Work Header

ain't had none like you in a while

Work Text:

Harry had long ago decided, while he was reading the Harry Potter books, that the first thing he would do if he could time travel was go to Hogwarts. His mother hadn't wanted to tell him that Hogwarts wasn't real in any time period, just listened and stroked his hair placidly as he wondered aloud whether he should visit the Owlery first, or try to find the secret passage behind the one-eyed witch so he could get to Honeydukes. When Gemma finally told him he could never time-travel to Hogwarts, Harry was outraged. He huffed about it for a week. What good was time-travel if you couldn’t go to Hogwarts?

Good for business, apparently.

When Simon instructs the members of One Direction to come to a posh London hotel two days after they sign their post-X Factor record deal, they all think he’s pulling one on them when he says that he’s invited their future selves to advise them on their immediate next steps. Niall can’t stop laughing, Liam keeps rubbing his eyes like he’s trying not to cry, and Harry gets angry, saying it’s not funny to take the mickey out of them like this just because they’re young and (apparently) naive. He’s convinced the record deal wasn’t real, it was all an elaborate candid camera set-up.

There’s a knock on the door after Harry finishes his rant. Louis squeezes his knee. Part of Harry’s brain shuts off and he thinks, at least there’s that.

“That should be them,” Simon says, his eyes gliding over Harry impassively. Zayn rubs his temples. “Come in!” The door opens. “Boys,” Simon says, “it’s my pleasure to introduce you to One Direction.”

Harry turns to face the door and all his protest dies in his throat.

Zayn’s the first one to speak. “Holy shit.”

Holy shit. It’s—like, for a fraction of a second Harry might have believed that this was a part of it, like they’re actors, but the men in their late twenties in the doorway just sort of stand there awkwardly for a moment, like they don’t know what to do, until someone says, “For God’s sake, lads, I think we’d have remembered if one of us were rabid. Get a move on.”

That’s Louis. Harry would know Louis’s voice anywhere. Louis’s hand tightens on Harry’s knee. Holy shit. As the—apparently freshly time-traveled—older versions of the boys file into the room, Harry just knows. He knows these boys, even in their new posh clothes with their new posh hair and expensive watches. He sinks back into the couch between Louis and Zayn and just gapes as the older versions of themselves look down at the boys on the couch like they’re strangers.

“It seems 2022’s been treating you well,” Simon says. He’s grinning with smug satisfaction as the boys on the couch stare at themselves. Louis hasn’t closed his mouth since the older version of him spoke. Holy shit.

“No complaints,” older-Liam says. His voice sounds light. Not at all like the Liam Harry knows, who is staring at older-Liam with a weird mixture of awe and… disdain, maybe? There are a lot of things going on right now, Harry can’t process them all.

“I’ve got some complaints,” older-Niall says. He looks at the couch where the five boys are all squeezed, and laughs out loud. “God, look at our hair!” he says. He elbows older-Liam while the younger version of himself gawks at his soft hairstyle, without even a hint of bleach. “I’d forgotten how curly your hair was back at the beginning, Li."

“Yeah, well.” Older-Liam looks annoyed. Some things don’t change, then. “I haven't forgotten your Justin Bieber obsession," older-Liam says, “so maybe you could shut it?"

“Hope the journey was all right,” Simon says loudly. Harry’s eyes rake over the grown men in front of them again, barely able to process that they’re real, and then—finally, he notices the older version of himself. Older-Harry is leaning against the wall by the door where they walked in, looking at the boys on the couch with an impassive expression. Only when he glances down, apparently at Harry’s trackies, does he wrinkle his nose a bit. He’s dressed in the tightest blue jeans Harry’s ever seen, with a loose black tee-shirt under a velvet green coat that falls mid-thigh. Harry’s brain goes blank. He’s just—he literally doesn’t know what to think.

“Not bad.” Harry jumps a little when he hears older-Harry’s voice. God, is his voice really that deep? (Or will it get that deep?) “Was tough getting someone to watch the kids last minute,” older-Harry continues, turning towards Simon, “but you know how it goes.”

“You mean he will.” Older-Zayn looks and sounds much the same as younger-Zayn, only he’s wearing all black and there seem to be tattoos—like, a lot of tattoos—sticking out under shirt sleeve. Harry decides to focus on that instead of how he’s a father. He has kids? Oh my god. He must look as stricken as he feels because Louis drapes an arm over his shoulder and laughs a little.

“This is fucking weird,” he says into Harry’s ear. Harry nods and shifts away from where Zayn is leaning forward to try to get a look at his tattoos himself.

Really weird,” he says back. He tries to fit himself closer against Louis’s side. “Do you think I have a tattoo?” He frowns a little. He’s always thought they looked cool, but never knew what he would want to get.

“We are right here, you know,” older-Louis says. He waves at Harry and Louis exaggeratedly. “Can hear you and everything.”

Older-Louis keeps looking at Harry. God, he’s fucking gorgeous. Harry’s not surprised, really—he can’t imagine a version of Louis who isn’t gorgeous—but he’s struck by the definition of his cheekbones, the artful flop of his fringe across his forehead, the way his blazer defines his waist, and—his arse in those jeans. Harry knows he’s staring, knows older-Louis knows he’s staring, but he can’t look away. Louis’s arm is still draped loosely around his shoulder. At least he doesn’t seem to notice Harry’s gawking.

It might be a bit awkward to have your best mate who you’re casually sleeping with realize how much you wish you were still sleeping with him in twelve years. He might get the wrong idea—or worse, the right one. But Louis doesn’t seem to be paying attention to older-Louis, so Harry’s safe, at least for now.

Simon clears his throat. “Have a seat,” he says. He gestures towards the couch opposite the boys. Harry finally drags his eyes away from older-Louis and sees that Simon is giving him a funny look. Shit. He’s totally obvious. Older-Zayn and younger-Niall are looking at him and snickering. God, everyone in the room can see it. (Everyone but Lou.)

Older-Zayn, older-Liam, and older-Louis all take a seat on the couch opposite their younger selves. Older-Niall hops up onto the table Simon’s sitting behind. Older-Harry sits on the arm of the sofa next to Louis. “How are the kids, then?” Simon says. He drums his fingers on the tabletop and glances at older-Niall like it’s a hint for him to get off the table, but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

Harry starts to answer but older-Louis says, “Christ.” He glances at the younger version of himself and rubs his face with both hands. “You’d think you two hadn’t just had an excruciatingly long conversation about the dangers of revealing things about the future to the youth.”

“We haven’t,” older-Harry says. He kicks older-Louis’s foot. “We will in about twelve years.”

Older-Louis huffs. “Well,” he says. He’s looking at Harry again. Louis squeezes Harry’s shoulder. “Regardless,” older-Louis says, his eyes shifting to Louis’s hand. “You know we’re here to give advice, not… you know, meddle.”

Older-Niall laughs, loudly. “Tommo?” he says. “Not here to meddle?” He looks between the boys on the couch and older-Louis and raises his eyebrows.

“Hey.” Older-Louis points at him accusingly. “Everything that happens, happens,” he says. “Or… has happened. Will happen.” He drops his hand and scowls. “You know, just—shut up, Niall.”

“Speaking of giving advice!” Simon claps his hands together. “Let’s get down to business, gentlemen, shall we?” He shuffles some papers around on his desk. “I think we should start by talking—in general terms, remember—about the public image we want to create…”

Older-Louis settles back into the couch a little. Older-Liam leans forward and starts talking about the importance of people feeling like they really know the band. Harry doesn’t listen—this is stuff they’ve been told before, a dozen times a week during the show. Instead, he watches as the older version of himself leans back and settles his hand on Louis’s shoulder, a mirror of Harry and Louis’s position on the opposite couch.

They’re still friends, then, Harry thinks. He can’t stop himself from smiling. Friends who touch each other. He nudges Louis’s hand with his chin. Louis doesn’t respond, but… they’re still friends. That answers more of Harry’s questions about the future than anything they’ve actually said.

