Monkeys and Cage The Elephant. When he's being signalled to wrap it up, though, he feels that he needs to accomplish at least one romantic gesture. Twelve different love songs cross his mind at once, but looking at Louis right now, when he's smiling so hard his eyes crinkle, when he's all dressed up for Harry, when he's nodding proudly and making a ruckus, he knows that he shouldn't even think about the word love because he feels it so fiercely he might faint.

Fuck if he'll pass up an opportunity to be a sappy ridiculous idiot. He can't believe he even has such an opportunity. This place is bloody awesome. "For the last song, I'm gonna try to sing something special. The problem is that the song is quite fast and I'm quite slow, so we'll see how it goes. You'll bear with me, yeah?"

"Just play, Harold," a distinctive high-pitched voice yells.

"Alright love, I'm getting there." He waits for the players to nod, and then he looks back out at the audience. Then promptly looks down at his shoes. "So, to wrap this up, I'm gonna dedicate a song to my boy." His head snaps up when he hears a girl aw. He wants to move in here. "I know it's sappy as shit, but it's our song."

Louis looks on curiously. And then Harry sings a mellowed-out version of Salute.

He's basically the best date ever.


Harry thinks he's growing on Zayn. It's been a month and Harry's been spending at least two nights a week at his place, so if Harry hasn't grown on Zayn, it's got to be awkward as shit. Most of that time Zayn isn't even there, but when he is, he does tend to smile at Harry. They've chatted four whole times.

Zayn's really quite awesome. The first time they found themselves without supervision, Harry panicked and started talking to him about art, which went alright because Harry has many friends who know many things about many things, so he faked his way through it. Then the second time, Harry was making breakfast and Zayn shuffled in, wearing Marvel boxers and thick-rimmed glasses. Zayn was 80 percent asleep, so Harry hurried to pile eggs on his plate and then talked to him about comics, because that was something he actually knew about without six degrees of separation. Also, he was hoping to distract Zayn from the fact he was naked.

So after the revelation that Zayn is a huge geek, they got along swimmingly. Harry doesn't know if it's because Zayn pretends that Harry's twenty years old or if he's making a conscious effort for Louis' benefit, but either way, Harry's turning on the charm. In the form of food, mostly.

Anyway, all of this is to say that Harry's getting quite comfortable in Louis' place. Enough so that he's happily cuddling Louis in front of the telly with Zayn reading in the armchair. It's so cosy he's being lulled to sleep by Louis' clever fingers stroking his hair, and he snuggles closer into his chest. He can hear Louis and Zayn speaking softly, something about cats, but he tunes it out.

He's jolted awake by Louis kissing his neck. His eyes snap open and he looks around, but Zayn must have fucked off at some point, and it's just Louis crouching over him on the sofa. He smiles up sleepily and kisses Louis' answering grin. It's instinct, he could do it in his sleep by now. Louis kisses him back and stretches out so he's lying on top of him, hands over his chest. Harry's chest is his favourite place to be, he's said so on multiple occasions. Couch snogging sessions are the best, especially when Louis cuddles up to him and kisses all over his neck.

Harry wraps his arms around Louis' waist automatically, dipping his hands under his tank top and rubbing his smooth skin. "Where'd Zayn go?"

Louis sucks on his skin particularly hard and then lets up with a pop. "Went to his room. Said you were being too cute."

Harry giggles and scratches along Louis' spine. "I'm alright."

Louis nips along the column of his throat, scratching him with his beard. "You're more than alright, Harold. Get your top off, I wanna play with your nipples."

"Jesus." Harry heaves himself up and tugs off his T-shirt, throwing it somewhere unspecified. Louis laughs at his eagerness, but really, he's fully responsible for this. Harry didn't know how sensitive his nipples were until recently. It's unfair that Louis uses it to his advantage. Harry kisses him hard just to shut him up, and Louis shoves him against the armrest and grinds his hips down, his cock obviously tenting his boxers.

Louis pulls on his hair to tilt his head back, and then trails bruising kisses down his neck, between his collarbones, until finally reaching his pecs. Harry spreads his legs so he's got his cock against Louis' stomach. A rush flows through him when Louis licks over his nipple, then rubs it to hardness between his fingers.

It's just. God, it's just… Harry wouldn't even feel it if he weren't turned on, if Louis weren't digging his nails in or using his teeth. Without this sharp feeling, the hurt, that turns him on even more. Louis swirls over his nipple with his tongue and teases the other one with his hand, rubbing and pinching. Every time something clamps over him, Louis' teeth or lips or nails, Harry's back arches into it and he lets out a tiny, breathless sound.

A noise.

It takes him a second to realise what he's just heard wasn't his own noise, nor Louis'. It was a door opening. Harry shrinks immediately, but Louis must not mind Zayn walking around the flat, because he scrapes his nipple with his teeth uninterrupted. Harry has to bite down on his lip to stay quiet, highly aware of Zayn's unknown whereabouts and highly... affected by it.

Louis starts sucking hard on the wet skin but he's not covering his sharp little teeth, something he'd never allow in a blowjob. It's just this side of too rough, and Harry loves it, stretches his body all out. He gasps when Louis suddenly lets go of both his nipples, staying close but not touching him. He pushes his chest up, but Louis keeps the exact maddening distance, just blowing air on the tight skin. "Please," he mumbles, not bothering to keep his voice down. Nothing matters but getting Louis' mouth on him again.

"Please what?" Louis asks in a harsh tone, keeping a heavy hand on Harry's sternum to stop him from squirming.

It's a good job, since as soon as Harry understands what Louis wants, he shudders and bites out, "Please, Daddy."

He jerks up and nearly headbutts Louis when they hear a loud crash from the kitchen, followed by Zayn cursing loudly. Louis bursts out laughing, completely distracted, but it's a bit harder for Harry to shake it off. He ends up kind of nuzzling Louis' neck and repeating to himself, "Please, please, don't stop, please."

So Louis helps pull him up from the sofa and drags him to the bedroom to finish what he started.


Harry wakes up from his nap alone. He's disoriented for a second, cold, until he realises he's at Louis' flat and it's already dark. He should probably drive home soon. He thinks it's his second or third night here in a row. Something (well, someone) always convinces him to stay. His mum is probably getting worried. Ever since they watched Breaking Bad together, she's been sure he's one poor decision away from cooking meth.

He stretches his arms up until he can grip the headboard, his back muscles popping like he's seventeen going on seventy. By the time he finds his pants and phone, Louis' still nowhere to be found. He resigns himself to looking for kisses instead of just getting them like a normal person.

He opens the closet door to peek at the full-length mirror, just to make sure he got all the come out of his hair, and then sneaks out of the room. A cold breeze hits his skin, and it's only a second before he realises why: the balcony screen doors are open. Zayn must be outside smoking. Harry's about to duck into the kitchen and make some tea when he finally hears Louis, also outside.

A crossroads. He should probably make his cuppa and leave, or turn back to the bedroom, or. Tiptoe to the balcony and eavesdrop. No, he mustn't. He was raised better than that. It's dumb and childish and wrong. He resolutely turns to the kitchen to brew three cuppas and make up for even considering –

And then he hears his name. Lovely. The kitchen has windows facing the balcony. Harry just can't win morality points here.

"It's not an issue," he hears Louis press. If he looked outside he'd see his silhouette, leaning over the railing and sharing a smoke with Zayn. "It's just something that came up and we both liked. He's a good lad. Nice little body."

It's not hard to guess what they're discussing. Harry should probably go. "Right," Zayn says, sounding doubtful. "What else does he like?"

"I'm not gonna tell you. I'm a gentleman."

Harry rolls his eyes, the way Zayn should be doing right now. "Fine, whatever."

There's a pause, either because they're taking a drag or because they’ve exhausted the topic. Harry wrings his hands and even turns around, but then Louis adds, "He's proper hung, though."


"Massive. Bigger than Liam, even."

"Shit, even limp?"

He can practically hear Louis' smirk when he says, "I've never seen it limp."

Which is a lie, it's such a lie, Harry has so much self-control. He can't believe this slander. And it continues. "Fuck, Tommo. Did his jailbait dick hurt going in?"

"That is wildly inappropriate. And he hasn't fucked me yet."

Yet. Harry has so much self-control he totally doesn't blank out just to wrap his head around the concept of fucking Louis. He doesn't.

Zayn makes a surprised noise. "He calls you daddy and he hasn't fucked you yet?"

"We're working up to – you know what, it's none of your business," Louis snaps.

"Harry Styles is the only thing you've been talking about for months, you can't just shut me out because you got to the sexy bits."

So basically Harry's standing around in the kitchen and smiling like an idiot, unabashedly eavesdropping on Louis and his best friend talking about him. He is truly corrupted. He'll be cooking meth in no time.

"Well, then no, he hasn't fucked me yet because I think it might be a big deal for him and..." he trails off, and Harry hears glass clinking, probably one of them putting down a beer bottle.

"Hey, babes, it's alright," Zayn says softly, and something twists in Harry's chest.

"I just. I want so much with him, all the time, but I'm his first and only, like. I don't wanna freak him out. I'd die if I hurt him."

Harry feels his stomach drop. Thank god for Zayn. "I don't think you're taking more than he wants to give you."


"Yeah, Lou. For one, he looks at you like you hung the bloody moon. And for another, he's got you wrapped around his little finger."

Louis sighs loudly. "That's the worst part, I think. I'm like a schoolboy crush to him, but to me he's – I just – "

Harry has half a mind to leap through the window and drape himself over Louis' lap and kiss his stupid gorgeous face.

"Come on. If what happened with Liam taught me anything, it's that sometimes you get it right the first time, and sometimes you don't get it right at all."

"So you're saying I could do worse?"

"No – well, yeah actually, anyone willing to waste their youth and charm on a twat like you is a keeper – but I meant that you just have to let it be. It might blow over, but it might be more than a crush."

In what universe does Harry have crushes? He might be young, but now he's at the age when he knows what he needs, and Louis' it. He doesn't think there's anything schoolboyish about this (when they don't roleplay, at least). He should probably tell Louis. After the eavesdropping session is over.

"He's great, though, isn't he?" Louis asks suddenly. Harry perks up. "He's so sweet and nice and delighted by everything, but he's cheeky too, and sexy, Christ."

Well, Harry's definitely delighted now. He never considered himself to be particularly sexy, definitely not since acquiring Louis Tomlinson as a boyfriend, but he must have done something right to earn said acquisition.

"Bro, stop, you're getting sappy. Go wake him up with a blowjob or something."

Harry stumbles back to bed so fast there's probably a cartoonish dust cloud forming behind him.


Contrary to what Louis might believe, Harry does actually go to school. He wouldn't be spending so much time with his arse up if he didn't get good grades. He still gets his shit done, preparing for exams and working at the bakery and babysitting for everyone. Right now he's being an exemplary student, poring over textbooks with Niall in his bedroom. He automatically goes to text that to Louis, but then remembers that he and Niall put each other's phones down their pants to actually get some work done.

"Fuck, I keep rereading the same words," Niall whines, burying himself in Harry's beanbag chair. He doesn't even remember why he has a beanbag chair, but he'll probably never get rid of it. It's nice. Purple. "I wish we could smoke up."

"But we can't, that's the whole point of doing this here. To focus," Harry reminds him, throwing a paper airplane at his head. It was a strategic mistake, seeing as Niall throws it right back at him. Harry makes it easy; his head is resting on Niall's stomach.

"Right, of course. Just because you're done with GSCEs and one whole year away from A Levels doesn't mean you should slack off. I just don't understand teachers. If we don't slack off in May of year twelve when the fuck are we gonna slack off?"

Harry can't even argue with that. "Who cares, it's half-term soon. I'm gonna do nothing."

"As if, you're gonna be knee-deep in cock when your parents fly off to Majorca or wherever it is this year."

"Jamaica," Harry corrects. And actually, he hadn't thought about that. His parents always go on vacation for their anniversary, but up until last year he always had Gemma around to take care of him. Now she's in New York and he's old enough to have the house all to himself. And Louis, maybe. Wow. "Jesus, you're right."

"When am I not?" Niall asks, petting Harry's hair.

As if she was activated by them talking about her, his mum knocks on the door, like, sixteen times, and then comes in with his laundry. She gives them a long look, and Harry wants to offer her to join them on his fantastic beanbag chair, but he will never forget the year Niall spent lusting after her. Best to keep them apart.

"Alright, sweetheart?" she asks finally, piling up his clothes on the bed.

"Yeah, just doing a bit of homework," Harry says, waving his textbook around. "D'you need help with the laundry?"

"No, it's fine," she says quickly, still looking at them weirdly. "I understand."

Harry raises an eyebrow, but before he can ask her what that meant, she whirls around and leaves the room. Instead of closing the door behind her, she opens it even farther.

"The fuck was that?" Harry asks, thoroughly confused.

Niall starts laughing uproariously, bouncing Harry's head until he has to sit up and glare at him. "What?"

"She thinks – oh Jesus, she thinks I'm your boyfriend!"

Harry stares from Niall to the door and back again. Oh god.

It's not that hilarious to him, he must admit. Because his first instinct is to run after her and explain, but what will he say? I'm actually dating Louis Tomlinson, you know, the driving instructor eight years older than me? He can't say shit about Louis. After the tenth time he'd avoided telling her about "this mystery boy", she stopped asking and he just sank into this whirlpool of avoidance and lies. He hates lying to anyone, let alone his mum.

Despite the fact he can't tell her the truth, after Niall leaves he makes sure to hang out with her and make dinner together. He tells her about school and where he's been driving, and she tells him Gemma stories. And if it's a bit awkward, Harry guesses he'll just have to accept it. And if he gets a bit weepy when she asks him if he'll be sleeping home tonight, no one has to know.

The problem is that he loves his mum. He'll do anything for her and Gemma. It's like his whole teenage rebellion has skipped the "hate your family" phase right to fucking his driving instructor. And it's hard, keeping something so huge from her.

"It's just the fact it's a secret, innit?" he says quietly when he talks to Louis on the phone, late that night. "It's frustrating."

"I know, love, it's hard for me too," Louis replies softly. "Sure you don't wanna come over?"

"Yeah, and I'm sorry for cancelling, I just couldn't do it to her after today, y'know?"

"Of course, don't worry about it. I know I can't keep you stashed away all the time."

Harry snuggles into his blanket. He's used to wrapping himself around Louis, it's pretty weird just talking to him in bed without feeling him. "Maybe this weekend we could go to that pub again? With the open mic?" Where I could call you my boyfriend and sing to you?

"How about I do you one better and we stay in?"

"Lewis, we always stay in, you just said – "

"I meant, have Zayn and Perrie over. Like a double date. But casual, where we watch telly and dick around."

Harry smiles into his pillow. "And be boyfriends?"

"Yeah. Lazy boyfriends."

"I'd love that. But leave the food to me, please."

Louis snorts. "My desperate housewife. You realise I'm twenty-five, yeah? I can make dinner. Like, chicken. And stuff."

"Chicken and stuff doesn't sound like something I'd put on a menu."

"I'll stuff you if you don't stop mocking me. You can be in charge of dessert."

Harry huffs. "Deal."

"See? All you have to do is cooperate."

I love you.

Fuck. He shoots upright in bed, heart pounding. He nearly just said it. Why did his brain just say it, casual as anything? Should he say it? After overhearing Louis' insecurities maybe it's what Louis needs to hear, but Harry's shit scared to say it. He needs to stop being awake. "Um, do we do it on Thursday?"

"Can't, class. We'll do it on Friday, and then you could spend the night."

"Sounds good," he mutters.

Louis' instantly onto it. "You alright there?"

"Yeah, of course, why not?"

"You sound weird. Are you making the frog face or the sad face?"

Oh my god. He settles back down in the bed, shoves his face in the pillow petulantly. "Neither, shut up."

"Alright. Are you tired?"

"Not really." He was, before the minor heart attack. But if Louis suggests he come over again –

"Wanna wank together?"

"Um. On the phone?"

Louis laughs, but it's low-pitched, suggests maybe he's already started without him. The rush of adrenaline from the earlier panic is turning into something different altogether. He doesn't wait for Louis to answer his dumb question before he says, "Alright, I'm in. How?"

So Louis explains. At length.

Until this moment, when he's grinding on three fingers and rubbing his cock on spilled lube, fucking into the mattress, it hasn't fully hit Harry how gone he is for Louis. He sort of already learnt how much power Louis has over him when he fingered himself for the first time and came as soon as he heard Louis' voice. But this is something else entirely, this is Louis panting in his ear and fucking his fist so hard Harry can hear his fucking balls slapping against him. This is Louis telling him how hard Harry makes him, because he can't show him. Whispering dirty things, how he's fucking Harry from behind right now, keeping him pinned down and not letting him up. It's so vivid in his head, the way Louis would grip him around the wrists so tightly it'd bruise, the way he might push his face into the mattress and –

Fuck, Harry comes holding his own breath, and he'd feel like a fucking perverted weirdo if he didn't have Louis still in his ear telling him how beautiful and special he is, or if he couldn't remember the soft touches Louis gives him whenever he needs them. He grabs some tissues to clean himself and then curls up in his blanket, completely drained.

"Should tide you over until Friday, don't you think?"

Harry mumbles something completely incoherent into the phone, clumsy fingers already hovering over End Call. "Maybe," he manages to drawl.

"Go to sleep, baby. Text me tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah, love you," he mumbles, mostly to himself, and passes out without another thought.


"Puppy!" Harry exclaims, completely shocked.

He spent all day obsessing over the double date, what he should make and what he should wear and what he should say, but no scenario prepared him for opening the door to Perrie Edwards holding a tiny doggie. Harry's a cat person through and through, but only hopeless cynics can ignore a fluffy tiny doggie held by a gorgeous woman. To think his biggest worry was what to do with his hair. Even a quiff was considered, but eventually he let the riot of curls stay, so it doesn't seem like he's trying too hard.

"Yeah," she says, smiling wide at Harry. It's probably just an automatic response to Harry's puppy grin, but it's lovely. "This is Hatchi."

"Hi," Harry tells them both excitedly. "I'm Harry."

Hatchi barks at him. He's adorable, even if Harry's kind of scared of petting him.

In comes the hopeless cynic. "Darling, you brought the fucking dog?" Louis yells from the kitchen door, slightly muffled by the oven mitt in his mouth.

Hatchi yelps excitedly and scrambles from Perrie's hands, running so fast to Louis his tiny little paws slip on the floor. He jumps up Louis' leg and keeps barking until Louis sighs and leans down. Harry can only stare helplessly when Louis picks up the tiny puppy and cradles him in his arms, burying his face in his soft fur.


"Cute, innit?" Perrie asks with a grin, elbowing Harry and finally making it past the doorway. "Hatchi's in love with Louis."

"You are, aren't you?" Louis asks in a baby voice, grinning wide at the panting dog. "Everyone's in love with Louis, aren't they?"

Of course he looks up at Harry, the bastard. Harry rolls his eyes pointedly and closes the door behind Zayn when he finally comes in after his fiancée. "Hey mate," Zayn says to Harry with a warm smile, and immediately runs up to hug Louis and his dog, as if he hadn't just seen Louis this morning when they strategized dinner.

"I hope you're not allergic or something, we couldn't leave him with anyone. He's an adorable little shit," Perrie says, drawing Harry's attention back to her. Right. Conversation. It's happening. Double date.

"It's okay, really. I grew up with two cats. How old is he?"

"Oh, just six months. Please tell me that's younger than you?"

Harry bursts out laughing, surprised. He thought they'd have to skirt around the subject all night, but apparently Perrie's direct. He likes that. "Promise I'm legal."

"Good," she says, petting his shoulder. "Wouldn't want Tommo in jail. He likes to think he's too posh for it." She mouths the word Yorkshire and Harry decides he's in love.

They all converge in the kitchen to check on dinner, and Harry's slightly surprised to find himself in an easy conversation with Perrie. Not that it should have been surprising, she's funny and sarcastic and bullshit-free. Harry already loves someone like that.

"You know, I was going to audition for X Factor last year," he tells her while sneaking some sauce for her to taste, right from the pot.

"Yeah? Why didn't you?"

"Got cold feet, I guess. I probably wouldn't have gotten in," he admits.

Louis nudges his shoulder suddenly, wrapping an arm around his waist. There's red sauce all over his lips and chin. He's really the least subtle person ever. Harry's mum would have had his head for eating from the pot, let alone not covering his tracks.

Apparently he's been listening in on Harry and Perrie. "Are you kidding? Of course you would've gotten in. I told you you're gonna be a rock star." To Perrie he says, "He's got a great voice."

"You have to say that," Harry counters, getting embarrassed. Who the fuck is he to talk to Perrie Edwards about great voices?

"Shut up," Louis says, pinching his hip. "We go to open mic nights every other week. He sings to me."

"Aw, that's cute," Perrie says, ruffling Harry's hair. "What do you sing? I Got You Babe?"

"Actually, I sang Little Mix the first time," he says proudly. She looks like she's waiting for an explanation, so Harry goes for broke. "It's sort of our snogging music? Because it's the only thing Louis' car plays?"

"Oh my god, you're shameless," she says, clapping her hands. "Let's go to the living room and set the table, I wanna hear all about it."

Harry wouldn't say he charms her pants off, but he does keep track of the number of times he makes her smile, and they're well into the double digits. He just has fun, drinking beer and talking about him and Louis like it's all a cute anecdote and not some illicit affair. She tells him about being a singer and life on the road, and Harry laps it up. When Zayn and Louis join them it only gets better, because they bring funny stories out of each other, and Harry just lets himself be entertained without feeling excluded.

There's only one instance where it gets significantly awkward, when Hatchi paws at Perrie's knees and she pushes him away and says, "Mummy's eating now, go to Daddy," and Louis perks up. He and Harry stare at each other wide-eyed, until Zayn starts laughing hysterically and Perrie demands to know what's so funny. Thank god, no one tells her.

They're all fairly buzzed by the time Harry brings out his gorgeous spotted dick. He announces the dessert as such, not surprised at all when everyone giggles like schoolchildren. It's his favourite thing to make. "See, it's both pudding and a joke!"

Louis rolls his eyes and pulls Harry down next to him, almost in his lap. "Put your dick in my mouth, then."

Harry dutifully feeds him a piece of pudding. Louis gives his fingers a friendly nip, so Harry's morally obligated to lean in and kiss him sweetly.

"Oi, knock it off. I want some of Harry's dick too," Perrie interrupts loudly, making Harry laugh into Louis' mouth. He cuts up more slices and passes them around, accepts various creative compliments on his delicious dick.

Just as intended, it's the perfect ice-breaker. And they say Harry can't tell a joke.

It gets a bit weird from there, though. Because kissing Louis once makes Harry want to kiss him again, lean into him more, but as soon as they finish dessert Louis goes to Zayn's side and they talk about whatever Louis and Zayn talk about. Perrie tries to engage Harry in conversation about travel again, but this time Harry can't focus on her, keeps glancing over at Louis and Zayn huddled together.

He tries to remind himself that the possessive streak is Louis' thing, that it's Louis' dumb thing. It doesn’t help. When Zayn puts a causal hand up Louis' thigh and makes him laugh, not even an overexcited puppy in Harry's lap can diffuse his death glare. He holds Hatchi carefully when he moves to sit on Louis' other side, touching his thigh casually for attention.

He thinks Louis doesn't notice at first, as he just pets the dog's head and keeps chatting with Zayn about some cartoon they watch. Knocking his knee against Louis' doesn't seem to have an effect either, but then Harry notices a smirk creeping across Louis' face, even as he leans closer to Zayn. He's doing it on purpose.

Harry digs his nails into Louis' thigh and that seems to do it. "We'd better clear the dishes," Louis says suddenly, clapping his hands to get everyone's attention and startling the dog. Harry apologises to Hatchi on his behalf and kisses his head. Louis' a dick. Harry should just take the puppy and leave. "Harold?" Louis asks, halfway to the kitchen.

Harry instantly puts the dog on the sofa and trails after Louis.

"What's up?" Louis asks as soon as Harry corners him against the sink.

"He keeps touching you," Harry whispers, and pulls Louis against him smoothly so he can get both hands on his arse.

Louis has the audacity to roll his eyes. "Yeah, but like. It's Zayn. We've been mates since school, it doesn't mean anything. No need for the laser eyes."

Harry just pouts. Louis rolls his eyes again and tugs his own shirt collar to the side, exposing the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Harry stares at his tan skin and actively wants. "Go on then," Louis says, Adam's apple bobbing.

"What?" Harry asks, distracted.

"Do what you wanted to do," Louis clarifies.

So Harry pins him against the sink and sucks on his neck for so long it bruises purple and his lips are tingling. When he looks at it after, looks at Louis' flushed face, he gets why Louis likes it so much. It's interesting.

He's smug as all fuck when they walk back out, and Perrie and Zayn wordlessly make room for them on the couch. Harry pulls Louis right to his lap and hugs his middle. He knows it's obnoxious and rude, but Zayn just rolls his eyes and Perrie talks to him like nothing happened, so it's probably alright.

An hour later, after they leave with hugs and kisses, the first thing Harry does is high-five Louis emphatically for a date well done. Then they take off their shirts and change to sweatpants (no underwear, of course. They're there), before finally lying down on the sofa as usual. They've been together all day – like, Louis even fucked him fast before Zayn and Perrie came over – but Harry feels relieved just to have Louis all over him, and all to himself.

He knows Louis sympathises, can feel it in the way he kisses Harry for a long time.

"It feels like that went well," Harry comments, lying on his side with Louis pressed to his front.

"It did. I'm very proud."

Oh. Sounds like Louis wants to play. Harry's definitely game. He stretches up to give Louis the option of kissing his neck. "I didn't embarrass myself?"

"No. The polite, innocent princess routine works for you."

Harry isn't sure how he feels about being called a princess. He tries to take it in a positive context. "Does that mean you think I'm pretty like one?"

"No." Before Harry can protest, Louis adds, "You are much prettier. With your big eyes and dimples."

"And you like that?" He knows he's pushing it, but they never talk about what Louis likes. Somehow it's always about what Harry wants and what Louis is willing to give him.

"Yeah." He finally takes Harry up on the silent offer and kisses his neck, gently, not leaving a bruise for once. "I like that I'm the only one who knows how obscene you are. Anyone could think you're still a twinky virgin, with your preppy clothes and sunny smile." He's still just barely fluttering his lips over Harry's skin, a painful contrast to what his words are doing to him. His hand, though, drifts down from Harry's side to his arse, still sore and tingly despite the soothing lotion Louis has used. "They couldn't know how you begged me to spank you a little when I fucked you earlier."

Harry just makes a needy noise and starts rubbing his hard dick over Louis' stomach. He's always hard around Louis, it's probably unhealthy. Louis doesn't stop him for now.

"Maybe Zayn knows, though. Whenever he sees you around the flat, you look fucked out of your mind." Christ. Harry grinds harder, and Louis' hand dips under his waistband to scratch the still-raw skin of his arse. "You like that? Zayn knowing that your lips are red and puffy because you always try to get them around my cock? That your pretty eyes get glassy and unfocused after we play? How stunningly messy your hair looks after one of us pulls on it when we fuck?"

Harry can only gasp when Louis slips a finger between his cheeks, just brushing over his rim before taking his hand away completely and making Harry's body sag. "Please, Daddy."

"Answer me."

"I do, I like it, I want him to know how good you make me feel."

Thank god, Louis goes back to petting him. He also keeps talking, which is frankly devastating. "That's why you don't like wearing clothes around the house, baby? You want him to see how much I like leaving marks all over your body?"

Harry nods, already sweating. "It's also – I always want you to put more on me. Wanna give you the option."

"Greedy boy. Bet you'd let me put a collar on you."

Oh god. Oh fucking god. The tip of Louis' finger dips inside him dry and Harry can't breathe. "Would you, Daddy?"

"Maybe. It'll have to be as pretty as you. But it'll keep me from kissing your neck."

"But you could – " His whole body sways into Louis when he twists his finger. He's playing him. Harry's hand scrambles down Louis' spine to pull on his sweats, just to get them down to his thighs, just to see him. "You could tug on it, you could tug it back when you're fucking me from behind or tug it down when you want me on my knees or – ah – "

Louis' fucking in and out of him now, still dry and burning and fucking teasing. "Jesus, you'll wear it everywhere, won't you?"

He thinks they're looking at it differently – Harry's into the physical aspect of having something snug constantly around his throat and making it hard to breathe, while Louis' much more into the symbolism of collaring and claiming Harry, and maybe they're both insane but at least they have each other.

It's getting to be too much, Louis touching him and talking to him like that, turning him on so much he gets a headrush. Mustering all his willpower, he dislodges Louis' arm and then tugs his own sweats down to his thighs and turns over carefully, so he's pressed to Louis back to front. It must feel as precarious to Louis as it does to him, because his arm wraps around Harry again lightning-fast to keep him from falling to the floor.

