It starts when Louis decides that he wants to lose his cherry and announces that he thinks the best way to do that is by going to a gay club. Naturally, Harry can’t let him go alone, so he tags along and spends the night rating guys with Louis until someone finally catches Louis’s eye.
Harry shoves him out to dance with the guy, and he can already tell that it’s going to be a quick and dirty hook up, so he’s not surprised that Louis and the guy disappear into the bathroom ten minutes later.
It is a surprise when Louis comes out not even two minutes later, pale and clammy, grabs Harry by the hand and drags him right out the door.
Louis refuses to talk about it until they’re holed up in their hotel room, buried underneath the blankets.
“So,” Harry says, curling his fingers around Louis’s bare leg. Louis kicks at him irritably a couple times, but stops when Harry only tightens his grip.
“I panicked,” Louis says eventually. “I just - I got in there and he went to kiss me, and I just. I almost hurled.”
Harry stays quiet for a second. “Because it was in public, do you think?”
Louis shifts. “No, it wasn’t that. It was like - I was in there and all I kept thinking was what if he tries something that I don’t like? What if he tries something that I don’t want and I can’t make him stop?”
Harry thinks about it. “Well, you could probably fight him off,” he offers. Louis snorts and whacks him in the shoulder.
“Just because I can fight you off doesn’t mean I can fight off every guy out there,” he says.
“No, I mean, because you fight dirty, right? You know, you’re always biting and punching me in the dick and stuff.”
Louis squirms, and it’s his annoyed squirm, the one he gets when he thinks somebody’s being stupid, so Harry throws a leg over him and pins him down. Louis stills with a frustrated huff, like he knows that Harry knows what he’s doing and he doesn’t want Harry to know that he wants to keep doing it.
“Yeah, but like, I’m not too sure that those moves are really effective on a guy that’s bigger than you and really wants to get his way. Probably just make him angry.”
“Yeah,” Harry says, and they both go quiet.
Harry gets the idea couple days later. Louis is doing okay, but he clearly can’t get it out of his head, and that’s what makes Harry actually bring it up instead of shoving it to the back of his head.
“So what if like, I was there, in the next room, with the door open or something, so that if something wasn’t going right I could help?”
“What, you don’t think that would get awkward?” Louis says, elbowing Harry in the side. Harry catches his arm absently and pins it to his side.
“Maybe, but like, I would do it for you,” he says.
Louis is quiet for a minute. “Maybe,” is all he says.
The first time almost goes terribly, terribly wrong. They end up at a gay bar, the smallest, dingiest one that they can find, and they’re pretty much just praying that they won’t get recognized. They stick out a little, not because of how they’re dressed or the fact that Harry is seventeen and looks it, but because they’re clinging together instead of dancing, and Louis keeps turning down every guy who gets too close to them by tucking himself into Harry and steering them away.
Louis eventually finds a guy that both of them deem acceptable, but there’s a moment, just before they leave the bar, where the guy apparently thinks that it’s going to be a threesome and tries to kiss Harry on the mouth.
He takes it alright when Louis explains to him that it’s not, but he still keeps looking at Harry weirdly. Harry has a hard time brushing it off.
When they get back to the room, Harry sits on the floor of the bathroom with the door cracked half an inch, listening to music with one ear and straining the other to make sure that Louis isn’t getting hurt.
He almost lunges out of the bathroom ready to beat the guy to death with a toilet brush when Louis makes a high pitched, hurt sounding noise, but it turns into a moan immediately after, so Harry settles back onto the floor, heart beating twice as fast, and curses himself for ever thinking that this was a good idea.
It feels like it takes forever for it to be finished, and when Harry finally leaves the bathroom he’s ready to tell Louis that yeah, it wasi too awkward, but now Louis will be able to do it by himself, right?
But Louis is curled up on his side, eyes half closed, hair matted down to his head with sweat, and when he reaches out a hand Harry goes to him. “Thank you,” he murmurs, and something about the look on his face makes Harry swallow the words back.
Instead, he just brushes Louis’ hair back off of his face. “Yeah.”
It’s enough for a while, just that one time. Louis is happy, open, bouncing around and being his usual energetic, mischievous self. Something about it makes Harry happy, and the five of them spend a lot of time running around, shooting silly string at the crew and evading their security team and just generally making nuisances of themselves.
But Louis is human, and humans have needs, so when he tells Harry that he thinks he wants to pick up another guy a little more than a month later, Harry agrees.
The guy Louis picks out is nice enough, and it goes the same way as it did the first time, Harry sitting on the floor in the bathroom, half listening and half trying not to listen until it’s over and the guy leaves. Harry comes out of the bathroom with a flannel and wipes the sweat off of Louis’ face carefully, kneeling next to the bed. Louis watches him do it with half open eyes, and just before Harry gets up to toss the flannel back into the bathroom Louis takes his hand and presses his mouth to the back of Harry’s knuckles.
It’s a thank you and an I love you at the same time, and Harry smiles down at him until Louis’ eyes close and his fingers go lax around Harry’s wrist.
Harry wakes up the next morning with an itch underneath his skin that won’t go away. It gets worse every time Louis leans into his space, to the point that Harry finds himself leaning away, and that. That’s something that he just doesn’t do with Louis, so he needs to get this sorted out.
It’s probably just a product of him being a seventeen year old boy who essentially listened to porn last night without being able to get off on it. It must be, anyway, so he begs out of the video game championship that night and heads out, finds a party to crash and a girl to pick up, and goes home with her.
Of course, Harry’s body has to rebel in the morning by forcing him to come down with the worst cold in the history of colds, so the entire point of the night is kind of wasted.
Louis brings him tea and soup without being asked, though, even if he won’t cuddle Harry properly, so it could be worse.
Louis waits a while before he asks again. Three months and twelve days, to be exact. Harry’s been expecting it since they hit the two month mark and Louis’s jaw had gotten tight every time an attractive guy looked at him.
He hadn’t said anything, though, and Harry hadn’t offered.
Now, in this hotel room, Harry can see how badly he must have wanted it. He’s straddling the guy’s hips on the bed, both of them still fully clothed, but his hands are trembling, muscles shaking as he leans down to be kissed.
Harry doesn’t mean to watch, but now that he’s noticed he can’t tear his eyes away.
It’d be so much easier if the guy would just flip them, roll Louis underneath him, but he doesn’t, seems to be enjoying having Louis on top of him like that, slipping his hands up underneath Louis’ shirt and going straight for his nipples.
Harry rolls his eyes a little, because that’s not going to do anything for Louis, not right now, at least. It’s not going to do anything for him until he’s properly turned on, until he wants it so bad that Harry can hear it in every breath.
Louis doesn’t say anything, so the guy keeps pinching them, probably just on the wrong side of too hard, judging from the way Louis is wincing, imperceptible to anyone who’s not Harry.
Harry exhales quietly and glances away. He doesn’t need to be watching this, probably shouldn’t be watching this. He’s just here in case something starts to go wrong, and if something does start to go wrong he’d be able to tell by Louis’ noises.
It’s hard not to notice the movement out of the corner of his eye when Louis strips his shirt off over his head and flings it onto the floor somewhere beside the bed. He still has a bruise in the dip of his back above his bum from where he ran into a doorknob playing football in the dressing room.
