Harry cannot believe he really let his older sister, Gemma, drag him along to some stupid frat party. When she had first asked him to go with her, he immediately declined the invitation, which she had initially accepted. Until apparently her friend Lottie told her she should definitely get him to come.
She pushed him harder after that, annoying him with anecdotes such as, “C’mon, Harry! It’s your second year at uni, and you haven’t even gone to a party!” to which he responded with, "Have so!”
“Niall’s niece’s christening doesn’t count.”
Harry had grumbled something in response like, “There was wine there.”
But now, he’s here, at some frat house for Phi Kappa Big Bird, or summat, standing alone in the corner while Gemma and Lottie seemingly have the time of their lives, taking shots and screaming when the ping pong balls actually land in the opposing team’s cups.
Harry’s never really been a fan of big house parties like this. Especially ones with this many men with more testosterone than brain cells. He’s definitely always been more comfortable with girls, he thinks. Of course, there are girls here. Lots of them. They’re just too inebriated to understand that Harry doesn’t exactly play for their team. He’s had to send two girls home in cabs already since they’ve arrived an hour ago.
The third time a girl tries to take him upstairs, he decides that maybe it would be best to put something into his system that’ll let this night be a little less unbearable. He pushes past the girl, tearing her fists from his t-shirt and walks over to the table with bottles on bottles of alcohol, ranging from light beer to everclear. He suddenly realizes he doesn’t know as much about alcohol as he probably should at his age. He grabs a plastic cup and reaches for the green apple vodka, because how bad could that be?
Some asshole must have spilled something on the bottle because when Harry goes to pick it up by the neck, it slips out of his hand. “Oops!” he exclaims without thinking, squeezing his eyes shut to prepare himself for the inevitable crash of glass bottles breaking, but it never comes. He peeks one eye open and sees the bottle he just dropped being held by… a fucking Greek god. Literally.
“Hi,” the blue-eyed, feathery-haired Adonis says, letting his amused smirk show proudly. Harry stands there with wide eyes, and when he doesn’t say anything, the boy’s eyebrows raise.
Harry quickly clears his throat. “Thanks for, uh, catching the, you know, bottle.” He awkwardly coughs into his hand.
The boy chuckles. “Can I get you a drink, since you can’t seem to handle it on your own?”
Harry’s cheeks go pink, but he tries his best to ignore the feeling of embarrassment in the pit of his stomach. He nods. “Uh, yeah.”
He holds up the same bottle Harry almost wasted. “Vodka, I’m assuming?” Harry nods again, and he pours a bit into the cup. “Straight?”
The way the boy’s lips move and the way his biceps tense slightly and the sides of his abdomen reveal themselves when he lifts his arms in his tank top make Harry’s brain go to absolute mush. He can’t seem to think straight at all (not that he ever has).
The boy immediately stops pouring and looks up at Harry through his eyelashes. He licks his lips and chuckles in amusement. “I meant the drink.”
And Harry's officially an idiot. “Oh.” He immediately wishes the ground would swallow him whole. “Then yeah, straight.”
The boy nods and hands him his plastic cup full of straight green apple vodka. Harry’s just about to walk away and find a closet to hide in for the rest of his life when he’s interrupted. “I’m Louis.”
“Harry,” he replies more confidently than he feels.
“Are you in a frat? I haven’t seen you before,” Louis asks. He smirks. “and I feel like I’d remember you.”
Harry swallows, shell-shocked that someone as incredibly attractive as Louis could possibly be flirting with him? And he’s in a frat, no less. Frat boys are idiots, as far as Harry’s experience with them goes, and Louis doesn’t seem like a twat.
“No, absolutely not,” he says too quickly and too matter-of-factly.
Louis raises his eyebrows. “You seem to have a pretty strong opinion on frats for a guy at a frat party,” he laughs.