It leaves him plastered to Louis' body, leaves him breathless when he feels Louis' hard cock against his arse. He's so needy for it he trembles, like his body's twisting in knots, trying to take Louis before he's even in. They're so close Louis could just – oh, oh, Harry wants that. He licks all over his own palm until it's nice and wet and then reaches around and gropes for Louis' cock.

Louis makes a low hum behind him and ruts up into Harry's hand. The force of it just has him knocking against his arse, and Harry feels like he's burning, feverish with how much he wants him inside, bare, wants them to be close and connected with nothing between. He stops pumping Louis and instead takes hold of him and aims by feel.

Suddenly, a strong hand stops his, and Louis bites his shoulder viciously to get his attention. "What are you doing?" Louis asks harshly.

The disapproval in his voice makes Harry whine, bury his face in Louis' bicep under him. "Need you," is all he can say. "You fucked me before they – I'm ready, I know I'm ready – "

"Harry, breathe with me," Louis interrupts him, splaying his hand over Harry's chest.

Harry tries to focus on his hands, his words, his puffing cool breaths on Harry's nape. It helps a little, tones it down, but Harry still feels an itch. "Green, green, I promise, fuck me Daddy."

"I'm not fucking you dry, and I'm not fucking you raw. I told you already. Let's go to the bedroom."

And Harry thinks, no. He doesn't want it like the other times. He wants to feel Louis inside him now, however he can get it. So he rolls off the sofa to the floor, but before Louis gets to his feet, Harry stops him and crawls between his legs. Louis freezes, and Harry takes the moment to breathe deep again. It doesn't really help this time. He's kneeling for Louis, his cock heavy and obvious, curving toward his belly. He feels so hot it's like he doesn't know what to do with it.

That's what Louis' good at, though. He hooks a finger under Harry's chin and lifts his face up. "Hands behind your back and lean forward," he instructs, his voice calm and his face expressionless and everything Harry wants.

He clasps his own wrists together and curls over the sofa. Louis makes no effort to move closer to him, just looks. There's something about this, though, Harry having to strain for it, stretch for it. Once he gets Louis in his mouth he sucks him deep, doesn't waste a moment to use all the tricks Louis' taught him and that he's taught himself. He's so relieved just to have him inside, it's absurd.

Louis moans for him and threads his fingers through his hair, pushing up just a little, nudging in in in. Harry grinds against the sofa and has to scratch his wrists to focus. It doesn't take Louis that long, though, not with Harry this determined. "Close, baby, you're so good for me," he says, but his hand only clenches in Harry's hair like he doesn't intend to let him up.

But this time, Harry wants him to. He's breathless and so hard it hurts and he wants Louis to come, but he wants it different, wants to feel it stay. He pulls off of Louis' cock but keeps hovering over it, not close enough to breathe on it but close enough. Louis gets the idea and starts pumping his cock to finish off, but no, he gets his other hand to cover the head of his cock and catch –

Harry whines, and his hands still have to stay behind his back, so he can only shove his face down and bite Louis' knuckles, using his nose to move his hand away. Louis makes a frustrated noise and grabs Harry's face roughly, tilting it up again. His eyes are searching, but Harry just can't get himself to say it, doesn't know how to say come on my face, Daddy. So he just opens his mouth wide.

He can tell the moment it dawns on Louis, because his dark eyes widen and he curses loudly. Harry squeezes his eyes shut and tilts his head back down, just when Louis shoots his load.

Harry's brain whites out for a long time, feeling the warm spurts covering his lips and cheeks, over the bridge of his nose but miraculously not in his eyes. Well, not miraculously, Louis probably aimed. Louis does nothing if not deliver. Harry swallows what landed in his mouth and opens his eyes carefully. He looks up from Louis' spent cock to his face.

It's like they're both in shock, staring at each other, Louis flushed and come-dizzy and Harry with Louis drying on his face. Fuck, they've done some pretty weird shit before, and Harry found that the driving force behind it has always been, on some level, his need to please and to be praised for it afterward.

They've done some pretty weird shit but he's never felt more exquisite than in this moment, covered in come with Louis staring at him like he's the most beautiful thing he's ever laid eyes on. He gets every raw part of it, actually feels made beautiful, painted on by Louis, claimed again and again. He doesn't even need Louis to verbally praise him because he already knows.

"Fucking god," Louis says finally, voice rough and awed. "What was that for?"

Harry blinks up at him slowly, hazy and completely overwhelmed, like he's the one who's just come. He doesn't know what to say. It's hard to find words right now, thinks his brain might have gotten scrambled along the way. "Wanted it," he thinks. Says. "Wanted to feel you." No, no, that's not the right word at all. He scratches his wrists again desperately, and Louis' so tall like this, with Harry kneeling for him, having to crane his neck up to show him his messy face. "Wanted to feels yours."

Louis gulps, still staring in disbelief. "How does it feel?"

A bit like crying. But really, deeply, existentially satisfying. "Incredible."

Louis raises a hesitant hand, but leaves it hovering in front of Harry's face, like he's reluctant to disrupt whatever just happened. Eventually he breathes, "Baby."

It's like the trigger they both needed. Harry grinds against Louis' leg, touch me touch me touch me, and Louis launches himself at Harry, laying him out on the carpet carefully and sucking him off. He swallows around him when Harry comes two seconds later, thrown over the edge by Daddy's mouth on him and Daddy's come drying on his face, fuck fuck fuck, he comes so hard he doesn't think it'll ever stop.

In a way it doesn't. The spike of pleasure ends, but he's riding the high for a long while after, when Louis curls around him and holds him protectively, adoringly, whispers all kinds of loving things in his ear, like mine and mine and mine. He cleans him up painstakingly, still awestruck for some reason, and Harry can't help but preen. He feels taken care of and groomed and loved.

Even after Louis' done, Harry's skin still feels sticky and tingly, kind of tight. He licks his lips and the sides of his mouth, like he needs to make sure the feeling doesn't go away. He's drifting. Drifting out of his mind, drifting to the bedroom, drifting in Louis' arms, drifting to sleep.

Wonders how it'll feel like when Louis comes in him, rather than on him. How it'll feel when Louis cleans him up then.


It builds from there.

It's not that Harry's obsessed, but when he's after something, it's usually hard to persuade him otherwise. And this is something he's wanted for weeks, it's not like he's springing this on Louis when he sits in his lap and says, "I want you to fuck me bareback."

Louis blinks up at him and sets his beer aside. He hasn't even been drinking it for the past ten minutes, Harry just thought it would be hot to suck Louis off on the couch while Louis keeps watching footie and drinking. And it was hot. Harry's convinced that five seconds after coming in his mouth, Louis will surely see reason.

"What?" Louis asks, still a bit dazed.

Harry grinds against him and leans down to kiss him. "I want you to fuck me hard and fast and raw," he says in his ear.

Louis grunts, and then lets out an almost nervous laugh. "What porn have you been watching?"

Harry frowns at him, but before he can answer, Louis kisses him again and lifts his knees so Harry slides forward against him. It must be a tactic. Harry slides his hands to Louis' shoulders and pushes him back, nuzzling along his magnificent cheekbones. Louis sighs. "Why do you want it so much? It'll be messy."

Harry squeezes his legs around Louis. "Exactly. I want you to fill me up and then drip out of me." He closes his eyes for the rest, buries his face in Louis' neck. "I want you to make me dirty."

He's got more points, he can recite a whole barebacking manifest, but Louis suddenly lays him out across the sofa on his belly and kisses down his back, until he hitches Harry's hips up and eats him out eagerly. Harry has no idea what he did to deserve this particular treat, but his squirming and sobbing must be winning Louis over. Or at least getting him hard again.

Harry doesn't see or hear anything, too involved in his own heartbeat and desperate whines, but when Louis pulls his tongue out of him and straightens up, Harry looks over his shoulder with glassy eyes and sees that Louis' wanking furiously. Harry's legs spread for him in invitation, throat seized up like he'll never catch another breath, but instead of sliding into his spit-slicked hole, Louis wanks faster and faster and then comes all over Harry's arse and thighs.

Harry comes untouched when he feels it, keening and shoving his hips back like Louis might still fuck him. He doesn't, but Louis rubs his hands over Harry's arse, like he's rubbing the come into his skin. Harry feels so filthy he can't take it.

So yeah, talking Louis into it during sex turned out to be a losing battle. His next attempt is more fateful. Not that rimjobs aren't inherently fateful, but. Anyway, it's a couple of days later, in his car, when Louis drops him off at home after a date.

He thwarts Louis' kisses with a hand on his chest and a Serious Face. "Lou, can we talk?"

Louis huffs and rolls his eyes. "Is this about barebacking again?"

Wow, he actually sounds annoyed, like Harry's nagging him with this, what the fuck. "Whatever, nevermind," Harry scoffs and opens the door to escape.

"Wait, H, I'm sorry," Louis says immediately, grabbing Harry's hand with both of his. "I'm sorry, I'm listening."

Harry shakes him off, but he does stay in the car. He pierces Louis with a look. "Why won't you even talk about it? I just don't get what the big deal is."

Louis looks… defeated. Harry wants to fold immediately. "I told you we'll talk about it after I take the tests."

"But that was weeks ago," Harry reminds him, searching his face for whatever's really going on.

Louis doesn't give him anything. "Well, I had to push it back, you know school's keeping me busier right now."

It just sounds like an excuse. Harry knows the basis of this relationship is that he's so much younger than Louis, but he's never felt quite as young as he does right now. He just doesn't understand, and he hates feeling like he's throwing himself at Louis. Like, he doesn't, but he does when Louis isn't receptive. "Why don't you wanna have that with me? Am I – " A dark, nasty thought creeps up his mind. "Were – are you fucking someone else?"

Louis actually gasps in shock. He grabs Harry's face with both hands and looks deep into his eyes. He looks frantic and apologetic and disbelieving. "Of course I'm not, Harry, I haven't since I met you, let alone since we got together. Don't think about that again."

Harry feels a tiny bit lighter, but still like something's sinking in him. He lets Louis kiss him, sweet and loving but holding back, keeping something to himself.

When Harry leaves the car, he doesn't have an answer, but he's too tired to argue about it. He can't count what just happened as a big huge fight, so he couldn't have anticipated the fallout. Which is Louis ducking his calls. For, like, four days.

So they're officially fighting, somehow without even interacting, and it's bloody awful. Louis only ever punished him in bed, so what's happening right now means he's boyfriend-angry, not daddy-angry. (And he never thought he'd have to make that distinction in his first relationship, but Harry Styles was always meant for greatness.)

That's why Harry finally snaps. He hates that Louis' defence mechanism is to bury his head in the sand, he hates feeling this helpless, and he still doesn't even know what he did wrong. He won't cry this time. It's not on him. He spends their designated date night in Niall's basement with a spliff in his hand, and lets Niall text Louis 'you know what, fuck you' from his phone.

If he'd known that's what would break Louis, he would've done it the second Louis screened his call.


He doesn't even recognise Louis at first, since he's in the automatic car instead of the manual one. Embarrassingly enough, it's Niall that says, "Yo, you wouldn't happen to know the driver following us since we left school, would you?"

Harry turns to the road and, yeah, there's Louis. Hunched over the wheel so he can stare at Harry with puppy eyes. Harry frowns and considers ignoring him, but then Niall adds, "Look, I know he's a bastard, but it looks like he's a proper pedo right now, so either we make a run for it or you go hear what he has to say."

Harry pouts at Niall, but it's the I know you've got a point pout. "Fine. But if he pisses me off and I jump out of the car, it's on you to pick me up."

"I got your back, bro," Niall says, thumping his own chest.

Harry shakes his head and says his goodbyes.

He's still disgruntled about getting in the car, and shuts the door harder than necessary. It might feel petulant, but for once in this relationship he'd like not to feel self-conscious about his fucking age. It's Louis who's been dodging him like a child. Because of a condom.

"Hazza," Louis starts, but they're still close enough to the school that they can hear the bell ring, and a new wave of students spills from the gate. Louis backs out quickly and drives silently for a few minutes.

Harry caves. Of course he does. "What are you doing here?"

Louis lets out a breath and signals that he's about to pull over. They're on some side street that's deserted at this time of day, kids in school, parents at work. It feels like too random of a place for a big huge fight. Harry missed him too much for a big huge fight. Finally, Louis talks. "Open the glove compartment."

Harry shakes out his hair nervously, and does. A few papers slide out, and – it's a medical file. Oh. Results for Tomlinson, Louis.

So he finally got the tests done. Harry thumbs through them, not even reacting when he sees Louis' negative for everything. He folds the papers carefully and puts them away. "Well, congratulations."

Louis puts the car in park and turns to look at him. "Thanks."

It's weird, it's just weird to be fighting. Barring the crisis after Harry blew him the first time, they just clicked from the start. By now, it feels like they've been friends forever. Harry feels miserable. Louis looks miserable, bags under his eyes and dishevelled hair.

One of them has got to start. Harry sighs. "Are we going to talk about how you've been a complete tit about this?"

He still expects Louis to brush it off, so he's surprised when Louis puts a hand over his knee and says, "Yeah. So I should start with an apology. I shouldn't have strung you along like that, and the past few days were complete shit and it was all my fault. Do you at least believe that?"

Harry shrugs. He can see Louis' sorry, but he's still not decided how forgiving he feels. Louis forges on. "This – " He gestures to the test results. "Was a bit of a big deal for me. Like, what it means." There it is. Finally. "Because doing it raw is a relationship thing, a very big relationship thing. And you couldn't see that because you've never been in shit relationships, and of course I don't resent you for it, but I also couldn't explain it. Like, someone probably could, but I'm shit at this in general. So I just kind of panicked and I took it out on you and I'm sorry about that too."

Harry has no idea what to say to that. It wasn't what he thought Louis was going to say at fucking all. "I. We don't have to do it if it stresses you out this much."

"No, but I got over it!" Louis stresses, looking at him pleadingly. "This is a big relationship. I did it." Ridiculously, he points to the papers and looks at Harry, like he's waiting for Harry's approval for once. "Zayn had to kick my arse, mind you."

An uncontrollable smile spreads over Harry's face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, he said he keeps forgetting who the teenager in this relationship is, and that I should pull my head out of my arse and tell you about my feelings." He kept gesturing wildly, but at the last word he settles down and puts his hands back on Harry's knee. His eyes are wide and honest and beautiful. "So. This is me. With my feelings."

Harry instantly tangles their fingers together, can't take Louis looking so unsure. He should probably comment on the Feelings thing. "You mean Zayn didn't know you're the overgrown child here?"

Louis frowns and elbows Harry. It hurts, but it's the best, it's going back to normal. Or a semblance of it, at least, something Harry can manage when the word feelings is ringing in his ears and his heart's caught in his throat. Louis scoffs. "Are you quite finished?"

Most certainly not. "Like, he lives with you. He knows how much time you spend on the PlayStation. You need me to cook and clean for you. Last week you convinced me to spend a full hour drawing smiley faces on every pair of Vans in your flat. And I had to convince you not to order a life-sized functional Iron Man suit."

A tiny smile is starting to form on Louis' face. It's not the sunshine smile Harry's come to expect where he's concerned, but it's a start. "Are you just trying to prove you're boring and unworthy of my shenanigans?"

Please. "You have a van you call the Mystery Machine unironically. You still use Facebook – "

Louis elbows him again. "What's wrong with Facebook?"

Harry sighs. He could start to explain the virtues of Twitter and Instagram, but now he's alarmed by the thought of Louis erasing his Facebook account and all the gems within it. Like whole albums of Louis from when he was about Harry's age, twinky as all fuck and covered in cake on multiple occasions. Not that Harry wanked furiously to those pictures when he Facebook-stalked Louis months ago. "Nothing, love."

Louis looks impishly pleased. He flicks Harry's nipple casually and smiles wider. "Good. I am supposed to be the mature adult here, darling."

"Of course." Louis narrows his eyes at him like he knows he's being sarcastic. It's a weird thing to get hung up on, but Harry likes the fact Louis can read him. Harry's bright smile can conceal almost anything, but Louis… discerns. "Will the mature adult expand on the feelings-having?"

His hand drifts up to Harry's hair, like always, and his smile is warm and soothing and familiar. "Songs say it's okay to call it love, mate. You should know that, as a fellow mature adult."

It's a point he's trying to make. It's important. It's a relationship step, like having dinner with Zayn or fucking without a condom, which, holy shit, is going to happen, holy shit. Louis probably wasn't expecting the kind of kiss Harry ends up giving him, tongue and teeth and heat between them. He makes a surprised noise into Harry's mouth and then grabs Harry's hair more firmly, brings his other hand up to settle on his jaw. Harry won't relent, though, he hasn't kissed Louis in like, days, and Louis just said he loved him. He uses every trick he's got, subtly manoeuvring Louis closer, almost into his lap.

Harry only stops nipping Louis' lip when Louis' hand sneaks up his thigh, along the inseam of his jeans. Harry keeps their foreheads touching and tries to breathe. "Missed you," he mumbles. His hard-on probably says as much, but still.

"Me too," Louis says readily. "I love you quite a lot." Before Harry can say something sappy like I've been in love with you since the first time we sat in a car, Louis palms Harry's crotch and says, "You too, big guy."

Jesus. Louis just talked to his dick. And this is the man Harry's managed to trap in a loving relationship. It's disgusting. "We should have sex."

Louis just laughs while rubbing him over his jeans. "I'm not gonna fuck you raw in the backseat of my car."

"I don't need a bed of roses, Louis." He's going to pout. Louis won't be able to take it.

"Not because you're so delicate," Louis expands, mocking, but in the hot way. As in, he's rubbing Harry's cock and whispering in his ear. Everything is hot. "Because I'm going to make an absolute mess of you and I don't want you to have to clean the seats after."

He will, he will clean them with his fucking tongue if Louis tells him to. He's been thinking about this for a month, there's no need to be bashful about it. His hips snap up and into Louis' hand. "Take me home then."

Louis gives him a considering look, and then a kiss. "It's a fifteen-minute drive. Think you can keep from coming until then?"

"Why – " Louis grinds the heel of his hand down and Harry's breath hitches. He's going to jerk him off while driving. That's. Alright. "What a multitasker."

"Perks of fucking a driving instructor," Louis says, smirking.

"Knew that would come in handy." Harry pauses. When Louis doesn't instantly burst out laughing, he points to his lap. "Get it? Come in? Handy?"

"For fuck's sake." Louis even takes his hand away to cover his face in horror and despair. "You're unbelievable."

"Hey," Harry whines and grabs Louis' hand back. "Whatever, you're in mad love with me. Can we get back on track here?"

"Remind me?"

Like he can't feel how hard Harry is under his palm. Harry simply must lift Louis' hand to his mouth and kiss his fingers, teasing with little licks before slipping them past his lips, one at a time. He looks up through his lashes when he sucks on Louis' middle finger, tonguing at it until it's dripping.

Louis' nothing but serious now, staring at Harry intensely and inhaling sharply when Harry scrapes his teeth over his knuckles. After his pinky Harry licks circles on his palm, in a way that would have tickled him if he weren't turned on.

He knows Louis' more than wet enough for a handjob, but his fingers are just there and he's giving him such a dark look, it's like Harry has to wrap his tingling lips around two of his fingers and suck them into his mouth. He snakes his tongue between them and Louis parts them wide, stretching his mouth like – like he's scissoring him open. There's spit running down Harry's chin and he feels dirty, moans with it. Keeps thinking about Louis making an absolute mess of him.

"Stop," Louis instructs in a rough voice, and Harry immediately pulls off with a pop. "Get your cock out."

Oh. He thought Louis would ask him to spread his blazer over his lap or something, so he'd have something covering him, but the instruction never comes. Louis just starts the car with his dry hand and looks over at Harry with one eyebrow quirked. Waiting.

Harry looks outside at the deserted road and back at Louis. Still nothing. Of course, if he said he was uncomfortable, Louis would call the whole thing off, but the fact Louis expects him to just pull his cock out at 2 PM in the middle of the street, the fact he knows it makes Harry feel like his skin is burning – it's overwhelming on its own.

His dick is straining against his zipper now, and it's like he can already feel Louis' sticky wet fingers wrap around his length, getting him off where anyone who'd look through the window could see. Possibly getting caught doesn't concern Harry as much as coming too soon. Possibly getting caught is the reason Harry won't be able to hold off.

He makes a desperate noise and unbuckles his belt, much too loud in the tense silence of the car. Louis' proud smile makes him shiver, is all the encouragement he needs to unzip and pull his erection out through the opening in the front of his boxer briefs.

"Good, good boy," Louis praises him, drawing another noise out of Harry. He pulls out of the parking spot where they were vaguely hidden. It strikes Harry that if Louis doesn't intend on touching him soon, he'll just be completely exposed. His skin is burning. He's staring out the window unblinkingly, just waiting to catch someone's eye. He has to tuck his hands under his thighs to keep from touching himself.

The past few months can be summarised as "a whirlwind of Louis and horniness", but he's pretty sure this is the most aroused he's ever been without anything touching his dick. It could just be another aimless drive to Louis' flat, only he's sitting here with his hard cock out.

He's so worked up over it that when Louis finally trails his fingers along the curve of him, Harry outright moans, and Louis accelerates sharply and then brakes. "Shh, baby," Louis soothes. "If you want me to keep going you'll have to be quiet. Can you do that for me?"

Harry bites hard on his lower lip and nods, looking in Louis' eyes through the rearview mirror. Louis hums and then starts touching him again, almost painfully slow. He doesn't even wrap his hand around Harry proper, just flutters his fingers over him, pressing down along the thick vein from the base to the tip.

His first mistake is looking down at his lap and seeing himself, completely dressed other than his cock being loosely played with by Louis' delicate fingers. It looks so obscene Harry snaps his head up, and makes his second mistake – looking at Louis. His profile is as stunning as ever, cheekbones prominent and his blue eyes squinting at the sunlight. His flat hair is long enough to curl over his ear and Harry wants to bury his nose in it, the way he wants to bend over and blow him while he's driving, the way he wants to thrust up.

Louis would seem as cool as ever, if it weren't for how hard he's gripping the wheel, how his muscles flex when he steers with just one hand. Harry doesn't know what he's struggling with more, keeping quiet or keeping still. Somehow he manages, and Louis rewards him by rubbing faster with just two of his fingers.

This must be the most excruciating handjob of all times. Harry should probably thank him, since it's helping him stave off his orgasm, but no, he bloody shouldn't, because Louis chooses to finally wrap his wet hand around Harry and start pumping him only when they hit a red light and there's a car with random people lining up next to theirs. Harry throws his head back and snaps his hips up, but his eyes stay wide open, staring out like he's expecting the other driver to look over, daring her to turn her head just slightly and see Louis tearing him apart with just his hand.

She doesn't, not by the time the light turns green, but it almost doesn't matter. It's the possibility that has Harry shaking. The angle of Louis' strokes is awkward – usually Louis' either on top of him or draped over his back, not beside him – and obviously Louis has to at least partially focus on the road and, well, drive. But Harry's so close already, he just needs it tighter, faster, needs it like Louis means it.

"Lou," he gasps out, so quiet and broken Louis might not have heard it. He almost hopes Louis didn't, both because he was told to be quiet, and because he doesn't actually want Louis to give him what he needs. He likes this too much.

He did hear it. "Five more minutes, Harry. Be good for Daddy."

Harry whines, body twisting but trapped by the seat belt. Louis squeezes under the head of his cock and starts tugging faster, completely counterproductive. Harry shuts his eyes and closes his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palm in the vague hope that the tiny points of pain might distract him. It's even working, until Louis says proudly, "There you go. Want you to come just from my cock," making Harry's toes curl in his Converse.

He probably could, Christ. He could come untouched just from Louis kissing him right now, let alone fucking him without a condom for the first time. He lifts up to release his hands so he can bite on a knuckle, can't possibly trust himself to stay quiet. His lips are bitten raw, and chewing on his finger now feels fucking amazing, randomly sensitive. There's so much pressure building in his lower stomach, there's no way he could – he has to –

When Louis takes his hand away suddenly, Harry sort of wants to cry. He's desperate and horny and fucking up into air, has to shove three fingers into his mouth and bite down to stay quiet. Louis curling his fingers in Harry's hair and yanking isn't helping anything. It takes him a few seconds to register Louis saying, "We're here."

His eyes snap open and he reaches a wet, shaky hand to the door handle, almost opening it before Louis pulls his hair again in warning. "Baby, tuck first."

Never, not during his biology final, not even during his driver's test, has he been more careful than he is right now, when touching his cock for just long enough to tuck it back into his boxers. And not shooting his load. He zips up, but can't bring himself to buckle his belt, turns pleading eyes to Louis instead. "Daddy?"

Louis looks over at him for the first time since starting the car (probably not really, but Harry's been too busy losing his mind over a fucking handjob to notice), and Harry feels another rush of heat at how dark Louis' eyes are, how his cheeks are flushed and his lips are bitten-red. He's so beautiful, fuck. And then he smiles at Harry approvingly and leans in, close enough to kiss, and whispers, "Good enough. I'm so proud of you. Let's go up."

Harry sighs, unbelievably relieved, and somehow manages to unbuckle his seat belt and stumble out of the car. He actually gets a headrush when he stands on his feet. Louis' right there to steady him, though, with a small hand on his hip.

Their first stop is the shower, and Harry finds himself completely useless, just leaning against the wall and letting Louis kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. He loves it when Louis showers him, takes care of him like that, because it's like he's peeling off the layers of school and home and anywhere Harry's been that Louis hasn't.

He melts under his touch when Louis starts washing his hair with one hand and grabs his bum with the other. "Won't be this clean for long," Louis whispers, words echoing in the shower. Harry nods weakly and spreads his legs, nearly smacking his head against the wall when Louis rubs one finger between his cheeks and presses it against his rim.

Louis lets up before really thrusting in and Harry just makes a small noise, but he doesn't mind. Some time ago he must have crossed that line, where urgency melts into this achy buzz in his bones, where it doesn't matter when he comes, as long as Louis tells him it's okay to do it. Apparently now really is just about getting clean. And ravishing Harry's neck, because they haven't seen each other in days and it had an unfortunate effect on Harry's permanent lovebites.

He's just boneless when Louis attacks his throat and collarbones, sucking bright marks into the skin and biting all over him. Even when he's done with one and moves to the next, it's like Harry can still feel it throb because the hot water keeps running over his body. An extension of Louis, not that he needs one, with Louis' hands slip-sliding down his sides and shoulders and stomach and thighs.

Harry maybe hasn't breathed in a while. Louis bites his shoulder particularly viciously, and then gives him a sweet kiss on the lips and shoves him out of the shower. He wraps an old bathrobe around himself and hands Harry a towel. Before he can drape himself over Louis again, Louis holds up a hand, stilling him without even touching. "See that?" he asks, pointing to the beat-up Spiderman radio clock. Harry nods, confused. "I want you to dry off, and then play with yourself for five minutes. I'll be in the bedroom."

"Lou," Harry says before he can stop himself. He can't think of anything to say that won't be out of line, so he just angles his body toward Louis, hoping he'd see how hard he is – has been – and take pity on him. His fingers are drumming over his own legs, itching to touch Louis again. After getting so little and then so much, he feels a little lost without Louis in his arms.

Louis doesn't take pity on him. He arches an eyebrow, and fuck how he manages to look this aristocratic and authoritative and gorgeous when his long hair is sticking out in wet clumps. "Yes?"

Harry bites his lip and looks down at himself. "Five minutes."

"Good," Louis says, and leaves the room without even kissing him. Harry bites his lip harder, enough to hurt, and then turns to the clock to know when to start his count. His eyes catch on his reflection in the mirror, though, and he pauses. The bruises Louis left on him make a complete row, almost artful, all along his collarbones like Louis' chest piece. Harry walks his fingers from a pretty red one to a harsh purple one, weirdly awestruck. It's not that he's never obsessed over his… souvenirs before, but now is different. Now is after a week of deprivation. Now is after Louis told him he loved him. He thinks they mean more. He thinks he's going to have Louis' come doing much of the same soon.

He pinches himself hard then, digging into the mark at the hollow of his throat, slightly pressing on his windpipe. It gets a weird sound out of him, which bounces off the walls and startles him into action. He can do five minutes. Louis didn't specify what play meant, but Harry's got one goal in mind. He props one foot on the edge of the bathtub and sticks two fingers in his mouth, just enough to drool on them.

There's only so much he can do without lube, but he manages to get one finger inside without falling over and cracking his skull, so that's a success. He grabs the metal towel rack hard with his free hand and starts moving back, riding his finger a little. It burns, of course it does, he hasn't had anything in him for a while, but he loves it all the same. He remembers trying it for the first time and getting so technical, overthinking every twitch. Now he's come to associate this – anything – with Louis, he fingers himself and thinks about finishing what Louis started when he soaped him up, thinks about Louis waiting in the bedroom right now.