Harry manages to distract himself, thinking about it. Louis had broken a table trying to jump over it to get the ball, and all five of them had been frantically trying to put it back together when Paul walked in.
They hadn’t actually gotten into too much shit about it. Louis had immediately started talking when Paul entered the room, blaming it on Liam and then Lux and then Ashton when Paul had just folded his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows.
Harry doesn’t really know how Louis had managed to talk his way out of that one, but he had and all he has to show for it is a fading bruise on his lower back.
“D’you wanna suck my cock a little, pretty?” the guy says, and Harry tunes back in abruptly. Louis is still straddling the guy’s hips, but they both have their shirts off now. The guy’s chest is nothing to write home about, somewhat defined and not flabby. Average.
Harry’s debating whether he should call it off, because Louis doesn’t want to suck cock today, Harry knows, when Louis says, “I think I’d much rather have it in me somewhere else,” slow, like he actually had to think about it. He’s got an easy rhythm going on the guy’s hips, rocking back and forth.
The guy falters a little, like he didn’t really think that he’d be getting to fuck Louis’ arse tonight. Harry doesn’t blame him. Louis’ bum is something else.
He recovers quickly, though, managing to strip them both out of the rest of their clothes quickly enough that Harry’s reluctantly impressed.
Louis doesn’t wait for the guy to get with the program before he grabs the lube and starts opening himself up with his own fingers. Harry looks away, back at the blank television screen. He considers turning it on for a second, but that would probably be rude, so he leaves it and tries not to hear the sounds that Louis makes as he preps himself to take the guy’s cock.
It’s hard not to, though, because Harry knows what Louis sounds like when he’s really enjoying it, and this is not it. This sounds perfunctory, like Louis is trying to get it out of the way.
That doesn’t make any sense to Harry, because Louis likes being fingered. He likes it so much that he does it more often than not when he jerks off in the shower. Harry can always tell when he’s done it because he comes out flushed and happy and he’s clingy for the next half hour, brushing up against Harry’s side like he needs the contact or else he’ll unravel.
He finishes it up quickly, and Harry glances over at the sound of a condom being opened. Louis rolls it down on the guy’s cock quickly and efficiently, slicking him up with lube, and then lifts himself up onto his knees.
Harry frowns and watches him sink down onto the guy’s cock gracefully. The guy is gripping his hips, looking up at Louis, dazed. He keeps still as Louis starts moving, fucking himself on the guy’s cock with absolutely no help.
It takes Louis a while to get the right angle, not that the guy even notices, too caught up in his own pleasure. Harry can only imagine how good it feels to have a tight, warm body clenching down around him, but that’s no excuse for the way the guy’s lying passive.
If they weren’t already halfway through Harry would be ending it right now. Louis likes to be underneath a guy when he’s getting fucked, likes to be given pleasure instead of having to work for it, and Harry doesn’t give a shit what this guy likes because he’s not doing that.
Louis takes one hand off of the guy’s stomach to jerk himself off when he starts getting close, practically pitching forward when he nearly loses his balance, and the guy does nothing to help, just snaps his hips up harder.
Harry’s frown deepens as Louis starts to come with his lips pressed together, breathing through his nose. Not a satisfying orgasm.
Harry barely waits for the guy to come and for Louis to pull off, wincing, before he’s shoving the bundle of the guy’s clothing at his chest and urging him out the door.
When he turns around, Louis is lying with his back facing Harry, sheets pulled up haphazardly to his chest. Harry’s mouth thins as he gets a flannel.
He doesn’t say anything as he wipes Louis down carefully, avoiding the spots where he’s most tender, and tosses the flannel onto the floor. It’s disgusting and normally Harry would have walked the ten feet to put it away, but Louis is always more willing to talk about it just after he’s had an orgasm, so there’s no time to waste.
Harry curls up in the sliver of space that Louis’ left behind him, tucking his knees into Louis’ and laying his arm across Louis’ belly. It leaves Harry’s arse hanging half off the bed, and it’s not comfortable, but Louis probably wouldn’t take kindly to being moved right now.
“Maybe we should have a better system for picking out guys,” Harry says quietly.
Louis exhales heavily. “Unless we’re going to hand out a sexual preference survey to every guy I find attractive I don’t know how you’re planning on doing that,” he says dully.
Harry thinks about it. “Body language,” he decides.
Louis sighs. “What are you talking about.”
“You can tell a lot about a person from their body language, right? There must be things that a guy does when he tries to pick you up that hint at how he’d be in bed. I’m going to research it and it’s going to help,” Harry says firmly.
Louis sighs again and pats Harry’s hand. “You do that.”
Harry’s research is mostly useless. He’s not sure whether he’s searching for the wrong things or if the data he’s looking for just doesn’t exist, but he can’t find anything online that helps.
After two more guys, though, Harry just starts listening to his instincts, and that helps. It’s not foolproof, but it’s better. If Louis has any objections to Harry’s method he doesn’t voice them. It probably helps that it gets easier for Harry to pick out the type of guy that Louis likes. They stop striking out so much, and Louis gets to have the kind of sex that he likes the most. It’s good.
Neither of them sees the guy heading directly for their table until he leans over, blocking the light. Harry looks up at him, a little slower than he normally would. He’s four drinks in and this wasn’t supposed to be a night to get Louis laid, but he’s exactly the type of guy Louis normally likes.
“I don’t suppose there’s any chance that I could buy you lads a drink?” he asks, charming smile on his face and an American lilt to his voice.
Louis looks at Harry. Harry looks at the guy again. He seems decent enough, and to be fair Harry got his last week and Louis hasn’t had any for a month. “Rye and coke,” Harry tells him. “Two of ‘em.”
The guy’s name is Ryan, and it turns out that he is a decent bloke. They spent a couple of hours sitting in the bar, just chatting, which is way longer than what they would normally do, but he’s fun, easy to talk to, and he looks at Louis like he’s made up of sunlight and candy. Harry likes him.
Louis definitely likes him, judging from the way he’s leaning into Ryan’s side and looking up at him, small smile on his face, listening to every word that he says. He’s using every single move in his repertoire, and it’s definitely working.
They just have to clear up one thing first.
“So this is not going to be a threesome,” Harry says during a lull in the conversation, leaning forward and planting his elbows on the table. It’s a little sticky from where Harry knocked over a drink earlier.
Ryan’s head tilts, just a fraction. “Okay,” he says, easily enough. “But?”
“But he doesn’t have sex unless he feels safe, and he doesn’t feel safe without me,” Harry says bluntly. He’s found that blunt is better than beating around the bush with some guys. Louis hates it, hates how he phrases it, but until he can come up with a better way of saying it that’s how they do it.
Ryan looks between the two of them slowly, his expression contemplative. “Are we talking you being in the next room with the door open or are we talking you being in the room and watching?”
Harry puts a hand on Louis’ thigh underneath the table and squeezes. “In the room. Not watching, but in the room,” he says firmly. He has to be in the room ever since the time that one of the guys tried to shove his dick into Louis without prepping him first. He was too drunk to think about his partner’s safety, not that they realized it at the time. Harry had hauled him off at the first sound of distress, and he’d passed out on the floor. They’d ended up having to call Paul to get him to get rid of the guy.