Louis is watching the older pair of them, too. Harry nudges his hand again. Louis startles as he looks back at Harry, but on seeing his smile, smiles back. That should be all that matters.

Older-Liam leads most of the ensuing conversation, talks about how important the beginning is, how everyone has a role to play in the band and they’ll be able to have more freedom to define themselves once they’re better-established, blah blah whatever. Harry doesn’t listen, except for when the others occasionally chime in. They’re real. That’s the amazing part of this, Harry thinks, just… seeing their future selves. Liam is taking notes on what older-Liam is saying, and Harry’s vaguely grateful, because it might be useful, but like. The men sitting across from them are successful, casually rich, stylish, spot-free, and them. They’re real, adult humans, with their own—with families, apparently. Which means… Harry scans their hands. Married. Of course they’re married. All of the grown men opposite them seem to be wearing wedding bands. Harry’s is thick and silver.

Harry wonders if same-sex marriage is legal in the UK in 2022. He doesn’t know. And he doesn’t know what that means.

Harry feels like being sick. It’s objectively amazing to see this portrait of themselves in the future, but… it isn’t quite what he would have expected, if he had known to expect anything. He feels a little guilty, seeing how enraptured the other boys look as hints of their future achievements are dropped, but as Louis squeezes Harry’s shoulder and mutters unbelievable, Harry just can’t help but wonder about… certain other things.

His attention drifts to older-Louis. Specifically, older-Harry’s hand on older-Louis’s shoulder. Older-Harry watches Harry watch him. He looks almost angry for a brief moment, then touches older-Louis’s knee and whispers something in his ear.

"Right!” older-Louis says, while Harry’s still whispering to him. He stands up and claps his hands together. Everyone looks at him in surprise. Older-Liam was in the middle of a sentence. “So, I think it's private time, don't you?"

Simon raises an eyebrow. “I really shouldn't think that's necessary," he says.

"Yeah," older-Louis says, "you shouldn't." Niall—the young Niall, that is—claps his hand over his mouth and snorts. Both Zayns roll their eyes. Older-Liam grins. Older-Harry is still looking at Harry and Louis. “Plenty of things under the sun that need seeing to that don't need your seeing to, Uncle Simon,” older-Louis continues. “We ought to know, we're the ones that lived it already, aren't we, lads?"

“That’s—“ Simon starts to object but older-Louis nods at the older versions of the boys and they all start to grab their younger selves by the elbow and lead them out the door. Simon gives older-Louis a look that would probably make any of the younger boys cry. Older-Louis crosses his arms and cocks an eyebrow.

Older-Harry gets up and puts a hand on Louis’s shoulder. It looks really weird, crossing the unspoken boundary between them like that. Older-Harry’s a lot bigger than Louis and Louis jumps a little when he touches him. “You two come with us," older-Harry says. “Your suite.” He glances at where Simon and older-Louis have started arguing. “He’ll be along in a minute.”

Louis looks at Harry with his eyebrows furrowed. Harry shrugs. They head out to the suite where they’d dropped their things earlier in the day, older-Harry trailing a step behind them. Louis’s arm brushes Harry’s and older-Harry makes a strange sound, but when Harry glances back at him he doesn’t say anything. There’s almost to the suite by the time older-Louis catches up to them.


Both Harrys turn. Older-Louis is half-jogging towards them and fuck, he’s fit. Harry can see the ripple of his thighs through his trousers. His throat goes dry.

Older-Louis was talking to older-Harry, apparently. “Need to talk to you,” he says. His eyes flick over Harry and Louis and he doesn’t seem happy.

Older-Harry nods. “Go on,” he says, gesturing towards the suite. “We’ll be in in a minute.”

Harry and Louis look at each other, shrug, and filter into their suite. Older-Louis pulls the door shut behind them. They look at each other, neither moving much from the doorway.

“So…” Harry says after a minute. He clears his throat. “We’re pretty weird.”

Louis snorts and leans against the wall. “No kidding." He kicks at the carpet. “What d’you reckon they want to talk to us about?” he says.

Harry can think of at least a dozen things he wishes his older self would tell him about. All of which involve Louis and… certain things. Harry just shrugs and says, “Dunno.” He leans back against the door. He can sort of hear himself talking to older-Louis outside.

“Hey, can you hear them?” Louis says, glancing towards the door. “Budge up.” Harry huffs as Louis elbows him in the gut. Louis pouts until Harry gives in, scooting over to lean against the door with him. Their elbows knock together. Harry really, really wants to kiss him.

That’s not really a thing they do, though. At least, not when they’re not about to get each other off, but… Harry goes a little red. Older-Louis is really hot, and this Louis is really close, so maybe—

Harry shakes himself. No. So what if he knows now that in twelve years, the two of them will still be good friends? A lot can happen in twelve years. Friendships can be destroyed, then rebuilt. If he’s going to have to live with Louis for twelve more years, that seems like more reason than anything not to fuck up their relationship with his silly—feelings. Friends can fuck without it being some big thing, you know? That’s what Louis had said the first time he climbed into Harry’s bed and made him come in his pants. We’re not bloody girls, we don’t have to go having these huge feelings about it, he’d said after the first time he’d fucked Harry, breathless and drunk on their performance.

He was right, probably. Louis cups his ear against the door and his face lights up with a crooked smile. Harry would have fallen for him even if they’d never fucked.

They listen to the muffled voices for a while, but they can’t really hear anything. Their faces are only inches apart and Harry isn’t even trying to listen anymore, he’s just focusing on keeping his breathing under control.

"At least I end up hot,” Louis says suddenly. Harry’s breath catches in his throat. "Not that I ever doubted, y'know, but it's good to have confirmation." He knees Harry in the thigh and Harry is very, very grateful he’s wearing his loosest trackies. "I mean, I'd do me,” Louis continues thoughtfully. “Wouldn't you?"

Harry is saved from answering by older-Louis moving closer to the door, his voice becoming a lot easier to hear. Louis presses his ear against the door harder and puts a finger to his lips.

”—barely older than Lux," older-Louis saying, "I don't know if this is a good idea--"

"Lou," older-Harry says back. The door shakes a little. He must be leaning against it. “We've talked about this, like, a million times since then, I promise it'll be all right."

There’s a pause. “We were really young,” older-Louis says. He laughs a little. "We didn't even know how young we were."

Louis rolls his eyes. Harry smiles weakly. He feels really, really young.

"Well,” older-Harry says. “We're not anymore.” There’s some shuffling outside the door but Harry can’t make out anything more. Then the door is opening and Louis is grabbing his shirt and pulling him into the room.

It’s clear from older-Louis and older-Harry’s smirks towards each other that they know Harry and Louis were listening. The way they’re sitting on the edge of the bed with their hands folded neatly is probably a little suspicious, but, to be fair, they probably also remember. Harry thinks he’ll remember the way older-Louis looks at him, the way his gaze runs the length of his whole body, for a long time.

Harry blushes and twists his hands in his lap. That was—older-Louis was checking him out. Harry’s dick is perking up with interest in his trackies. Maybe—well, he’d certainly thought Harry was fit enough to fuck twelve years ago, so maybe—

"We know what you're thinking," older-Harry says, after a minute or so of awkward silence. "We've thought it all already, so.”

"It's been like, over a decade," Louis says quickly. His face is a little red as he frowns at his older-Harry, and then his older self. “There's no way you can remember all that.”

Older-Louis rolls his eyes. “Oh, trust me,” he says. He sits on the bed opposite Louis and puts a hand on his knee. “You'll remember this for a long time."

Louis opens his mouth to protest and older-Louis leans over and kisses him.

Harry’s jaw drops. Older-Louis holds Louis’s chin firmly in his hand, and Louis is very still for a moment as older-Louis’s lips work over his. A few seconds later, though, Louis’s hand is sliding into older-Louis’s hair and he’s turning his head.