He tucks the tip of a second finger along with the first and hisses, tosses his head against the cool tile of the wall. He's grunting, might even be saying Louis' name, but he doesn't really register anything but the motion of his own fingers and the tight squeeze around them. He thrusts in and out, until his wrist hurts a bit but it won't matter once –

Oh, god, there it is. Harry moans loudly and squeezes his eyes shut, bearing down on his fingers to brush over his prostate again, and again, because he's gotten better at this, too, Louis had him practice. It's too rough but it's so fucking good, scratching the itch after a week. He twists his fingers around, spreading them apart at different angles, doing his best for Louis. Louis, Louis. It's like he suddenly feels the phantom touch of Louis' hand on his dick, an echo of his words from the car ride over here.

And it's so much, he has to grab his cock, has to get there, but Louis didn't tell him to come. He cracks an eye open and, thank god, it's just been five minutes. He pulls his fingers out carefully and then runs the towel over himself, praying that's dry enough. He's so hazy he just leaves the towel behind and wanders out of the bathroom with his hard cock out and his new lovebites on display. Even if Zayn were there, Harry wouldn't have noticed.

In the bedroom, Louis' stood facing the window. He's left the blinds partially open so some light gets in the room, and Harry sees that he's set one pillow by the headboard and one in the middle of the bed. He doesn't know what it means but he's sure Louis will tell him soon enough.

He closes the door behind him and Louis turns around. Of course his hair has dried artfully around his face. Harry just stands there and stares at his naked body and no one on planet Earth could blame him.

Louis' face doesn't give anything away, but that's how it usually starts. Harry needs to earn his smiles, touches, kisses, words. He waits for so long, Harry's heart is hammering in anticipation, his hands scratching his legs again. "Get on the bed, face down," Louis says finally.

Harry knows he's awkward with it, his cock bobbing and his arse fingered open, but it doesn't matter as soon as he lies down, his face buried in one pillow and his hips propped up by another. Heat curls up in his gut when he remembers the last time Louis had him like this, when he ate him out for so long there were tears staining this pillow.

He's almost relieved not to feel Louis' tongue this time, two slicked fingers instead, pushing into him smooth and fast. Harry turns his head to suck in a huge gulp of air, clenching around Louis. No matter how much practice he gets, he'll never compare to Louis' sure strokes, his clever hand. He doesn't need to think about it or look for anything, just has to lie here and take it. He trusts Louis completely. He's rewarded.

He feels it when Louis crouches over him, the heat of his body almost palpable against Harry's back. "Five minutes?" he asks, voice as steady as his hand. Harry's a complete wreck in comparison, shivering and hot and flushed. But that's what Louis does to him, takes him apart and always, always puts him back together.

"Yes," he manages to bite out.

Louis thrusts his fingers harder at that, makes Harry jerk up. "How many fingers?"

It's hard to – remember. Think with Louis giving it to him like this, fucking him fast. "Two."

He responds by adding a third finger of his own, and fuck, Harry loves how full he feels, the slick drag of Louis' fingers sending sparks up his spine. "Good. Going for four."

Harry barely has a second to twist his hands in the sheet before Louis slips in his little finger and drives them all in deep. A sound he doesn't even recognise escapes him – they've never made it this far before, and it's so much, stretching him almost like a cock, but so different, because there's one finger circling deep in him but another curving so the knuckle is right against his prostate. It's too tight a squeeze to move around or even thrust, so there's no relief, just this constant pressure that makes Harry writhe against the pillow.

Louis stays inside him, grinding unbearably slowly against his spot but not doing much else, even though Harry can feel him hovering over him. The wait is too overwhelming, Harry has to bury his face in the pillow and whine, but. He's good. He doesn't try to speak, doesn't even move his hips when he spreads his legs even more, to give Louis room to take him wherever he wants.

That's what breaks him. Harry's so relieved he sighs when he feels Louis kiss his nape, hears him start whispering, "Fuck, love, you feel so tight around me I'm almost glad I kept you empty for days." Satisfaction blooms in him at Louis' compliment, makes him even warmer. "Think I could keep them in when I fuck you? Stuff you full of my cock and my fingers? Bet it'll be easier after I come in you and get you all wet."

He gets a headrush just thinking about it, whines again and shoves his hips up, silently asking for more. Louis doesn't give him anything but whispers, and Harry's hands crawl up the bed to tangle in his own hair and pull hard, like a contrast to the slow push of Louis' fingers. Louis quickly smacks his hands away, and then smacks his arse for good measure, and fuck, Harry rocking his hips makes his fingers move inside him, a hard jab against his prostate. He's going out of his fucking mind with it, craving more, but Louis doesn't spank him again.

Then he pulls his fingers out altogether. Harry's whole body rolls with it, tries to follow, arse high in the air, but Louis doesn't even go near it, actually curves his body away. He does grab a fistful of his hair and yank up, breathing in his ear, "Mine. I give, you take. Get your hands behind your back and be good."

"Yes Daddy," Harry says instantly, ashamed that he let himself get like that. His hands fly back and he holds his wrists tight enough to bruise. This way he has absolutely no leverage, no choice but to take. It feels like… he's starting to drift again. Doesn't care about anything except Louis' next move. The angle of his neck makes it harder to breathe.

His muscles flex when Louis kisses his shoulder blade, then the other. "I love what this does to your back," Louis admits, voice softer than before, so Harry thinks he's pleased. He's so happy his toes curl. "Your muscles all bunched up. You're so strong, aren't you?"

Currently Harry feels like a stringless marionette, so he doesn't know what to say. "Weak for you."

"No," Louis corrects, but he keeps kissing him, down the knobs of his spine, so Harry figures he's still good. "Strong for me. Enough to show me what you want, enough to let go like this. I love you so much, Harry."

God. Harry squirms from pleasure, feels lighter than air. "Love you."

Louis bites his hipbone, lovingly, and then Harry feels the head of his cock at his entrance. He lets out a long, throaty sound, wants to cant his hips up, but digs his nails into his wrists and manages to stay still. Maybe as a reaction to that, or just a natural progression of things, Louis doesn't tease him anymore.

He pushes into him, slow and smooth, doesn't stop before Harry feels him bottom out. Feels his hips settle against him. Feels his cock, without a condom, feels him bare and fantastic and as close as physically possible, feels Louis' chest heave against his arms and back, feels so much he could scream. Louis' cursing in his ear, keeps a firm grip in his hair as he starts pumping his hips, small movements that drive Harry fucking insane.


Once he's got enough momentum, he pulls out almost the way and then slams his hips down, shoving Harry against the pillow. The sudden friction on his cock after ignoring it for so long hits him like lightning, and it's too much, he's too caught up – overwhelmed – he can't – "Daddy, I'm gonna – "

He can't say it, doesn't want to disappoint Louis, so he shakes his head instead, as much as he can when he's pressed against the pillow. Louis just grunts, like he can't say anything, and tightens his hold on Harry's hair. The pain only tingles now, like there's a direct link between his every nerve and his cock. Harry shakes his head again, and Louis yanks hard enough to actually stretch his neck back. He can only take in choked breaths, and he's getting dizzy-perfect, and he wants more. Harry has no idea if it's his subliminal messaging or Louis going off script, but the next time he pounds Harry's arse, he tilts his head back down and shoves it into the pillow.

It's only for seven seconds, but they might be the best fucking seven seconds of his life, feeling nothing but absolutely everything, breathless but needing air so much, when Louis fucks against his prostate and pulls on his hair, when Harry comes the hardest he ever has. The only thing keeping him from screaming is the pillow stuffed in his mouth, and the pillow stuffed in his mouth might be the very thing that makes him feel like screaming.

After seven seconds, Louis lets go of his hair and forcibly lifts his head. He stops fucking him altogether, just making sure that Harry's head is tilted again and he can pant freely and get some oxygen. Harry sees lights flashing and it's like his brain still hasn't kick-started properly, like his body won't recover. Maybe he'll be this high and giddy forever. There's something, though, that won't let – oh, it's Louis. The ringing in his ears finally subsides enough to hear him say, "Baby, colour. Colour right now."

"Neon green," he says without thinking, marvels at the drugged quality of his voice. Blissed-out. "Fucking wicked witch of the West."

Louis' laugh startles both of them, Louis because he was probably trying to be considerate and Harry because, fuck, Louis' still buried inside him and rocking just right. Not that right even means anything now. He's so overwhelmed he can't think what's so funny, can't think at all, and Louis fucking him through this has him whimpering. It's so much, it's too much, raw like this, Louis slamming against his prostate after he's just come his brains out. But it's perfect because of it.

Louis' hips snap fast, fucking him hard and winding him up again. Harry can't do much of anything in this position, considering he feels beyond sensitive and overworked, but Louis doesn't really need that much persuasion. It's only a few thrusts later that he comes, and Harry's floored by the feeling, the knowledge that Louis' coming inside him, filling him up. Louis' still thrusting weakly, even though his cock is softening and must be a bit sore from how tight Harry is, but something makes him keep going, punching soft little sounds out of Harry.

It takes him some time before he actually feels it. "Fucking god," he whispers, dreamy to his own ears. Louis' cock is pushing out some of his come, and Harry can feel it sliding down his balls and the backs of his thighs and it's completely unbelievable, he feels – outside of himself, feels disconnected from everything but where he's still connected to Louis.

He stays this way, because even after Louis pulls out of him he starts talking, telling Harry how fantastic that was. He sounds amazed and fascinated and pleased, so pleased with him, Harry thinks his heart is about to burst from his chest. "So messy now, all this come, all of me in my boy," he whispers, almost reverently, and Harry can't believe he was able to give this to Louis. "My beautiful boy, my good boy, all full of me."

Suddenly he feels Louis' thumb run through the come dripping out of him, fluttering around his sensitive rim, and it's so good he can't take it. He melts into the mattress, helpless not to let Louis' words, Louis' touches, wash all over him. Then there's – fuck, there's Louis' tongue, licking around his thumb, wet and persistent and tasting…

"Yours, yours, Daddy," Harry mumbles, no real intent behind it, just groans into the pillow and takes it, because he wants to be good.

Louis pushes his thumb into him, just twisting it around and keeping his mouth close, sucking bruises into his messy thighs. Harry still isn't prepared for Louis to replace his thumb with his tongue, pointed little jabs that make Harry whine into his sweat-soaked pillow. Harry feels something at a level he never has before, wrecked or taken over or control-free. He bends one knee so his legs are spread a little wider, because no matter how sensitive he feels, he never wants Louis to stop.

Louis helps him along by grabbing his knee and hitching his leg even higher on the mattress, licking even deeper into him. It's so intense he feels breathless again, feels this immense pressure that must mean, oh, he's hard again, he should tell, he should… he can't hold on to a single thought, everything reduced to Louis' tongue flicking over and inside him, to Louis eating out his own come and getting Harry all clean again.

He must be making helpless noises again, because Louis suddenly takes Harry's hands, still clasped obediently behind his back, and separates them. He puts one of Harry's hands on the bed and one he holds. Harry's so grateful he could cry – or maybe he already is. He squeezes Louis' hand hard, but it's not really enough, not when Louis' got his face buried in his arse. Harry tugs his hand up to his mouth and bites wetly at his knuckles, just to feel something, to sink his teeth in.

Louis' fingers dance over his lips, and then he slips two of them into his mouth, at the same time he slides two fingers alongside his fucking tongue and curls them deep. Harry comes again, untouched and fucked and messy and clean and whining and breathless and so completely Louis'.

Chapter Text

Harry knows it's too early when he wakes up. He can sort of remember Louis setting up the alarm clock last night after cleaning him up and taking care of him, and it's definitely not Marimba pulling him away from his dream. He gives it another second before declaring himself awake, and then finally realises why that even is. They somehow ended up with Louis spooning him, plastered to his back with his stubble tickling the back of Harry's neck and his cock right against his arse.

Also, Harry's completely hard. He's still hazy from sleep, slow and heavy, but the memories from yesterday start filtering in one by one, and heat twists in his gut in record speed. It's like he can still feel Louis' come in him, filling him and slicking him and dripping out of him once Louis pulled out. Marking him. Owning him.

Christ, he's grinding back without thinking, too groggy to actually wrap a hand around himself but too turned on to just lie still. The comforter drags over his dick and he bites his lip to stay quiet, hoping not to wake Louis up. The plan was to let him have a lie-in while Harry snuck out and drove himself to school, since there's no point in both of them waking up at the ungodly hour of 7 AM. Especially considering it's the day Harry only has classes until noon.

He also… doesn't actually want Louis to know he's gagging for it 24/7, as Niall so kindly put it when they'd smoked up and sent Louis mean texts. It might be another Teenager Thing. Harry's working overtime to prove to Louis he's not Just A Teenager. He hasn't come in his pants in a while. The persistent morning wood must go.

Or maybe it doesn't. He can feel Louis growing hard behind him, sniffling in his sleep, and yeah, feeling kind of desperate gets Harry squirmy and hot. Even if it is far too early in the morning, and he just got fucked and eaten out last night. A needy little noise escapes him when he sharply remembers Louis' tongue licking into him, wet and teasing and –

Oh thank god. Louis' hand brushes over his stomach and he mumbles in a devastatingly raspy voice, "Hazza?"

Knowing Louis' awake makes it considerably easier to move. Or at least to open his mouth and take in gulping breaths while he shuffles his hips back, getting Louis closer, harder. "Sorry," he whispers, but doesn't bother to stop. Louis petting him must mean he doesn't really mind.

Louis just chuckles and kisses the crook of his neck, his scruff rubbing his skin in a way that makes Harry kick his legs out. "How can you be so horny at half six in the morning?"

He wants to feel guilty, truly he does, but there's not really enough room for that. "Early bird gets the worm?" he tries.

Louis laughs again, his voice still deep and lazy. Harry should wake him up early more often. "I'll get it alright," he warns, and trails his hand from Harry's middle to cup his cock.

Harry tenses immediately and pushes into Louis' hand, moaning in relief. But they're still pressed tight together, and feeling Louis hard and there, sleepy and close and after last night – something just possesses Harry to murmur no and move Louis' hand from his crotch, over his hip and against his arse.

Louis' breath hitches and he squeezes him automatically. "Yeah? Again?"

Harry nods into his pillow, feeling his undoubtedly messy curls springing over his forehead. He moves faster against Louis, like he could just make it happen on his own. He would if he could. He'd have Louis inside him all the time. Jesus, he's talking dirty inside his own head, what the fuck did Louis Tomlinson do to him? "Again."

Louis still doesn't move, besides fluttering his lips over the shell of Harry's ear. Even his hand is idle on Harry's bum instead of fucking into him, how rude. "You sure, love? You've got school soon."

Harry rolls back into Louis' lap and makes a frustrated noise. "Daddy." It's basically code for get a cock in me. (Not really. It's code for take over. Usually it goes Harry's way. Even when it doesn't, eventually it does.)

It definitely does something to Louis. His hips instantly jerk forward and he grunts in Harry's ear, biting it none too gently. "Ask nicely, baby. Maybe then."

Harry sighs, revelling in Louis' short, involuntary thrusts. If he moves just a bit in the right way, Louis' cock could fit in the cleft of his arse, sort-of-fuck him. His hand is still there, if he just spreads Harry's cheeks… "Maybe?" he asks, trying not to whine.

Louis reacts by taking his hand away and backing up. And then spanking Harry soundly.

Harry's so shocked for a moment he doesn't react at all, body frozen and brain buzzing. It's happened before, but it always does something to Harry. It hurt, it was loud and sudden and it hurt, but it didn't, it was hot. It wasn't even that hard, but it's like he still feels aftershocks, like when he came from Louis' tongue but Louis just kept going. And the fact he automatically associates Louis slapping him with Louis rimming him just says everything, doesn't it? The fact he's spurting pre-come and kind of wants Louis to spank him again.

He shoves his face into his pillow and whines, his legs spreading like some sort of delayed reaction. Louis just bites his neck sharply. "I said, ask nicely."

"Please," he gasps out, arching his back when Louis rubs his arse soothingly. "Please, fuck me again, I want you to come inside me again, please."

Louis hums approvingly and rolls back against him, his cock even harder than before. "Can't get enough, can you? Think you deserve it?"

His thoughts are getting muddled, so he tries to focus on breathing, tries to dim the buzzing in his ears. "If I'm – if I don't you could – again – with your hand – "

"Shh, baby," Louis cuts him off, sucking on the skin behind his ear absentmindedly. "I'm just getting the lube, okay?"

Harry groans, his fingers twisting in the sheets just from the thought. He busies himself with kicking the sheets off his overheated body, so by the time Louis gets back in bed, he's bare and waiting. Louis kisses his shoulder sweetly and runs one finger down the knobs of his spine. Harry shudders when he realises it's wet. Thank god Louis reaches his bum before he has to wiggle it for attention.

He starts with two fingers, knocking the breath out of Harry and not wasting a second before shoving them in up to the second knuckle. It stings, but after the pounding he took last night, it's more than welcome, barely a warm-up. He rocks back against them encouragingly, and Louis pulls them almost all the way out before thrusting them back in, twisting and curving and scissoring and not letting Harry fucking breathe.

"You're so good, taking me so well," Louis whispers suddenly, tugging Harry's hair back so he can speak into his ear, and oh, Louis' got another hand, and what position is he even in, and did Harry seriously get so far without even opening his eyessince he woke up?

Not that he could exactly open them and turn around to investigate now. His brain sort of shorts out when Louis finds his prostate, and he must make some sort of noise or jerky motion, because he can feel Louis smile, and then curl his fingers and rub the spot relentlessly.

Harry gasps, helpless and trembling, and there's not much he can do but take it. He scrabbles for purchase, ends up grabbing the headboard, and Louis still doesn't let up, just yanks Harry's hair so he won't even think about scooting away. Harry can only register Louis breathing in his ear and himself chanting fuck, daddy, daddy, daddy.

His body melts into the mattress when Louis takes his fingers out and slams three back in, this time just barely brushing over his prostate and not rubbing it maddeningly like before. Harry grinds into it, shaking his head so Louis will tighten his hold on his curls and pull harder, or maybe just push him down again. It's too much all at once, stretched every which way, and Harry… Harry begs.

Louis fucks him just as roughly with his cock. As soon as he slides in all the way, he barely gives Harry a moment to adjust before he pulls out almost completely and thrusts back in. He's so full and hot and Louis' just everywhere and bare and close and. Completely overwhelmed, Harry ducks his head to bite his own bicep, over the tattoo, a move that has Louis yanking his hair again.

It's hard and deep and has Harry twisted into knots, but it's almost too much, he needs more friction, needs – "Faster, Daddy, I – fuck, I can take it."

Louis pulls out completely for a moment, leaves Harry clenching on nothing and swearing, but then he shoves Harry's shoulder so he's lying on his front, and yes. Harry immediately spreads his legs wide and Louis pins him down and bites the back of his neck harshly. Harry holds the headboard again and waits.

Finally, Louis grabs his hips hard enough to bruise and rocks into him. This time around, all Harry has to do is lie there and take it, and it brings something extra out of Louis, having all the control over the angle and pace. Both fucking marvellous – each time he pumps in, he brushes Harry's spot, and he goes so fast Harry can hear their bodies slapping together, can lose track of everything but in, out, in, out.

He's writhing under him, stretching both his legs and arms like he can spread the incredible feeling around. Louis only fucks him harder, keeps giving him biting kisses along his shoulder blades and whispering about how good he feels, is for him.

He's so out of it he doesn't even notice Louis seeking his mouth until there's a tongue ghosting over his wet lips. Harry opens wide, lets Louis lick into his mouth in a messy kiss. Of course, it was just an excuse for Louis to bite his plump lips with his sharp little teeth – it's one of his favourite things to do. Harry can't take it, can't have Louis fucking him this thoroughly and darting his tongue into his mouth like there's anything left to claim. He's just barely hanging on the edge, pretending to kiss Louis back when really he's whimpering.

And it actually must all have been a nightmare.

Because all of a sudden, like he's fallen down a satanic rabbit hole, Louis isn't in him nor on him anymore.

"No." Harry's whole body quivers violently, and he keeps bearing down, keeps clenching, keeps his eyes squeezed shut like he could will Louis to come back. He's straining his ears for an instruction or explanation or anything, but there's just his and Louis' ragged breaths and – his alarm clock.

Harry's eyes snap open for the first time this morning, and he makes a noise so profoundly frustrated there's a chance it's not even human. He just wants to come. He just wants Louis back in.

He twists his neck and finally sees Louis and – Jesus, a flash of arousal has him spurting more pre-come into the sheets. Louis' lying flat on his back, hair sleep/sex mussed, and his eyes are boring into Harry's. His pupils are completely blown, and he's sweaty and gorgeous and, "Please, why did – I was good, wasn't I good?"

Louis keeps his voice remarkably steady when he says, "Good boys go to school on time."

Harry's breathless and flushed and open and what is Louis fucking talking about. "What?"

"Isn't that your alarm clock?" Louis asks, eyebrow arched.

Harry feels like cowering. "It is."

"Best get ready then."

It's actually happening. "I'm so close," he whispers.

"I'm sorry baby, it'll just be irresponsible of me to keep you from going to class." He raises his hand, maybe to fingerfuck him, or jerk his cock, or play with his hair, fuck, Harry's humping the bloody mattress, he can't – he needs –

"You'll be late," Louis adds, and his tone is positively steely, makes Harry pause and sag down like his strings have been cut.

"Please, Daddy." He's nearly sobbing into the pillow. He's never felt this raw before. Louis' never been this cruel. "I – please, I need you." He knows he's incoherent, but it's Louis' fault for fucking him into incoherence, isn't it?

"You can't have me," Louis says simply. Well, it's not simple, Harry can see Louis' practically vibrating with how much he wants to keep fucking Harry, but he's trying to see if Harry will be a good boy, and Harry's long past the stage where he'd consider disobeying. He needs to be a good boy more than he needs to come.

He's hazy again, sex-drunk and shaky. He can still feel Louis railing into him, bruising his hips. He whines uncontrollably, and that must be Louis' tipping point. He buries his nose in Harry's hair and whispers, "But you look so pretty begging, I can't just leave you empty, can I?"

Harry shakes his head vehemently, already inching his hips toward Louis. Louis shakes his head. "If we plug you up will you be a good boy and keep it inside all day? Wait until Daddy can take care of you again after school?"

His first thought is a wine stopper, and he knows it's dumb, but he still finds himself asking, "Plug?"

Louis rolls off the bed, not for long enough for Harry to freak out, but long enough to have him squirming again. When he comes back he's holding a – oh. It's pink and thick and phallic, so even in this state, Harry knows what it is. His brain rewinds the conversation, and then he's sort of stuck staring at the thing because he could keep it inside.

He sees Louis open his mouth to talk, probably tell him how hot it could be, but really, Harry doesn't need convincing. He nods quickly and hitches his hips up. "Yeah, let's do it."

Louis gives him a wide smile and runs a hand over Harry's arse, soft and loving. "Sure? No big exam or something?"

"May half-term in a week, if there was ever a time to show up wearing an anal – oh god." Of course Louis pushed it right in. It's smaller than his cock but thick, flared so it'll hold. Harry feels like all the air is stuck in his throat, and he finds himself pushing out his arse even more, like some automatic reaction to feeling this full. The more he arches, the deeper it gets, until it's resting directly against his prostate.

"How is it?" Louis asks, running a soothing hand down Harry's back.

Harry tries clearing his head enough to answer, but it's there, persistent pressure that'll stay there for a while. Harry supposes it'll get better once his dick softens, but what if it doesn't? Jesus Christ. "Can I – Daddy, can I please just come?"

"No," Louis says simply, indifferently. "You won't come without me, either."

"What if…" His face flushes as bright as his chest, he can feel it, but he can't be self-conscious about that when his arse keeps clenching around the silicone. "What if I can't help it?"

"I know you won't come, Harry, because if you do you'll have to tell me, and I'll have to make you take the plug out." He grabs the base of the plug and Harry's breath hitches, but he doesn't pull it out, just twists it around. "Don't want that, do you? You want to come when you've earned it, after so long of sitting in class and squirming. Think how good it'll feel to come then."

Harry buries his face in his arms and moves his hips in restless circles, but the plug isn't Louis, it doesn't thrust inside of him or change the angle, it's just there, stretching him. Louis plants a kiss on his back and then helps Harry get off the bed. The plug shifts in him when he moves, but he gets used to it after a few steps, using Louis' shoulders for support.

The worst part is when Louis dresses him in his school uniform in front of the full-length mirror. He keeps petting his bum casually, but it's secondary to how Harry looks. He's always had a pretty good idea what sex does to him, a consequence of having a partner who's prone to talking in bed, but actually seeing it is something else. He didn't know what Louis meant by fucked-out, but there it is. His eyes are glassy and his cheeks are all red and his hair is sweaty and messy, curls falling over his forehead. He looks like he just walked out of a porno, and the worst part is that it won't be going away as long as he's got something up his arse.

But maybe the worst part is when Louis drives him to school, since Harry can't drive like this, and he makes certain to go over every speed bump. As soon as he thinks he's gotten used to virtually sitting on a dick, it presses right against his prostate and Harry moans pathetically into his hand and touches his sweaty forehead to the window. Louis delights in it every fucking time, runs his fingers through his curls and whispers soothing words, only they're not soothing at all. "Gonna fuck you so good when I pick you up. Just park somewhere and fuck your face first, fill you up from both holes until you're so winded you can't take it, and then I'll have you fuck yourself on my cock and take what you need."

The very worst part might be when he actually goes to class, kind of stressed without Louis' supervision and not making eye contact with anyone. That is until Niall launches himself at him, but Harry's even clumsier than usual and they end up knocking into some lockers. Harry hopes Niall's enthusiasm blinds him to his slack-jawed expression. "I take it you've made up?" Niall asks finally.

Harry fusses with his hair nervously. "How'd you mean?"

"Hazza, could you be more obvious?"

Three heart attacks later, Harry stutters, bright red, "I'm, um."

Niall slaps a hand over the back of his neck. "You can see the mark even under your curls."

Harry's so relieved he bursts out laughing, and quickly ducks away from Niall's touch to pull his phone out.


Like, really, he survived the safe sex talk with his mum, only crumbled a little when she pulled the passive-aggressive "you're the only baby I have left in this house and I don't want you to keep things from me". He made it through a million driving lessons with Louis without jumping his bones. Yet, he's fairly convinced he'd die of embarrassment if he pulled Niall out of biology and asked him to take a picture of his lovebite so he might get a dick pic he can't even wank to. But he does just that. All with a fucking sex toy in his arse.

By the time Louis' cock replaces the plug, Harry's a complete mess. Louis doesn't hold him at all, just leans back and lets Harry ride him fast, nailing his own prostate. He does talk, though. Of course he does. "Bet you tried so hard not to give anything away," he says, voice high and unsteady with how hard Harry's working him. "Tell me how it felt."

Harry's eyes squeeze shut and his rhythm gets erratic the more it builds, the more he lets himself listen to Louis. "Felt so good," he whispers, his own voice rough as sandpaper from earlier.

"Why?" Thank god, he doesn't expect Harry to elaborate. He does it on his own. "Because anyone with eyes could see how well-fucked you are after you're with me? Or because it got better every time you moved just a little bit? Or because – " he thrusts his hips up just as Harry bears down, getting a groan out of him, " – it reminded you of your Daddy?"

Harry comes instantly, blanking out in bliss after being denied for so long. He doesn't stop moving his hips until Louis comes too, spilling inside him.

Truly, the worst thing is that Louis doesn't want his own come to drip all over the seats, so he plugs Harry back up right away, full of his come.

It's also the best thing.

Louis is the best thing.


By the end of May, Louis finally finishes his teaching practice, just when Harry goes on half-term. So lovely, he thought, how convenient, he figured. Only then Louis actually has to finish his course, and he's at uni every day completing placement projects and hearing lectures he texts Harry through.

His final exams might kill them both. Harry finds himself stress-free with all the time in the world, and he's bored out of his fucking mind because his boyfriend spends all his time at uni. It's not, like, a problem. Or at least, he won't call it that in front of Louis. He's so happy for him to finally get his certificate, he doesn't want to make him feel bad just because Harry's a little neglected.

It's just... depressing. Especially after he and Niall finish their Grey's Anatomy marathon and have to smoke up watching Made In Chelsea. Harry knows he has to see Louis, no matter how much he asks for private study time without distractions. Harry figures if he sounds miserable enough, Louis might cave. Not that he wants to distract him.

So the only course of action is to immerse himself in Louis' studying process.

"Can I stay over tonight?" he asks over the phone, already looking up simple recipes.

Louis sighs. Harry's heart tightens; he sounds exhausted. "I'll probably be too tired to play, I've gotta revise."

"We don't have to play, I just wanna spend the night with you."

"Oh. You're not, like... dropping, are you?"