It hadn’t been a fun night.
Louis would probably be fine if Harry stayed in the bathroom like he used to, but Harry gets a cold shiver of fear down his spine every time he thinks about not being able to get there in time, so he doesn’t. Can’t.
This is the part of the conversation where a couple of guys have refused, and where a couple of others have tried to get Harry to say that he’d be joining them. It’s generally where someone backs out or hesitates if they’re not sure.
“Okay,” Ryan says simply. He drains the rest of his beer, head tipped back. Harry watches Louis watch him swallow.
The cab ride back to the hotel is quiet. Louis sits in the middle, thigh pressing up against Harry’s. He makes idle chit chat with Ryan, and when they get there, Harry goes in the front entrance, ahead of them, to give them time to slip around the back.
Harry isn’t sure what Ryan thinks they do for this level of secrecy to be needed, but he’s not going to ask. As long as it doesn’t end up in the rags in the morning he doesn’t really care.
By the time he gets up to the room, Louis is straddling Ryan’s lap on the bed, and they’re kissing. Normally Harry would be a little pissed, because Louis is supposed to wait for Harry to get there, no matter what, but something about the unapologetic way they’re doing it convinces Harry let it go.
He makes sure to lock the door behind him when he comes in and empties his pockets out on the table beside the bed. Once that’s done, he sits down with his back to them and goes over the schedule for tomorrow. They have a pretty late start, which is good, considering that it’s already past midnight.
There’s noises coming from behind him, but if he concentrates Harry can practically drown them out with his thoughts. He tugs off his shoes and let them fall where they like before standing up and cracking his back.
He takes off his belt and his jeans, leaves his t-shirt on, and climbs back onto the bed. His gaze wanders around the room and catches a glimpse of Louis spread out underneath Ryan, both of them down to their pants. They’re still kissing, Ryan’s hand underneath Louis’ jaw.
Harry grabs his phone off the table again and scrolls through his messages. He’s actually getting pretty engrossed in a text war with Nick about the merits of kittens versus puppies when Ryan’s voice startles him.
“Is this alright?” Harry continues typing out his response to Nick’s statement that cats spend 30% of their time grooming themselves which is really weird. Normally the guys that Louis picks up don’t talk during sex, probably too self conscious about their dirty talk when Harry’s in the room and more likely than not judging them - which he totally does. He and Louis rate them after, if they’re talkers. So far no one’s gotten above a five.
“Harry,” Ryan says. Harry lifts his gaze from his phone and looks in their direction. Ryan has his thumbs hooked into the waist of Louis’ briefs, and Louis has his eyes squeezed closed, head flat on the mattress. “Is this okay?”
Harry stares at him for a solid minute. “Why are you asking me?” He’s honestly confused.
Ryan keeps looking at him until he answers. “Yeah, it’s alright.” He means to go back to his phone, but now that Ryan’s involved him it’s hard to look away. They look good together, Louis and Ryan. Harry would bet on that sex tape breaking a billion views, easy.
Ryan eases Louis’ briefs down his legs and off of him. Louis’ cock curves up towards his belly, flushed and hard. It’s nothing that Harry hasn’t seen before a million times, in tons of different situations, but it feels a little different this time for some reason.
Harry looks away, again, back at his phone. Nick’s answered him with something about Isaac Newton having invented the cat door, which, if Nick isn’t putting him on, is actually pretty cool.
Harry types that out and hits send. While he’s waiting for a response he can’t stop himself from looking up. Louis’ leg is hitched around Ryan’s back, which means that Harry can’t actually see what’s going on, but he’s pretty sure that there are fingers being slicked up.
“Can I?” Ryan asks, and Harry says, “Yes,” before it even occurs to him that he might be asking Louis. Harry forces his gaze back down and reads Nick’s latest random cat fact.
Ryan doesn’t ask before he adds more fingers. Harry doesn’t actually look, but he can tell just by the cadence of Louis’ breathing. It’s hard to keep his gaze pinned down on his phone, but he manages.
At least, he manages until he hears the crinkle of the condom wrapper, and Ryan asking, “Is it enough?”
This time, Harry isn’t sure if he’s asking Louis or him, so he doesn’t say anything. He looks up, though, and Louis’ eyes are closed. His teeth are pressing into his bottom lip hard enough that it’s going to be a little swollen, after.
Louis doesn’t answer, though, so after a few more seconds, Harry does. “Yeah, it’s enough. But.” He hesitates and swallows.
Ryan’s looking at him. “But?”
“Put him on his belly,” Harry says, hushed. “It’s - it’s better that way, for him.”
Ryan doesn’t pause. He moves back enough to help Louis turn over, and then covers him with his body again. “May I now?” he asks, and he asks it very politely, like it would make a difference if Harry said no.
“Yes,” Harry says, and watches the way Louis’ face breaks, just a little, as Ryan pushes in.
Ryan finds a rhythm easily, but Harry can tell that it’s not one that’s particularly doing anything for Louis, and Louis is being oddly quiet. It’s hard to see Louis’ face with this angle, but Harry just knows.
“Pull his knee up,” Harry murmurs. “Not the - the other one, yeah, like that. And maybe make the thrusts longer instead of fast.” Ryan complies, and Harry can see the difference immediately. Louis’ fingers tighten on the sheets, and yes, there he goes, making quiet little noises in the back of his throat.
If Harry didn’t know what his sex noises sounded like, the ones he makes when he’s getting exactly what he wants, he would think that Louis isn’t enjoying himself. He’s so loud the rest of the time, but when it comes to sex he gets quiet in a way that he never is, otherwise.
It took Harry by surprise, the first couple of times. He didn’t bring it up, because it would have been too awkward, especially back then, when they were still figuring this thing out. He’s used to it now, though, so he can tell when Louis is getting close by the changes in his breathing.
“How is he going to come?” Ryan asks. His voice is quiet, maybe in keeping with the hush of the room, other than the sounds of skin sliding against skin and heavy breathing.
Harry keeps his eyes on Louis’ face, on how Louis’ eyes stay closed pretty much the entire time. “What do you mean?”
“With my hand or his hand?” Ryan clarifies. He keeps the same steady pace that Harry told him to.
“With his own hand,” Harry says. He doesn’t think about it until the words have already left his mouth, and then it’s too late, anyway - Louis’ hand is already going to grasp at his own cock.
It doesn’t take Louis long, after that, and he comes with his face pressed into the pillow, biting down. Ryan pulls out and finishes himself off with his hand, and there’s something in Harry that finds that a little strange.
The rest of him, though, just doesn’t care.
Louis pretty much passes out immediately. Harry gets up to get a cloth to wipe him down with, and he wakes up long enough to wiggle it around on his stomach before tossing it on the ground. In the time it takes to do that, Ryan’s gotten himself fully dressed and is waiting by the side of the bed. Harry doesn’t know what he’s waiting for until he tips his head towards the door, so Harry walks him over to it.
Ryan pauses with a hand on the handle. “I think that I would like the chance to do this again,” he says, very quietly.