Harry’s incredibly relieved that he didn’t just offend the beautiful man, and he shrugs. “Not really, just wouldn’t join one. And, for your information, I’m here because my sister dragged me here.”
“You don’t like the parties?” Louis gasps. “That’s the whole reason I’m in Phi Kap! Why don’t you like frat parties?”
Before Harry can even open his mouth to answer, some jock in a Alpha Theta Apple Pie t-shirt tackles a fuckboy in a Kappa Squids hat over the game of beer pong, knocking not only the beers over, but also the entire table.
Harry turns back to face Louis, whose lips are now tightly pressed together. Louis nods. “Yeah, that’ll do it.” He quickly downs another shot, his face barely reacting to the bitter alcohol. “More gay vodka?” he asks. Harry nods.
“So you’re telling me,” Louis challenges. “that if you had to choose between Tobey Maguire’s Spiderman and Tom Holland’s, you’d choose Tom Holland’s?”
They’re now sat on some loveseat in the second living area in the frat house, away from almost everyone else at the party, arguing about the dynamics of the Marvel universe.
Harry nods. “Obviously.”
“You’re the absolute worst,“ Louis laughs, taking another swig of his beer.
Harry scoffs. “Hey, it’s not my fault you’re stuck in the past. Tobey’s Spiderman didn’t even make sense! He was never supposed to be able to shoot the web out of his skin like he did, he was supposed to make the webbing and a device that shot it out when he, like, tsss,” he explains, doing the Spiderman hand motion. “Tom Holland’s Spiderman is so much more accurate to the comic books, and he actually looks like he could be a teenager, unlike Tobey, who played Spiderman when he was 27.”
Louis looks horrified at Harry’s words. “But it’s the whole sentiment of the thing, like Tobey was the original Spiderman, you can’t just negate that!”
“I’m not negating anything!” Harry defends himself. “I’m just saying that between the three of the Spidermen, Tom is the best one by far.”
Louis shakes his head. “I completely disagree.”
“Can we at least agree that Andrew Garfield’s Spiderman was a complete joke?”
“Oh, absolutely. I can’t get through any of those movies without wanting to bang my head against a wall.”
“Agreed,” Harry chuckles. He takes a sip of his gay vodka and cringes at the taste once again. “I would definitely fuck Tom Holland though.”
Louis ponders the thought and tips his head to one side, seemingly agreeing. “He’s very pretty. Too short for me, though.”
Harry furrows his eyebrows at that, setting his drink down on the coffee table in front of them. “I’m pretty sure he’s taller than you.”
“Is not!” Louis scoffs, setting his beer next to Harry’s and leaning forwards to intimidate him. That was definitely the reason.
“He’s 5’8”,” Harry says.
“‘M 5’9”!” Louis retorts incredulously.
Harry can’t help but break out into a fit of laughter at that. “You’re definitely not, mate.”
“I am!” he sticks with his story, shoving Harry slightly.
“Prove it,” Harry laughs.
Louis’s nostrils flare as he looks Harry up and down, licking his lips. Harry turns his body towards Louis and rests his chin in his hand as he waits for him to prove his height. Louis glares at him. “I’ll prove it, alright,” Louis grumbles. Harry doesn’t have time to reply before he’s being tackled and pushed back so that he’s laying horizontally on the loveseat. Louis’s lips attach to his own, and he’s not sure how this is proving anything, but he’s sure he’s okay with it.
Harry begins moving his lips against Louis’s, his hands entangling themselves in his hair while Louis’s run up and down his torso, one making its way underneath his t-shirt. Harry accidentally lets a moan slip when Louis’s thumb brushes over his nipple. Hearing that, Louis kisses him harder. Harry pushes his luck and moves one of his hands down to cup Louis’s ass. Louis immediately breaks the kiss when he feels Harry squeeze his ass, and Harry thinks he might have pushed his luck too far.
“Sorry,” Harry says breathily.
Louis ignores him. “Do you want to find a bedroom?”