Harry rolls his eyes. "No, you twat, this is me missing my boyfriend, not a kink thing."

"Alright, I'm sorry, just making sure. I'm new at this, you know."

Harry knows. It was the best rush when Louis told him that he was his first – sub, that's how it's called. Louis actually waited before telling him, afraid that Harry wouldn't trust him to do what they do, but it wasn't like that at all. Harry loves being Louis' first, same as Louis was his first. It makes him feel special, even more trusting, because whatever Louis does when they play, Harry knows it's not inspired by a former nameless partner. He's only taking Harry's cues. He only wants Harry like this.

Except, not tonight.

He comes over at around seven carrying a huge grocery bag. Louis looks particularly downtrodden when he opens the door, tired and scruffy and swimming in a shirt that was big on Harry back when it was actually in his closet and not Louis'. He should seek treatment for his kleptomania.

Harry can only account for the fact Louis hasn't gotten his dick sucked lately; the alarming amount of takeaway in the living room is all on Louis being an idiot. It's frustratingly hard to call Louis names when Louis beams, then throws his arms around him and gives him a big kiss, rubbing his beard all over Harry's face ridiculously. "My Santa," he says, hugging him tight and sniffing his neck.

Harry sinks into him completely and grins. "If you missed me so much, why didn't you let me come sooner?"

"I have to focus on this shit," he says sadly into Harry's chest. "I think my classroom assessment went alright, but this is… book stuff. And with all the budget cuts, most of my course was self-learning, so even if I am on top of it I wouldn't really know."

"Hey, I can totally test you if you want evaluation. I'm your target audience, remember? Only more posh."

Louis nuzzles his neck. "I don't wanna bore you with all this stuff. You're on vacation."

"Please, it's no big deal. We can play student-teacher after." Louis leans back to give him a dirty look. Harry immediately backtracks. "Or not. Let's make dinner first." He jangles his grocery bag so it hits the back of Louis' leg.

Louis sighs. "I don't have time, there's so much – "

"One hour. Give me one hour and then we can study, okay? We're just gonna do pasta and a secret sauce. You've been holed up here for a while, you need something mind-numbing like cooking. And me."

"Alright," Louis mumbles, defeated.

"Go shower, then. I'll set everything up." It really shows character growth, he thinks, that he doesn't offer to join. Louis looks torn himself, but eventually lets go of Harry and goes to the bathroom. He leaves the door wide open. Harry sighs from the bottom of his heart, but heads to the kitchen. He's strong.

He's strong even when Louis joins him a few minutes later, damp and clean-smelling, in sweatpants and nothing else. Like, nothing underneath, either. He’s rude. His dick is rude. He fits himself to Harry's back and shoves his cold nose into his nape. "All done."

Harry looks over his shoulder and kisses the top of Louis' head. His hair is offensively fluffy. "Used my shampoo again?"

Louis grins up at him unapologetically. "Like your smell. You probably laced it with pheromones or something."

"Oh, is that why you're so unbearably attracted to me? Hair pheromones?"

"It's the only explanation. I fucked you through my teaching practice, do you even get what that means?"

"That you were thinking of lesson plans during the action?"

"Didn't you notice?" Louis grabs his hips and starts rubbing his dick against his arse, moaning exaggeratedly. "Oh, Shakespeare, you're so fucking tight."

Harry shoves him away, laughing and not at all flustered. At least Louis' spirits have lifted. "You're in charge of the pasta, I'm in charge of the sauce."

"Yes, sir. I keep the – Harold, you brought pots with you?" He pouts dramatically. "I do live here, you know."

Harry hipchecks him and takes his pot. "Mine is bigger."

Louis' thumb hooks under his waistband, but he doesn't take the bait. "Are your parents alright with you taking all this stuff?"

"Yeah, they're flying out to Jamaica next week so they need to know I can make dinner for myself."

"Yeah?" Louis asks, kissing his shoulder distractedly while he sniffs the canned mushrooms.

A thought. "Have you ever been to my house, Louis?"

"You mean apart from the backyard, Harry? I haven't."

"Don't you think that's interesting?"

"Extremely. Can you proposition me after dinner, though? Keep it classy?"

Harry snorts. Like Louis isn't a sure thing. "Check if the kettle's done. You want spaghetti or spirali?"

Louis bites his lip and hums. "Are those the curly ones?"

Ugh. "Curly, long or butterflies?"

"Now you're speaking my language. Curly ones."

He passes him the package, and Louis kisses his cheek in return.

The whole thing is sickeningly domestic, making dinner together and talking about his parents' trip or how Louis' students still text him. Once they put the dishes away, they sprawl out on their sofa and Louis makes Harry watch telly while he finishes reading over his notes. Which he lays out over Harry's back. While he makes himself comfortable over Harry's arse. He's heavy, but Harry hasn't felt him in days, he'll take it.

He doesn't realise he's drifting off until he's roused by Louis petting his hair softly. "Babe, wanna ask me some questions?"

He scrubs his eyes and smiles. "Sure, love."

Louis gets up so Harry can turn around on his back, but then sits on Harry again, this time straddling his thighs.

Harry is strong. He takes the papers Louis hands him and focuses only on them. He asks him about school policies and watches him talk, but definitely not because Louis' lips are achingly pretty. HE's just fascinated by teaching.

After they're done, they drag themselves to bed. Louis' too tired to try something, but he manages to give Harry a thorough thank you kiss and a sweet, adoring smile of appreciation that makes Harry's heart flutter. He knows that tomorrow he'll wake up and Louis might already be at uni, but he also knows that Zayn will hang out with him, and that he'll eat leftover pasta and beat Louis' scores in whatever game is in the PlayStation. He knows that right now Louis' burrowing into his chest and being cute.

He knows he loves him ridiculously. "I love you ridiculously."

He can feel Louis' smile radiate over his skin. "Love you too. Thanks for coming."

He's asleep before Harry can even tell him not to be an idiot. Sometimes it sucks being a slow speaker, but Louis always listens.

It's dumb that even though they didn't do anything Harry feels content and pleased with himself. Maybe that's, like. Devotion and stuff.


Except that he really misses being thoroughly fucked.

It's nice being a supportive boyfriend, and he loves helping Louis even when Louis barely has the energy to eat the fajitas Harry's made him, but Christ, he hasn't gotten properly shagged in like, a week. He's losing his mind. The most important thing he gains from his week of horrors is an even deeper respect for girls braving through their periods. Cara is a fucking hero, she has to deal with both her own and her girlfriend's. (She doesn't have tips for the sexual frustration, though. She just laughs at him. Harry's friends are bloody awful.)

He decides that enough is enough. He's only human, and the only human who has the fittest boy in the world as his orgasm source. His suave seduction methods are what got him here, aren't they? That's how he remembers it, anyway.

So the moment he drops his parents off at the airport, he rings Louis and says with all seriousness, "You must come."

"What?" Louis asks, groggy. It might be ten in the morning.

"My parents just left. I think you have to come study here. Don't you think changing the environment might help you revise? So you don't actually die of boredom?"

"I'm not sure that's a thing, Haz."

Harry anticipated this. "I'm scared to be here on my own, though. What if someone breaks in? Do you know how posh this place is? It's got a pool, Louis."

"I remember." He sounds hesitant. Harry waits. "Alright, but no shenanigans."

"I promise. 100 percent shenanigans-free."

Louis sighs, but he still shows up an hour later and hugs him like he's starving. Harry's so happy he takes Louis for a piggyback ride all around the house, like a very loud jetpack. "And this is my room. Where the magic happens," he introduces.

Louis laughs and nips his ear playfully. "What magic exactly?"

"Lonely, sad wanks," Harry admits. "You got me used to the best, Lou. I'm having a lonely, sad time right now."

He probably senses that Harry's next move would be to put him down on the bed and just spread his legs, so Louis curls himself tighter around him. "Don't be sad. The drought will be over soon."

Harry sighs. So the Bedroom Plan is a flop. He carries Louis to the downstairs living room, where Louis starts thumping on him excitedly and scrambles away. Before Harry can even stretch his back, his jetpack is sprawled on the floor face-down. "A shaggy rug," Louis moans, spreading his body like a demented starfish that's attracted to shaggy rugs. "It's so soft, I can't believe it, I've always wanted one of these."


Louis turns on his back then and gives Harry an inquisitive look. All the jumping and moving hitched his T-shirt up past his belly button. Harry wants to lick all over him. Louis probably gets that. It might have something to do with Harry saying, "I wanna ride you into it."

Louis actually licks his lips, considering, but eventually tuts and holds his hands out. "Up. I wanna see the pool. This time with an invitation."

Harry sighs long-sufferingly, but picks Louis up obediently.

Surprising no one, Louis declares the poolside his study zone. The sun is beating on them pleasantly, as Louis gets his papers out and Harry brings them beers. He could just sit on the pool lounge chair and look at Louis and marvel at how fit he is, the sunlight seeming to amplify his hotness. Not just Louis' hotness, though, Harry's too. Harry won't be wearing a shirt for another second. "D'you need me to help, or can I have a dip?" he asks, already standing up.

Louis waves him off. "Got it for now, thanks babe."

Alright. Harry gives him one last look, lingering on the way Louis' sucking on his beer bottle, and decides that he definitely needs to cool off if he's to keep the shenanigans from happening. He strips as quickly as he can and then cannonballs in the pool, shrieking when the cold water freezes him. Well. He definitely feels cooler.

He shakes out his wet hair and starts doing laps to get his body temperature up. He adjusts by the fifth lap, and then keeps going, likes the way his muscles cut the water. He hasn't worked out in a while, if carrying Louis places doesn't count. Swimming is the best, too, he likes having to stretch his whole body to propel himself forward. He remembers spending whole summers with Gemma out here, having contests to see who can hold their breath the longest. Harry always won. Who the fuck knew how that would come in handy.

He gets tired after a while, and ends up just flopping on his back and drifting around, letting the water carry his weight. He keeps his eyes closed and arms spread, totally relaxed under the spring sun. So he's quite surprised to suddenly hear Louis say, "Harold."

It's not that he's forgotten Louis was there, how could he ever, but he was being good and letting him work. There's no need for Louis to sound annoyed.

He lifts his head and looks over at Louis. Oh. That wasn't annoyed. That was strained. Louis' sitting up shirtless in his lounge chair, one hand clutching his beer while the other is cupping his crotch. This is an interesting development. "Yes?"

"Do you have to do that?" Louis asks, taking an aggressive sip of his beer and keeping his sunglasses aggressively on.

"You said you don't need help. What was I supposed to do if not swim?" he asks innocently.

"But do you have to do that naked?" he flaps his hand around in frustration, revealing that he is, in fact, tenting his sweatpants. Because of Harry.

Well, that changes things. Harry swims to the ledge of the pool and then climbs out using his arms, flexing his biceps seductively. He's half-hard just watching Louis watch him. "Of course I have to do it naked. It's hot and the house is empty and the neighbours can't see anything."

Louis isn't listening. Harry can feel how intensely he's staring at him even under the sunglasses. He doesn't feel self-conscious for a second, revels in it. He shakes out his hair emphatically, dick swinging. Louis makes a miserable noise and whispers to the ether, "You're so hung."

Harry didn't actually plan this, but he might as well have. He swoops into Louis' space, sits on the end of his lounge chair and runs his wet hands over his legs, keeping steady eyes on the prize. Louis' wearing underwear this time, but his hard-on is obvious to Harry. His mouth waters like a perverted Pavlovian reaction, and just like that his verbal skills are reduced to nothing. "Just a taste," he mumbles, already leaning down.

Louis holds up his textbook in defence, but he totally spreads his legs to accommodate Harry. "I've got all this stuff to memorise, baby."

Heat coils in Harry at the name. He lowers his head over Louis' lap and presses his nose right against his crotch, nuzzling along the hardness of him. "I'll be quick, please, it's been so long. Just keep reading, I won't distract you. I need this." He grinds down on the heel of his own hand. When Louis doesn't make his clothes disappear, Harry decides it's time for the big guns. "Daddy, please."

That hit home. Louis curses loudly and lifts his hips to tug his pants down, nearly hitting Harry's face in his eagerness. Harry sighs happily when he finally sees his cock for the first time in a week, thick and flushed with arousal. He starts touching himself before even getting his mouth on Louis, still stuck appreciating him. Louis doesn't comment on it, as he's busy gulping his beer and opening his book over Harry's head, feigning disinterest.

They talked about it a while ago, when Harry egged him into just watching telly and not talking to him at all while he fucked his mouth. Louis felt so bad afterwards, but Harry just explained that he thought it was hot, that he liked working for Louis' attention and just giving without getting anything. Most of the time he lives for Louis' affection and praise, but every once in a while he's in this mood, where he wants a cock in his mouth and he doesn't particularly care if Louis' even watching.

He finally fits the head of Louis' cock in his mouth and moans loudly, startling even himself. It only serves to remind him that they're doing this outside, that he's completely naked in his older boyfriend's lap under the sun in the middle of the day. He moans louder and sinks down, getting more inside.

It's easy by now. Even after a week, Harry doesn't need to get used to the feeling, he does it naturally, stretches his jaw wide and gets Louis' cock as wet as he can. His lips slide so smoothly on his hot skin that Harry can't bring himself to stop, goes down more than half of his cock before he has to pull up and breathe hard through his nose.

He wraps a hand around the base of Louis' cock and starts pumping him in the same pace he's doing himself, tries to stroke up to his mouth rather than bob his head, so he doesn't bump into Louis' book and bother him. The thought of Louis telling him to stop spurs him on, makes him suck harder around him and push hard with his tongue, so Louis feels him all around.

He jerks them both faster and faster, remembers his promise to make it quick. He can tell he won't have to work for much longer. Louis' doing a spectacular job of not talking for once, but he can't keep his hips from snapping up under him, can't keep his harsh breaths in. Harry wants to make it messy, to take all he needs while he can, so he lets himself drool all over Louis and twists his hand in his own spit.

He hears Louis flip a page and take a sip from his beer, and Christ, he has no idea why that even turns him on but it does. He loves how it makes him itch for a reaction, while knowing that if Louis keeps this up he won't be getting one until the end. Knowing that that's exactly what he asked of Louis.

Really, with how much Harry likes it when Louis frustrates him, he shouldn't have even complained about Louis' studious streak.

And Louis does so well, doesn't even grunt when he comes deep in Harry's throat, pushing up so Harry's choking on it a little. Harry could come from that alone, fuck, but he still needs something. He knows that feeling will last until he has Louis' full attention on him, and he kind of loves that, wants Louis to always have some hold on him.

Louis only lifts his book for long enough to let Harry up, after a last suckle around the head to swallow it all. Harry tucks him back in his pants and dares to kiss Louis' belly, but there's nothing he can do for himself, naked and achingly hard. Louis finally lifts his sunglasses, but he only gives Harry a cursory glance. "Did you get off?"

Harry shakes his head, folding his hands over his lap.

Louis hums. "Too bad. Go back to the pool and cool off. Daddy wants peace and quiet now."

Harry's hands curl into fists, and he doesn't even look at his cock before getting up and waddling to the pool.

So the seduction plan worked. Next time Harry will just have to not be a fucking idiot and pick a scene in which he gets off.


Harry gets his way accidentally, as per usual. It's not that he purposefully uses his best friend as a pawn in his sex life, it's just that Niall has this uncanny ability to set things in motion. In his lazy, casual, cheerful ways, he's actually a sneak-instigator.

"Mate, are you having problems with Louis or something?" he asks, picking up a snapback from the shelf and checking the tag.

"What makes you say that?" Harry wonders. Maybe he should get a new hat too. All he has are beanies. He wants something funky, like a straw hat or – not a fedora, as Niall snatches it right from his hands and puts it back on the shelf. Niall takes back-to-school shopping very seriously, even when it's just after half-term.

"Well, your skin is actually skin-coloured again. Been a while since I saw it less than purple."

Deep sadness wells within Harry. "We haven't fucked in like, more than a week. He's too busy with school stuff. I can't believe you noticed the lack of lovebites and he didn't."

Niall snorts. "Does it really count as lovebites? Because usually it looks like deathbites."

What? Louis loves him very much, thank you. "What would you know?"

Niall huffs in indignation. "Excuse me?"

"Can you even leave lovebites with your braces?"

He should have seen it coming. Niall grabs Harry's shoulders and tugs him close so he can sink his teeth into his neck. Harry automatically giggles. "Your technique is lacking, unless you're trying to turn me into a vampire."

Niall makes an annoyed sound and covers his teeth with his lips so he can start sucking on Harry's skin hard, getting it wet with his tongue. When someone clears their throat, Niall pulls away and grins happily. Harry ruffles his hair and wipes the spit with the back of his hand, since Niall isn't going to kiss it away. He drags Niall to the nearest mirror and leans close to inspect the bruise, ignoring the scandalised salesperson in the corner of his eye. "I think I can see the indentations of your braces, that's so weird," he comments, thumbing the bruise. "Ooh, you should like, have them spell your name, like fancy grills, so it'll stay on her skin. How sick would that be?"

Since he’s still looking at his reflection, he's quite surprised by Niall smacking him upside the head. "No, since I give lovebites because it feels good for her, not because I'm a possessive animal weirdo."

Harry just rolls his eyes.

But "possessive animal weirdo" is probably the only way to describe Louis' reaction when he sees the obvious mark on his neck.

Like, usually Louis' all about the build-up, but as soon as Harry opens the door to his house and leads him to the living room, maybe accidentally flipping his hair just right to draw attention to his neck, Louis freezes in the middle of a sentence and grabs Harry's wrist. "What the fuck is that?"

Harry tries playing it cool, but Louis' looking at him like he's going to tear him apart and Harry hasn't felt that in a while. He stutters over, "Uh, it's a mark."

"Who the fuck gave it to you?"

Oh, shit. Louis looks actually upset, Harry didn't think about how this would look to him. "Babe, it was Niall, we were just playing. He asked me why I wasn't getting laid and I complained about not having any lovebites anymore."

He can actually see the change in Louis, how he goes from hurt and confused to angry and calculated. "Remember the safeword?"

Harry nods eagerly. Louis broadens his shoulders and straightens his back; still short and slim, but this way he looks ferocious. He grabs Harry's chin and turns his head to the side, inspecting his neck. "Not very well done," he comments.

Harry laughs nervously. "That's what I told him."

"Don't talk back," Louis snaps harshly, a bit like a slap. He inches his hand from Harry's chin to his nape and grips his hair hard, yanking his head back. Harry gulps when his throat is exposed, sure Louis can see his pulse jumping. "Can't believe how bad you were."

Harry closes his eyes, embarrassment shooting through him, thrilling in the best way. "I'm sorry."

Louis' hand tightens painfully in his curls. "I said, don't talk back. I'm so disappointed, Harry. Don't wanna hear you. Don't even wanna look at you."

He lets go of Harry suddenly, and he crumples, swaying toward Louis helplessly. He keeps his mouth shut, but that doesn't gain him any points. "Strip," Louis says dispassionately.

Harry doesn't know whether Louis wants a show or not, so he's a bit hesitant unbuttoning his shirt, but Louis isn't even looking at him. He's already moved on to the middle of the room, rubbing his bare foot back and forth over the shaggy rug. "Here," he says before Harry's even done.

Harry scrambles to his side, still wearing pants and his undershirt, and Louis clicks his tongue. "Can't do anything without me, can you?" he asks, and unceremoniously yanks Harry's shirt off and pulls his pants down. "Useless."

Harry bites his lip as he steps out of his pants. It never felt awkward to stand around naked, but right now he wants to shrink. Louis' drilling him with an intense look that's getting him hard, but he definitely doesn't deserve that yet. He digs his nails into his thighs to try and calm down, looking at the carpet resolutely. He has no idea what Louis' going to do to him.

"Hands and knees," Louis decides. Harry complies clumsily, spares only a second to think about how nice the plush carpet feels under his hands, how it might feel against his back, how Louis thought ahead. He gets in a comfortable position, spreading his knees a little, and hangs his head. He feels… yeah, he feels like he's about to get punished. He feels like a bad boy. He still has no idea why that makes him horny.

Before he can really contemplate it, Louis grabs his head again and pulls it up, so his neck is stretched again and he's gasping. Louis pinches the spot Niall kissed, like he's angry with it, wants to just scrub it off his skin. "Niall should know not to touch things that aren't his."

Harry closes his eyes, breathing in hard. Louis' voice does things to him when he gets like this, still high-pitched but serious for once, brooking no argument. If this is the tone Louis' going to use as a teacher, Harry feels sorry for his future students. Not that they'll ever be in this particular position. If Harry is Louis', Louis sure as fuck is Harry's.

Louis releases his hair and walks away, so Harry doesn't know how close he is. He doesn't speak either, leaves Harry wondering what's going to happen for a whole minute. His stomach is all in knots by the time he hears Louis from somewhere behind him. "Did you ask him for it?"

Harry chews on his bottom lip and nods, figures there's no point in lying. He can hear Louis hissing over his raging heartbeat. "Marks?" Louis asks, absolutely steely. "You want marks then? Something to wear for school tomorrow?"

This time Harry isn't sure whether to lie or not, because he does, of course he does, but if Louis doesn't want to give him anything, he'll deal with that too. Luckily, he still isn't supposed to speak. He jumps a little when he feels Louis' hand on his arse, caressing him deceptively softly. "What if I give you marks only you know about? Will that frustrate you? That no one will be able to see how you please your daddy? Because you really haven't been pleasing me, Harry. Not with the state of your neck."

Harry rocks back on his knees a little, shaking his head vehemently. It will, it will be awful, but it'll be something, and he'll deserve it. He wants to please him so much. He wants Louis to stop calling him by his name.

"Have I ever spanked you before?" Oh, fuck. So that's where this is going. Harry's fingers twist in the carpet and his breaths come out hitched. Louis keeps walking around while he talks so Harry can't really place him, and it's making him disoriented and fuzzy around the edges, makes him feel like Louis really is everywhere. "I mean, not just a slap here and there. Really laid into you, got your tight arse all red and sensitive, made it hurt so much you felt it for hours and loved it. Have I? You can use your voice now."

"No," Harry rasps, and hopes rocking backward again conveys 'and I want it so much I can't breathe'.

He can hear Louis kneeling directly behind him, and spreads his legs wider automatically. Both of Louis' hands come to rest on his arse, kneading and pulling on the skin, getting his blood flowing. He pulls one hand back and Harry tries to remember the other times Louis smacked him, how it intensified everything else that was going on, made the pleasure sharper. He braces himself and focuses on his breaths, in and out, stay calm.

Thank god Louis let him use his voice. "Oh, fucking hell," Harry moans when, instead of a slap, he feels Louis' tongue flat against him, rubbing up and down and around and wet and flexing and devastating. He might still be cursing, he has no idea, everything is focused on Louis' clever tongue between his spread cheeks.

So he misses the moment Louis pulls back, both his head and his right hand, and smacks him. It's not nearly as hard as it could have been, but Harry's so far gone a gust of wind would break him, let alone Louis' soft hand. The second slap comes quickly, then the third, no warning before either and no chance to breathe after. It's consistent and loud, so loud in the empty living room, shakes Harry from the inside.

Harry's hips keep rocking uncontrollably, and he's making sounds he doesn't even recognise, something about the pain bringing it out of him. He makes an even more miserable little sound when Louis squeezes Harry's arse and buries his face in it again, this time flicking his rim with his pointed tongue and slobbering all over him. They've done a lot, but nothing feels quite like this, the wet stretch of it, more purposeful than his cock, more intimate than his fingers.

The pleasure of it overwhelms him when Louis starts spanking him again, like the pain muddles and amplifies it at the same time, like he'll really take anything Louis gives him. It hurts and it lingers, the heat from Louis' open palm, a rush flooding Harry from his arse and all along his body. Louis gives him a couple more to each cheek, fast and steady, and it just – it doesn't – Harry's starting to feel above it all.

His elbows give out and he drops to his forearms, his back arched with his arse up high, begging for more of Louis' mouth or hand or anything, anything at all, pain and pleasure all the same. Louis only makes it more confusing when the harder his slaps come, the more tongue he gets. Finally, he spanks him hard enough to rock his body forward and whine brokenly, and then he's licking him out, stretching his tongue to fuck into Harry and make him outright sob into his hands.

He really loses it when Louis starts biting and sucking bruises over one arsecheek while slapping the other, then alternating so he ends up hitting his own lovebites, like he's making sure they stick. His skin feels like it's on fire, raw from Louis' hot hand and scruffy beard, so whenever Louis sinks his teeth into it Harry writhes, sobbing and whining freely now.


"Does it hurt?" Louis asks, and he sounds so far away to him, but as soon as Harry recognises it as a question he can... pull himself back, focus on Louis' voice, because it's Louis. He's taking him apart bit by bit, but if Harry doesn't lose him, he'll fill him back up, good as new.

Actually replying takes him a while longer, though, seeing as Louis' got his tongue thrusting in him and Harry just wants to collapse face-first on the floor and become part of it. Instead, he grinds back against Louis, can't help it, yet he's not disappointed when Louis draws back and slaps the answer out of him. "Yes."

"Is it good?"

Another strike, this time right over his crack – "Fuck, yes."

Louis ducks down to bite into his no-doubt bright red arse, making Harry's back arch even more obscenely, pain whipping through him. "No one makes you feel like this, do they?" Louis asks, his mouth still stretched on Harry's skin and blowing air against the wetness his tongue left.

"No," Harry gasps out, gets another slap for his trouble. They're slowing down, though, like maybe Louis' arriving at his point.

"Of course not. No one even got the chance before I took you for myself. Does that make me selfish? Look at you now, arse in the air, fucking begging for it."

Harry's positively feverish, wiggling his arse in response. "No one," he mumbles, thoughts barely making it out of his head when Louis licks into him again.

"What's that?" Louis questions, squeezing and kneading his arse.

Fuck, he should've... he can't think, too sore and stimulated and on edge. "No one will."


That's easy to answer, at least. Particularly in this state. "I'm yours, Daddy."

Louis presses himself to Harry suddenly, rubs his clothed cock against his hurting arse. "Had enough, baby?"

Harry's so relieved to hear the pet name he misses the question entirely, grinding back against Louis. He shakes when Louis pulls away only to spank him again, not that hard, but after all he's gotten it doesn't matter, Harry makes a sound like he's dying and pumps his hips into air. Louis digs his nails into Harry's overheated skin. "Have you had enough?"

Oh god, he – doesn't know, how can he decide? He's lost count of how many he had, did Daddy ask – "Please."

Louis finally lets go of his arse, and after so much attention Harry's not used to just leaving it hanging, he feels exposed and cold and – Louis' lips, ducking down to give him a kiss. It's so sweet it's too much; Harry has to blink back more tears. "I think you've had enough," Louis comforts. "Let's sort you out."

He lets him go again, but only for long enough to shove his pants past his thighs and spill some lube over Harry's hole. He doesn't bother with fingers, just spreads the lube with the head of his cock, and Harry feels so filthy with it all he needs something to happen.

Louis sinks into him slowly the first time, but then he withdraws and slams back in, hard enough to knock him forward. Usually Harry has to beg harder to get it like this, but right now Louis wants it as rough as Harry does. He isn't as careless as he is driven, marvellously precise.

Harry rubs his sweaty face into his arms and chokes out moans, which almost drown out Louis' chanting of "fuck fuck fuck" and "mine mine mine". Harry feels every word like it's a tangible thing inked on his back, feels Louis' cock working him deep. Every time Louis bottoms out, his hips snap against Harry's bruised arse, and it's so much.

Louis grabs his hipbones and fucks him faster and faster, his thrusts less than steady. It's been a long time for both of them and it's driving them into a frenzy – god, Harry hasn't even had a finger in him in more than a week, and now Louis' pounding his prostate after spanking him raw. He rubs his cheek into the carpet and barely counts ten heartbeats before he comes all over himself, crying out.

Louis' fingers tighten on his hips, enough to leave even more bruises, when he spills inside Harry and moans beautifully. He pulls out before he's even done, so Harry feels his come splash against his hot arse and drip down his thighs. He can't even gather enough of himself to straighten up for it, so he's just slumped on his front with his backside a dirty mess. He's a wreck.

Louis helps him get sorted eventually. He doesn't wipe him down, but he lays him out on his side and curls up around him. For a ridiculous moment, Harry wonders if they'll stick together. For an even more ridiculous moment, Harry realises he wouldn't mind. "Daddy," he mumbles, content as ever, proud of himself and of Louis.

Louis nuzzles between his shoulder blades. "My boy," he says back, but he's more contemplative than cooing. "That was... did I go too far?"

Harry musters enough strength to shake his head and tighten Louis' hold on him. "Just what I needed, I swear."

"You always get what you want, don't you? You're such a twat, Harold, I thought you'd..."

Something unpleasant creeps up Harry's floaty buzz, and he shrinks in Louis' arms. "I'm sorry, love, I'd never. Only want you." He kisses Louis' hand.