Harry blinks slowly at him. “I’ll pass the message along?” he ventures. Ryan looks at him for a long, long minute before he crosses the room again, grabs a pen and a pad of paper, scribbles something down on it, and presses it into Harry’s palm.
“Thank you,” Ryan says, and pulls the door open.
It’s weird, is what it is. “Maybe you should be thanking Louis?” Harry asks, but Ryan’s already halfway down the hall. Harry frowns at his back and closes the door, locks it up again.
He glances down at the piece of paper in his hand, straightens it out. Ryan’s name and phone number is on it. Harry folds it up again and goes to tuck it into his wallet for safe keeping.
Harry almost doesn’t tell Louis about Ryan leaving his phone number. He watches Louis sleep for a while and decides that it was a one off. It was dangerous enough just bringing Ryan back to the hotel in the middle of the tour, inviting him back again might seriously fuck things up.
But Louis is so happy in the morning, loose limbed and smiling, and he turns to Harry and goes, “So on a scale of one to ten I’d give him an eight.”
Harry raises an eyebrow and nudges Louis’ juice glass closer to him. “An eight, really?” An eight is the highest ranking any guy has ever gotten.
“Mm. He wasn’t too pushy and he knew what he was doing.” He picks up the juice and drains it in one long swallow. Harry’s mouth twists, just a little. He doesn’t remember it the exact same way, apparently.
“Well, he left his phone number,” Harry says evenly. If Louis really liked him that much Harry isn’t going to stand in the way.
Louis scrunches up his nose and shrugs. “Maybe. Probably not any time soon, though.” There’s something akin to relief in the pit of Harry’s stomach. It could just be indigestion, though.
Probably it’s just indigestion. He had some pretty dodgy tacos for dinner.
Louis doesn’t bring up Ryan for another four months, not in a way that means anything, and when he finally does he doesn’t ask as much as he just puts it out there that he’d like to do it again. Harry thinks about it for a while, because while there’s been no indication that Ryan does know who they are it’s not unrealistic to think that he might.
And Louis is clearly thinking along the same lines, because normally if he wanted it he’d tell Harry flat out instead of just reminiscing. It’s scary, the thought that if they bring him back Ryan will be the first guy to have Louis twice. There’s so many ways that it could go wrong.
But there was a night a few weeks ago, when they were both a little drunker than they normally get when it’s just the two of them, and Louis had called it the best sex he’d ever had. So. Harry can’t say no, not really, even if there have been other guys after Ryan and even if Louis doesn’t really have a problem pulling.
So he texts Ryan a simple ‘hey it’s harry from june?’ and they wait for a response. Once it comes in, it takes some finagling to make it work, but they have a date set up.
Louis’ face is radiant for the next three days.
“What about that one?” Louis asks, tipping his head towards the bar. Harry barely looks at the guy before he scoffs and takes a sip from his drink.
“Are you kidding me? You’d break him in half.” Louis shoves at him, spilling a few drops of his drink onto the table.
“Are you calling me fat?” he demands. Harry lopes an arm around his shoulders and pulls him all the way into his side. It’s mostly to get him to be still, but also partly because it’s fucking freezing in here. Harry doesn’t understand why. It’s like every single pub in this city hasn’t paid their heating bills in months.
“No, I’m saying that he looks like a strong wind could blow him over,” Harry says. He takes another look at the guy. “Actually, no, make that an average wind.”
Louis sighs and steals the drink right out of Harry’s hand. He’d finished his own ten minutes ago, but Harry had flat out refused to get up to buy him another. They’re quiet for a while. “Oh, hey, what about him?”
Harry follows the direction of his gaze and hums, considering. He’s Louis’ type, tall, dark haired, fit but not to the point where it looks like he’d be able to bench press him. He looks like the type of guy they normally pick out.
Harry wants to go back to the hotel and watch shitty movies curled up together until they pass out, though.
“He looks like he’d be into watersports,” Harry says. Louis laughs, but he lets it go.
He doesn’t go home with a guy that night.
Of course, just because Harry deterred him for one night doesn’t mean that Louis gives up. The next night they attend a black tie event in an attempt to stay in their label’s good graces, which Harry thinks is bullshit, because if anything the label should be trying to stay in their good graces so they don’t cut their losses and go somewhere else.
The event’s mixed with people of all ages, older management types and younger artist types mingling together in a huge venue. The proceeds are supposed to be going to charity, but if Harry’s honest he doesn’t quite remember which one.
He loses Louis and the rest of the boys almost the minute they step inside, and that’s fine because there’s a cute girl chatting Harry up, convincing him to dance with her even though the dance floor is practically empty.
He’s having a good time, getting to know her, and he’s thinking that the night’s probably going to end up in Harry going back to hers, except Louis cuts in, all bright, bubbly smiles as he makes excuses and drags Harry away.
He tugs Harry along behind him until they reach the bar, where there’s a guy waiting, a little bit taller than Louis, broad shoulders, messy hair.
Harry glances at him, at Louis, at the guy, and back to Louis’ beaming face. He’s pretty sure that Louis doesn’t know what kind of guy he’s picked out. “You’re the worst,” he says, but he lets Louis sneak them out of the venue anyway.
Louis and the guy start making out as soon as they get inside the hotel room, not even waiting to make it to the bed. Harry rolls his eyes and double checks that all the locks on the door are secured.
They’re still standing in the middle of the room when Harry turns back around. “You know there’s a bed for a reason,” Harry points out. Louis starts tugging the guy towards it, still kissing.
Harry makes a face. That’s a whole lot of kissing for someone Louis just met.
Harry enters the bathroom and brushes his teeth, trying to get the taste of congealed sugar out of his mouth. When he exits again Louis and the guy are completely naked on the bed, rutting up against each other.
Louis is underneath the guy, hands on the guy’s face as they kiss, pushing his hips up greedily, but he’s perfectly happy like that so Harry unclasps his watch and sets it down carefully. It’s new, a gift from Louis after his old one had broken, and he’s trying really hard to avoid scratching it.
Louis and the guy are still going at it the same way ten minutes later, cocks sliding together between their bellies, and Louis doesn’t seem like he’s going to do anything to change that anytime soon. Clearly the guy isn’t either.
“You can put some fingers in him,” Harry says. His voice breaks the silence. They both look over at him, wearing matching confused expressions, like they’re not quite sure which one of them he’s talking to. Trust Louis to pick up another twink while Harry’s not paying attention.
Harry tries not to find them a little adorable and mostly fails. “Not you, Louis,” he adds. “Other guy. Sorry, I don’t remember your name, but you can put some fingers in him. Three.”
For a second Harry thinks that the guy’s not going to do it, that he came here with the intention of getting fucked himself, but he swallows hard and takes the bottle of lube when Louis hands it to him.
He’s good at fingering, this guy, and Harry wonders if that’s because he does it to a lot of his partners or whether it’s because he spends a lot of time doing it to himself.
He’s got Louis’ mouth dropping open when he’s only two fingers deep, breathy little noises escaping him. They both laugh when Louis makes a sound that’s particularly high pitched.
Harry’s mouth curves into a smile despite himself. There’s way more laughter going on here than there normally is when Louis has sex, but it’s not bad. They look good together, anyway, Louis’ thigh wrapped around the guy’s hip, giggling into each other’s mouths while their cocks rub together.