It's weird, watching someone else kiss Louis. It’s not like he hasn’t been vaguely aware that it could happen—he’s seen Louis kiss Hannah, but that didn’t count, Louis had said. He knows Louis has kissed Aiden, and that that did count. Harry has no idea whether or not this counts, or what that would even mean. Louis sighs into older-Louis’s mouth. Probably nothing.

"Someone's getting jealous over here," older-Harry says with a laugh. Harry jumps when he realizes he’s been watching him.

"Shut up,” Harry says, dropping his eyes to the floor. "'m not." He stands up and takes a few steps away from the bed before he realizes that’s probably not helping his point. He stares at the wall and tries to think of anything that will help him will down his semi, but… you’ll remember this for a long time, Louis had said. It’s been approximately ten seconds, and Harry can’t think of anything else.

A moment later, there’s a hand at his elbow. Harry doesn’t turn. “Hello, darling,” older-Louis says. His voice has gotten deeper. He’s not laughing. He turns Harry around gently so that they’re facing each other, puts his hand under Harry’s chin, and lifts it so that Harry looks into his eyes.

Scruff, tattoos, quiff be damned. It’s Louis. Louis is holding Harry’s face in his hand and licking his lips. Harry feels like his stomach has fallen out of him. “Wish I could say I'd forgotten how pretty you were at sixteen,” older-Louis says, with a small smile.

"I'm still pretty," older-Harry says from across the room. He’s pushing Louis back onto the bed slightly, straddling his thighs as Louis looks up at him slack-jawed. "God, you're so young.” Older-Harry takes Louis’s face into both of his hands and kisses him.

This—this is becoming a lot to process. Older-Louis isn’t turning his gaze away from Harry even as Harry watches older-Harry kiss Louis over his shoulder. Louis’s hands are sliding up under older-Harry’s shirt.

"It's all right, baby Harry,” older-Louis says. He smooths his hand over Harry’s cheek and his other hand settles on Harry’s waist, brushing the skin just above the waistband of his trackies. He kisses Harry’s other cheek. Oh god. That stubble isn’t just for show. Every single one of Harry’s nerves feels like it’s on fire. “You can have this,” older-Louis says into his ear. Harry can hear him swallow. He shivers. “If you want it.”

There's a high-pitched whimper from across the room. Harry turns his face into older-Louis’s neck and doesn’t look.

"Lou…” Harry’s face burns as older-Louis’s hand settles in the curve just over his arse. This feels like cheating, and isn't that ridiculous? He and Louis aren't even together.

"It's me," older-Louis says. He kisses Harry’s cheek again, and the way it burns is not from the stubble. "It's me, love,” he says, his lips moving wetly against Harry’s cheek. He cups Harry’s neck gently. "Okay?"

Harry looks over older-Louis’s shoulder again. Older-Harry has the other Louis pinned to the bed. Younger-Louis's breath hitches as older-Harry slides a leg between his thighs.

Okay. This is happening. Harry may be younger than this Louis by over a decade but he knows that he wants this and if he can have it, he’ll take it. That’s all this is. Harry closes his eyes and slides his hands up the back of older-Louis's shirt, pulling him closer. He backs up a step so that he's stuck between Louis and the wall.

"Yeah." Harry rests his forehead against older-Louis's and sighs as older-Louis steps into him, boxes him against the wall with his arms. "You're fucking fit," he mutters as he pulls older-Louis's hard, warm chest against his. Like he needs an excuse. Harry’s pathetic. Louis is lying ten feet away getting felt up by an older man. An older Harry, but still. He doesn't need an excuse.

"You're a vision," older-Louis says, with absolutely no trace of irony. He laces his fingers into Harry's hair and kisses him, tugging a little too hard to be on accident. Oh.

It's not quite like kissing his Louis, but it's. Wow. Older-Louis is a little bit taller than Harry, and a lot stronger. He has stubble that prickles at Harry’s skin, he smells like sweat and expensive aftershave and he's pulling Harry's hair. It feels like Harry's melting into him, like he can barely even kiss back because his head is buzzing and his arms are getting weak, but shit does he want to kiss this Louis back. The press of his lips is insistent and Harry gasps into it, sinks back against the wall and grips weakly at older-Louis's hips as he starts to nibble at the sensitive spot right below Harry's jaw, tugging on his hair so his neck is exposed and when he mouths hot kisses down the line of Harry's throat, his stubble scratching harshly against Harry's skin, Harry's barely even aware of the soft, wet whimpers coming from the bed, the sound of clothes hitting the floor.


"So much I wanna do to you," older-Louis mumbles against Harry's ear. Stubble. He twists Harry's nipple through his shirt and god, why is Harry still wearing a shirt? Why isn't Harry naked, why is his cock so fucking hard it’s literally tenting his trackies? Older-Louis kisses Harry again and Harry starts to tug his shirt up, fingers brushing over warm tan skin, but older-Louis untangles his fingers from Harry's hair and grabs his wrists, pushing them out against the wall as he finally grinds against Harry's crotch. Harry’s hips buck and he moans, surprised by his own wantonness.

"God, you're eager." Older-Louis laughs, not unkindly, as he loosens his grip on Harry's wrists only to lace their fingers together and grind his hips against him again, finally giving Harry some of the friction he's desperate for. Fuck, yeah, Harry's eager, he thinks as older-Louis circles his hips and sucks hard on Harry's neck. This is only everything he's been dizzy with wanting ever since he met Louis, to be spread out and touched and just taken. "Wanna take you apart," older-Louis whispers into Harry's ear, his stubble pinching all over his cheek and his cock hard and hot against Harry's thigh even through two layers of fabric. Harry gasps as older-Louis bites down on his neck, hard, and grinds roughly against Harry's cock. Harry's fingers twitch as Louis presses their enjoined hands harder against the wall. He wants to touch this Louis, everywhere, wants to palm his arse and rake his fingers over his back and sink his hair and grip, he wants so fucking much he can't breathe, but somehow it means even more that this Louis won't let Harry touch him, except for their sweaty entangled palms and how Harry's body is writhing and bucking against his, out of anyone's control. Older-Louis is pushing Harry into the wall like he's hoping Harry will just give up and melt into him and Harry wants to. He wants to.

"Fuck me," Harry says, so quietly it's more like a breath, but older-Louis must hear him, what with how he chuckles and lets go of Harry’s hands as he kisses him again, nipping slightly at his ear. 

"On the bed." Older-Louis pulls Harry away from the wall and Harry gets a glimpse of younger-Louis’s hands grappling along the broad, pale expanse of older-Harry’s back. Older-Louis pushes him back gently against the bed and Harry falls back willingly, his head landing a few inches from Louis’s. Harry chews on his lip as he watches older-Louis shuck off his shirt and trousers, then crawl between his legs and go to work on Harry’s clothes as well. He doesn’t focus on the naughty things older-Harry is whispering in younger-Louis’s ear, doesn’t squirm as older-Harry grunts so fucking pretty and Louis’s breath catches, because Harry’s got a gorgeous older man (an older Louis) hovering over him, fingers dancing lightly over his torso, kissing his collarbones, about to fuck him, and what could be better than that?

Older-Louis doesn’t seem fazed by how older-Harry’s apparently got his hand on younger-Louis’s cock three feet away. Instead, he’s squeezing the pudge of Harry’s hips and Harry’s shuddering, his cock twitching in his pants. “This is... what, fifth time?" older-Louis says, dragging his fingers lightly along the inside of Harry’s thighs. It’s the fourth. Harry doesn’t correct him. “So young, baby Harry,” older-Louis says. He starts to roll Harry’s pants down and Harry’s almost surprised himself at how violently his cock bobs out of the fabric as older-Louis pulls it down to his thighs. “So much to show you.” Older-Louis mouths softly, just for a moment, at the tip of Harry’s cock and his hips jolt up off the bed. He whines as older-Louis pulls his mouth away and smirks.

“Wanna open you up nice and slow,” older-Louis says as he strokes Harry’s tummy right next to his cock. “Make you come just riding my fingers. Think you can?”