Louis puffs a laugh against Harry's sweaty back. "Think we've established that. C'mon, let's put some lotion on your bum. You won't believe how red it is. Bloody gorgeous. I'm so proud."

Harry shivers at the compliment and rubs up against Louis' chest. "No, don't let me go. I just wanna nap for a bit."

"H, I know Beyoncé is beyond criticism, but it doesn't really sound fun to wake up in the kitchen saying how did this shit happen."

There's silence for a moment. Then, as if on cue, they both start singing, "Oh baby, drunk in lo-o-ve."

It's a pretty apt description.




With how hard they've been pushing it lately, Harry thinks they're very lucky they haven't reached the limit sooner.

Louis takes his final exam a week after the spanking and, coincidentally, a day after Father's Day. They celebrate by tying Harry up for the first time, so he's face-down on the bed with his arms bound behind his back, and it's the hottest thing in history, but Harry's got an angle.

His belt.

The thing about enjoying... this type of stuff is that it's a bit addictive. The same way Harry became obsessed with having his breath restricted, he's now still riding the high from his spanking. He wants more, wants Louis to hurt him to make it better again. Wants to spend another week in a daze, constantly checking if his arse is still sensitive.

And tonight Louis stripped Harry so carefully, took his belt off before lowering his jeans past his hips, and it made this cracking sound when he whipped it out of the belt loops. It's just a belt, it's his belt, Harry wears it every day, but right now that belt is burning a hole in his mind.

It's still right here, Harry can see it when he cranes his neck. He even thought Louis would use it to bind him but he hasn't, went for Velcro cuffs instead, so the belt is just sitting there because Louis' a slob. Harry's staring at the thing like a hawk and his brain is already three steps ahead, imagining what it would be like if Louis struck him with it. He just thinks it'll look so good, wrapped in Louis' delicate little hand, that it'll feel so good, smooth leather biting into his arse.

He's already in the right position, on his front with his hips elevated by a pillow. But Louis doesn't go near it, keeps talking about other things he wants to do. Splendid things, filthy things, but Harry just needs to be whipped. So he asks for it. He doesn't always have to be a bad boy, does he?

He digs his nails in Velcro, and fucking hell does it feel good to be cuffed like this. Harry knows how to keep his hands behind his back and not touch, but to have something forcing him like this, keeping him good, it's amazing. "Daddy," he gasps, even crossing his ankles to show Louis how good and still he can be. "Hit me, please."

Louis hesitates, but it's just to draw it out. He spanks him hard enough to have his ears ringing, while keeping four fingers of his other hand buried deep in his arse. It's fantastic, it's everything, but Harry can feel his belt buckle digging into his calf and he's just begging mindlessly, "With the belt, please, hit me with it."

Louis hesitates, but it's something else this time. He pulls his fingers out and stays quiet for a long time, ignoring how Harry's squirming for it. When he talks he doesn't sound like Daddy, he's just Louis, albeit bewildered. "What'd you say?"

It confuses Harry to hear him like this, because he's not really here to listen. He doesn't like it, starts feeling cold, kind of like he does after coming. He tries to think of his words, but he has no idea what he did wrong to make Daddy like this, so he rambles. "Spank me with my belt, please, I wanna hear it, wanna let Daddy."

Louis doesn't spank him with the belt. He spanks him with his hand and fingers him until he cries a little, not allowed to come. It's all well and good, but Louis doesn't spank him with the belt because he sort of freaks out. He doesn't let it show, not while Harry's... loopy, but afterward he gets extra affectionate and clingy, asking Harry all sorts of questions. It's not that Harry's complaining, he loves cuddles with Louis, but even right now he thinks there's something going on.

He's proven right when things get weird.

Just, the little things. When they dry-hump on their sofa with The Lion King playing in the background and Harry's on top with the specific purpose of making his bum available, but Louis doesn't spank him once. When he goes down on Louis and it's nice and all, Louis' got a good solid grip on his hair, but he doesn't push him down on his cock, nor thrust his hips up.

He can't complain. It's still sex with Louis, and he still usually comes more than once, but there's something missing. Some spice. The culinary reference makes him think of another one, vanilla, and that makes him a bit sad. Vanilla sex is awesome, but it doesn't make him feel accomplished, doesn't give him the high he craves after being especially good for Daddy.

It sounds like the actual most awkward conversation topic in the world (darling, why won't you make me gag on your cock like you used to?), so Harry tries to delay it as much as he can. He figures there's still stuff to explore on this side of kinky, isn't there?

The answer comes from Louis' body, like most good things in life. The nice weather flushed them out of the flat tonight, so they drove over to the other side of town and played football, then Harry stopped the car in the middle of nowhere because he spotted a florist shop.

He wanted to get Louis something nice for finishing his exams. He ended up buying a cactus, because it was the most low-maintenance living thing Louis could keep at the flat other than Niall (who's actually been to the Love Nest and fell in lust with Zayn twenty times over). Louis gave the cactus one look and asked, "Is it a love cactus?"

Harry beamed, said yes and kissed his cheek.

Anyway, they came home and showered thoroughly, and now they're sixty-nining on their sides with the cactus watching from the bookshelf. It isn't really surprising how much this works for Harry, getting head and giving it at the same time, and of course Louis ups the ante by slowly thrusting two fingers in him.

This is all about equality, isn't it? Trying to give as good as he gets. And when he's getting it this good… His hand is already cupping Louis' arse, has been squeezing it to keep Louis still, because getting blown was distracting enough, Harry didn't need Louis' cock driving into his mouth. So Harry moves his hand just a little and then slips a couple of fingers between Louis' cheeks and starts rubbing them back and forth.

Louis gasps around his cock and his hips jerk automatically, both having the side effect of blowing Harry's mind. Louis uses his distraction to suck him harder, take him deeper down his throat, and Harry finds himself slack-jawed with a dick in his mouth. It's very accommodating for Louis to thrust in a little, his fingers still moving in slow circles inside him.

Harry's getting determined, though. He pulls off of Louis' cock and leaves sloppy kisses all along his length, hoping Louis won't notice when Harry pops his fingers in his mouth instead. When he gets back to it, his hand immediately goes to Louis' plump arse, and he's less shy about it now. His fingertip flutters over his hole and they both make a shocked little sound, because Harry's never dared getting this far before. Of course, Louis' sharp inhale is muffled by Harry's cock, which feels fucking fantastic, so Harry decides to put a stop to that.

With more strength than he thought he even possessed, he moves back and pulls his hard cock out of Louis' mouth. It's a scandal in itself, but Harry's always been self-sacrificing like that. He sounds awed to his own ears when he asks, "Lou, can I…"

"Fingerfuck me?" Louis says, simple as that, and throws his leg over Harry's shoulder so he's spread open in front of Harry's fucking face.

Harry makes a helpless noise into the crease of Louis' thigh and grinds down against Louis' face automatically, too turned on to think. Louis' ready for it, wraps his lips around Harry's dick and tongues all over the head, no doubt tasting pre-come. Harry bites down on Louis' skin to fight the rush, but it's obviously not what Louis wants. He starts moving his own hips, silently asking for Harry to do something.

It's just outrageous that Louis' offering himself like this but then doesn't allow Harry to do a good, focused job. He dips the tip of his finger past Louis' tight rim and chokes at the feeling, or maybe at Louis humming around him in encouragement. Fucking outrageous. Harry screws his finger in to the knuckle and decides, "No, eat you out."

Louis hums again, like he actually has to consider it, and Harry suddenly wonders if he fucked up. What if normal people don't generally want tongues anywhere near their arseholes? What if Louis' just hot for Harry's arse all the time?

"Of course, baby, I wanna ride – " he cuts himself off, which Harry thinks is the real outrage of the night. Finally, he says, "I'll be on my front? And, um. Call me Daddy? If you want?"

This is when Harry becomes convinced he'll have to talk to Louis about this ridiculous pussyfooting streak. Of course he wants to call him Daddy, of course he wants Louis ride his face until he can't breathe and the only things that matter are Louis' taste and smell and weight and pleasure.

They have to discuss it. After Harry eats Louis out for the first time.

He's kind of nervous when he finally finds himself lying between Louis' legs, staring down at his arse. It's just so lovely, full and soft and curvy, and Harry doesn't know what to do with all that. So he spreads his cheeks and runs his finger over his crack again, because it seems like a start and Louis makes a pleased little sound of encouragement.

Louis calls him baby and starts to walk him through it, but Harry feels kind of wounded by that. It might be his first time doing this, but it's far from his first time doing Louis. It's nothing like his first blowjob.

So really, the first lick is more about showing Louis up than the mechanics. And hearing Louis' words trail off into a stunned silence is more overpowering than the taste, because what can you really do about that? Arse tastes like arse, that's not what makes this Experience. Harry's so pleased with himself he licks a longer stripe, gently over his hole, breathing through his mouth so he gets him slick in no time.

Louis reacts beautifully, moaning prettily and squirming under him, practically forcing him to keep going despite the fact he needs to take a breath. He stretches his tongue out and it's just the gesture that has Harry thrusting into the mattress, the familiar ache in his jaw. It's coupled with the unfamiliar sounds it gets out of Louis, high and breathy. Harry's still just teasing him, makes him wet without actually fucking into him.

It changes when Louis suddenly reaches back to grab Harry's hair and shove his face forward. It changes because it's Louis taking over, and Harry will always be needy for that. It changes because he's buried in his arse now, feels his chin and nose getting wet from his own spit, until there's nothing to do but lick inside him.

Mostly, it changes because Louis loses it. He keeps shuddering under Harry's hands, like he doesn't know whether to grind back against him or scramble away from the sensation. And he's moaning so freely, louder than ever despite Zayn being just in the next room, gasps like he'll never get enough air in. Harry can relate. He's never heard him like this.

It's always been so important to please Louis, but usually all he has to go on is Louis' praise and tender touches after, because Louis has so much control. Right now he's so loose with it, Harry can see – feel – taste how much he's pleasing him, fuck, he actually has Louis speechless and sobbing into the pillow. It's breathtaking, it's everything Harry needed to finally submit, give Louis everything he can.

He shudders himself the louder Louis gets, flicking his tongue harder against him and then going in and fucking him deep. He's got to keep a firm hold on his arse because Louis' all squirmy now, and there's something so casual about lying on top of him and licking him out leisurely, but it's like a religious experience.

Ridiculously enough, he comes before Louis even does. It's when he darts his tongue inside Louis but makes sure to keep it pointed down, and Louis makes a particularly raw noise and pulls on Harry's curls until it hurts, and it hasn't hurt in a while. That alone would've been enough to get him off, but it's the fact Louis pushes his head in and his hips back, so for a perfect, dizzy moment he really is riding Harry's face.

He comes moaning into Louis' tight arse and spilling into the sheets, but doesn't give himself even a second to ride the high before he's back to working Louis open, dedicated as ever. Louis' legs keep opening wider and wider, and Harry ends up leaning on his elbows and spreading Louis' arsecheeks as much as he can, so his big hands cover the width of them. "Fuck," is Louis' general reaction.

That's where he gets the idea, really. How easy it'll be. He pulls his tongue out and gives Louis a few flat licks, getting even closer so Louis feels hints of his teeth against his sensitive skin. When he thrusts back in he lets his thumb push as well, aftershocks wracking his own body as soon as he feels how hot Louis is, tight and wet from Harry tongue-fucking him.

Louis keens and his body gets frozen and tight, but he doesn't come, just shivers under Harry's touch. Harry decides to lift his head to check if he's alright, but he keeps fucking him with his thumb. Then he actually sees Louis' face. It hits him like a brick.

Harry's the leading expert on turning Louis on, but he's never gotten him in this state. He's wrecked, beyond beautiful, a fucking work of art. Harry's so thrown by it he's desperate to commit it all to memory, from his arched back to his flat sweaty fringe. And that's when he notices the tears, clumping Louis' lashes together prettily. That's… new. "Daddy?" Harry asks in a rough voice, but he sounds small and hesitant, like how he feels.

Louis snaps his hips back against Harry's finger and starts choking out words rather than sounds. "Keep going, keep – you're doing Daddy so good, got a gorgeous mouth on you, bet it's all wet now, fucking – got me so close, my good boy, my baby."

Harry's sure Louis can feel his blush against his skin, it feels like his face is on fire, but he's so happy he can't take it, his toes are curling. Daddy hasn't talked to him like that in a while, he's almost forgotten how good it can get. It makes him a little off, sloppy when he gets his mouth back on Louis. Louis' legs kick out a little and he moans high in his throat, just gone for it, but Harry's still the one who feels powerless, hanging on his every reaction.

He doesn't know how long it takes, hasn't been paying attention, so he's just shocked when Louis finally comes untouched. He sounds destroyed when he does, breathing out Harry's name like he's gagging on it. His body stretches out and shakes hard, and suddenly Harry can't touch him, can't even look at him, afraid his heart will burst.

He stumbles to his feet and wobbles outside, rushing to the bathroom to cool off. By the time he comes back, after washing his face and mouth and giving an awe-struck Zayn a friendly wave, Louis' still curled up and panting into his pillow. It's so raw and lovely that Harry immediately wants to go again.

When he crawls back to bed he does manage to restrain himself, and only kisses along the deep curve of Louis' lower back and nibbles on his arse. Louis makes an exhausted sound and flips over uselessly, gathering Harry in his arms and telling him what a good boy he is. It's the best.

Like any good boyfriend, Harry attacks when Louis is weak. "Lou, why don't you wanna play anymore?"

"Hm?" Louis hums into his hair, already dozing.

"Play with me," Harry clarifies. "We haven't since you broke out the handcuffs."

"I've got something planned, but I can't tell you about it."

That's interesting, if vague. "Oh, come on."

"I mean it, babe. Top secret. Lots of planning."

"So you're not, like. Not interested." He lifts Louis' heavy hand to cover his neck.

Louis snorts and rubs his thumb over Harry's Adam's apple. "Trust me, I am. But there's more important things." He brings his hand down to Harry's chest, splays it over his heart.

Harry buries his face in Louis' neck and smiles helplessly. Fine. If Louis wants to play cute, Harry will suffer through this. How hard can it be to fuck up the person you love, anyway?


Louis keeps the top secret a top secret for a couple days more, but Harry knows something is up on Friday, when Louis lies blatantly and says he can't meet him because he's babysitting for his mum. Harry knows for a fact that's not true, because his mum and stepdad visited for his graduation just last week. Harry didn't actually get to meet them, but when Louis texted him 'haha they went out and left me with the little twins because mum thinks I'd make a good DADDY', Harry was scandalised. He is the babysitting pro, how dare Louis be around toddlers behind his back? (So Harry crashed the babysitting session and spent hours playing with babies and with Louis, his two favourite things in the whole world.)

Anyway, there's no reason for his parents to make the trip again, so Louis' obviously up to something. Harry tries not to feel bitter about it, but after the weirdly careful way Louis' been treating him since the belt thing, it's hard not to get anxious.

When Louis finally invites him over, ten different scenarios play out in his head, either an elaborate scene or a Talk. What he doesn't expect is for Louis to be fully dressed – well, wearing sweatpants – and sifting through a huge amount of papers on the living room floor. (Usually Louis would complain about being uncomfortable, but now that Harry got him his own shaggy rug he can't keep him off the floor.)

"Are we getting a divorce?" he asks, dropping his keys in the bowl.

"Never, darling," Louis teases without even looking up from his papers. It's like he's trying to get them in order but only makes more of a mess. Good thing he's going to be a drama teacher. Harry's actually looking forward to the new year because he's got Louis' look all planned out. Dishevelled sexy teacher, minus sweatpants plus glasses. Harry wants all the students sweating over Mr. Tomlinson, because they'll never have him. "It's not school stuff either. Come sit down."

Harry drops his things and stumbles over to Louis, curious. Then he starts seeing the titles on the printouts. "Oh."

Safe, Sane and Consensual: The Only Way to Play!

The Edge Of Glory: Risk-Aware Consensual Kink (RACK)

The Science Behind BDSM: Understanding Is the Key To a Good Scene

Jesus. He's drinking it all in, the dozens of pages, Wikipedia articles and what looks like an actual BDSM For Dummies booklet. So much stuff that hasn't even crossed his mind, names to things he never really considered. Louis' big secret was research? Harry isn't sure if he's relieved or disappointed. "Um."

"Right, so, it's a lot," Louis starts, and he sounds a bit nervous, so Harry rests his knee over Louis'. "I know we've never really… talked all that much. About what we do. But last week I realised that's probably a shitty way to go about it."

Well, shitty's a shitty word to use, isn't it? Harry's bewildered. "We don't have to talk about it? Just because I'm, like, inexperienced – I mean, you know I love it when you get rough with me, it's cool. We don't have to – "

Louis shuts him up with a kiss, which is the opposite of shitty, so. This Harry's used to. He kisses him back with a smile and forgets for a second about the intimidating research spread all around him. Louis isn't so quick to forget. "It's not about you being young, you twat," he starts, kissing Harry's nose ridiculously. "It's about both of us being inexperienced. I still want to do all those things with you, but it just… It hit me how much trust you place in me when we play. I love that," he reassures quickly, before Harry can really dwell on the monologue turning on him. "But the last thing I wanna do is fuck up and hurt you because I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I fucking love you, you know?"

"Love you too," he replies automatically. "I wouldn't say you don't know what the fuck you're doing, though. You know me."

"That's not enough to whip you, Hazza. Let's just…" he flaps the papers around. "Think of it as a relationship thing, yeah? I hear people communicate with each other in adult relationships, even about awkward things."

Harry immediately brightens. He loves relationship things. See, Louis does know him. "Alright. What first, prof?"

Louis rolls his eyes, but indulges him with a kiss. "I want you to like, skim all of these and learn the terminology. And then we'll just talk it out. If we can't even discuss it we really shouldn't be doing it, right?"

Harry guesses that makes sense.

"Skimming" turns into an hour of heavy reading, until his mind is swimming with unfamiliar terms like edgeplay and subspace and aftercare, stuff he thinks should be in Rhianna songs. Then there are new kinks he didn't even know existed but now he's kind of… curious. So they talk it out. Limits (there aren't many), safewords (they'll stick with the red-yellow-green system they've stumbled upon), even allergies.

Although it was daunting, Harry's kind of into it now. He likes that they're dealing with it like adults, like partners, equals in the relationship even though Harry's taken the "role of the submissive" and Louis likes to be called daddy. Harry also likes that whenever he whines a little (leather butt, how is that a thing) Louis kisses him a lot.

He tosses Subspace: Mind Over Body aside and turns to Louis, intrigued. "So what did you learn about the psychology of it all?"

Louis hums. "I guess I learnt about different approaches. But like, not everything on the Internet applies? Like, when I looked up stuff about collars, there were people who really wanted to be treated like – like pets, that they got off on the humiliation, doing stuff for their masters. And that's, you know, cool for them, but I'm not really into that? Like, even if you wanted it like that, it's not something I can give you."

So many thoughts swirl through Harry's head, mostly about Louis being so thorough, but the only thing that makes it out of his mouth is, "You looked up collars?"

"Sure," Louis says, surprised. "I do listen to you occasionally, you know."

Harry's hand drifts up to his neck automatically and he gulps. "I love you, you know?"

Louis smiles and gives him a chaste kiss. "Love you too."

"Enough to hurt me a little?"

"Even a lot," he agrees. "Safe, Sane and Consensual, remember?" he waves around a booklet titled "I Love the Pain".

Harry snorts and leans his head on his shoulder. "What else did you specifically look up?"

"Um, like. Breath stuff? Breath play." Harry nuzzles his neck in encouragement. "But there's a lot of different things to read about, depending on what we, uh, do."


"Like, if you want to be gagged rather than choked."

Jesus. Harry thinks calming thoughts, doing the dishes with his mum, frolicking in a field with Hatchi. Certainly not about Louis' small, delicate hands wrapping around his throat and squeezing a little. "I think. I think choking."

Louis runs a frantic hand through his hair. "See, that's the scary bit for me. Because that's actually dangerous." He points to the stack about breath control being the single most risky SM-related play. Lovely.

"Doesn't mean we can't try it out," Harry says, shrugging. "It's not just the complete trust thing, either, it's a physical thing. When your brain doesn't get enough oxygen and the carbon dioxide starts building up you get this – high, giddiness before you pass out. So when instead of passing out you come, it's like. Euphoria." He knows how to Google too, thank you very much. "Oh, there was – in the stuff about impact play, there were like, signals? Things I'll do so you know you're not choking me. Like, you are, but not choking me. So I won't pass out."

Louis looks at him, somewhere between bewildered and amazed. "I love you."

Harry blushes violently. "You said that already."

"Well, I still do. Give us a kiss, then we'll go over the list."

Harry's more than happy to comply.

The List is a pretty comprehensive table of "yes", "maybe" and "definitely no". The point is to label the kinks by themselves and then see where they don't match, but pretty soon Harry gets confused. Like, crossing off anything involving the word torture is easy, but then there's stuff he doesn't understand.

For example, wax play. "What's that? Like, we'll wax each other's legs?"

Louis obviously tries not to laugh. "No babe, it's candle wax."

Harry's eyes widen. "Like burning candles? Won't that be hot?"

"Mm-hmm," Louis agrees, dropping a casual kiss to Harry's shoulder. "It'll sting when it hits your skin, but at some point it'll just feel good, like when I spank you for a long time. You could pick the scent, I know you're obsessed with your cinnamon candles, but I'll pick the colours. You'd make a pretty canvas, Harry."

Harry shifts on his knees subtly, and then gives in and tucks himself under Louis' arm. Louis holds him tight. "Yeah?"

"Of course. You'll be on your front with your legs tucked under you so your broad, lovely back is arched for me. And I'll drip the wax all over you, really get you marked. Even after I peel off the pretty colours, hurt you just a little bit more, there will still be red crisscrosses all over you. You'll be so pretty I'll have to take a picture and show you."

"Daddy," Harry whispers for lack of anything better to say, shifting again so his knees are nudging Louis' side and hopefully covering the fact he's getting turned on just talking about it. To be fair, he's been a responsible adult for long enough. He kept it cool when Louis talked about collars, for fuck's sake.

"I know, baby." Louis squeezes Harry's knee. "But the important thing is that we'll plan and I'll study up and check the temperature on my own skin at least twenty times before testing it on you at least twenty times because if I ever actually hurt you during a scene I wouldn't be able to live with myself. So."

He's staring hard at the paper in his hand, but Harry knows he's not really reading it. He leans up and kisses Louis' scruffy cheek sweetly. "Daddy," he says again. "You always tell me what a good boy I am but I never tell you…" He shakes his head and kisses Louis again. "You're such a good daddy. You always take care of me before, during and after, you always wait for me to catch up and ask me the colours. I honestly think you're the best thing that could have happened to me. We're talking about restricting the air I breathe. I can't even imagine doing this with anyone else, trusting someone like this."

"Wouldn't want you to," Louis says, mostly to himself.

"That's right. Because I'm your baby and you're my daddy and we're also boyfriends and I also want you to drip hot wax all over me and leave it there so I can feel it drying on my back while you fuck me."


They take a pretty long break after that statement. If Harry thought all the clinical talk about what they do would take away from actually doing it, he finds that that's not the case. They've been pretty safe and sane instinctively, probably because of the love thing. Safewords were there from the start, and Louis' ace at aftercare. Harry thinks… this whole night was about being aware of their part-time BDSM relationship, and that hasn't scared them off. So Harry can enjoy his regularly scheduled scenes and Louis can relax about it a little.

Relationship milestones are awesome.


Finishing year twelve is sort of underwhelming. It's not that he doesn't like school, but his year definitely took a turn back in February, so it became kind of… background noise. His teachers all still love him, despite the occasional first period where he wanders in freshly fucked and giddy. He does well in his exams, can pretend to be interested in universities despite how dangerously willing he is to postpone any plan to the middle of July next year.

To him, finishing year twelve only means Louis being Up To Something again. This time it's only a day of being noticeably shady before he drops the bomb.

"Babe, I've got, um. A proposal."

Harry jerks up so abruptly Louis nearly falls from his lap to the floor. "Seriously? During Made In Chelsea? Couldn't even take me to Paris and propose on the Eiffel Tower at sunset?"

Louis lets out a surprised laugh and shoves Harry back down on the sofa. "Someone's given it a lot of thought."

Harry flicks Louis' fringe out of his eyes. "Someone is more romantic than someone and needs to look after himself."

A shit-eating grin spreads on Louis' scruffy face. "You're gonna feel like such a twat in two seconds."


"Because," Louis starts, trailing his fingers over Harry's bare chest and making him giggle. "Since you finished school and I passed my exams, my proposal was to go on a romantic getaway."

Harry awws for so long Louis starts thumping on his chest in embarrassment, but he only stops so he can pepper Louis' face with little kisses. "Baby, I'd love to."

Louis' swatting at his face like he's trying to get rid of a fly, but Harry's heart is three times larger so he doesn't take it personally. He wraps his arms extra tight around Louis' back and squeezes them close together. Louis huffs. "See? Bet you feel awful."

"The worst," Harry lies. "Where should we go? London?"

Louis looks confused. "No, you said it yourself. Paris."

Harry's eyes widen and he straightens up again, less dramatically this time. "Wait, are you serious?"

"Yeah, I mean, I've been saving up a bit. Had this rich boy as a student driver for a while, and you know Zayn pays rent and I pay in love. It's only two hours on the Euro – "

Harry kisses his fucking face off, deep and hard and loving. His heart is beating overtime and his mind is kind of blank from happiness. "I love you so much. I love Paris."

Louis looks a little miffed. As much as he can with flushed cheeks and red kissed lips. "Oh, you've already been? We can go somewhere else, like. We can go to London."

"Don't be an idiot," Harry snaps, kissing Louis' cute nose. "There's going with your sister and there's going with a boy."

"A man," Louis corrects, scrunching his cute cute nose. "Manfriend, remember?"

Harry doesn't indulge him, already thinking ahead. "Think of all the places I could kiss you at! The Eiffel and Notre Dame and Versailles! I could French kiss you all over and feed you crêpes. Do you know French? Fuck, I bet you'll sound cute. Sexy," he adds when Louis glares at him. "Dead sexy. Lou-ee. Why are you staring at me?"

There's a small smile tugging on Louis' lips, and his eyes are shining at Harry like he might just be half as excited as Harry is. "I love seeing you so happy."

That's a bit embarrassing. Harry leans up to bury his face in Louis' neck. It occurs to him that a weekend in Paris means they'll be on an actual couples' vacation, together all the time, just them to entertain each other. That should make him nervous, but he's actually unbearably excited. He's ready for it. He'll have Louis all to himself in the city of love. What more could anyone need? "Well, you make me happy. Gonna be so happy in Paris."

Louis beams at him, big and sudden and happy and Paris. "You realise I'm not going to propose, right?"

Yet. Harry's convinced. He can't imagine being with anyone else. It's a bit of a heavy admission though, especially since they only just unlocked a vacation in Paris. (They also might have been playing too many video games since Harry finished school.) "That's okay, I guess I'll manage living in sin. Makes it more illicit, innit?"

"Please, this relationship is as illicit as it should be."

Harry moans loudly. "Relationship. You know that turns me on."

Louis chuckles and crawls up his body to whisper in his ear, "Commitment. Civil union. Shared bank account. Paris."

"Fucking hell." Harry's actually getting hard, Louis needs to stop moving on top of him immediately.

Of course he doesn't. He nibbles on his ear. "You're actually the strangest teenager I've ever met."

"Still wanna show me the world, don't you?"

Louis nuzzles along the shell of his ear, breathing hard. "Embrasse-moi."

Holy shit, French works for Louis' high voice. Or rather, for Harry's cock. He picks Louis up assertively and carries him to the bedroom, strengthened by kiss me and Paris. "Baise-moi."


Operation Paris takes a week to set up. Niall leaves for Ireland the next week, so Harry tells his parents they're going away for a couple of nights to have a last bro-out. Louis books them the train ride, claiming he's got it covered since they won't need to pay for a hotel. ("No, Harold, not because I'm planning to sell you. Zayn and Pezza's got a small place there they offered us." Of course they did.

Harry still felt slightly bad, since it costs nearly as much as a plane ticket. "Babe, did you forget I'm the rich one?"

Louis promptly hit his balls. "Shut up, let me feel like a sugar daddy for once. I still haven't forgiven you for buying me a carpet."

"You love that carpet," Harry protested. "We fucked on that carpet three times."

"I know, but it's so sensible. You should've bought me diamonds."

"I'll buy you the biggest rock when you propose to me on the Eiffel tower.")

It still doesn't feel real, not even when they're on the Eurostar. Louis' being annoying, too, denying Harry cuddles. Harry digs his cold fingers under Louis' collar, making him grumble. "Stop that, I swear the border patrol guy thought I was your dad."