Louis’ head tips towards Harry on the third finger. “Is he going to fuck me?” he asks, happy and light and probably a little tipsy. The guy’s head turns to look at Harry as well, fingers slowing inside Louis. He doesn’t look opposed to the idea.
“No, he’s not going to fuck you, you little minx,” Harry says. They send him matching pouty expressions. It’s a little uncanny.
Harry sighs and relents a little. “He’s not going to fuck you, but you can use your fingers on him if you want.”
The guy’s expression brightens. “Oh, yes, please,” he agrees eagerly.
Louis still looks a little confused. Harry doesn’t blame him, because this is not normally the way things go, but if he wanted a normal hook-up he should have gotten Harry earlier and Harry would have told him that this guy definitely wasn’t used to being on top.
“I’m going to finger him instead?” Louis asks.
Harry shakes his head. “You’re going to finger each other,” he corrects. Louis makes a tiny little face.
“It’s not fair if both twinks don’t get to have what they want,” Harry says. Louis bares his teeth at him. The guy copies him immediately, until they’re both baring their teeth and growling pathetically in the back of their throats. It’s so fucking cute.
“I’m not wrong,” Harry points out. “Now chop chop, time’s a-wasting. Get your fingers in there, Lou.”
Louis slicks his fingers up and presses one into the guy. They make the same shaky noise as it slides in. Harry can only assume that Louis’ making it because the guy’s fingers started to tremble against his prostate.
Harry props his head up on his hand and watches as they get back into it, laughing and rolling around on the bed with their fingers up each other’s bums. Louis works his way up to three fingers in what feels like no time at all.
Harry wishes absently for a glass of Scotch. A cool glass of Scotch would be great right about now to hold against his own blood heavy cock.
“Why don’t you jerk each other’s pricks, boys,” Harry murmurs, before he even realizes that he’s speaking. They don’t hesitate as they wrap their fingers around each other’s cocks, pulling each other off at the same time as they work their fingers in each other’s bums.
Harry watches, watches their eyelashes flutter against their cheeks, watches Louis’ mouth dip open, can’t stop himself from watching as the guy starts to come first, fingers tightening around Louis’ cock until Louis lets out a helpless whimper and comes, slicking up their bellies.
They stay like that for a minute, sprawled all over each other, limbs tangled, while they catch their breath. Harry tosses them each a wet rag and tries not to watch while they clean each other up, giggling softly and peppering each other’s faces with kisses.
“That was fun,” Louis says softly. Harry’s not sure who he’s talking to, but the guy kisses him again, so it must have been him.
Harry doesn’t kick out the guy as he starts to drift off to sleep, but he does go and run himself a hot shower, washing the day’s grime off.
If he can’t stop himself from bracing himself against the wall with one arm as he jerks himself off hard and fast with the water pulsing over his head that’s between him and the shower head.
The guy ends up staying the night and putting his clothes back on in the early hours of the morning, getting himself ready to slip out unnoticed. Louis goes to shower while the guy’s doing that, leaving Harry alone in the room with him.
He hesitates before leaving. “Do you think that this might be something that we could do again?” he asks uncertainly.
Harry’s a little surprised, and it must be showing on his face, because the guy is quick to clarify. “I mean, I know that you probably know that it’s not the type of sex that I usually go for, but I can’t really afford to be distracted by a relationship right now.”
Harry’s still a little confused. “You could always have a one night stand with a guy that’s more your type,” he points out. The guys shrugs a tiny bit.
“If I let myself have sex with a guy that’s my type I’m going to want a relationship,” he says bluntly. “I get it if you don’t want to, or if he doesn’t want to - I probably wouldn’t want to share if I had a boyfriend like you, either.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Harry says. The guy’s eyebrows furrow.
“Seriously?” he asks. “Sorry, it’s just - ”
Harry shrugs. “He needs me so he can have sex without being paranoid that he’s going to get ax murdered.”
“You know his sexual preferences and that I wasn’t going to get him off the way he wanted when I picked him up,” the guy says. Part of Harry wants to bristle, but there’s nothing accusing about that statement.
There is something knowing about it, though, and Harry doesn’t want to bother denying it. “Sometimes he doesn’t need to be fucked,” Harry says, which is over simplifying it, maybe, but it’s true. Sometimes Louis doesn’t need to get fucked but he wants to and Harry agrees because Louis knows exactly what face to make to get him to feel bad.
“So there’s a chance, then,” the guy says, smiling. He ducks his head as he rummages through his wallet before emerging with a business card. He tucks it into Harry’s hand and presses a kiss against Harry’s cheek.
He doesn’t say goodbye as he leaves the room. Harry tucks the card into his wallet for safe keeping and looks up as Louis comes out of the bathroom.
“I was thinking,” Louis says, toweling his hair dry, “I’ve never been rimmed before.”
Harry raises his eyebrows. “You’re awfully chatty today,” he observes.
Louis throws the towel at him, snickering at Harry’s failed attempts to bat it out of the air before it hits him in the face. “I mean, I’m just saying,” he says casually.
Harry frees himself of the towel and drops it onto the bed. He’ll put it in the hamper later. “That’s something you want?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Louis says, hopping around the room as he gathers up clothes to wear. “I mean, not with Casey, obviously,” Casey, right, Casey, that’s the guy’s name, “he likes his sex the same way I do, which, by the way, thanks for warning me, but maybe with Ryan?”
“You want Ryan to rim you,” Harry repeats. Louis’ head pops out from the shirt he’s putting on.
“Yeah, I mean, I think so,” he says, and Harry can see how it’d definitely be something that Louis likes, being eaten out, arse spread open by a guy’s big hands, hips pinned down to the mattress and being forced to take it for as long as Harry felt like letting it go on.
“Okay,” Harry says, and Louis beams, but Harry’s already thinking up excuses for why he’s not gonna let it happen.
He’ll probably go with it being too intimate for the casual booty call thing Louis and Ryan have going on. It’s as good an excuse as any.
Louis manages to convince Harry to get Ryan to fly out to New York. Harry isn’t entirely sure how he’d managed it. He knows that it had something to do with a pouty, pretty face and the promise of an hour long back massage, but beyond that Harry has no idea.
Louis is excited for a solid week, bouncing off the walls and running around manically, stealing things and being a nuisance. It makes for amazing shows, filled with energy and antics, but it also makes for annoyed band mates.
Zayn starts getting a tight, pinched look around his eyes on the fifth day, sending Harry half murderous and half tired looks every time Louis’ not looking.
If it gets to the point that Zayn - Louis’ partner in crime, the guy who thinks that it’s entirely appropriate to help Louis steal every pair of pants that Liam owns and put them up for sale on Ebay complete with pictures and authenticity papers - is getting tired of it, Harry knows that it’s time to step in.
He catches Louis by the wrist on his fifth spin around the room and tugs him back out to the buses, shooting an apologetic wince at Paul over his shoulder. They’re empty at this time of day, only two and a half hours left until the show starts.
Harry shoulders the door open and hauls Louis through to the back, dropping down onto the couch and pulling Louis down between his legs. He lets him settle there, back to Harry’s chest and still practically vibrating with energy, before he wraps both arms around Louis’ belly and pulls him into Harry’s body tightly.