Yes.” Harry doesn’t even hear himself saying it out loud but older-Louis laughs quietly into his skin, latching down onto a nipple and wrapping a cool hand around Harry’s cock. Fucking yes. Harry wiggles into the bed and whines as older-Louis’s hand leaves his cock after a few strokes, only to groan as a finger nudges at his rim. “Lube,” he says. His voice feels far away, like it belongs to somebody else. “Lube, in m’bag…”

Older-Louis looks up from where he’s kissing across Harry’s chest and raises an eyebrow. “That KY shite, right?” he says. He shakes his head. “Brought you something better, princess.”

Princess. Harry probably shouldn't like that as much as he does. Older-Louis goes to grab something from his jeans and it’s the first time Harry really gets a good look at his naked body. He’s fit as fucking hell, of course—but in addition to the ink scribbled all over his torso, he’s got this swell of a tummy that only seems to emphasize how lean and muscular he is everywhere else and this deep, full-body tan, except for a bit of a paler triangle in the shape of some very short swimming trunks. Harry kind of wants to lick his tan lines. Not to mention his… everything. 

Younger-Louis has flipped older-Harry over and is currently sucking a bruise into one of the bird tattoos on older-Harry’s chest (it’s a testament to Harry’s state of mind at the moment that he’s barely even shocked to see how covered his own body is in ink). Harry realizes that his taking charge of the situation like that is theoretically on the table, but when older-Louis emerges triumphantly with a black bottle in his hand and nudges Harry’s knees open wider… Harry doesn’t want to.

“Legs up for me, love,” older-Louis says. Harry thinks he might be blushing with his whole body as he hitches his knees up, spreading his legs and giving older-Louis a view of him: his cock red and twitching against his tummy, his hole probably visibly clenching as older-Louis spread some lube onto his fingers.

“You look so good, love,” older-Louis says. “Always so good for me.”

Jesus, Harry might be on fire. Older-Louis’s slick finger circles his rim and—fuck, Louis isn’t even inside him and he feels like he’s never been this open in his life. They don’t—he hasn’t done this, not properly, not with somebody else, the other time’s Louis’s fucked him he’s fingered himself open quickly and at an awkward angle, just trying to get him ready for Louis inside of him. And that was amazing, it was so good Harry thought he might be having a heart attack, but it wasn’t this. Older-Louis is touching Harry like his body is sacred and as his middle finger slides into him, slow and circling and tight, Harry thinks he might know why.

Older-Louis’s fingers are solid and sure as they work their way inside Harry, nothing like Harry’s ever felt on his own. Harry arches into the mattress, he throws his head back—and sees younger-Louis staring at him with his lips parted, even as older-Harry gropes at his arse. Harry doesn’t tear his gaze away, just tightens his grip around the backs of his knees and stares back at Louis, his beautiful soft Louis until older-Louis finds his prostate and Harry’s eyes flutter shut and he keens.

“H,” older-Louis says. He twists his fingers again and Harry bites his lip, barely containing the whimper he feels gathering in his throat. “Get over here and suck baby-H’s cock. Take the edge off." He just barely grazes Harry’s prostate again and the whimper escapes.

"Can it wait a second?" older-Harry says. Younger-Louis gasps. “Kind of preoccupied…”

Older-Louis doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t touch Harry’s prostate again, just keeps fucking him slowly with two fingers, and incredibly what causes Harry to lose his grip on his legs and whine is that it isn’t enough. Older-Louis doesn’t comment on how Harry’s feet are now planted on the bed, how he’s rocking his hips to pull his fingers into him faster, harder.

“Okay,” older-Harry says after a minute. His voice sounds a little unsteady. “I—yeah.”

“And get your fucking kit off,” older-Louis says, in an almost-growl. “You’re supposed to be the teenager here, keep up.”

Harry opens his eyes and sees younger-Louis pulling his trousers off. He catches Harry’s eye and rolls his eyes, like both of them aren’t as hard as they’ve ever been. “Am I always this annoying?” he says as older-Harry knees his way to Harry’s side.

“Yes,” Harry and older-Harry say in unison. Older-Louis huffs and scissors his fingers deep inside Harry, forcing his legs to open wider with a wanton groan.

Older-Harry gets a fist around Harry’s cock, then looks down at Harry with a strange expression. Probably reasonable, Harry thinks, when you’re about to suck your own cock. Then older-Harry bends down and suckles at Harry’s head and Harry doesn’t think very much for a while.

Older-Harry is, like, really really good at sucking cock. Harry now can barely get his lips around Louis before he gets so turned on he can't concentrate, but older-Harry… older-Harry is nothing but concentration, even with his head at a funny angle so he can get his tongue (his tongue) swirling around the underside of Harry’s cock. He just keeps moving down Harry’s dick like it’s nothing, bobbing his head and hollowing his cheeks like—like he’s not even a little bit scared about what it means. It’s nothing like any head Harry’s ever gotten. He feels too weak to even try to fuck up into older-Harry’s throat, but he feels like if he did—well. Older-Harry might even want him to. Older-Louis puts his hand on the back of older-Harry’s head and pushes him down a little onto Harry’s cock and he barely even sputters, in fact he hums as older-Louis pushes him so far down Harry’s cock he must feel like gagging, a bit, and what is that even supposed to mean?

So, older-Harry has had a lot of practice with this. With sucking cock. Okay, Harry thinks. It’s not like that’s that surprising, given that he’s currently having his first gay orgy at sixteen, but it’s… a lot to process, still. Harry will process it, he will, just—not right now, not when he’s so hard and wet and hot and open, not while older-Harry is swallowing around his dick and older-Louis is fucking him hard and deep and slow, and younger-Louis is watching with his eyes wide and one hand motionless on his dick.

“Hold his hands down,” older-Louis says to his younger self as he lets up on older- Harry’s head for a moment. Older-Harry pulls off and takes a few deep breaths, smiling at Harry with wet, puffy lips. Harry’s hands twitch beside him as older-Harry takes his cock back down to his throat and… yeah, older-Louis seems to have a lot of good ideas.

“Do you want that?” Louis says uneasily. Harry groans as older-Louis scissors his fingers and older-Harry swallows at the same time. God. “Harry?” Louis sounds more uncertain than Harry ever remembers hearing him. God damn it, he thinks as he stretches his hands up towards him and looks up at him, nodding, blinking through tears he’d barely noticed pooling at the corner of his eyes.

Younger-Louis circles his fingers around Harry’s wrists lightly but—it’s so much, there’s so much attention on Harry right now and he feels so loved he’s going to come, there’s just no way he’s going to be able to put it off anymore, Louis is giving him this look and Harry is so, so fucking in love with him, oh god.

“You look amazing,” Louis says, like he can’t quite believe it. His lips brush Harry’s cheek just as older-Louis strokes his prostate with three fingers and that’s it, Harry’s gone, spilling into older-Harry’s mouth and clenching around older-Louis’s fingers and writhing as the younger Louis tightens his grip on his wrists. He’s maybe crying a little.

Harry keeps his eyes closed and tries to remember how to breathe as older-Louis withdraws his fingers slowly and older-Harry pulls off his dick with a slurping sound. Fucking hell. Louis releases Harry’s wrists, but Harry doesn’t move them. His whole body feels heavy. He must look a wreck. Louis starts toying with his hair.

They’ve barely even started.

Harry opens his eyes and sees, yes, everyone around him is still hard. Louis is looking down at Harry’s flushed chest with his fist is wrapped around himself loosely. Older-Harry is looking down at him too, smiling with his lips pressed together tightly. Older-Louis’s hand rests on older-Harry lower back and he whispers something in his ear.

Older-Harry turns and kisses older-Louis. That—it’s ridiculous, but it hits Harry like a sack of bricks in the stomach. Harry's never seen two grown men kiss each other before, not in person, and it would be overwhelming enough if--if Harry's come wasn't dripping from their lips, Jesus Christ, older-Harry hasn’t swallowed, what the hell. Harry's eyes flicker over to Louis, his Louis, to see if he's watching this, or if this is a dream. This isn’t even something Harry could dream up, though. Older-Louis breaks away and licks his lips. Older-Harry’s eyes are shut but his mouth stays open slightly and yes, that’s Harry’s come dribbling out of his mouth, oh god.