"Please, everyone else in the coach could see it. Anyone with eyes could see it." They're going to Paris together, Harry has to say it. "Je t'aime."

Louis softens right up. He burrows into Harry's shoulder and kisses his neck discreetly. "You're insufferable."

"Nope, just unbearably cute," Harry corrects, wrapping an arm around Louis' shoulders. He sees some furtive glances from other passengers, but he doesn't really care. Louis doesn't seem to mind either. Or, well, there's still something tense about him, but he's making a valiant effort. "Hey, Lou. We made our way along the river and we sat down in the grass by the Eiffel tower. I was so happy we had met, it was the age of no regret, oh yes."

He lets the last note linger, waiting. Louis looks up at him, appalled. Harry doesn't relent. After a short stand-off, Louis sighs, of course he does, and sings back, "And now you're working in a bank / The family man, the football fan / And your name is Harry. How dull it seems, yet you're the hero of my dreams."

They burst into laughter before managing the chorus, and that's probably all the respect they should show ABBA.

It's still rather early, so when Louis gradually quiets down, Harry just assumes he's nodded off. He should probably nap as well, but he's too excited-happy-nervous to even close his eyes, so he pulls out his phone and journal to jot down some activities Louis might like in Paris. Or just the most ridiculously romantic things they could do. He wants to go all out. Versailles, Pont de l’Archevêché, Sacré Coeur, lots of food and wine… Louis… Eventually he's just doodling the Eiffel tower and runs out of space, so he leafs through his journal.

He's rather startled when Louis puts a hand on his to stop him on a Particular Page. "What's that?"

Harry blushes bright red. He desperately wants to turn the page, but Louis' fingers tangle in his and his brain sort of freezes. "Um, well. They're drawings?"

Louis sounds rightfully suspicious when he asks, "What of?"

"Well, this one's a ship," Harry explains, pointing at the old-fashioned ship he's asked Zayn to draw for him.

Louis elbows him and snorts. "I meant, what are they for?"

There's no escape. "They're like, um. Tattoo ideas."

It takes Louis ten seconds to add it all up. His boyfriend's sharp like that. Louis moves their hands from the ship to the anchor to the birds to the Hi. Harry knows the moment it clicks because Louis stiffens against him and clears his throat. "Any particular inspiration?"

Harry shrugs, bumping Louis' head off his shoulder accidentally. When he readjusts his arm around him, his fingers drift over Louis' right arm. "Well. You know."

When Louis finally looks up at him, there's shock in his eyes and he's biting his lip coyly. "Seriously?"

What can Harry say? There's no way to make "I've been planning a couple's tattoo without informing you" not pathetic. Or creepy. Or weird. "A bit."

Louis should probably make a joke now, his regular brand of humour, but instead he keeps the stunned expression on. "Do you…" He starts biting his lip again, and Harry can't look at him, not when he's staring back with something like awe. "Babe, have you really been thinking about matching tattoos?"

It feels like he's seconds away from a heart attack, but he knows what he wants, at least. "Fuck yeah. I've already got a bunch of them, we could say it's a coincidence. Just bros accidentally getting bro tattoos." He rolls up his sleeve to demonstrate, showing off his filled-in heart, the Temper Trap lyrics, the clover for Niall and, most importantly, the Pingu he got with Ed. It's not unheard of to get matching tattoos.

"But that's…" Louis still looks like he doesn't comprehend. "That's forever."

"I know," Harry says, shrugging. He's not an idiot. I just want it to be you and I forever.

Louis stares at him for another second, searching his face for something. Harry starts worrying that Louis' going to laugh him off, tell him again that he's too young or ridiculous, or worse, too invested. Harry isn't scared of how attached he is to Louis, but he's fucking terrified of Louis not feeling the same.

Finally, Louis nods like he's come to a decision. "I don't want it to be a coincidence. Don't want you getting one that… fits mine, either. We should get something together."

A huge, unstoppable grin spreads on Harry's face. Louis doesn't frown or cower this time, he smiles right back at him. He's amazing. They're amazing. "You know a tattoo studio in Paris?"

Louis hesitates. "We'll ask Zayn."

"Alright. What should we get?" He hopes he doesn't sound too eager. He's definitely keeping it cool. Doesn't even consider suggesting tattooing Louis' name to the back of his neck. That's absurd.

"Don't get too eager, Curly," Louis says, tapping Harry's knee. "We'll get inspired."

Fuck. "Fine," he huffs. "I'm inspired now, though. I'm gonna write a love song."

He grabs his journal from under Louis' hand and tucks it in the crook of his elbow, away from Louis's prying eyes. "Really? I wanna see, you never show me your songs," Louis whines.

Harry flips his fringe, considering it for a second, but no. If he couldn't sing his own songs on the stage at open mic night, he's not going to do it on the Eurostar at 10 AM. Not quite confident enough for that. "No babe, sorry. It's going to be sappy as fuck and you'll just laugh at me."

Louis gasps like he's wounded and looks up at Harry in shock. "I would never."

"No, I mean it. It's not like a sexy Lana Del Rey song about you being my sex daddy. It's gonna be about how happy you make me and holding you when you sleep and your hand fitting in mine." He squeezes Louis' hand for emphasis. "You'll throw up from how sweet it is. Just take a nap or something."

Surprisingly enough, Louis blushes a little and ducks his head. He still sounds cheeky when he says, "Fine, Daddy."

He's only teasing, and Harry does laugh and pet his hair, but at the same time it hits him. They're going to have massive amounts of sex for three days with only each other for company in a quaint little Parisian flat. He clicks on his pen.

We're on fire, we are on fire, we're on fire now


Being in another country is thrilling for Harry. It might have only been a two-hour trip, but Harry feels like they've travelled half the world. The new language and sights and smells and people, complete strangers, so many people who don't know him or his family or his age. He feels lighter, so much bullshit being replaced by joy inside him.

It sounds stupid and cliché, but he knows at least one person who shares the sentiment. Louis can't stop smiling, leading Harry along the pretty streets like he actually knows where he's going. He looks like a proper French boy, too, wearing a striped shirt and breaking out the sexy teacher glasses. Harry's so charmed he doesn't do much but stare.

Well, mostly he's overwhelmed by Louis holding his hand in the middle of the street. And getting (public!) chocolate kisses on his cheek when he buys them croissants. Getting random kisses on his mouth when they finally make it past the queue to the third level observatory of the Eiffel and Harry can't breathe from how gorgeous everything is.

It gets extreme when they piss away hours at the Tuileries Garden and Harry notices Louis taking pictures of him instead of the flowers and lawns. "What are you doing?" Harry asks, heart in his throat.

Louis smiles smugly at him, knows exactly why Harry's shocked. "I wanted pictures. You're all cute. Prettier than all these fountains."

Firstly, they're lucky no French person presumably speaks English. Secondly, "That's allowed?" Harry exclaims, and proceeds to take five hundred pictures of Louis laughing and running away from him. To make up for three months of Louis being gorgeous and Harry being forbidden from Instagramming him doing dumb things.

He still doesn't upload any of them, but he does blow his camera and phone up with ridiculous, funny or cute pictures of him and Louis. Like they're a legit couple on a romantic trip to Paris, having a light picnic in a beautiful garden. (It's not that Harry needs constant reassurance that this isn't just a fling or "schoolboy crush", but it's nice when it happens on its own.)

(x)(x)(my actual desktop how gorgeous is that fucking ros man)

Thus, the Vacation Rules:

1. Kiss as often and publicly as possible

2. Take all the kitschy pictures necessary (as deemed by Harry Harold E. Styles)

3. Visit every boulangerie

3. b) Don't buy something at every place! It costs real money!!!

Rule three is very important. Both because Harry is a pastry enthusiast, and because it's his only chance to hear Louis speak French. Despite his name, Louis doesn't actually know a lot of phrases, so mostly he just reads out menus in a decent (hellishly sexy) accent.

Harry tries to help, really, but when he teaches Louis "mon copain a une grosse bite", Louis catches on and narrows his eyes at him (probably with the aid of the scandalised squeak a passerby makes. Traitor. People should know Louis' boyfriend has a huge dick). Louis settles for "Mon copain est un idiot".

It gets kind of stressful as the day draws to a close, Harry increasingly aware of how little time they have left for this. Louis probably notices Harry getting quieter, because he starts getting more manic and clingy. "Qu’est-ce qu’elle a, 'Arry?"

They've been walking near the Seine for a while, so Louis' hair is all windswept and pretty, and his face is doing this thing like Louis can't contain how fond he is of Harry. He can't possibly correct his French. His heart hurts a little. He wraps an arm around Louis' shoulders and squeezes him to his side. "Nothing. Day's ending."

Louis wraps an arm around Harry's waist like it belongs there. "Harold, you're not thinking ahead."

Before Harry can ask what he means, Louis yells about another bakery and ducks inside, getting them a greasy bag of beignets. He's so distracted by the pastry that he doesn't even notice Louis steering him in the direction of a bridge until they stop.

And he gets it.

Louis' got them to the middle of Pont des Arts during sunset. The beautiful lights are cast on the Seine under them and the sun is glinting off hundreds of padlocks couples have left attached to the railing as a romantic gesture.

It's exactly like Harry's said. Paris is as lovely as it was four years ago, but it pales in comparison to right now, with a lovely boy standing next to him. When he turns stunned eyes to Louis, he catches him still munching on a fritter, but in his free hand he's clasping a padlock.

A love padlock.

Harry makes a pathetic little noise and points to it accusatorially. What the fuck? He spent all day busting his arse to make this the most romantic romantic getaway in history, and now Louis swoops in with his bloody love padlock and shits on Harry's efforts. What an absolute dickhead. Harry loves him so much it overwhelms him sometimes.

Louis has no excuse. Or maybe he does, but he keeps sheepishly licking his fingers clean and avoiding Harry's eyes. So Harry grabs his hand and starts licking his fingers himself, sucking the sweet filling off of them. He did it to make Louis talk, but Louis ends up just staring at him in silent awe. It didn't actually hit him how aggressively sexual the move was, and now he feels kind of bad, like he ruined the tender moment.

Then again, their relationship has been aggressively sexual from the start. He's never felt bad about sucking any part of Louis' body, he's not going to start now.

He is, however, in a very public place with quite a lot of people, so he draws Louis' hand out of his mouth and reels him in for a chaste kiss instead. They've been kissing all day, to show excitement or appreciation or happiness or just to kiss, but Harry's starting to feel like something more. Lust. He's drunk on sweets and Louis and freedom and – oh god, he's drunk in love. He's relating to Beyoncé again, something needs to happen.

"I got, um. A padlock for us to put," Louis says finally, breaking the tension.

"Gimme," Harry asks, snatching it from his hand. Fuck, Louis' already written their names in black marker with a little heart between them. It's amazing, it's so sweet and lovely and. "I want it," he realises.

"You're holding it," Louis points out, confused.

"No, I mean. For the tattoo. A heart." He looks to Louis, unbearably excited now that he's got an idea. He's still holding Louis' hand, so he raises it to his own left arm, over his elbow. "On my sleeve?"

Louis smiles at him brightly. "Bit literal, innit?"

"Exactly. I want a birdcage on my rib cage, too, but later. For us I... I mean an anatomical heart." It'll be wicked.

Louis arches an eyebrow, his fingers fluttering over Harry's bicep. "But for it to look good it'll have to be quite big."

"Well, yeah."

"Don't you wanna… wait? Until you're like, twenty?"

Harry rolls his eyes and drops his hand to Louis' waist, dragging him flush against him. "When have I ever waited for anything?"

Louis smirks up at him and plants a kiss to his lips. It's deeper this time, teasing, with Harry's hand still on him, with Louis pressed to his body. "I'll get an arrow then," Louis mutters, and grinds up against his crotch. "A big one."

"Aw, how sweet," Harry comments, touched despite how distracted he's getting.

"I know. We disgust me."

Ugh, the thing is that they are a bit disgusting, but Harry doesn't give a fuck. Louis hit him like a hurricane and it doesn't feel like it's going to end any time soon, to the point where their age gap doesn't really matter, to the point where Harry can't imagine being any happier than he is with Louis all over him. He just. He really loves Louis, ridiculous and loud and scruffy and compatible. He can't explain it. And he thinks they would have fit togethereven if they had found each other when Harry was twenty and Louis was twenty-eight.

"Wanna attach the padlock?" Louis whispers in his ear. Of course he makes the innocent sentence sound obscene. He needs to stop kissing Harry's ear if he wants him to move.

Since it doesn't seem like Louis' going anywhere, Harry compromises and just tugs Louis along when he walks to the railing. They both lock it, and the sound is lost in the breeze but Harry imagines he can hear it. Feel them locking together. Louis throws his arms around Harry's neck and kisses him again, obviously pleased with himself. "What d'you wanna do now?" he asks finally.

Harry's hands drift from Louis' waist to hook in his belt loops. "I gotta chuck the key in the river. You?"

Louis kisses up his jaw and returns to his ear. "J’ai envie de toi."

Right, it's happening, Harry's getting hard on a bridge in the middle of Paris.

He throws the key over the railing.

[psst here comes the choking]

Louis throws him on the mattress an hour later, his lips already reddened because they couldn't stop kissing on the way to le nid d'amour. He gets rid of Harry's shirt and pins him down to the mattress by the wrists, attaching his lips to the spot Harry's indicated he wanted to get their tattoo and sucking hard. Harry moans loudly, it feels like they haven't touched each other properly in years.

Louis straddles his hips more securely and works up Harry's bicep, biting hard and leaving nice bruises. "D'you wanna play or are you too tired?" Louis asks casually, like he isn't making Harry's breath hitch with every word that comes out of his mouth, every press of his lips.

"Sure you're not too tired, old man?"

Louis growls and bites Harry's neck viciously, his favourite spot. "Cheeky boy. In that case, I've got a present for you."

Even this turned on, Harry's first thought is you shouldn't have. "What kind of…" Fuck, Louis' sucking right on his Adam's apple. Harry did notice Louis hasn't left his usual amount of marks during the past week, but he didn't think it meant he was saving it all up for Paris. If he's going for every inch of his neck, Harry can't imagine how his collarbones are going to fare. His thighs.

His hips start moving under Louis involuntarily. Focus. "What kind of present?"

Louis eases off his neck with a wet sound. "Something you asked me for."

That doesn't narrow it down at all. Harry's always asking, to be kissed and spanked and fucked and more recently, tied up. But Louis already has handcuffs Harry's approved of, and Harry agreed not to push on impact play with implements, so… Louis starts nuzzling along his neck again and presses his tongue down on the hollow of his throat, and oh holy shit.

It's like all his blood rushes to his cock in an instant and he's lightheaded. "Is – is it a collar?"

Louis sucks extra hard on his skin as a reward. "It is if you're good," Louis says, breathing on his wet skin.

Fuck. That's… fuck. "I wanna."

Louis surprises him with a wide lick over his nipple, elicits a high-pitched sound out of him. "Good. Let's start with fucking your face, yeah? Maybe then I'll let you see it."

See it, not wear it. So they're building this up. It's going to be a long night, and Harry's already sweating.

He nods eagerly and starts thumping on Louis' thighs, urging him to shuffle up his chest already. Louis bites his nipple harder than usual and grabs his wrists to pin them together over his head, as Harry secretly intended. There's a part of him that likes it when Louis' predictable, because it gives him some sense of control.

It'll fade soon enough, though. The collar is new to the equation. A collar. Smooth and snug around his neck, not enough to choke him without Louis but enough to remind him of the option. He hasn't felt that high in a while, not since the last time Louis fucked him and asked him to hold his breath right before he came. Just remembering it makes Harry's chest heave.

He's all stretched out under Louis, couldn't be more inviting, but Louis seems intent on getting Harry's nipples all puffy and sensitive. He lets go of Harry's hands and gives him barely a warning glance. Harry doesn't need more to keep his hands where they are. He can run through it in his head by now, do as Daddy tells you and keep them there.

Louis rubs his beard all over his chest, leaves his skin red and burning, and then he gets off the bed completely. Harry watches silently as he takes off his shirt and skinny jeans. He doesn't know what's turning him on more, the tanned skin slowly being revealed to him or the way Louis' staring back at him contemplatively. His fingers start flexing in the sheets the longer he has to wait.

"Three things," Louis finally decides, his voice cutting the silence sharply. "Strip. Prop up all the pillows. Get your fingers wet."

Harry does exactly as Louis asked, if slowly. His fingers are clumsy over his own belt, too jittery and excited. There's also the fact he can't keep his eyes off Louis. He looks particularly sun-kissed and happy after their long day, gives Harry approving little smiles whenever he completes a step.

By the time his head is elevated by the pillows and he's got three fingers in his mouth, Louis' climbed back into bed. He looks at Harry's mouth hungrily, fuelling Harry to suck harder and shove his fingers all the way in, filling his mouth nicely. Louis doesn't comment on his efforts. "Keep going," he instructs instead, crawling up Harry's body and biting his nipple unexpectedly. It makes his breath hitch and his tongue flutter under his fingers, so he's slobbering over them.

Louis grabs Harry's free wrist and pulls it up, wraps his right hand around the headboard. Harry blinks up at Louis' tattooed chest and he has to touch him, craves the contact. He isn't supposed to stop licking his fingers, so instead he juts out his pinky and makes a tiny noise when it connects with Louis' nipple.

Louis sits up immediately and narrows his eyes at him. "Did you know there's spit running down your chin?" he asks casually, and Harry feels himself flush, highly aware of how he's getting himself dirty with his own fingers. He nods, and Louis continues. "Did you know how your big mouth looks with so much stuffed inside it? Too bad I don't have a mirror, baby. You'll have to look at how hard you're making me instead."

Ever since their study night, Harry's been trying to pay more attention to the things he goes through when they play, out of interest. It's still impossible to pinpoint Moments, like, he doesn't think he'll ever be able to think "oh, I'm starting to slip into subspace", or "this is the point of pain where the endorphins are released". But he can sort of… sense when it starts. And it's all up to Louis, really. It's the moment Louis seems larger than life, the moment he looks up at Louis and knows he's at his mercy, can have everything and nothing. For him it doesn't start with the pain or with the gentle touches, it starts with Louis' voice.

It's rather lovely, really.

It's lovely when Louis crouches over him again and kisses the tattoos on his biceps, biting on the bulging muscle. It's lovely when Louis gives him a filthy kiss on his puffy lips, touching his tongue between his slick fingers. It's lovely when Louis whispers steadily, "Remember when three used to make you gag? Look how well you're taking it now. Made yourself so good for me to use. Want me to use you?"

Harry nods to himself, biting down on his knuckles. Louis kisses his cheek tenderly, and then straightens up and shuffles his arse up Harry's torso until he's sitting on his chest. He's heavy but it's just right, just enough to press down and make it harder to breathe. Harry's oof gets tangled in his fingers, doesn't even make it past his lips. He's about to close his eyes when Louis finally gets up on his knees and takes all the pressure off his chest.

He takes Harry's hand out of his mouth and pulls it between his legs, until he splays Harry's wet fingers over his arse. Harry just keeps his hand on the soft skin, doesn't give in to the need to squeeze him. He's got other things to pay attention to, like Louis holding the base of his hard cock and aiming it down towards Harry's tingling lips. He doesn't ask him to open up, so Harry holds his breath and keeps his mouth shut when Louis starts rubbing the head of his cock over the seam of it, leaves it wet with pre-come. It mingles with Harry's spit, and that's what really gets him, in the end, the mess on his face. He loves it.

Finally, Louis taps Harry's chin and he reacts instantly, slackens his mouth until it's open wide and Louis just slides in. Harry's eyes flutter shut and he takes a shallow breath through his nose, works to keep his jaw slack because Louis doesn't give him a moment to adjust. In a blink, he's got almost all of Louis' cock down his throat, and he can't breathe, too dazed for it. His heartbeat is raging in his ears, and it's getting painful to keep still, but he's so attuned to Louis by now that he hears it clearly when he counts back from five.

He half-expects one to mean Louis shoving forward all the way in, but instead Louis pulls out entirely and lets him gasp and puff out quick breaths on his wet cock. The countdown stops, so Harry isn't really prepared for when Louis pumps his hips again and sinks back into him. Still, he's ready to work this time. He tightens his lips and presses up with his tongue, keeps it in constant motion when Louis starts really moving his hips.

He freezes when he feels Louis' hand snake to his hair and grip a fistful, tugging until his scalp is burning and it's even harder to breathe. "You're good," Louis reassures him quickly. "So still and good for me. Just wanna touch you."

Louis brushes his thumb over Harry's temple and Harry feels a tiny bit lighter. He brushes his thumb over Louis' arse in return, and then refocuses on the thick cock pumping slowly in and out of his mouth. Every time Louis withdraws, Harry trails after him with his tongue, not ready to let him go, and then hums in pleasure when Louis thrusts back in. He's faster each time, pushes deeper until Harry's throat tightens around the head of his cock, until he's really fucking his mouth like he promised.

Harry's hand is clasping the headboard more fiercely the harder Louis gives it to him, kneeling over him and cursing and fucking the breath out of him. Harry's practiced deepthroating, but not like this, not lying down with Louis fucking his face and letting gravity do the work. Louis' grip in his hair is picking up the slack when he moves Harry's head around his cock. Harry's absolutely powerless now, his mouth too full to move his tongue. All he can do is keep his lips over his teeth and let Louis control him completely. Or rather, let Louis' control wash over him, release this whatever in him.

He's past the discomfort in his neck, past his own gag reflex, past the shortness of breath. He's lightheaded and determined and good. The next time Louis pulls out to give him a breather, he's panting harder than ever, which only amps up the rush. The only thing grounding him is the strong hand Louis keeps buried in his hair, and Louis' voice, constantly buzzing in his ears. "Baby, open your eyes."

It takes him a while to open them, and even longer for his vision to clear. His mouth is still gaping. He arches a questioning brow and Louis smiles down at him fondly. He's flushed and gorgeous and so hard, hanging right against his lips. Harry wants to suck him in again, wants to suck him dry. "Want you to do something for me."

Harry blinks lazily. When Louis doesn't move, Harry nods as best as he can and rasps out, "Yeah."

Louis yanks his hair, and it jolts him, rouses him a little. Pulls him back together slightly. Louis grabs his hand then, the one spread on his arse, and clutches it so they're both squeezing. Harry thinks he gets it, that Louis wants to give Harry a little more control by letting him move Louis' hips at his own pace.

Harry is also dead wrong.

Instead of getting Harry to push him into his mouth, he's the one who pushes Harry's palm closer to his crack, and then helps him slide his middle finger over his hole. Harry's eyes widen in realisation, but it doesn't really hit him until Louis says, "Gonna ride your fingers and fuck your face."

Arousal shoots through Harry, and he hurries to close his mouth and wet his lips while his finger circles Louis' rim. Louis' still crouching over him, motionless, just watching, and Harry doesn't know if he should speak or assure him somehow of how much he fucking wants that. Instead, he pushes his middle finger past the tight ring of muscle, as slowly as his overwhelmed body allows. Louis' reaction is gorgeous: he throws his head back and grinds down on Harry's finger, wiggling his hips to get more comfortable and tapping his cock against Harry's face in the process.

Harry opens his mouth again, and that's apparently all the invitation Louis needs. Harry stills completely and closes his eyes, keeps his hand rigid and steady when Louis rests his heavy cock between Harry's lips. It's beautiful when it starts. Louis rocks forward and thrusts into Harry's mouth smoothly, but he doesn't really choke him this time because as soon as he hits the back of his throat, he pulls back and shoves his arse against Harry's finger.

Of course, Harry still finds himself choking when he feels how fucking tight and hot Louis is, how he squeezes around his finger just as Harry swallows around his cock. Louis' usually so careful with the sounds he's making, gives Harry just enough to know he's being good, but not enough to throw him off. When Harry's playing with his arse, though, all bets are off. Right now just hearing him makes pre-come slide down Harry's achingly hard cock, a grunt for every thrust forward, a moan for every sway backward. "More," Louis chokes out, pushing Harry's sweaty fringe off his forehead and wiping the tears rolling down his temples.

Harry both adds another finger and relaxes his throat more, swallows Louis deeper. Louis curses loudly and moves his hips more loosely so his pace grows erratic, and Harry's starting to sink again, overwhelmed with nothing to cling to but how Louis' taken over him. His toes curl in pleasure when Louis says, "So good for Daddy, giving me so much. Wish I could have you on my cock all the time, use you whenever I wanted."

It hurts when Harry hums in agreement, his throat fucked raw by now, but he keeps doing it because just the thought is mindblowing, Louis always filling him. The harder Louis thrusts his cock, the deeper Harry fucks into him, curling his long fingers until Louis' hips start to stutter.

Harry knows he's close from the way he twists his fingers in his hair, the way he's even more careful when he feeds him his cock. The second Harry feels him start to pull out, though, he curves his fingers down and pounds into Louis, forcing a sharp cry out of him.

Louis slumps forward when he comes, so for a few seconds he's pressing down on Harry's nose as well as filling his mouth, and Harry realises he can't breathe even before it actually starts affecting him. An electric thrill shoots through his body before the dizziness sets in, and he's climbing higher and higher and higher and he's going to come, but then Louis abruptly pulls off of him and lets him inhale.

Harry sinks into the mattress and starts sputtering and coughing, not really concerned by the unattractiveness of it because he still feels like he's flying. He regains his senses by the time Louis cuddles into him and wipes his face clean of spit and come and tears, giving him gentle kisses and whispering about how fucking lovely he is. If Harry could feel his mouth, he's sure he'd smile the biggest he's ever smiled, and he's still hard.

He whimpers pathetically when Louis kisses his bruised lips. "My good boy, so gorgeous and open for me. Ready for your present?"

Shit, Harry's nearly forgotten. He opens his eyes slowly and nods, hoping some part of his fucked-out self is conveying how much he's still into the collar. He doesn't actually notice he's got a death grip on Louis' hips until Louis kisses his biceps and massages his forearms. "It's right here, baby, I'm just picking it up to show you."

He loosens his hold bit by bit. Louis was telling the truth, he wriggles out of his arms only for long enough to grab an inconspicuous paper bag from under the bed. Harry perks up when Louis smiles at him warmly and reaches inside it.

It's. It's cute, is the thing. It's narrow and dainty-looking, with a heart-shaped hole cut out in the middle. It looks like it's held together by snaps rather than a menacing buckle.

It's so perfect Harry wants to cry again, maybe.


"Daddy," he breathes, glassy-eyed and dazed and overwhelmed and blissful. "Thank you so much."

Louis looks immensely relieved, like he thought for a second Harry might not like it. That's ridiculous. Harry draws his head up from the pillow to let Louis clasp it on him, but Louis shakes his head and puts the collar on the dresser instead. "Wanna try fingers first."

Harry automatically spreads his legs, eager as ever to finally get fucked and come, but Louis shakes his head again. "None of that. I have to pay attention now."

Louis straddles his thighs this time and runs his hands over Harry's torso, comforting little touches. He flicks his nipples gently and Harry bites his swollen lip, arches into it slightly. When Louis finally poises over him Harry stares up at his chiselled face and doesn't think of anything, content to let his mind drift.

Louis waves his hand over Harry's face, makes sure he can see it, and then he tucks it under his chin. His thumb and forefinger do the trick. Harry feels them spread over either side of his neck, right under his jaw, until the webbing between the fingers is over his Adam's apple, applying light pressure on his windpipe. Harry squeezes his eyes shut in pleasure, like he refuses to believe this is actually happening, but Louis' quick to tell him to keep them open.

He looks up at Louis with glazed eyes, focusing completely on Louis' own. He's holding him just hard enough to feel but not actually close off his airway, which is a bit confusing, but if there's ever been one thing Harry's sure of, it's that he trusts him. Louis gives him steadying eye contact and careful, careful pressure with his fingers precisely placed on his skin, and Harry gives him his breath. Or he wants to, at least.

He's even more confused when he suddenly feels Louis' other hand touching his cock. After so long without contact he arches up violently, but the pleasure is distant, minor to the way every fibre of his being is focused on Louis touching his neck. Waiting.

And then he says it. "Lean up if you want it."

Harry's eyes widen and he feels Louis' touch harden across his throat, get a bit tighter but not enough. So he leans up.

If he could, he'd scream and curse and moan, because yes, that's fucking it. The pressure on his airway starts mounting and it doesn't tingle like other times, it doesn't feel like anything physical at all. It's just pleasure and his brain fizzing out and disconnecting from everything. His eyes are swimming but he keeps them open, because disobeying Louis is an unthinkable concept. Even though he can't really hear anything but his thundering heartbeat, he sees Louis' face and knows he's counting the seconds aloud.

He doesn't know how many he reaches before Louis pulls back and lets him whimper and take in ragged breaths. He keeps his hand on Harry's skin, though, and since he didn't tell him to stay still, Harry only waits a few seconds before leaning up again, chasing his high.