“Did you talk to your mum today?” Harry asks.
Louis nods, hands coming up to play with Harry’s fingers. “Yeah. Daisy’s not doing so great in her English class. Mum’s trying to find her a tutor that’s around her age but apparently all of ‘em keep asking for some ugly bloke’s autograph. Think his name might be Harry Styles or summat.”
Harry lets Louis pry his hands apart and trace over the lifeline on his left palm. “Yeah, might’ve heard of that bloke. Got that weird hair going on, right?”
Louis laughs and wiggles a little, pinching at Harry’s palm. “So weird, mate, you’ve no idea. Looks like a mix of Justin Bieber and Elmo.”
“What would that even look like? Is it just weirdly pouffy and scraggly at the same time?” Harry wonders. “Stop squirming.”
Louis huffs and stills. “You’d think that he’d have better locks, what with having a team of professionals and all,” he muses. “That Tomlinson guy, though, he’s got some great hair going on.” He moves a little more, like he can’t help it.
“I said stop squirming,” Harry says sharply. He grabs Louis’ fingers and squeezes them when he pinches a little too hard.
“I wasn’t,” Louis complains, but he’s still now, fingers lax in Harry’s grip.
“I think he looked better when he had the fringe going on,” Harry says. He keeps his grip on Louis’ fingers tight. “That quiff that he’s got going on now leaves something to be desired, you know what I mean?”
Louis laughs, quieter this time. “I dunno. I think he can rock whatever hair he wants, if I’m being honest.”
Harry hums a few bars of Teenage Dream because it’s been stuck in his head all day. “Maybe a bright pink bob,” Harry says thoughtfully. The bones in Louis’ wrist shift in his grip slightly, only it’s involuntary, because Louis couldn’t stop himself. Harry doesn’t say anything about it.
“That would be something,” Louis agrees. His head tips back against Harry’s chest.
“Could braid it for you,” Harry says, but he’s having a hard time remembering what they’re talking about. Louis’ warm in his arms, his weight is so familiar, Harry’s eyes can’t stop drooping.
“’ve seen your braids before, Styles, not sure I want that anywhere near me head,” Louis mumbles. From this angle Harry can see his eyelashes resting against his cheeks. Just as tired as Harry then.
“Mm,” is all Harry can manage. His grip on Louis’ wrist loosens, fingers sliding down to rest against his palm.
That’s how Paul finds them twenty minutes later, mostly asleep and mumbling nonsense to each other. He has to lead them back into the venue with his hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry stumbles after him with his eyes half open, pinky and ring finger of his left hand linked with Louis’ so Louis doesn’t get left behind.
Zayn claps Harry on the back hard when they make it to the dressing room. Harry flaps a hand at him and goes to make tea, brings some to Louis where he’s slumped face down on a sofa and convinces him to sip some of it before they head off to change.
It’s a good show.
Ryan’s waiting for them at the hotel two days later, looking at something on his phone. Harry shakes his hand and they make their way to Louis’ room. Harry tries not to notice their security ensuring that no one’s seen them.
It’s not fair that Louis has to take all these extra precautions, but it’s never been fair and unless Louis says that he’s going to come out there’s really nothing to be done about it, so Harry grits his teeth and smiles until they reach the room.
He lets the smile drop when they get inside, because Ryan’s beelined straight for Louis, who’s already there, having gone up earlier so it wouldn’t look quite so suspicious. They kiss hello, snogging for a few minutes in the middle of the room while Harry goes through his usual ritual, shedding a few layers and emptying his pockets and taking off his watch.
By the time he’s finished, Louis and Ryan have made it to the bed, sitting with their knees knocking into each other, still kissing.
Harry kind of misses the days when they’d share rooms. They still do, sometimes, when Louis doesn’t want to be alone, but it’s less often than it used to be. It’s expected, now. that they wouldn’t want to share hotel rooms anymore. They’re making a substantial amount of money, and Paul never says anything when Harry asks for a room with two beds instead of one, but it goes unsaid that there’s something a little strange about it.
Now he has to make his way over to an armchair on the other side of the room and re-arrange it so he can see. It feels strange every time he does it, inching a chair closer until it’s the right distance, like he shouldn’t be watching this, shouldn’t be involved in this.
“Okay,” he says finally, propping a foot up on his knee. The kiss breaks, and Ryan looks at Harry expectantly.
Harry swallows. “You can both strip.” He looks away while they do, hears the creak of the bed when they climb back onto it. He closes his eyes for a minute, head bowed, and tries not to think about anything that might happen in the next hour.
There’s the unmistakable sound of kissing going on, of Ryan’s noises and lips smacking against each other. Harry drowns it out and listens for Louis’ tiny little sounds, for the hitch of his breathing that never fails to tell Harry if Louis is enjoying it.
He is, and Harry’s shoulders relax a little. He concentrates on his own breathing for a minute, until it’s as even as he’s going to get it, and lets his eyes open. He doesn’t look at the bed, stares at the painting on the wall, instead, absorbs the details of the ocean waves lapping at the shore.
“Fingers?” Ryan asks. Harry turns his gaze to the bed and looks at Louis’ face, turned towards him on the pillow, mouth open a tiny bit but still breathing through his nose. His eyes cut down the length of Louis’ body, the light sheen of sweat in the hollow of his throat, the dusty pink of his nipples, his cock lying half hard against his thigh.
He can ignore the pleading look on Louis’ face if he tries hard enough. “Fingers,” Harry agrees. “Two of ‘em. Lots of lube.”
Louis’ expression tightens, but he doesn’t say anything. He turns his head away from Harry, back towards Ryan’s face. They kiss again as Ryan slicks up his fingers, slips the first one in easily, too easily for Louis not to have fingered himself open earlier in the day.
Harry’s mouth thins a little. There’s really no reason for Louis to have fingered himself when he already knew what he would be getting today, when he knew that he’d be able to come back to the hotel and get his arse fucked because Harry is nice enough to let him.
Ryan’s quick about it, efficient. He knows Louis’ body well enough to have his cock fully plumped up just from a little bit of fingering and some kissing.
Harry considers telling him to add another finger, maybe even fit his pinky in there and get Louis off like that, but Louis is already pissed so Harry keeps his mouth shut about it, lets Ryan finger him with two for a couple more minutes.
“You can fuck him now, if you’re ready,” Harry says. He can see the unhappy twist of Louis’ mouth even from this angle and wonders vaguely what Ryan thinks is going on, but not enough to do anything about it.
“On his back?” Ryan asks. He takes his fingers out and rolls on a condom.
Harry should say yes. Harry should say yes and let Louis get fucked on his back so he can get kissed on his mouth at the same time. It’d go a long way to appeasing him, Harry knows.
“On his belly,” Harry says instead. Louis flips over onto his knees, nearly kicking Ryan in the head as he goes, and buries his head in his arms. It leaves his arse up in the air but allows him to hide his face. He’s committed to being petulant, then.
Harry grits his teeth and nods at Ryan to go ahead. Ryan pushes in smoothly, hands
holding Louis by the hips, not too tight. Louis’ cock hangs down between his thighs, filled thick with blood.