"Swallow," older-Louis says quietly, so quietly Harry almost doesn't hear it, but there's no mistaking the way older-Harry's Adam's apple bobs the next moment. Holy shit. Do people do things like that? Older-Harry sighs and kisses older-Louis on the cheek as he turns back to the younger versions of them lying wide-eyed on the bed.

"Haz," older-Louis warns. He tangles a hand in older-Harry’s hair. "Focus."

Older-Harry doesn't, though. He buries his face in older-Louis's neck and--Harry can't quite see but it looks like he's biting down, and his hands are reaching around to knead at older-Louis's arse.

Older-Louis watches Harry and younger-Louis watch them for a minute. Then he closes his eyes and slaps older-Harry’s arse sharply.

"For god's sake, Harold.” Older-Louis sounds annoyed but he’s rolling his eyes. "Don't be so greedy."

Harry remembers at that moment that the two of them are supposed to be married. Nothing makes any sense.

Older-Harry hums and turns his gaze back to the boys on the bed. There's an absolutely wicked smile on his face as his eyes settle on Louis.

"Hmmm," he says. His hand is splayed against older-Louis's lower back. Harry screws his eyes shut for a moment and thinks, whatever else happens, in twelve years I'll have this. "Live while we're young, right?"

Older-Louis smacks older-Harry on the arse again and lets out a sharp laugh. Harry jumps a little. “Loser,” older-Louis says fondly. He then pats older-Harry’s bum lightly. “Eat me out."

“Thought you’d never ask.” Older-Harry climbs over Harry, his erection bobbing near his head for a minute (in twelve years, Harry will have that cock in his mouth, what the fuck), and tackles Louis down into the mattress. Louis oofs in surprise, then makes another sound entirely as older-Harry smooths his hands over his thighs and says, “You don’t even know how long I’ve wanted my tongue in that arse by now.”

Harry bites his lip, inhales deeply, and sits up. He crosses his legs and looks up at older-Louis, kneeling and watching over Harry’s shoulder as older-Harry flips younger-Louis over and younger-Louis says yes.

“Wanna suck you,” Harry says. Older-Louis’s cock is thick and red and inches from his face. More importantly, it’s Louis’s.

Older-Louis looks down at him. His quiff is wilting; some of his hair flops down across his forehead. “Yeah?” he says. He nods towards Louis and older-Harry with his chin. “Thought you’d want to watch.”

Harry looks over his shoulder. Older-Harry has younger-Louis flat on his stomach, both of his big hands spreading the globes of his arse wide as he buries his face between them. Louis’s face is turned slightly towards them, his eyes screwed shut and biting down on his forearm. It’s fucking hot.

Older-Harry brings a finger to Louis’s rim and Louis buries his face into the sheets. It does nothing to stifle his moan. It’s fucking hot might have been the understatement of the century. Louis squirming while being licked open might be literally the hottest thing Harry has ever seen. Of course he wants to watch, it’s just… Louis’s making these sounds, these soft, desperate whines that, on the one hand, make Harry’s sensitive cock start twitching again already, and on the other hand, make him want to stick a dick down his throat and cry because Louis has never even let this Harry nudge his rim with a finger before pushing him away.

It’s one thing if Louis just doesn’t like his arse played with. It’s quite another if he doesn’t want Harry playing with his arse. It’s not like Harry hadn’t asked, hadn’t been basically shameless about it, needling it feels so good and just wanna make you feel good too, when he’d had too much to drink. Louis had laughed at that. He isn’t laughing now.

Harry looks back at older-Louis and shakes his head. “Want you,” he says. He wraps his hand around older-Louis’s cock, warm and steady and there, then leans forward and inhales the musky scent.

“Easy,” older-Louis says. “You’ll hurt your back, leaning like that.” He inhales sharply as Harry starts to jack him off lightly and kiss the side of his cock. A bit of precome blurts onto Harry’s cheek. He can barely hear Louis’s gentle moans over his own harsh breathing. Good. He sighs and presses his closed lips to the head of older-Louis’s cock. 

Then older-Louis grabs him by the chin and pulls his head up gently. He swipes at the precome on Harry’s cheek with his thumb. “Why don’t you get on your knees, love?” he says.

His tone is kind, but it doesn’t feel like a suggestion. Harry straightens his back and nods quickly. Older-Louis gets up and sits on the edge of the untouched bed, his eyes flicking to older-Harry and Louis while Harry gets on the floor and crawls between his legs.

“That’s better,” older-Louis says. Harry grabs the base of his cock again and mouths wetly at the head. God, it’s so good, tasting Louis and feeling how hard he is, how bad he wants this. How much Harry can do for him. “You were always so beautiful on your knees.” Older-Louis’s hand settles on the back of Harry’s head as he shuffles his knees closer to him and takes older-Louis’s cock deep into his mouth.

Older-Louis tugs on his hair lightly and Harry squeezes his eyes shut and whimpers. It's not--older-Louis isn't rough with him, but there's this edge to it when he laces his fingers through Harry's curls. He isn't pushing Harry down but it's like--it's like he isn't scared by this, any of this, like it can just be. It makes Harry’s head feel a bit fuzzy, makes the anxiety and the jealousy and the fear that have been rattling around in there quiet a bit. He can do this. His jaw aches already and he’s getting spit all over his face but he doesn’t care, he just hollows his cheeks and bobs his head a little, grips older-Louis’s thighs and sinks down as far as he can.

Older-Louis strokes over Harry's cheek while giving an encouraging tug with his other hand. Harry looks up at him as he sucks hard and older-Louis looks right into his eyes and says, quietly, kindly, "Take daddy's cock so well, darling.”


Harry's--oh god, Harry's hard again, instantly, moaning and grasping at older-Louis's thighs and pushing himself deeper, fast, because all he wants in the world is more—more of that, of this, more feeling achey and wet and full and—Louis, older-Louis, just called himself Harry’s daddy. Harry takes too much and gags, sputters a little and feels like—he already is crying but he resists as older-Louis tugs him off his cock, he just gasps and tries to take it all in again at once. He just wants everything at once.

"Baby," older-Louis says. Both of his hands are in Harry’s hair. He pulls him back off his cock again, and the sharp tug makes Harry close his eyes and whine, but then older-Louis’s rubbing circles against his scalp. "Take it easy." Harry doesn’t open his eyes as older-Louis dabs at the chain of spit linking him to his cock. "Love how eager you are,” older-Louis says, almost as an afterthought.

Harry buries his head between older-Louis’s legs, breathing deeply in the smell of sex and feeling older-Louis’s spit-slick cock hard against his cheek. His heart feels like it might pound out of his chest, and he’s sure he’s dripping precome all over the upholstery, but. None of that feels important. “Daddy," Harry whispers into the crease of older-Louis’s thigh. “Daddy."

Older-Louis’s hands are solid against the back of his neck. “Shh, baby," older-Louis says. Harry’s whole body shakes. Louis—this Louis is his daddy. Harry is his baby. "You're okay, baby, come here.” Older-Louis pulls Harry into his lap and Harry hides his faces immediately in older-Louis’s neck. Older-Louis’s cock pokes into Harry’s thigh and Harry rocks against it a little, spreading his legs so he can straddle older-Louis properly while his arms are wrapped tight around his neck. Older-Louis keeps one hand on Harry’s back while the other moves between them, pets at Harry’s stomach and then wraps around Harry’s cock. Harry sighs into older-Louis’s skin, biting his lip so the word doesn’t slip out again. It shouldn’t affect him this much, god.

"So hard again, baby Hazza," older-Louis says into Harry's ear. His hand moves down from Harry’s back to knead his arse, still loose and wet. "I'd like to fuck you, see you squirm, you're so pretty, baby. Would you like that?"