Harry can somehow feel Louis’s hard-on through both of their jeans as he’s being pressed against the wall of the first empty bedroom they could find. Neither of them has any idea whose it is, and, quite frankly, neither of them care.
“Have you ever been fucked?” Louis growls into Harry’s ear as he kisses and bites down his neck.
Harry takes a shaky breath, his eyes closing at the immaculate feeling of Louis’s teeth nipping at his skin. “Yes.”
“Was he gentle?” Louis asks, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone. He moves to the other side of Harry’s throat, just below his ear. He bites down, creating a deep purple bruise and leaving Harry a moaning mess. “Or rough?”
“Ugh,” Harry groans. “He was gentle.”
Louis hums in response, sliding his hand down Harry’s back slowly and slipping it below the waistband of his jeans. “Do you want it gentle then, love?”
Harry quickly shakes his head, gasping at the feeling of Louis’s fingers beginning to circle his entrance. “Rough,” he says. “Please,” he begs.
Louis smirks up at him and edges the tip of his middle finger into Harry, and Harry nearly loses himself in the anticipation, grabbing Louis’s shoulders and gripping them tightly. Louis smoothly removes his hand from inside Harry’s jeans, making the younger boy whine and bite his lip.
He presses his lips to Harry’s, their teeth clanging together and neither of them minding one bit. “Where do you want it?” he growls into Harry’s ear.
An inhuman sound leaves Harry’s lips as he glances around the room. He swallows. “Against the wall?”
Louis’s eyes darken. “Turn around.”
Harry does as he’s told, placing his hands against the wall and leaning against it. He shudders as Louis runs his hands up his spine, slipping his t-shirt over his head. He places a gentle kiss on his shoulder blade before grabbing his hips and pulling them towards his own. Harry groans when he feels Louis’s cock rub against his ass through their jeans, his cheek pressing against the cold wall.
Louis presses harder against him. “I’m gonna take your jeans off now, yeah?” he whispers into his ear, his chest covering his back.
Harry nods. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, do that.”
Louis reaches around, unbuttoning Harry’s jeans and pulling them down leaving them pooled around his ankles. “No pants?” Louis asks, pleasantly surprised.
Harry decides that there’s no need to answer the rhetorical comment and kicks his shoes and jeans off.
Louis hums in admiration at the younger boy’s body, taking in every freckle and curve.
Harry glances behind himself only to find Louis, now only in his pants, dropping to his knees. He gasps when Louis spreads his ass cheeks, swiping a finger over his rim. “Nice little ass you’ve got here.”
Harry’s breathing quickens when he feels Louis’s breath ghost over him. He wiggles his hips, mentally screaming at Louis to just do something. Louis doesn’t waste another moment, swiping his tongue over Harry’s rim, earning a throaty groan from him. What Harry wants to say is Fuck, Louis, your fucking tongue, oh my fucking god, fucking end my life, it’s so good, I would marry you if you’d use that tongue on me every day. Instead, he settles for “Fuck.”
Louis licks and flicks and slurps, and Harry screams louder than he probably should when Louis edges a finger in next to his tongue, using his spit as makeshift lube.
Harry's hands curl up into fists and his eyes squeeze themselves shut. He bangs a fist against the wall when Louis slips another finger in and thrusts them in, curling them just right. His ear is pressed against the wall now, and he hears a faint what the fuck? come from the next room. He ignores it.
“A third, a third,“ Harry groans, and Louis quickly obliges.
“Love hearing you beg.” He thrusts his fingers exceptionally hard this time, and Harry could literally cry it feels so good. In desperate need of some sort of relief, he reaches down to stroke himself. Louis quickly slaps his hand away. “Don’t touch yourself until I tell you to.”
“Fuck,” Harry breathes, biting his lips and letting a groan out of his throat.