Ryan sets an even paced, hard rhythm that doesn’t take long to get Louis’ weight shifting on the bed as he rearranges himself to reach down and start jerking himself off.
Harry allows it for a minute, watching the way Louis times it with Ryan’s thrusts, probably unconsciously. He still has his face buried in his other arm, shoulder muscles flexing as he works to get himself off and not get shoved up the mattress at the same time.
“You’re not going to come like that,” Harry says mildly. It feels like it’s the first thing he’s said in hours.
Louis keeps touching himself, fingers rubbing over the head of his cock. Ryan looks at Harry, but Harry barely notices.
“Louis. I said you’re not going to come like that.” Louis ignores him, stroking his cock a few more times. It’s more tender than he was before, less like he’s actually trying to make himself come, which is how Harry knows that he’s being ignored willfully.
“If you don’t stop touching yourself I’m going to tell Ryan to pull out and you’re going to suck him off and not get to come at all,” Harry says firmly.
Louis fingers falter and stop. He lets his hand drop down at the bed. Harry can hear his breathing, fast and loud, even through his arm. Harry’d be willing to bet that there’s going to be teeth marks in Louis’ skin tomorrow.
Harry doesn’t say anything else. Ryan’s thrusts slow but don’t stop, like he’s not sure whether he should continue.
Harry lets the silence drag on for several long, excruciating minutes, Ryan barely moving of Louis. His own cock is pressing against his fly uncomfortably, needing to be adjusted, but he can ignore that for the time being. This is more important.
Eventually, Louis turns his head and glares in Harry’s direction, eyes glittering, mouth wet and red. “What,” he says, flat.
Harry arches his eyebrows for a second. “If you want to come you’re going to have to do it on your belly, rubbing off against the sheets. You’re not going to touch yourself.”
Louis’ cheeks flush a tiny bit. It’s hard to tell, because he’s already flushed and sweaty, but it’s there. Harry knows it is. “And if I don’t?” he asks, still so biting even when Harry’s threatening his orgasm.
Harry leans back in his chair and shrugs. “If you don’t I’ll let Ryan use you until he gets off and you’ll go to sleep once he’s done.”
Louis turns his head away again, and for a second Harry thinks that he’s not going to do it, that he’d rather have no orgasm because he’s feeling stroppy that he didn’t get his way, but he lets his arms slip forward, until he’s lying on his belly against the mattress, hands braced against the headboard.
“Okay,” Harry says, to Ryan this time. Ryan picks up his pace again.
The change in position turns Ryan’s thrusts short and fast, but that always does it for Louis, and his hips start shifting against the bed, cock skidding along the sheets.
It doesn’t take him long to start making his noises, his close to orgasm noises, but there’s still something wrong about it.
Harry wants to get up, cross the room and fist a hand in his hair, pull his head up and make him look at Harry while he comes, because he should be looking at Harry while Harry’s allowing him to have an orgasm with a man’s cock in his arse, but that feels like it might be a line that they shouldn’t cross.
Harry wants it so bad that he has to bite down on his own wrist to keep himself from getting up.
He settles for watching Louis come, rutting down into the sheets, entire body tensing.
He doesn’t notice when Ryan comes, barely notices Ryan pull out and get off the bed completely. He watches Louis shiver his way through the aftershocks, face still buried in the mattress, and keeps watching as Louis rolls over out of the wet spot, dragging the sheets up to cover his important bits.
Harry catches a glimpse of Louis’ softening cock, wet with his own come, before Louis’ back is facing him.
Harry grits his teeth and sees Ryan out the door, throwing the locks. He gets a cloth and dampens it, ignoring the way his own cock is still half hard in his jeans. He’ll get to it later.
He avoids the wet spot as he sits on the bed, manhandling Louis until he can swipe at his skin with the cloth, not even trying to be as gentle as he would normally be.
Louis hisses as Harry cleans the drying come from his soft cock, fingers flying around Harry’s wrist and trying to tug him off. Harry finishes up and lets the cloth fall onto the floor.
It’s becoming a nasty habit, that. Harry blames it on Louis’ bad influence.
He sits on the bed behind Louis’ still body until Louis finally says something.
“You didn’t even ask him,” Louis says. There’s no denying the hurt in his voice, and Harry can’t help but soften. This fucking boy always knows what will get him.
“I didn’t,” he agrees. He puts his hand on Louis’ side, tucking his fingers into the cut of Louis’ hip. He half expects to be shrugged off, but Louis stays still.
“You knew that I wanted you to,” Louis says.
Harry sighs and closes his eyes. “I think that you should save that for when you get into a relationship,” he says. “I don’t - I don’t want you to regret not having anything left because you were getting laid with guys that you didn’t even care about.”
Louis’ quiet for a minute. “Okay,” he says, leaving Harry blinking stupidly.
He feels like that might have been a little bit too easy.
Harry throws himself face first onto his bed and groans, long and loud. He’s busy wallowing in his own self pity when there’s the soft snick of the door opening, and then closing again quietly. He doesn’t move.
Footsteps pad towards him, stopping directly beside the bed. Harry lies very, very still and hopes that Louis doesn’t want to wreak havoc on some poor unsuspecting person, because all Harry wants to do is sleep for the next sixteen hours.
“Liam wants you to play Fifa,” Louis says eventually, and there’s no mistaking the hopeful tone in his voice.
Harry lies still for another minute, doing his best impression of someone who is seriously going to cut a bitch if they get disturbed. “Like, he really, really wants you to,” Louis tries.
“I guess Liam’s gonna be disappointed then,” Harry mutters into the pillow. It was a long, shitty, supremely tiring day and he’s more than ready for it to be over. He doesn’t even want to think about playing an hour of video games, even if it is with Liam.
There’s a long pause, like Louis is thinking about letting it go. “Can you just go?” he asks instead.
“No,” Harry says, flat and dull. It’s the only tone he’s capable of using that gets Louis to give up on something.
“Hazza, please. I need it,” Louis says, and Harry’s aware of what it costs him to ask like that.
Harry groans into the pillow. “So just go into the shower then.” Louis’ hand drifts across his bare back, and it feels good, so Harry lets him do it.
“No, like, I need it,” Louis says insistently.
“So use the toy then,” Harry mumbles. Louis’ hand falls off his back, and Harry mourns it a little.
“I can’t in the shower,” Louis mutters petulantly. Harry snags one of the five billion pillows on the bed and shoves it over his head.
“So do it on the bed, then. I’m passing out in five seconds either way.” He’s not sure whether Louis heard him or not, but he must have, because a minute later he moves away from the bed.
Harry is starting to think that Louis must have decided that he’s not desperate enough because there’s a few minutes of beautiful silence.
Then the rummaging starts. It doesn’t take long for Louis to find what he’s looking for, and Harry tunes everything out and tries to get back to that amazing place just before sleep hits.
Twenty minutes later, he has to acknowledge that sleep isn’t coming.
Mainly because Louis isn’t.
Harry suffers through what feels like another hour of listening to Louis making tiny little unsatisfied whimpering noises but is probably only five minutes before he flings the pillow from on top of his head in Louis’ general direction.
“Would you fucking hurry up already?” he snaps. A pillow hits him in the back, and Harry tries not to think about what it might be covered in as he whips it onto the floor.