Harry nods. “Yeah.” Older-Louis’s neck is sloppy with his spit and tears already, fuck, he’s a wreck. “Yeah—“ Harry starts to pull away from his neck, then blushes. “Daddy,” he adds in a hoarse whisper, inches from older-Louis’s ear.

Older-Louis hitches Harry up onto his hips and lifts him. It’s only about five seconds before he sets him back down on the other bed, the one where older-Harry is three fingers deep into Louis, but Harry still wraps his legs tightly around older-Louis’s waist. Older-Louis spreads him out on the bed and Harry's legs fall open easily, but he doesn’t even have the energy to be ashamed. Daddy. Older-Louis crawls between Harry's legs and he spreads them even farther, his cock bouncing a little against his tummy.

But older-Louis doesn't touch his cock, doesn't tuck his fingers or his anything inside Harry. He just starts touching Harry, touching him everywhere, nails scratching lightly over his arms, his chest, kissing his armpits and collarbones and love handles. Harry starts whining as older-Louis laves over his nipples, rolling one between his fingers while he bites gently (and then not-so-gently) at the other. Harry’s hips buck, he’s leaking all over his tummy, but older-Louis just pushes him down against the bed and sucks all the more insistently at his nipples. Harry gets so antsy, having his nipples teased and played with and nibbled on while his Louis is moaning yes, another, fuck. It feels like he’s spiraling out of control, almost, like he’s so turned on he might just die because he has no idea what else to do about it, except—except for how older-Louis grips his hip so assuredly, like he knows where this is going, like Harry can just let go and ride out his dizzying arousal because older-Louis’s got him, he’ll bring him to the edge with his fucking teeth grazing Harry’s nipple just short of hard enough, but then he’ll bring him back.

"Ready?" older-Louis says after a while. Harry comes close to sobbing his yes yes please, but he's aware enough to tell that older-Louis isn’t even not even talking to him--he's looking over him to older-Harry, who nods, kisses Louis’s arse cheek, and pulls his fingers out of him slowly.

“Condoms?” older-Harry says. His voice sounds rough. Harry wonders when he’ll find out on his own what his voice sounds like after he’s licked out someone’s arse.

“If they want,” older-Louis says. He picks up the bottle of lube from where it had fallen earlier on the bed and squirts some onto his fingers. “I mean,” he says casually as he rubs the lube against Harry’s rim, causing him to gasp, “we know we don’t—I mean.” He slips two fingers inside Harry and scissors. Harry throws his head back and groans. “We’ve got a vested interest in making sure they’re disease-free,” older-Louis says, sounding pleased with himself, “but it’s up to you, love.” He nudges a third finger into Harry, beside the other two, and kisses the side of his knee.

Yes,” Harry says automatically. Older-Louis kisses his knee again and laughs a little. “I mean—“ Harry cranes his neck up to see where the younger Louis is crawling onto his hands and knees, his cock bobbing hard between his legs. They catch each other’s eye for a moment and stare. A lump forms in Harry’s throat. Louis’s nostrils are flaring.

“I trust you,” Harry says. He closes his eyes and rolls his face into the sheets. “Just—please.” Older-Louis nudges his prostate and he keens, his thighs burning as he tries to spread them wider.

Louis is quiet for a minute before Harry hears him say, “Me too. I mean—I know you wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t,” older-Harry says softly. Then, to older-Louis: “On the diagonal, you think?”

“Yeah,” older-Louis says. He pulls his fingers out of Harry’s arse and Harry whines. “Budge up, darling.” He nudges Harry’s hip and he scoots over, not really paying attention to where he’s going (or to much of anything besides the slick sound of older-Louis coating himself in lube, this gorgeous man is going to fuck him oh god) until he opens his eyes again and sees his Louis’s face hovering a few inches above his. Harry’s head jolts and he hits Louis’s arm.

“Oops,” Harry says. Louis repositions his hands a bit farther from Harry’s head, but he’s still. He’s right there. One Louis is lining up his cock with Harry’s arse, pulling at his rim with his  and another Louis is flushed and breathing heavily and about to be fucked inches from Harry’s face. Harry’s not panicking, but like, he might be panicking. “Sorry,” he says, his voice unsteady.

“Hi,” Louis says. He laughs a little, then inhales sharply and bites his lip. He’s so beautiful, and so close, with his eyelashes fluttering closed and the whites of his teeth just barely flashing, that Harry’s distracted the moment before older-Louis’s cock presses into him.

Harry’s whole body shakes and he grips the sheets fiercely. Shit, older-Louis feels huge inside him, Harry’s rim feels stretched like never before, and Harry thinks he might go hysterical with the friction.

“So good, baby,” older-Louis is saying, but he sounds far away when Harry’s Louis is inches from his face, gasping and choking on air and shuddering as Harry’s cock enters him for the first time. Older-Louis’s cock fucks into Harry slowly, pulling out every inch or so only to sink in a little bit deeper. The stretch is so, so much, it feels like the first time all over again when Harry sat himself on Louis’s lap and felt him so deep and full he thought he’d have to scoop his insides out to make more room for him, only this time Louis isn’t laughing awkwardly and teasing you look like you’ve seen the second coming of Christ. Louis’s breath is faltering and he’s looking into Harry’s eyes, at Harry’s lips, and moaning. Older-Louis hitches Harry’s arse up into the air a little and bottoms out, his balls resting against Harry’s arse while he circles his hips and pushes as deep into Harry as he can possibly go.

“Feel so good, sweetheart,” older-Louis says, “fuck, I love you,” and he pulls halfway out and thrusts in again, hard.

Harry shouts, he keens, his back arches, his hand scrambles for his cock as older-Louis circles his hips again, teasing. “Daddy,” Harry groans, his shoulders shaking like it’s a sob. Older-Louis bats his fist away from his cock, leaving it hard and aching on Harry’s stomach. Older-Louis laces his fingers through Harry’s hand before he realizes what he’s said.

Harry’s eyes widen in shock just as older-Louis starts to fuck him in earnest. His face contorts with the pleasure of it, his legs shake with the effort to thrust back against older-Louis harder, and he bites his lip to hold back his whines as his eyes flicker up to Louis.

The second they make eye contact, Louis’s lips crash down onto Harry’s in a hard kiss. Really, it’s hard to even call it a kiss—mostly they just gasp into each other’s lips while both of them get fucked by the other, but for a moment Louis sucks Harry’s lower lip into his mouth and nibbles on it, breathing harshly against Harry’s chin. Harry sobs at that, arches up into Louis’s touch and grabs his cock desperately to relieve some of the tension overflowing in his abdomen, but older-Louis bats his hand away again and says be a good boy. Harry sobs again at that, his chest heaving, god does he want that, it’s all he wants, to be a good boy for his daddy, his Louis. (Older-Louis, he reminds himself. Older-Louis.) The younger Louis pulls away, throws his head back and says yeah as the sound of an arse that is not Harry’s being smacked resounds through the room.

There’s silence for a few minutes, except the spring of bed springs and the wet sounds of harsh breathing and balls smacking while younger-Louis and Harry get fucked, thoroughly, by their older selves. Harry is in some kind of heavenly state—he’s not even sure if he’s conscious half the time except for how he hears older-Louis mumble baby every once in a while and unconscious people don’t have their breath hitch, do they?

Once, he squawks as older-Louis changes the angle and hits his prostate harder. Older-Louis tightens his hand in his and Louis… Louis let’s out an oh and lowers himself onto his forearms slowly. He rests his forehead against Harry’s. Harry squeezes his eyes shut—he can feel Louis grinding his teeth and the momentum of older-Harry’s thrusts rocking them together in time with older-Louis’s. The older men start talking but Harry can’t focus on anything but Louis’s harsh breathing in his ear.

“—bet you could come just from that.” Older-Harry leans forward far enough to whisper in younger-Louis's ear and Harry slides back into focus with a whine. "Just from my pretty little tongue in your arse. You'll beg for more, but I’m just pinned down underneath you, it'll be so wet and I'm whining against your hole while you fuck me--"

"God," Louis gasps, "please, please, oh my god please." He presses hard against Harry’s forehead and breathes in deeply, his nose pressed into Harry’s curls. “Harry,” Louis says. His voice breaks and Harry can feel how hard older-Harry is pounding into him from the way their heads crash together and the bed shakes. Louis pants against Harry’s hair as older-Harry lets out a loud grunt and, apparently, comes inside him.