However brief, the break did clear his head just a little. Before his vision starts to darken again, Harry tries to really take in everything that's going on. Louis' counting down from fifteen, Louis' watching him more closely than he ever has, Louis' pumping his cock slowly, Louis' adjusting his hold on him according to his reactions, Louis' careful and attentive and so loving and everything, he's everything. Harry looks at him and knows it's okay to let go and fly away, because Louis' completely, unquestionably in control. Even more so because he's letting Harry decide when he wants it.

He leans up more than before, so his air is cut off faster and there are spots dancing in his vision like tiny fireworks. It's building and building, but Harry only feels lighter and lighter, feels amazing and spacey, feels when Louis pulls back to give him a little but then squeezes to take it away again. He takes everything away. Harry can't feel anything, not even his own body, but he still has Louis over him and holding him and choking him. That's euphoria.

They go through the fifteen-second cycle a few more times, Harry has no idea, time a loose concept, space loose around him and in him. He's never been this deep before, but it doesn't scare him. There's no room in him for that. Daddy's turned him inside out.

When he finally comes, it's fucking phenomenal. It's a burst of pleasure more intense than he's ever felt, and even though he's coming from Daddy's fist around his cock, he leans up into his fingers so he can't breathe even through his orgasm, so he's taking off somewhere else. So that even once it stops, Harry only feels higher.

He never actually lands. Not when Louis lets go of his cock, not when he kisses his dry lips and feeds him his own come, not when he finally releases his neck. He doesn't really need the physical contact to feel amazingly, intensely connected to Louis, not after all they've given each other. Not with the trust of placing himself in Louis' fingers and working with him to find the limits of his pleasure. He's happily drifting and Louis' the only thing that can bring him back.

It's a slow thing. Louis' peppering his burning throat with kisses, spreading gentle touches all over his body, from his chest to his ankles. He's branding his skin with praise, too, words that make Harry curl up in pleasure. "Such a good boy for me, so beautiful and trusting and strong. I'm so proud of you, baby, you have no idea."

He realises soon that his orgasm wasn't even the highlight. As spectacular as it was, when Louis brings the collar back to bed and presses it into Harry's numb fingers, Harry's completely shook apart. He rubs his thumb over the leather and looks up at Louis pleadingly, finally trying to speak. It's croaky and broken and unlike he's ever heard it, but he only needs one words. Not please, not more. "Daddy."

Louis kisses his cheek and takes the collar back, gingerly raising Harry's head to wrap the straps around his neck. He slips his little finger under it before he snaps it closed, to make sure it's not too tight over his overworked skin. It's one of those tiny things that go a really long way. Even with nothing restricting his airflow, sometimes just the way Louis handles him leaves Harry breathless.

And now there's a collar on him. Claiming him as Louis', but also Louis as his. It's devastatingly beautiful.

Louis keeps soothing him, trailing kisses over his collarbones and speaking to him in a soft voice. "Looks so gorgeous on you," he says, rubbing his fingers under his chin. "I knew it would. I love you so much. I'm so proud to call you mine. Wanna hear about it?"

Harry nods helplessly. He can feel himself getting teary again, but Louis only kisses his forehead lovingly and gentles him with hushed words Harry just barely listens to. "It's made from PVC. Not because it's cheaper, mind you, but because I thought you'd like that it's not real leather, and it's waterproof." He brushes his thumb along the collar and Harry gasps when he feels direct contact right on his Adam's apple, where the heart-shaped hole has been punched out.

"Like that?" Louis asks, rubbing his thumb. "I knew I wanted one with rings, so you'd still feel my fingers on your skin even with the collar on, but I didn't like the thought of metal bruising you. Only I get to bruise you, right?" He sucks a mark into Harry's pec for emphasis, and Harry just makes a weak sound of assent, too many sensations already overflowing his body.

"So I started thinking about collars with holes in the leather, and how that might feel for you. When I found this one I just knew." He presses his lips to where Harry's skin is revealed under the hole, and Harry thrashes under him. "The hole is big enough to go right over your windpipe, so I could hold you like I did before and you'll feel my finger where you need it, instead of the leather between us. Plus, the heart is a nice touch, isn't it? I thought you'd like something cute like that."

Harry opens his mouth as if to answer, but all that comes out is this wrecked sob that makes him blush hard. He's crying freely now, ridiculously overwhelmed, but he can't help it. Louis put so much thought into it, into Harry, and it's his, it's for him to put on whenever he wants, even when he's not with Louis. To feel connected to him again. Louis gathers him in his arms and lets him weep into his chest. He keeps kissing his hair and petting the back of his neck, over the collar. "Baby, tell me you like it. You've never cried like this."

They talked about this, that it's okay for Louis to ask for help in navigating through this, because it's new to them both. Harry told him that it doesn't take away from the dominance Harry needs in the moment, and right now he's experiencing it live. He just feels even closer to him, feels that Louis cares even more. He feels so cherished he just wants to cry harder, but for Louis he manages, taking in a few hiccupping breaths and stringing together a couple of sentences. "Love it. Beautiful. Feels so nice on me. I love you. You do everything right."

Louis holds him tighter and kisses him again. "I love you so much. There's nothing in the world I want more than you. You make me so happy it's like my heart is too big for my chest sometimes. You make me so strong. Shh, baby," he hushes him when a sob tears through Harry again, and he falls apart into Louis' chest, clinging to his every sweet word. "Do you want me to clean you up? You came so hard."

Harry thinks it over, but ultimately shakes his head. "Wanna stay."

"Alright," Louis says quickly, stroking his back. "Let's cuddle for a while, and then I'll make you some tea with honey for your throat. Sounds good, baby?"

Harry nods and burrows into Daddy. "Fantastic."



The next morning, Harry wakes up satisfied, cheerful and mostly himself. He stretches out his back and rubs his eyes, running a hand over his face and then gasping when he feels the synthetic leather around his throat. Right. That happened.

Louis' dead to the world next to him, slumped face-first into his pillow. Harry knows he stayed up for a long time after Harry passed out, to check over him and go through the scene in his head. He tends to worry a lot more than Harry, almost obsessive in his need to assure himself that he did well. Harry used to think it was because he didn't trust Harry to tell him if he did badly, but he gave up on that theory. It's just a Louis thing. Harry lets him be.

Anyway, he decides not to wake him. He kisses his bare shoulder and then rolls out of bed on shaky legs, cramped from spending all of yesterday walking around. He vaguely remembers Louis saying something about the collar and a shower, but he isn't sure if it was that it was waterproof or that it would get ruined.

Whatever, he risks it. There's no way he's taking it off. He spends fifteen minutes just standing in front of the mirror and inspecting it, how it fits him so well and makes his neck look longer and prettier, how Louis managed to find the one collar that looks dainty, has an adorable heart instead of threatening spikes or whatever else there is on collars. It's perfect, but more importantly, it's perfectly Harry.

He practically skips to the shower in delight, humming to himself when he scrubs clean, washing everything but the collar. He considers buying them some breakfast, but there's still a huge part of him that can't stand the thought of straying that far from Louis, so that's out. The flat is small and cosy and quaint, which is Harry's dream come true, but it means he can't make anything without waking Louis up, either.

Eventually he just goes out to the quaint little balcony and sits down with his journal, breathing in the fresh morning air. It hits him hard and sudden, the fact he's in Paris. He can see the Eiffel tower in the distance, and the smell of pastries wafts from every direction, and he's got a perfect boyfriend named Louis sleeping off a night of the most amazing sex either of them has ever had. He's so happy he feels like he could float away.

Louis shuffles outside maybe an hour later, fluffy-haired and wrapped in a duvet. He's squinting at Harry from under his glasses, and then looks outside and sighs. He's adorable. He's also holding two cuppas Harry's highly interested in.

"Bonjour," Louis greets with an accent, handing Harry his tea without even looking. He moves on and leans his elbows over the railing, small hands clasped around his brew for warmth.

Harry blows on his own tea and takes a long sip, hoping it'll make his voice sound less raspy than it's been all morning. "Très bien," he finally replies. His voice still sounds destroyed. Louis just laughs. Whatever. "We'll make un français  out of you in no time."

"Why thank you," Louis says, flipping his shaggy hair dramatically. "I only watched Beauty and The Beast 200 times."

"Naturally," Harry giggles. He looks down at the journal spread over his lap and bites on the end of his pen. "Lou, d'you prefer it's 4 AM and I know that you're with him, or 3 AM? Three's like... more clubby."

"Go with four, it sounds better," Louis decides quickly. "Also, who the fuck is him?"

Harry smiles up, catches Louis frowning at the view. "It's just a song."

"Well, it sounds a bit sad, innit?"

Harry shrugs. "I think songs need to be a bit sad."

Louis hums like he doesn't necessarily agree. "As long as the songwriter isn't sad. I still think you need to write songs about your amazing mindblowing sex life." He walks back to ruffle Harry's hair distractedly, still looking out the balcony. "You can be the boss, Daddy, you can be the boss."

"Please," Harry snorts. "I've never seen you drink malt anything."

Louis flicks his ear at that, and drinks half his tea defiantly. "For your eighteenth birthday I'll take you clubbing and ply you with alcohol. We could have public sex like normal people."

"You… realise having sex in public will still be illegal when I'm eighteen, right?"

Finally, Louis turns to face him, scandalised. His expression softens when he gives him a good look, though.

Harry half-expects Louis to comment on him sitting with his knob out, but his gaze is stuck on Harry's neck. (It makes sense; Louis' come to terms with Harry's exhibitionism. They sort of started fucking with the door open when they know Zayn is home. Harry's still waiting to see where that goes.)

"It's still there," Louis mumbles, touching his own bare neck.

"Aren't you sharp." Harry grabs Louis' other hand and tugs until he stumbled into his lap. Thank god, practice keeps him from elbowing Harry's balls or spilling hot tea on them. Harry wraps his arms around Louis' waist and pulls him even closer, and Louis puts both their mugs away and then drapes the duvet over them. It's nice and toasty. "Is it okay?" Harry asks. "Or is it like, weird if we're not in a scene?"

Louis clasps his hands behind Harry's neck, flicking the back of the collar with his thumbs. "Whatever you want. It's really hot, actually. Why do you wanna keep it on?"

"Dunno. It's comforting, I guess. It's yours but it's mine. No one else has it. Or you. Or me. I can take it off if - "

"No, you should keep saying sweet things. How do you feel?"

It's a serious question, pointed. Last night Harry passed out before Louis could really question him. How does he feel? Like I can still feel your fingers there. Like I'd do it again for you every night. He settles for, "Spectacular."

Louis makes a displeased little sound and burrows into Harry's neck, biting on the collar lightly. A collar. His collar. He tries to be more specific. "Still a bit spacey, but like, warm and fuzzy, not cold."

"D'you need anything?"

"No, just wanna stay like this."

Louis hums into his neck. "Always up for a cuddle. What's the plan for today?"

Harry turns a few pages in his journal to his scribbled list. "Wanted to go to Montmartre, it has all these quirky little shops. Place du Tertre  is fun too."

Louis keeps humming and kissing over his collar, sinking into him. Harry just tilts his neck back to give him more room. "And marché de Montreuil is a huge flea market…" Louis trails his tongue under his jaw, where his fingers were pressing last night. Harry flushes. "And maybe go back to bed."

"Oh, I like that one, what happens there?" Louis asks, like he was aiming for that from the second he found himself in Harry's lap. Cheeky little shit.

"I carry you back inside. Put you on the bed. Kiss you."

Louis wraps his arms around Harry's neck and drapes his short legs over the crook of Harry's elbow, careful of the journal. "Go on then."

Harry will probably never be over the fact he can carry Louis places. Or pin him down or wrap around him or just do whatever Louis wants him to. Right now he picks him up bridal style and doesn't bother closing the blinds after they go inside. He dumps Louis on the bed and then jumps in after him, running his hands all over his body before Louis climbs on top of him. He gives his ear a friendly little nip and whispers, "What if I said I have another surprise?"

Harry throws his arms out so he's lying spread-eagle. "Do what you want with my body."

"Jesus," Louis says, laughing. "You're the most ridiculous boy, naked except for a collar and quoting Lady Gaga."

"You know what you can do to shut me up." He cranes his neck enticingly, the stretch making the collar tighten slightly.

Louis sucks in a breath. "I don't want to choke you that often, if you're not bothered. Gets… intense."

Harry nods, all smiles. "We'll save it for special occasions. Birthdays and anniversaries."

"Anniversaries?" Louis asks, shooting him a teasing smile. "How many are you banking on?"

Harry's so happy and blissed-out from last night, he doesn't feel like lying. "Until my neck is all wrinkly and gross and you don't even wanna give me a single lovebite."

If he expected Louis to freak out, he gets a minor heart attack from the huge smile he gets instead. He attaches himself to Harry's neck and kisses one row above the collar and one under it. "Unlikely. I'll choke you for your hundredth birthday. And since you'll be using an oxygen tank you won't even feel it."

Harry isn't sure that's how it works, but his heart is too busy exploding to figure it out. "Do it now," he whines.

"Nope," Louis says, tapping his nose. "We could try gagging you, though. Shoving something in your pretty mouth so you'll have to keep all your beautiful sounds in."

Harry stretches his legs out, lets the heat from those words rush through him. "You brought a ball gag as well as a collar? This trip was very well-planned."

Louis takes the compliment for only a second. "Not a ball gag, but there's, um. Zayn's got all these fabrics around the house since he keeps having designers over. They're soft and pretty. Enough. For you. We checked that the threads won't fall apart and make you cough, too, your throat must be scratchy."

Harry has ten questions about the logistics of that, but. "They won't leave a mark, though. You know I like souvenirs."

Louis thinks for only a second. "But you can keep the gag itself as a souvenir."

"And what? Carry it around?"

"Wrap it 'round your head like a headscarf, I don't know."

Harry giggles. "What colours?"

"Well, I actually brought them with me."

Very well-planned. "Oh?" Harry asks, keeping his mouth hanging open suggestively.

"Not for this." Louis shoves two fingers in his mouth suddenly, making Harry's eyes widen and body jump. He tightens his lips around Louis and hums, pressing his tongue up where Louis presses his fingers down. "This is for Daddy, isn't it?"

Harry nods, getting riled up just from the way Louis' looking at him, all-business now. He accidentally bites down on his knuckles, and Louis reacts by pushing them deeper. With his other hand Louis takes Harry's wrist and presses it to the other one, pinning them down to the mattress over Harry's head. Oh.

"For these," he clarifies. "Want your voice for what's gonna happen."

He pulls his fingers out and Harry gulps in air, blinking up at Louis. "What's gonna happen?"

"My surprise." Louis smirks at him, but leaves him on the bed without explaining. Harry doesn't dare unclasp his hands.

When Louis comes back he's not wearing his glasses, and he's got a long strip of fabric wrapped around his fist. It's forest green and shimmery, and might actually be silk. He spreads his legs over Harry's waist again but doesn't actually sit on him, kneels up and trails the fabric down his chest. It sort of tickles, but it's nice, gets his nipples hard. Harry likes how the colour looks against his pale skin. "Nice?" Louis asks, brushing over Harry's abs.

Harry nods and watches his muscles tighten, his cock slowly hardening. "Yeah. Is it silk?"

Louis nods proudly. "The best for my boy."

Harry puffs out his chest and beams. "And it's not even my birthday."

Louis makes a shocked sound and gapes. "Shit, you're right. I need to save something for February."

He makes a show of unwrapping the fabric and moving to chuck it away, and Harry can't stop him with his hands so he ends up whining and bucking his hips to smack into Louis' thighs. "No, I want it now. We'll figure out something else in February."

Louis shrugs and unrolls the fabric, stretching it over his upturned palm. "Somehow I don't doubt it." He stays quiet then, looking from the fabric to Harry, and Harry drums his fingers to maybe prompt Louis into tying him up already.

He's pretty shocked when Louis ends up wrapping the silk around his cock. Which is to say he gasps and thrusts up into his hand so fast he nearly knocks Louis off him. It feels fantastic, so much better than a sock or anything he used to use. It's soft and smooth, and Louis' got a tight hold around him, wanking him fast. Even when his eyes start fluttering closed on their own he forces them open, has to watch the deep green between Louis' fingers. He gets rock hard in no time, the combination of the new sensation and Louis pumping him expertly doing him in.

He curses when Louis slows down and then brings his silk-covered thumb up to the head of his cock, rubbing the pre-come around and pressing at the slit. It feels incredible, but more than that, Harry can see the fabric getting darker. Louis keeps pumping him with his other hand and getting him wetter, soaking the fabric through.

He doesn't stop, is the thing, and Harry gets hotter and hotter and tries his best to breathe, to count, to look anywhere but at his own fat cock wrapped in soft silk. He’s feeling the telltale signs and he thinks he gasps a little desperately, because Louis squeezes him even tighter and makes him arch up. "Lou."

Louis ducks down to kiss over the fabric covering the head, and Harry's sure as shit not going to be able to hold off for long. He scratches his own hands and whines. Louis sounds kind of amused when he says, "You realise this isn't the surprise, right? Just taking the edge off. You can come, baby."

Harry does before Louis even finishes his sentence, shooting into the silk and feeling his dick get wet when his come slides down. He stretches his body out in pleasure, his neck arching.

It shouldn't be surprising when Louis scoots up and presses the dirty fabric to Harry's lips, but it still is. Not enough to shock Harry, though. His mouth falls open and he reaches his tongue up to lick the silk curiously, marvelling at the texture of it, tasting his own come. Just when he starts sucking on it, Louis pulls it out with a soft, "Fucking hell, Harry."

Finally he stretches right over Harry's head and grabs his hands. He loops the wet silk over each wrist and then wraps it again over them both, so when they're joined it's the fabric that rubs together and not Harry's wrist bones. Harry leans up and kisses Louis' stomach for his consideration. Louis just laughs and kisses the back of Harry's hands.

At home they usually cuff Harry to the headboard too, but Louis doesn't seem inclined to get off the bed and finds another piece of fabric. He just presses Harry's hands down, a silent be good. Harry always is.

Louis moves back down his body and just gives him a long, admiring look, like he's only now waking up properly. "Fuck, do you have any idea how good you look right now?" He kisses him, sudden and hard, licking into his mouth and biting his always-sensitive lips. "So happy you're mine. Got a collar on you and everything. My gorgeous boy."

Harry feels warm all over, glowing. He only barely notices Louis bringing the lube to the bed, a tube they brought from home because they didn't trust French brands. He spreads his legs serenely, come-dizzy, but Louis doesn't move between them after getting his fingers slick. He stays hunching over Harry's middle and staring at his collar. Harry isn't one to refuse Louis' attention. He looks right back, admiring Louis' beautiful eyes and high cheekbones and wild, long hair.

Then Louis makes the softest of sounds, and Harry's eyes snap down faster than lightning. Oh, god. Louis didn't plan on fingering Harry at all. He can't really see it, but Louis' definitely got his fingers in himself. Harry's throat is completely dry as he watches, his brain struggling to take in the full picture because it's just too much. He's hard again in a bloody instant.

Louis' biting his lip prettily and there's a nice flush high on his cheeks, where his lashes are sweeping down. Harry guesses he's started thrusting his finger in, because his chest is heaving and his cock is hard and flushed and curved up. His tattooed bicep is bulging when he stretches his arm back. Harry's never struggled more to stay still. He wants to run his hands over Louis' sides and feel his curves and have him grind against him. He wants to kiss his pink lips and reach around and feel what he's doing.

As if he's been reading his mind, Louis grits out, "Wanna see?"

Harry blinks, still fascinated by the quick, practiced way Louis' swinging his hips. "What?"

Instead of bothering to answer, Louis swings around so he's not facing Harry, careful both not to kick him in the face and to keep his finger in. Only. Harry's jaw drops. He's three fingers in. His thumb and pinky are spreading his lovely arse and he's fucking himself on three of his thick fingers. It's ridiculous, but Harry's awestruck, feels like he's the one bouncing on three fingers. "Lou. Three."

Louis laughs breathlessly, maybe at Harry's reverent tone. "Have you seen your cock?"

Harry glances down automatically. Alright, it does seem intimidating this hard, but that's no reason to give Harry a heart attack. Louis' back is curved beautifully so his perfect arse is jutting out, and his fingers are moving fast, his tattooed, delicate-looking wrist twisting every now and again. Harry's pulling on the silk so hard it's bound to rip apart soon.

It takes him a few seconds, but then what Louis' just said hits him. Hard. He curses loudly and his cock twitches, right under Louis, because holy fuck, he's going to fuck Louis. Louis laughs again and puts his free hand on Harry's thigh, digging his short nails in. "Alright, baby?"

Harry gulps dumbly, can't stop staring at Louis' graceful body. "I…" He has no idea what to say. How is anyone meant to communicate with all this in their lap? "Daddy."

Louis looks over his shoulder then with the mother of all smirks plastered on his face. His hair is wild from all the bouncing and he's a bit red and a lot beautiful, pupils blown and – he just looks so smug, like he knows exactly how needy he's making Harry. His fingers start moving faster, slamming into himself more impatiently than Louis would ever get with Harry. Harry's sweating and he hasn't moved a muscle in ten minutes.

Finally, Louis turns back around and stops fucking himself for long enough to drizzle more lube onto his palm. He looks hesitant for a second, and then instead of tucking his fingers back inside himself he wraps a hand around Harry's cock. He strokes him fast from base to tip, and Harry's already five steps ahead, consumed by the thought of burying himself in Louis' arse and fucking into him. The only thing that could distract him is Louis' voice. Of course he starts talking. "You wanna be a good boy? Do what Daddy says?"

Harry nods helplessly, squirming under Louis' touch because it's getting progressively harder to focus. "Yeah."

Louis grips him just that much tighter. "Don't come before I'm done. Think you can?"

Harry looks up, kind of panicked, but Louis' looking at him encouragingly. Maybe… maybe he can. After thoroughly losing every ounce of his other virginity, this shouldn't be that much of a shocker. After all they did yesterday, he can't disappoint Louis now. After all they’ve done in this relationship, he can't not give Louis a good ride. "I can."

Louis gives him a wide smile, and it's the best reward in the world.

Okay, no, the best reward in the world is when Louis squats over Harry's waist and aims his cock up. They're both holding their breaths, Harry thinks, clenching the sheet under his bound hands. And then it's showtime.

It's the slowest Harry's ever seen Louis move. He can feel Louis' thighs tensing and quivering as he sinks down, taking the head of Harry's cock and then a couple of more inches before he stops and throws his hands on Harry's chest, hanging his head low.

It's a shocker. It's… Harry couldn't have imagined it this good. Louis' so tight around him, enveloping him in heat and pleasure and fuck, how does Louis do this all the time, Harry feels like he's on fire.

Louis catches his breath for a few more seconds, and then he finally takes Harry in all the way and settles in his lap. He's struck dumb, it seems, just sits and breathes harshly and blows Harry's fucking mind. When he looks up there's a dark look in his eyes, fierce and hungry. His lips are wet and swollen from how hard he's been biting them, and Harry's staring at them so intensely he almost misses Louis actually speaking. "Be good."

Louis starts moving for real then. It starts small, teasing, when he grinds his hips back and forth. It's not enough friction to make a difference to Harry, but it makes a big difference to Louis, going by the high-pitched little moans he's letting out and the way his eyes get more unfocused. Harry can't believe he gets to watch this, feel this.

When Louis lifts up and slams down for the first time, Harry throws his head back and their moans mingle together beautifully, breathing out each other's names. Fucking Christ, Louis' tightening up around him, giving him unbelievable friction that just doesn't stop, even when Louis does. He's so overwhelmed he can't breathe, but he has to focus, has to last.

The only way to distract himself from how good Louis feels is to drown himself in how good Louis looks. How his abs clench when he bounces up, how he gets more sweaty and breathless by the minute, how he has so much control over his body, taking just what he needs from Harry. He wishes he were half as graceful when the positions are reversed.

Harry's efforts are completely derailed when Louis starts talking. It's like a whole different vocabulary this time. Instead of a measured tone, Louis' voice is high-breathy-beautiful, and instead of telling Harry how tight he is, he opens with, "Fuck, such a big boy, feels so good inside me, can't believe how long I waited for this."

His voice gets shakier the harder he rides him, but he doesn't stop whispering, not even when he strokes his cock so fast and punishing that his tattoos look blurry to Harry. He's not even making sense anymore, just loud yeah and fuck and give it to Daddy. It's nothing short of a miracle that he comes before Harry's head explodes.

Louis' as beautiful as he always is when he comes, that one perfect moment he can't control. His mouth gapes open and he's startlingly loud, three whiny inhales and then a long moan and he starts spurting over his belly and tattooed hand, clenching around Harry's cock like a damn vice. Harry's gagging for it by now, but he's transfixed, has to watch Louis fuck himself on his cock. It's something that should always be burned on the backs of his eyelids.

Louis' hair is hanging over his face and he's still letting out these tiny, overwhelmed sounds. He opens his eyes slowly and must see how desperate Harry is, because he leans down and spreads his come-covered palm over Harry's mouth, getting his lips and chin wet. Harry just licks up with the flat of his tongue. It's not about the taste, it's about Louis giving him something, something familiar in the middle of this brand new experience.

His eyes flutter shut gratefully and he tilts his head up, opens his mouth just a little wider, trying to tease Louis' fingers into his mouth just to have that moment, just to suck on something so he could come his brains out. He's been on the edge ever since Louis sank down on top of him, it's dizzying and lovely and he just needs something to push him over.

So Louis takes his hand away, leaves him dirty and panting. Harry whines a little in protest and opens his eyes, only to find Louis staring down at him, unimpressed and devastatingly controlling. "Did I say I was done?"

Before Harry can even figure out what that might mean, Louis lifts off his cock completely, and then bears down fast and hard, squeezing around Harry and making him cry out. He's just – fuck, he's just going to keep riding him. Harry's hands twist in the sheets and his heels dig into the mattress and it's about all he can do, really. The rest is just taking the impossible heat of Louis' body and the friction on his cock when Louis grinds and grinds and grinds.

He wants to come so much it hurts, but Louis still isn't done torturing him. He might be going for a second orgasm, and oh, when Harry thinks about that he can… focus. "Daddy," he rasps. He just wanted Louis' attention, didn't mean for him to moan and rock down harder on him. "Fuck, Daddy, wanna be good."

"Yeah?" Louis gives him a long look, trying to decipher what he meant without stopping the movement of his hips. Of course he gets it. He always does. He plants his knees on the bed and puts his hands on his thighs, steadying himself. "Wanna fuck me good?"

Harry just nods, doesn't trust himself to speak. Louis slowly pulls up until just the tip of Harry is inside him, and then he looks at him with challenge in his eyes. "Get your knees up for leverage and push up when I come down. Meet me in the middle, love."

Harry raises his knees enough so he can plant his feet on the mattress, and then waits for Louis to nod before thrusting up. It tears a beautiful sound out of Louis, and his brows furrow like he's trying to focus. "Good boy. Harder now, don't be shy."

Harry bites his bottom lip and flushes, but when Louis bears down the next time, Harry slams into him so hard he nearly topples over. That's a beautiful sound. Louis moans raggedly and keeps nodding, more to himself than to Harry, mumbling for more and moving his hips back and forth and around, lets Harry do the work even though he's on top.

Harry fucks into him and he knows his pace is sloppy, that he can't stay in control of his own movements when he's so overwhelmed by everything. Still, it must do the trick for Louis because he slumps more and more over Harry's chest, starts to really lose it. He's panting and his fringe is sticking to his forehead, jostled every time Harry snaps his hips.

He's slightly alarmed when Louis gets deathly silent all of a sudden, practically vibrating over him with the force it takes to stay perfectly still. And then he breaks apart. "There, fucking – fuck, keep going, keep – there, right – Harry."

Jesus Christ, how can Harry not repeat whatever just happened? He's anything but timid now. Louis' arching back against Harry's knees and keeps cursing and moaning every time Harry rocks into him. Harry moves faster and faster, doesn't wait for Louis to sink down before pumping up, and Louis just works himself over his cock frantically.

He's not talking now, just gasps and trembles over him. Harry would give anything in the world to touch him, but it's somehow better with his arms outstretched behind him. He likes feeling helpless, likes feeling like he doesn't deserve to put his hands on Louis when he's like this. Likes feeling pushed.

Louis comes untouched, and he thinks they're both astounded by it. Louis' even more gorgeous the second time around, suspended in the height of pleasure for what, to Harry, feels like days. He throws himself back on Harry's knees so his torso is all stretched out, tight muscles and tattoos on display, and he comes and comes, adding to the mess already on his belly. He sinks down heavily but Harry keeps going, thrusting up and making Louis choke out more sounds.