Louis stands up, abruptly removing his fingers from Harry’s ass, causing a whine to leave Harry’s lips. He presses his chest against Harry’s back and reaches around to grip his cock, stroking lightly. “D’you want me to fuck you?” Harry nods, taking in the slight relief Louis’s giving him. “I can’t hear you.”
“Please, god, yes,” Harry gasps as Louis tightens his grip.
“Please, god, yes what?”
“Please, for the love of god, Louis, please fuck me as hard as you can and make me scream so that all of those stupid frat boys can hear how good you’re making me feel, or else I swear to god I’ll-“
Louis quickly spits in his hand and rubs it all over his now condom-clad cock as lube. “Good boy,” he growls, lining himself up with the rim of Harry’s ass. “Tell me again how you want it.”
“Fucking,” Harry breathes, sweat beading on his skin. “rough, Louis, please, I’m-“ Harry’s interrupted by Louis beginning to fill him up, the tip of his cock piercing his hole in just the right way. Harry lets a booming moan slip from his mouth as Louis slowly begins to move, gripping his hips so tightly, Harry’s sure he’ll have bruises there tomorrow.
“Fuck,” Louis gasps. “You’re so much fucking tighter than I thought you’d be.” His words turn into one loud moan by the end of his sentence.
“Harder,” Harry groans. “Go all in.”
Louis doesn’t have to be told twice, immediately increasing his pace and slamming into Harry so hard, they’re both sure that if the others at the party haven’t heard their moans, they’ll likely hear their hips slapping together over and over and over again.
Louis fills him up so nicely, Harry can’t even believe it. Every thrust hits his g-spot so well, and every time their hips tough, Harry’s just… so full.
It’s incredible. Absolutely incredible. Absolutely, positively, one-hundred percent-
“Incredible,” Louis finishes his thoughts, and with that, Harry’s not sure this could be any better. Until it is. “Turn around and let me see you,” Louis says breathily into Harry’s ear, removing himself from the boy momentarily. Harry does as he’s told, completely done-in and overwhelmed at this point, and he just wants to cum. “Fuck, you’re pretty,” Louis bites his lip and glances towards the dresser on the other side of the room. “Up there,” he motions, and Harry understands exactly what he means, quickly striding over and lifting himself up so that he’s sitting on top of the dresser. The second his ass touches the polished wood, Louis’s lips are back on his, and he’s being thrust into once again with no warning. He roams Harry’s mouth with his tongue, the pair feeling the vibrations of each other’s moans.
Harry’s listened to Louis’s directions not to touch himself this entire time, and it’s getting to be way too much, his cock red and dripping with pre-cum. The only way he can keep himself from getting himself off at this point is by entangling his fingers in Louis’s hair, tugging and pulling at it whenever he needs to feel himself. It’s for this reason that Harry is so fucking relieved when Louis says “I’m so fucking close. Touch yourself,” in between kisses.
Harry can barely move his hand fast enough, keeping his lips connected to Louis’s as he pounds into him, the entire dresser shaking violently. Their moans become louder and closer together as they both near their climax. Harry reaches his first, disconnecting their lips for the first time in quite a while to bite the dip in Louis’s neck as he releases somewhat into his hand, somewhat onto his and Louis’s torsos. “Keep going,” he breathes once he’s done, and Louis listens. Harry moans as he continues thrusting into him. Overstimulation is like Harry’s crack.
“Ugh, fuck,” Louis groans, coming close. “You’re so. fucking. good.“ With his last word, he comes loudly into the condom, his and Harry’s moans filling the room and overflowing into the hallway.
Louis waits a moment before he pulls out, resting his head on Harry’s tattooed chest. Harry leans his head on the wall behind him as they both try to catch their breath.
Their eyes meet a moment later, the lust-filled silence deafening.
Harry smirks. “You’re still not 5’9”.”
Louis rolls his eyes, but smiles up at Harry, patting his knee. “Let’s go get some more gay vodka, yeah?”
Harry chuckles as he nods. "Let's."