The next few moments are fuzzy. Harry’s cock almost hurts from how hard he is but older-Louis called him good, wants him to be a good boy. It takes so much out of Harry not to just start jerking himself off that he’s barely cognizant of the bodies shuffling around on the bed, of all the voices asking him if he’s all right. It seems like such an irrelevant question, like—no, he’s not all right, he feels like he’s entering some other plane of existence and he never wants to come down.

What snaps him back to focus is when he opens his eyes and it’s not Louis’s wrecked smile looking down at him, but Louis’s arse, Louis’s arse fucking jiggling over his face while his knees bump against Harry’s shoulders. Just the thought of Louis closing that distance, of sitting on Harry’s face, is making it hard for Harry to breathe.

“Okay, baby?” older-Louis is saying. His thrusts into Harry have gotten slower, but that doesn’t do much to keep Harry from being overwhelmed. He squeezes Harry’s hand. “Don’t have to do anything you don’t want.” Louis’s fucked-red arsehole clenches two inches above Harry’s face and some of—some of Harry’s come drips out and hits Harry on the cheek. 

Harry’s heart races and he feels his face redden. He does want. He needs, like he’d never imagined he’d ever need somebody to ride his face, but—this is probably where he was destined to end up from the moment he met Louis, and Harry can’t regret that for a second. He pulls his hand out of older-Louis’s grip and tries to push Louis’s arse down onto his face, but someone—older-Harry, god, his come is on Harry’s face but Harry had almost forgotten he was there—grabs his hands and pulls them over his head.

“Squeeze if you need a minute,” older-Harry says, “all right?” Harry swallows and nods. His nose brushes a red bite mark on the underside of Louis’s arse as he does, and then Louis’s lowering himself the last inch or so onto Harry’s face while older-Louis grinds deep inside Harry. He’s gasping as his lips make contact with Louis’s hole for the first time.

Harry doesn’t know how to do this, he has no leverage, there’s come coating his tongue and it’s messy and unpracticed, but Harry’s first time rimming Louis is perfect. He’s not even surprised to find he’s crying at this point. He thinks Louis might be, too, but his belabored breathing is so far, everything is so far away except older-Louis’s cock splitting Harry open to the core and the pressure of Louis’s arse cheeks against Harry’s face as his tongue slips just past Louis’s rim, into the wet, perfect heat of Louis’s body. There’s bitter come and sweet-flavored lube smearing across Harry’s face but none of that matters, not when he’s closer to Louis than he’s ever been, kissing his rim and licking over his entrance again and again until his tongue starts burrowing itself as deeply inside Louis as possible, seemingly of its own accord. Louis’s hole is fluttering, clenching, but letting him in.

It feels like no time at all before Louis comes with a shout, spilling onto his hand and dripping onto Harry’s chest. Harry feels it first from the inside, feels Louis’s body pulsing around his tongue and it’s. God, it’s so much. Louis moves off Harry’s face just barely and then he wraps his hand around Harry’s cock and Harry chokes on nothing, sputtering, tears flowing over his cheeks freely as he finally, finally gets what he needs. Older-Louis hitches Harry's legs over his shoulders, starts pounding into him again at double the pace, and younger-Louis’s still whimpering and not removing his arse from Harry’s face and it’s so so much that it’s finally enough. Harry comes with Louis circling the head of his cock with his thumb and Louis kissing his knee and Louis squeezing his arse and Louis inside his arse and Louis’s thighs around his head and Louis’s come on his chest and Louis starts coming inside him before he’s even stopped coming, Louis is everywhere. Louis is everything.

“Daddy.” Harry can’t help but say it, quietly, into younger-Louis’s thigh. He doesn’t know if anyone hears him. He’s still crying a little. Older-Louis is stroking his outer thighs, kissing his calves. Harry had forgotten he had arms until older-Harry releases his hands. Suddenly they ache like he’s been lifting weights, but Louis is scooting off his face and older-Louis is smiling down at him, sated, happy, kind. It’s okay.

“Flannel,” older-Louis mumbles. He pets at Harry’s hip and eases his legs back down to the bed.

“I’ve got it,” older-Harry says. Harry closes his eyes as he feels older-Harry eye the mess on his face and chest. “Just a mo.” The bed feels lighter as he rolls off. Harry just feels more heavy. He puts a hand to his face and shudders at how sticky it is. Fuck. Harry’s been totally debauched. Now that it’s over, he should maybe start to care.

“You did so good,” older-Louis says, like he can read Harry’s mind. He pulls Harry’s hand away from his face and kisses his fingertips. “So proud of you, baby.”

Harry flushes at the endearment. His eyes open flicker towards Louis but he’s lying flat against the bed with his feet dangling off the end. His face is turned away from Harry and he’s not saying anything.

“You’re incredible.” Older-Louis smooths his hand over Harry’s jaw and Harry turns his gaze back towards him. He’s looking at Harry like—Harry doesn’t know how he knows, but it’s exactly the way Harry looks at Louis. Harry blinks some stray tears out of his eyes and nuzzles against older-Louis’s hand. Older-Louis doesn’t stop muttering reassurances until older-Harry returns with two damp flannels. He cleans Harry gently, smiling at him fondly, but Harry doesn’t miss the dark look he gives the younger Louis as older-Harry cleans the leftover spit and lube and come from his arse.

“I guess we should talk now,” older-Harry says after a minute. He tosses his flannel to the floor and glances at older-Louis. Harry looks between them and his heart skips a beat. Jesus. What is there to say?

“Yeah,” older-Louis says. He drops his own flannel, picks up a pair of boxers (Harry might be confused but he thinks they’re older-Harry’s), and slips them on. Then he kicks the bed between his younger self’s legs. “Get some pants on and come with me.”

Louis jumps a little and frowns. “Arsehole,” he mutters. He sounds distinctly unlike his world’s been turned upside down. Harry can’t look at him. Louis rolls over and picks up his pants. Older-Louis kisses Harry on the forehead while he puts them on. Harry closes his eyes. Older-Harry rests a hand on his inner thigh. Both Louis’s go into the next room, and the door closes.

"I am so fucked up,” Harry says without opening his eyes.

Older-Harry keeps petting his leg. “I know you think that now,” he says.

“I’m pathetic.” Harry sits up and puts his face in his hands. “He doesn’t even—I can’t, I can’t do what you—and I want to call him—“ He can’t. He can’t say the word. He rubs at the dried tears streaking his face and feels like throwing up.

“You’re not pathetic,” older-Harry says. He puts his arm around Harry. It might not be quite as tender as older-Louis’s touch but… it’s something. “In fact, since I am you—or at least I was—I’m a bit offended.” Harry lets out a snort of a laugh into his hands. “No, but hey, I mean. Look at me.” Harry glances up at him and he’s smiling down at him a little sadly. Older-Harry doesn’t look enough like him for it to be really weird, but it’s… disconcerting. “I’ve called Louis Tomlinson daddy and I’m still here,” older-Harry says. “Still breathing. Still famous enough to get papped at bloody Tesco’s.”

Harry bites his lip. “I guess,” he says. If there’s anything good that’s come out of this, it might be that now he knows sex with Louis won’t kill him any time in the near future. That hadn’t always been such a sure thing. “Only…” Harry glances at the closed door. “Your Louis’s a bit different, isn’t he?”

Older-Harry squeezes Harry’s shoulder. “He’s your Louis, too,” he says in an undertone. He’s looking in the same direction as Harry. “And he’s not as different as you might think.”

Harry shuffles a little out of older-Harry’s grip. “We’re not—you know.” He sighs and pulls his knees up to his chin. “He’s not my Louis.” For all he knows, older-Louis isn’t older-Harry’s Louis either.