He doesn't think he could stop. Just watching Louis has Harry close to tears, he's aching to come too. He might even be begging, he doesn't know, all he can hear is Louis Louis Louis. He's been so close for so long that he's afraid he couldn't come, will have to wait for –

Louis lies down on top of him, so suddenly Harry's cock almost slips out of him but not quite, and then he kisses Harry's lips, steals the gasps right out of his mouth. There's no friction on him but it doesn't really matter at this point, Harry doesn't need that to come. He's one step closer when familiar words start spilling in his ear sweetly. "You're so good, weren't even trying, were you? Did Daddy so proud. You've earned this."

He finds just the right button to push for Harry to finally lose it. Harry's nearly forgotten about the collar, too caught up in everything else, until he feels Louis slip a finger under the strap resting on the side of Harry's neck. The leather starts to slowly tighten against his windpipe and Harry can't even make an appreciative sound, can't do anything at all when his vision starts swimming again. Anything but come inside Louis.

He's pretty loopy for a while after, but definitely not as long as yesterday. When he comes down, Louis' already released his hands and is busy rubbing his thumbs into his wrists to help his blood flow along. When Harry looks down, he sees that he's bruised dark purple, which never happens with the Velcro. He fucking loves it. He always cherishes his marks, but this time it's a sweet reminder of a particularly sweet moment. "Jesus Christ," he mumbles.

He just fucked Louis.

Louis looks up when he hears Harry's back. He's instantly all over him, leaning on his chest and kissing the side of his mouth. "How are you doing, love?"

"Fucking brilliant. That was good thinking, with the." He rubs his numb hands over the collar. "Might just be my button."

"An instant orgasm button? Are you actually an android?"

Harry giggles and makes robot noises. "Were you always this funny after and I was just too under to notice?"

Louis rolls over onto the mattress, taking the pressure of Harry's chest. "So you're not under now?"

Harry considers it, trying to put his thoughts in order. It's quite hard with Louis looking more fucked-out than he's ever seen him. "Don't think so. Maybe I always am a little, but not a lot right now."

Louis immediately sinks into the bed, probably relieved that he doesn't have to take care of Harry right now. He changes a little, lets his ragged panting sound more obvious, lets his muscles relax and his eyes droop a little. Harry's amazed, keeps thinking back to what Louis' said, how he waited for this.

"How are you?" he asks, a lot more interested in that.

Louis makes a breathless sound and shivers, looking pleased as anything. "Fucking sore, to be honest. I've gotta start working out more, my thighs are killing me. How do you do it all the time?"

Harry laughs way too loudly. "Ah, you forget I have youth on my side."

"Now who's being funny?" Louis waves a clumsy hand and tries to poke his nose, but Harry's quick enough to bite his fingers playfully instead. He's fascinated, like he always is after they try something new. He goes to touch Louis' thighs, maybe give him a little massage, and Louis curls into him instantly, extra clingy. "Fuck, I wanna have a smoke."

"Filthy habit," Harry claims, frowning.

Louis nips his shoulder sleepily. "Gimme a break, I just had my brains fucked out."

How brilliant is that? Harry beams to himself. "Your brains?"

Louis scoffs. He's being a lot less careful with Harry than he usually is after, and Harry wonders if it's because he senses Harry doesn't need it, or because he's really out of it. "Did you miss the part where I came without touching my dick? That was top-notch." He looks at him finally, and a big smile spreads on his sweaty face. "You're a lovely shag, Harry Styles."

Harry's face is flaming. He wants to bury himself in the mattress, he's so pleased. "Thanks. Learned from the best and all that."

Louis ruffles his hair, scratching him pleasantly. "Gotta say I don't like feeling this useless. I'm gonna take a shower. I expect kisses when I come back."

Harry puckers up to show just how willing he is. Louis gives him a smacking kiss and then stumbles to his feet, swinging his hips ridiculously. Harry wonders how long he'll be uncomfortable for. Harry's also staring at his arse shamelessly. He just fucked that. Maybe he's still dreaming.

He pulls himself up the bed to rest on the pillows comfortably, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt a little. He fucked Louis and made him come twice, one time without even touching his dick. Top-notch. He feels like a sex god again.

Thankfully, Louis comes back before Harry has to get up and text Niall about his sort-of-virginity-losing. Harry spreads his arms and Louis makes a show of rolling into him and jutting out his chin, cheekily asking for attention. Harry kisses him for what feels like hours, until they're both giggling breathlessly. They only stop when Louis yawns loudly and cutely. Harry kisses his nose. "I vote for a nap. Then food."

Louis nods approvingly. "Then… maybe another go?"

Like he's going to say no to that. Still, for appearance's sake, he whines. "Lou, we're gonna miss out on Paris."

"Hazza, it's the city of love, innit? We're supposed to make lots and lots of love in it."

And how is he supposed to say no to that? "That's almost poetic."

"What can I say? I'm in love."

Harry's always been a little weak for that. Honest, open adoration from Louis. He feels it so fiercely for Louis all the time, even more since they came here. It's a bit astounding to think even half of it is reciprocated.

But he believes it. It wouldn't work otherwise. They wouldn't work so well if they weren't head over heels, wouldn't do the things they do if they weren't… forever. There's a padlock with their names on it somewhere in Paris, and there's going to be a heart on Harry's sleeve to match Louis' arrow, and one day there might be rings on their fingers, and Harry will feel as settled as he does right now for the rest of his life.

It doesn't feel that far-fetched.

He curls up around Louis and lets his eyes drift shut.


For Harry's eighteenth birthday, he gets Louis Tomlinson. He gets to take him home and he gets to hold his hand and he gets to change every display picture on his phone to their most sickening picture from Paris and he gets to brag to anyone who will stand still for more than two seconds.

He gets to have it all.

Harry Styles was always meant for greatness.

Chapter Text

Louis' life is about to be over. He can hear the clock ticking. He can smell the end. It smells like a receding hairline and impotence.

It would have been easier to ignore if everyone else hadn't known about it too. His sisters have already called to make plans, and his mum subtly started asking if he and Harry needed something for the house. The faculty all pitched in to buy him a massive cake from Sainsbury's. The rumour even got around to his students, horrifically enough. A minute before the bell rang, they all circled him on stage and started singing, even Isabelle, who's rather disdainful toward actually performing. Louis wishes they didn't keep such close tabs on him. It's really hard being the most beloved teacher at school sometimes.

"Big three-o, eh? Are you planning something special with Harry?" Greg asks during lunch with a friendly smile.

Louis tries not to appear as annoyed as he feels. He cracks a joke about being a neglected Christmas baby and stuffs his mouth with cake to avoid talking about his deathday or about Harry. Not that he doesn't appreciate the interest, or the fact they all remember Harry's name. It took them some time getting there. Well, time and a crisis.

During his first year at this school, Louis was still in the closet, and one time during lunch he heard one of the biology teachers, a young woman, gossiping about how one of her students was a fairy and she hoped to set a better example for him than his parents who let him "get that way".

Louis overreacted so spectacularly he came out to the faculty and started an LGBT soc for the students, accidentally walking ten awkward and amazing teenagers through discovering their sexual identities. Not that he thought he was qualified to take such a role, but every time he was unsure about something, he just said what he thought Harry would say. (Harry was so proud of him he felt like a fucking superhero, when usually Louis' the one admiring Harry. He's changed over the years, got wittier, sharper, smarter, found things to care about. Sometimes Louis feels like he's just trying to keep up.)

Anyway, Louis' hoping Harry might have forgotten about the birthday. He knows it's unlikely, since his partner has a knack for dates and special occasions, but maybe he forgot the fact Louis' turning thirty.

Louis shivers at the thought, Peter Pan syndrome in full force. This is it, from now on it's counting backwards. It's about buying a sensible car and having polite sex with the lights off and talking about how England has gone to the dogs.

It's about Harry dumping him.

He's kind of expected it. Has been gearing up towards as the date drew closer. He's trying to shut Harry out, not texting unless it's absolutely crucial or hilarious or both. Limits himself to ten kisses per day.

It helps that he and Harry aren't actually speaking right now. They got in a huge row two days ago, mostly because of Louis. Harry was trying to bring up the birthday, hinting at some big surprise he's been planning, and Louis sort of snapped and asked him if he was sure he wouldn't be too busy with recording.

It escalated from there, until Harry was yelling at him, "Why are you making me out to be so flaky? You're the one who won't even hear about starting a family!"

Louis' pretty shitty in conflicts. "Well you're the one going on a bloody national tour with fuck knows who for fuck knows how long!"

Harry's face crumpled and he took a long step forward, but Louis took one back. "Lou, you know we'll figure it out, where is this coming from?"

"I don't know anything, alright?"

It wasn't alright. It wasn't alright when Harry slept on the sofa and it wasn't alright when Louis sneaked out the next morning three full hours before his first class.

And now it's the last day before Christmas break and everyone and their mother wants to know how Louis' dealing with withering and dying. It's fucking bullshit.

He's walking as fast as he can to his office, needs to just grab his things and go home and draw a bath and make up with Harry and eat anything but cake. He nearly has a heart attack when he opens his door and there's a person already inside.

Of course it's Harry.

"Hi love," Louis says with a smile, before remembering they're in a fight and dropping the delight from his face and voice. He's not at all excited to see him. He's Upset.

Harry looks back at him carefully and leans back against the desk. He's holding up a red apple like a peace offering, or the biggest cliché in teaching history. Harry's always had a little Snow White in him, even during the summer they spent in LA getting tanner than any Englishman has a right to. "Hi, um. You forgot it this morning."

He gestures to the desk, where there's a neatly wrapped sandwich. Even yesterday, Harry's made sure to prepare him lunch for school. Blood sandwiches of passive-aggressiveness, sure, but Louis still took them. Until this morning, when he woke up to a text from Lottie about thirty balloons and nearly threw up.

He's still not sure the apple, or his posture by the desk, is an accident. As if Harry could pass up on a good cliché. However this conversation goes, Louis' pretty sure he'll be fucking Harry on his desk before long. Good thing he locked the door as soon as he saw Harry. "Thanks," he says, taking a measured step toward Harry. "I didn't mean to, had to rush out. Sorry."

"It's okay," Harry lies. "You were too busy being weird, I understand."

Louis crosses his arms over his chest, automatically standing taller. "Were not."

Harry arches an eyebrow. "You wanted me and Niall to go on a lad's trip to Fiji, Louis."

He knows he's being disgustingly petulant, but he shrugs anyway. "It's a nice place."

This must be Harry's tipping point. Fighting with Harry is a delicate, horrible art, because even when he's visibly and loudly upset, he'll stay sweet and kind and non-confrontational, up until the very last straw. He straightens his back and takes a step closer to Louis so that he's practically towering over him. "Louis, you can't just chuck me to a remote island because you're going through something. Fucking man up and talk to me."

Harry's last straw is usually what breaks Louis, as well. He's always just looking for a reaction. Once he gets it, he's more than ready to crumble and spill his guts and beg for a cuddle. "I'm turning thirty," he whispers, mortified.

Harry doesn't do anything. He doesn't gasp or clutch his chest or run out. He just furrows his brows and says, "That's usually what happens after you're twenty-nine for a year."

Harry doesn't hear it. The thirty is underlined with and I have a twenty-three hot piece of arse boyfriend. Louis looks down while he gathers his thoughts, but Harry takes two strides and he's there, tilting Louis' chin up and looking in his eyes. Louis can't hide anything when Harry looks at him like that, he just blurts it all out. "I know the age difference was hot for you when I was twenty-five and skinny, but now I've got, what, just ten more years of good hair and twenty years of proper penis functions, and I'll start getting lines, god help me, don't you get that it's downhill from here? You should just save yourself and go to Fiji and fuck a groupie."

So this must be the most pathetic he's ever let himself be with Harry. He doesn't even mean half of it. He'll kill Harry's entire fanbase before he goes near a fuckable groupie, and he knows he'll have good hair for at least fifteen more years. But he hasn't talked about this ache in his chest with anyone, so if he's opening up, he's doing it proper.

"What in the name of fuck are you talking about?" Harry asks after a long silence, his eyes wide in shock. He opens his mouth to say more but ends up grabbing the front of Louis' button-down and hauling him in for a kiss. It was probably meant to be bruising or punishing, but Harry gives it to him soft and slow, a bit relieved. Louis relates; it's been two long days. He completely forgets all the shit he's just said and wraps his arms around Harry's neck, leaning into him and deepening the kiss.

When they part, they're breathing heavily, and Harry gives him a good smack on the bum. "You knobhead. You thought after five bloody years the magic will fade just because you're turning thirty?"

"Well, yeah," Louis persists, looking down at Harry's neck instead of his eyes.

Harry shakes him a little. "Do you even know me at all? If in some dystopian universe we weren't together, I'd be trolling for forty-year-old divorcés with a minimum of two children."

Louis startles himself by laughing so hard his stomach aches. Because he can see that. In some dystopian universe where he can even conceive of Harry being with anyone but him, he can see him becoming best friends with random children and ensnaring their parents with his cute arse. "Harold," he manages to say, but then just starts laughing again. All the stress of the past few weeks is being lifted at once and he feels oddly light. And dumb as shit.

Of course Harry's right. He just needed to hear him say it. "Fine."

"No, I didn't sneak into a school for fine. Say it," Harry insists, nudging Louis' fringe with his nose.

Louis rolls his eyes and clears his throat. "I'm sorry for being dumb, I love you more than anything ever, I'll try to give you more than twenty years of dick."

Harry leans back so Louis' hit by the full force of his smile. He gives him a smacking kiss, obviously a little pleased. Louis knows he's still got some grovelling to do, but it's a start. "There are pills for that, you know. And I'm sure in twenty years we'll all have robotic dicks anyway."

Oh god. Louis pushes him away for being ridiculous, and Harry stumbles back into the desk. He keeps holding Louis' hand, though, so when the does a little tour around the office, he drags Louis along with him. "D'you know, I've been going to your functions and barbeques for three years now, but I've never actually been in your office?"

"Really now?"

Harry surprises him then by pushing Louis into his swivel chair and pinning it against the wall. He then hops on the desk, legs spread on either side of Louis. There's a foot of distance between them, but Louis' already thinking ahead to pulling Harry into his lap. "You understand we'll have to fuck here, right?"

Louis shrugs, like there isn't heat already pooling low in his gut. "I figured."

Harry pulls up a long leg and places his boot on one of the handles of Louis' chair. Louis can't help but stare at his crotch. When Harry started the band at nineteen, he got it in his head that he had to wear skinny jeans everywhere, and in the four years since then, they've only gotten skinnier. It wasn't Louis who planted the idea, but he's definitely reaping the benefits. "D'you know something else?" Harry asks, making Louis turn his eyes back to his face. "A funny thing happened when I tried to find this office."

This is Harry, so a funny thing could range from "I saw a cloud shaped like a wang" to "I rode in on horseback and then it slipped on a banana peel". He seems like he's getting at something, though. "Oh?"

"A few students recognised me and came up to chat." Even under the illusion of making a point, Harry smiles at the memory, adorably astounded by the fact he's actually famous now. "They asked me what I was doing here, and when I said I came to visit you, they said the strangest thing. Oh my god, are you actually his husband?"

Oh shit. Louis might be blushing. He's got one foot in the grave and he's blushing. "I… might have told them I was married to Harry Styles." Harry widens his eyes and gapes like he hadn't actually expected that answer. "Just the soc. I needed to establish my superiority so they'd respect me as their leader in gayness. Plus I wanted to brag."

Harry looks utterly delighted. His face has always been expressive, an open book, and it's lovely during sex and infuriating when they fight, but right now it's breathtaking. Harry beams at him and ducks his head to be cute. "Lou, I think... we should go to Paris for New Year's."

Louis stares. "Do you mean – "

Harry just nods, tugging on his lip. Louis sucks in a breath. "H, you're twenty-three."

"Almost four. What does it matter?"

"You've got your whole life ahead of you."

Harry shrugs and smiles at him. "And I wanna spend it with you. For however many years you have left. I'm not raising children out of wedlock."

Harry Styles, fucking twelve steps ahead. "Babe, that's insane."

"Don't make me do this," Harry says, suddenly determined. He slips to his knees between the desk and Louis' chair, looking up at him.

It's so familiar, but it still takes his breath away sometimes. Harry's wearing the headband Louis got him for their last anniversary, so his fluffy hair is pushed back and his whole face is focused on Louis. "You can't solve everything with cocksucking."

He half-expects Harry to say I can try, but then Harry smirks at him and reaches inside his jeans pocket. "You're gonna feel like such a twat in five seconds."


And then he pulls out a ring.

"Oh my god."

Harry takes a deep breath. He is on his knees holding a ring. "Louis Tomlinson – "

"Oh my god," Louis yells, snatching the ring from Harry unceremoniously to inspect it. "Harold, what the fuck."

Jesus Christ, it's a simple platinum band with infinity symbols looping all along it like Louis' wrist tattoo and Harry's ankle tattoo. Unlike them, the symbol breaks at one part and there's an H&L engraved there. It's sentimental and one of a kind and motherfucking gorgeous. He slips it on his ring finger automatically to check if it fits (it does, obviously). He pushes it with his thumb until the H&L is on top.

He's startled out of his scrutiny by Harry gasping helplessly. When he looks down, Harry's big eyes are wide and a bit teary, and he's staring at Louis' hand like he's seen god. And then he punches Louis' shoulder hard. "Louis, you absolute cock, how could you just do that?"

Louis gapes at him and rubs his shoulder with his ringed hand. "What the fuck did I do?"

"You just put it on! Didn't even let me propose!" Harry wipes at his eyes angrily, and Louis loses touch for a moment because his stomach drops because Harry's right because Harry's engagement ring is on his finger right now fucking hell did he just get engaged?

"Harry, I – shit, what do I do? Do I take it off?" he sounds panicked and there is a ring on his finger that attaches him to Harry for infinity. For when he's thirty and Harry's twenty-almost-four and when Harry's thirty and Louis' still-twenty-nine-because-birthdays-are-just-an-arbitrary-concept and when their children are thirty and Prime Ministers of Space.

"No, oh my god, leave it on if you wanna marry me," Harry rambles, probably the fastest Louis' ever heard him speak.

"Of course I wanna marry you, don't be an idiot," Louis says immediately, and only a second later realises that fuck yes, he really fucking wants to marry Harry. It even rhymes. He's the real songwriter in the house. His stomach sinks even lower. "But I didn't even get you anything."

"It's not Valentine's Day, you don't have to get me something. Just let me do it right, you bumhole."

"Yeah, alright," he mumbles, getting more and more overwhelmed by the second. It's actually happening. He rolls the chair back to the wall and stands up in front of Harry, lightheaded.

Harry smiles up at him approvingly and brings up one knee. He clears his throat. "Louis Tomlinson. Five years I've been in love with you, two albums I wrote for you, seven rings I may have secretly bought you and ten million times I wanted to propose." He pauses like he's making sure he remembered his lame speech correctly, or maybe because Louis' getting a bit teary himself. "I know you're afraid of getting old, enough to send me packing to Fiji like a fucking idiot, but I also know you shouldn't be because I'm not. I intend to grow old with you and raise kids with you and fuck you when we both have erectile dysfunction." Louis opens his mouth to protest, but Harry slaps his knee in warning. "I know we don't know what's going to happen with the band, either, but I'm just not worried because... You're all I want, so much it's hurting when we're apart. I never wanna be apart again. So even though this was supposed to happen on top of the Eiffel on New Year's Eve, I think you should marry me anyway."

Louis' been biting his lip hard throughout the speech to stay quiet, but when Harry gives him a hesitant nod, Louis opens his mouth and starts shouting, "Yes, Jesus Christ, I wanna have all that with you, I wanna wake up with you every morning and kiss your dumb face every night and call you my husband."

Harry has to wipe his eyes again, and he's giggling breathlessly. He holds Louis' hand, thumbing over the ring in wonder. "I like spouse better."

Louis laughs at his fiancé and pulls on his hand hard. "Will you get on the fucking desk already? I'm gonna fuck you so hard – God, I'm gonna fuck you for the rest of our lives."

Harry makes a small noise that sounds suspiciously like a moan, and Louis instantly knows where he's going to take the dirty talk. This he's good at. He might have fucked up and tried to push Harry away, and he certainly didn't expect to get engaged when he came to school today, but if fucking Harry were a sport, he'd be an Olympic gold medallist.

Harry clears Louis' desk, pushes aside the neat piles he must have tidied himself before Louis came in. He hops on the desk and leans back invitingly. Louis doesn't waste a second before crowding up between his legs and pulling his face down for a long kiss. He fits his hands under Harry's shirt and Harry melts into him, as expected.

Louis knows Harry's body better than he knows his own, fucked him at seventeen when he was still pudgy around the waist and fucked him at nineteen when he grew even taller and discovered the gym and Louis spent more time lifted and pressed into walls than he did on his own two feet. He fucked him at twenty when he completed his sleeve, a beautiful patchwork of memories mostly shared with Louis. He fucked him at twenty-one when he wore his collar in public for the first time, and at twenty-two when he had a motorbike accident and got a scar down his leg.

Now he's twenty-three and he might be more beautiful than he's ever been, broad shoulders and defined abs and long hair pushed back by fabric they keep having to wash. And Louis' going to fuck him wearing his engagement ring. To be honest, he should've proposed five years ago and gotten it over with. It's not like anyone else is ever going to be enough.

"You're mine, aren't you?" he says aloud, stepping closer and wrapping Harry's legs around his waist. Harry nods and buries his fingers in his hair, trembling when Louis sucks bruising kisses into his neck. "I'll take you to Paris anyway. Propose to you so beautifully you'll cry. Talk all about how much I adore my boy. Make you Harry Tomlinson." Harry tightens his legs and moans softly. He's not really a boy anymore, twenty-three and tall and big and successful, but when they're like this he'll always be Louis' good boy.

It's never been about his age, anyway. It's about the way he makes himself beautifully vulnerable for Louis, how it's gotten even easier to take him apart the more muscular he got. How he likes it even more when Louis takes care of him, now that there are responsibilities mounting on his shoulders.

It used to worry Louis sick, kept him up at night, the thought that he's taking this seventeen-year-old kid and destroying him, but now it's second nature to him. He still thinks about it, always plans and calculates and watches, but it's just an obvious fact that they need this. They've been playing for five years, he isn't sure they'd even know how to stop.

He can hear that Harry's holding his breath, so he knows he wants Louis to keep talking. Louis starts unbuttoning Harry's shirt while he thinks. Since he only buttoned three buttons in the first place, it only takes a moment. Harry loves walking around with his shirt open for everyone to see his Louis tattoos and Louis marks. The only reason he's in an indie hipster band is so he could wear his collar during concerts and it'd be a fashion statement rather than an I'm in a BDSM relationship statement.


That's when Louis gets inspired.

He slips Harry's shirt off his shoulders and kisses them, moves in on his neck and up to his ear. "I'll get you a nice ring too, like the pretty one you got me. Slip it on your finger and make you get rid of all your other rings so everyone knows." He pulls his earlobe between his teeth and Harry scratches the back of Louis' neck. "It's not really like your collar, is it? It's something you could wear all the time, when you're giving interviews or having dinner with your mum. But it still makes you mine. You'll wear it and think of your daddy."

Harry moans loudly then, squeezing Louis so tightly their crotches press together. Louis knows it's time to give him something. He run his hands up Harry's skinnies to give him a good grope, and keeps trailing up until he reaches his bulge. Harry gasps and pushes up automatically. Louis would make him wait until he does something good, but considering the fact he just proposed (proposed), he's as good as he'll ever be.

Louis grinds the heel of his hand down and Harry sighs like he needs just this to live on. Louis kisses him then, sweeter than the way he's pressing down, spreading his hand wide to – find a different bulge in Harry's pocket. He digs his hand in and can't help but laugh when his fingers find two packets.

So Harry's been walking around for who knows how long with lube, a condom and an engagement ring. Louis wants to marry him yesterday. "Smart boy," he says, picking out the stashed items and then rewarding Harry by unzipping their trousers.

Harry goes to lie back automatically, but as much as Louis likes spreading Harry out on flat surfaces, he wants him up close this time, wants to hold him and show him what love and devotion mean. He could phrase it like that, or even just tell him that he doesn't want him to bang his head on the desk, but he goes with, "I didn't tell you to lie down."

Harry clenches around him like he's clinging to a lifeboat. "Sorry," he whispers.

Louis hushes him and rubs his back, quietly tearing the lube open with a practiced move. They keep a shit-ton of travel-sized packets around just for these occasions, condoms too ever since they decided not to fuck bareback outside of the house. (Which is a nice way to summarise the disaster that happened backstage at Harry's first gig.)

He considers fucking Harry with his ring finger, but then thinks of a better plan and fucks him with his right hand instead. As soon as he slides one finger in him, Harry moans, and Louis' quick to kiss him, both to throw him off a little and because it's the middle of the school day and his students are used to his open door policy. Currently it's locked, but Louis doesn't think Harry remembers that at the moment. He thrusts his finger deep and whispers into his mouth, "You've gotta keep quiet, baby, anyone could come in. Wouldn't wanna give them a free show."

Then again, even people on the Internet have caught on to Harry's exhibitionism kink. "You would, though." He tries to think what visual Harry would like more, and then just gives him both. "You'd have kept the door wide open for any teacher to walk past and see what Mr. Tomlinson does to good boys like you. What if a student comes in, huh?" he asks, slamming another finger in him and twisting them around. "A tall boy from year twelve, sitting in the chair and watching what you learned at his age."

It's so hard for Harry to stay quiet at that, he buries wet whimpers into the crook of Louis' neck. Only Louis can hear him, though. He's being good.

When Louis hitches his hips up and drives his cock into him, he doesn't count on Harry's self-restraint to keep him quiet. Or rather, he doesn't want to test him like that right now. Or rather, he really wants to shove a finger in his mouth.

Harry arches into him, clinging desperately when Louis fucks him in short, deep thrusts, giving it to him hard from the start. He's tight and familiar, and Louis’ had him on beds and carpets and floors and walls and one cage and two mountaintops and some desks, not unlike this one, but this part is always the same and always fucking brilliant.

He snaps his hips fast, loves Harry's gasps and the creak of the desk under his weight. He feels the moment Harry gets used to the brutal pace, because he licks around Louis' fingers curiously, like he hadn't even noticed they were there. Louis pushes them down just as he slams up and Harry bites on his knuckles helplessly, giving him the right signal to keep going at that angle.

Harry starts drawing his fingers deeper into his mouth, and Louis waits for it. When the platinum clanks against his teeth, Harry clenches so tight around Louis he nearly comes right then. Harry's relentless from that point, rubbing his tongue all over the ring, his ring, sucking on Louis' finger and biting and licking and making muffled, pretty sounds.

After they come, it's harder for Louis to pull his finger out of Harry's mouth than his cock out of his arse. Harry just won't let him. Louis lets him keep his hand for a while, uses it to tilt his mouth to the side and give him a mean lovebite high up his throat. Eventually he asks with a smile, "You trying to get the ring back?"

Harry growls and tightens his lips over his finger, making Louis laugh and maybe get a little turned on again. Harry's not completely useless though, rolls the condom off of Louis and ties it neatly. He even tucks Louis back in his slacks and zips him up, all while lazily sucking on his finger. Louis just stares at him, at the flash of silver between his full lips.

He ducks down to kiss the side of Harry's mouth, and that's what finally gets him to release his hand. Harry's always been needy for Louis' mouth. He's happy to kiss him back, deep and filthy and so, so loving. "Love you a lot. Sorry about the last couple of weeks."

"S'okay," Harry mumbles between pecks. "Got us here. The ring's been burning a hole in my pocket."

"How long have you been carrying it around for?" Louis asks curiously, his smile getting bigger and bigger, to the point that it interrupts the kissing, but he can't stop. His heart feels so full, like it's about to burst the longer he looks at Harry. He's going to marry the shit out of him.

Harry shrugs. "Few weeks. Or months."

"Jesus, Harold. I'm gonna propose back so hard, you don't even know."

Harry giggles, swinging his legs around Louis' sides and pulling them flush together. He's still bare-arsed on his desk; Louis should probably clean it thoroughly before teaching hours. When he's done having just-got-engaged sex. Because he just got engaged. To Harry Styles. For his thirtieth birthday. "You don't have to propose back, it's not a thing."

"Shut up, I'm making it a thing," he insists, running a wet hand through Harry's messy hair. "Paris for New Year's?"

"Guess I could clear my schedule," Harry says casually, but he's beaming with a cartoon twinkle in his eye. Open book.

"Clear the rest of your life, too." He wraps his arms around Harry's neck and reels him in for a possessive hug. "Gonna have you all to myself."

Harry sags against him, sweet and pliant. "Wanted to marry you for ages."

Louis smiles into his neck and breathes deep, buries his nose in his curly hair. There's nothing more familiar than this. Louis can't remember a time he couldn't curl up into Harry like this, nor can he bear imagining a time he won't be able to in the future.

"Good thing you always get what you want."