But… then again…

Older-Harry snorts and flops down onto the bed. Harry jolts a little. “Sorry,” older-Harry says, not sounding very sorry at all. “I’m pants at this.” He covers his eyes with one hand and rubs his temples before looking back to Harry. “You’re just—“ He laughs, with a twinge of hysteria, and throws his hands up in the air. “You know how sometimes, when you learn something, you just—you can’t imagine never having known it?” He squints at Harry and shakes his head. “And you maybe kind of hate the version of you who didn’t know it?”

“So… you hate me?” Harry raises his eyebrows. He’s not offended by older-Harry, weirdly. In fact, he’s a little comforted. He maybe kind of hates older-Harry, too.

“I guess.” Older-Harry sits up again. “Sorry, this talk was supposed to be about you,” he says. He leans against his temple and waves his hand. “Like, comforting you. Telling you it’s okay to feel how you feel. And talk about it.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Harry uncrosses his legs, recrosses them, and fiddles with his thumbs. “I’m, like, into kiddie porn apparently, and Louis likes getting fucked, but not by me. What else is there to say?”

“It’s not the same as kiddie porn,” older-Harry snaps. His demeanor changes entirely for a moment. He shakes his head down at his lap and makes a fist. “Fuck, liking to feel—safe, cared-for. It doesn’t mean you’re fucked up and it doesn’t mean you can’t—“ He looks back at Harry, then his expression softens. “Sorry,” he says. “That’s—you’ll figure that stuff out, that’s not why I’m here.”

“Why are you here, then?” Harry says. He crosses his hands over his chest defensively. Other than making Harry feel three times as fucked in the head as he did before, he’s not sure what this was meant to accomplish. If it was meant to accomplish anything.

“Because—“ Older Harry looks towards the door, like he’s… communicating with older-Louis through it or something. He grunts and punches the mattress. “Because Louis does want you to fuck him!” he says. He looks at the ceiling and sighs. “Like—bloody hell.” He gestures at the crumpled sheets. “We—we just! You saw! With your own eyes! But your head is too far up your own arse to get it.”

Everything is quiet for a minute. Harry stares at the creases in the sheets. He—they—what. “You said—“  He clears his throat. “You’re not supposed to say anything about the future.”

“But it’s not the future,” older-Harry says. He takes both of Harry’s shoulders in his hand like he might shake him, but he doesn’t. He just leans his forehead against Harry’s. He feels a bit shaken anyway. “It’s happening right now,” he says.

Right now. Harry wonders what’s going on in the other room. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but now—now he thinks he might. He closes his eyes and takes a few breaths in time with older-Harry’s. After a minute, he whispers, “I don’t know what to do.” His voice cracks.

Older-Harry pulls away from Harry and his nostrils flare. “Remove your head from your arse and bloody talk to your—“ He cuts off, inhales, and then continues. “Talk to Louis,” he says, a bit more calmly. He rests a hand on Harry’s cheek. “We’ve given you plenty to talk about, I think. Now it’s up to you.”

Harry stares at him, then pushes his hand away his hand gently. His eyes flicker towards the closed door again. As the silence between them lengthens, Harry thinks he can hear Louis (which, he doesn’t know) through the door. He sounds angry.

“I like older-Louis better, I think,” Harry says eventually. Older-Harry rolls his eyes and makes an exasperated sound. “Than you, I mean,” Harry says quickly, smirking a little.

Older-Harry immediately breaks into a wide grin. He crosses his legs and leans his weight back on his hands. “Me too,” he says with a lopsided grin. “Although… younger-Louis certainly has his assets.” He wiggles his eyebrows in Harry’s direction. “And by assets, I mean—“

Heeeeey,” Harry says. He shoves older-Harry’s shoulder. “That’s my Louis you’re talking about.”

Older-Harry smirks for a good thirty seconds before Harry realizes what he’s said. “Get here,” older-Harry says, before Harry can make excuses. He falls back on the bed and Harry only hesitates for a second before resting his head against his chest. It’s—nice. Having someone older and stronger than him hold him. It’s not quite the same as when older-Louis held him, since he can’t quite stop himself from staring at the tattoos literally his torso and wondering what the hell possessed him, but it’s still… nice.

Maybe Harry should just stop questioning why things are the way they are.

Some time later, Harry is starting to fall asleep tucked against older-Harry’s side when, finally, the door opens. Harry squints and sees older-Louis standing there, fully dressed in the blazer and jeans he’d arrived in. Harry wonders when that happened. And how he can look even more handsome than he did before with wrinkled clothes and sex hair. He exhales and closes his eyes. “We’re done,” older-Louis says, just over a whisper. He probably thinks Harry is asleep. “You ready to get home, daddy?"

For a second, Harry’s heart stops. He’s mortified. He wants the earth to swallow him up whole. Older-Louis says it teasingly, like it’s—like it’s all some sort of huge joke and he’s not even sure how but Harry knows, just knows that the joke is on him. He’s just about to crawl under the bed and stay there until he dies when older-Harry replies.

"Just a second, papa,” he says. There’s an air of jest in his voice, too, but it’s like—it’s like they’re poking fun at each other, not at him. “You all right?” Older-Harry pets down Harry’s curls and it doesn’t feel like he’s mocking him at all. Harry looks up at his sleepy smile and his eyes widen.

How are the kids? Simon had asked earlier.

“I’m…” Harry sits up, puts a hand to the back of his head, and looks between older-Harry and older-Louis. “Do you—are you—“

"Would you look at the time!" older-Harry exclaims. He’s smiling wickedly as he stands up and starts pulling on his clothes. "Best be off, shan't we?"

Harry gapes at older-Louis. He just smirks and shrugs. 

"Bye, baby Harry,” he says. He kneels next to Harry on the bed and kisses his the top of his head. Harry’s suddenly aware that he’s still very naked. “Baby me is waiting for you in the other room.” He holds Harry’s face in both hands and looks down at him fondly before kissing his temple. “Be good.”

“Bye,” Harry says. Older-Louis gets up to leave. Harry rubs at his temple where he kissed it. “I—“ He clears his throat. “I just… thanks.”

Older-Louis looks like he has to stop himself from saying something else. He turns to older-Harry, who’s fully dressed by now.

“Let me just—“ older-Harry says, gesturing towards the adjacent room.

“He’s fine,” older-Louis says, shaking his head. Older-Harry raises an eyebrow. “Honest, just—let’s go home?”

Older-Harry hesitates, but older-Louis walks up to him and puts his hands on his hips, resting his forehead against his chest. Oh. Yeah, okay, it’s not like Harry hadn’t guessed, but—oh.

“All right,” older-Harry says. He rests his hand on the small of older-Louis’s back. “You two need to talk anyway,” he says to Harry. “We’re done here, I think.”

Older-Louis slots himself against older-Harry’s side. “Byeeee,” he says over his shoulder to Harry. They make their way to the door. Harry’s brain feels like it’s going haywire, and he can’t get his mouth to shut. Older-Louis looks at him once more before they leave the suite.

God you’re fucking cute,” he says to older-Harry, and older-Harry laughs as he shuts the door behind them.

Harry sits immobile on the bed, his brain working a mile a minute. Simon's said, if the band works out, they might meet again. He's been vague about the whole thing, of course, but he’s hinted at it. Maybe Harry can ask them then. If it all works out.

Or maybe—

Harry gets up and goes into the next room without putting his clothes on. Louis is curled up on the couch with a blanket pulled up to his chin. He looks at Harry in the doorway for a long moment before he bites his lip and looks away.

“Hi,” he says. He rests his chin on his knee. Harry doesn’t think twice about settling himself down on the couch next to Louis and resting his head on his shoulder.

“Hi,” he says back. Louis hesitates a moment, then drapes part of his blanket over Harry. Harry takes the opportunity to nuzzle his nose against Louis’s side through his tee shirt. Louis relaxes into him and his fingers wind their way into Harry’s curls.

Maybe Harry won't ask. Maybe he’ll let what happens, happen.