Without the pillow over his head blocking out some of the noise, Harry can tell that Louis isn’t just taking his time. He’s struggling, sucking in quiet mouthfuls of air like he can’t quite get enough in. Harry turns onto his side, and his eyes open without his explicit permission.
Harry can see everything that’s going wrong with just one glance. Louis’ knee is crooked up at an awkward angle, his arm is trembling with exertion, and his face is tucked into the pillow, hindering his air flow. There’s absolutely no way he’s getting off like that.
Harry thinks about making him give up, making him go to sleep unsatisfied, but that would only make Louis even bitchier in the morning, and half of the reason that this day sucked so bad is because Louis was being unbearable.
And Harry knows what it would take to get Louis off in less than five minutes, so it’s really just easier.
He rolls out of bed and stomps his way over to Louis’. Louis’ arm stills, but his fingers keep their grip on the toy until Harry flicks them out of the way.
“Harry, Harry, what’re you doing,” Louis asks, vaguely panicked. Harry would normally care, but he hasn’t slept in twenty eight hours and he doesn’t have enough energy. He keeps one hand firmly planted in the middle of Louis’ sweaty back and uses the other to shove the toy all the way in. He’s not gentle about it, and Louis immediately tries to scramble away, but there’s something to be said for being the biggest.
“Harry,” Louis says again. Harry drags the toy out a little and nudges it back in, and Louis goes lax underneath him. It’s still not quite right, so Harry moves his hand off of Louis’ back long enough to adjust his knee before rocking the toy a little more. “Harry, what’re you - ” Louis’ voice breaks before he can finish the sentence.
“Be quiet,” Harry murmurs. Louis makes a tiny noise and buries his face back into the pillow. Harry considers telling him to turn his head to the side, but that might be awkward, so he sets a smooth, even rhythm and doesn’t say anything.
He catches himself staring at the clench of Louis’ muscles around the toy on the out stroke, almost like Louis just wants to keep it in him forever. It’s distracting, distracting to the point where Harry doesn’t even realize that he’s increased the pace until Louis clenches down hard around the toy and comes.
Harry still doesn’t quite know how to feel about knowing how Louis’ orgasm noises are different than his regular sex noises, so he pushes it to the back of his mind and pulls the toy out gently, wipes it off with a corner of the sheets, leaves it beside Louis on the mattress, and gets back into his own bed.
He has to adjust his cock in his pants before he can actually lie down, but that’s normal.
“So maybe we could hang out with Ryan next week,” Louis says casually, hitting a button on the controller that makes Harry’s car somehow veer completely off the course, flip over three times and explode.
Harry stares at it. He didn’t even know that was possible. “Don’t you think you’ll want to sleep?” he asks. They’re on the last leg of the tour, and with another three days left all Harry wants to do is sleep when he gets home. All he’s wanted to do for the last week and a half is sleep. It’s at the point where he wants to name the next album I Refuse To Do Any More Work Until I Sleep For At Least Three Months. He doesn’t know how Louis can be thinking about sex.
“I think that I want to be able to have sex when I want to like a normal person,” Louis says bitterly. “But since I can’t do that I think that I want to at least be able to have sex when I get home.” Harry winces, a little. Louis is tired and frustrated and not entirely sure whether he wants to be in the closet or not, and Harry understands, more or less, but Louis is becoming increasingly more bitter about it.
Harry still thinks that seeing Ryan as soon as they get back to the U.K. is a bad idea and normally they’d talk it out it, but Harry has a hard time not giving Louis something that he really, really wants. “Okay,” he says finally. “I’ll give him a call.”
Louis and Ryan hook up five times in the two weeks that follows the end of the tour, and it makes Harry’s skin a little itchy, that they’re doing it so often. The chances of them getting caught increase every time.
But Harry is incapable of saying no to Louis when he’s like this, miserable and lonely, so when Louis goes for a sixth time Harry just tightens his jaw and nods. He’ll say no soon, maybe the next time Louis asks. Louis will have to make do with one of his toys.
Louis passes out almost immediately afterwards, like normal, and Ryan gathers his clothes, get dressed quickly. Harry walks him to the door, exchanging small talk. Ryan’s a good guy, and he’s actually kind of quick witted and cheeky. Harry likes him, which is part of the problem. If he didn’t like him Louis would know and he wouldn’t ask for it so much.
Ryan hesitates after he finishes putting his shoes back on. Harry waits him out.
“I think that this might be the last time that we do this,” he says finally.
Harry frowns. “What?” Ryan’s only two years older than Louis, and he hasn’t made any indications that he’s looking for something more permanent, has actually said that he’s not looking for a relationship right now. The way that he fucks Louis, Harry hadn’t thought that he was even close to being bored.
“So we’ve been doing this for about a year, yeah?” Ryan asks. He doesn’t wait for Harry to actually respond before continuing. “When I came up to you guys that first time it was only because one of my friends bet me that I wouldn’t. I was expecting you guys to shoot me down. The way that you act when you’re together, nothing can get in between that.”
Harry shakes his head a little. “We’re friends.”
Ryan smiles, but there’s something like sadness lurking at the corners of it. “At first I thought you knew what you were doing, the way you talked to him. He told me that if he gets approached by guys when he’s with you nine ten out of ten it’s for a threesome.”
Harry shrugs. “We’re just close, that’s all. He’s my best friend, we touch each other a lot. We’re like that with all our friends.”
“So he gets asked to have a threesome when he’s out with Zayn, then?” Ryan asks, raising his eyebrows. That answers the question about whether he knows who they are, though.
Harry shrugs, a little irritated. “I don’t know what he gets asked about when he’s out with Zayn,” he says.
Ryan rolls his eyes. “Right. Not the point.”
“So what is the point then?” The only reason that Harry hasn’t kicked him out of the flat yet is because all the other times he’s been over he’s been nothing but respectful.
“The point is that you treat him like he’s yours, and he lets you get away with it.”
Harry rolls his eyes right back. “He is mine,” he says, because that’s not something that’s ever been up for debate. It’s just a fact, a way of life. Louis is Harry’s and Harry is Louis’.
Ryan arches an eyebrow. “Part of me wants to tell you that you Dom him, but I’m not entirely sure that’s the right word. You definitely top him, at least, without even realizing it, casually and completely unapologetically.” He pulls the door open in the same breath and walks through it.
“You’re a strange person,” Harry says to his back, just to have something to say. Ryan doesn’t acknowledge it before he disappears around the corner. Harry huffs and closes the door. He’s used to not having the last word with Louis around but that doesn’t mean that he likes it.
The conversation itches beneath Harry’s skin the next day. He isn’t stupid enough to not understand what Ryan meant when he said that Harry tops Louis without even realizing it, but he is stupid enough to try to push it out of his head, because he doesn’t do that.
He succeeds in not thinking about it until he realizes that in order to get Louis to stop pinching him he’s grabbed both of Louis’ hands and squeezed his wrists until Louis went still.
And he does that all the time.
Harry lets go like his hands are on fire. Louis gives him a funny look, but he gets up and goes into the kitchen to make tea without commenting.
Harry puts his head between his knees and breathes. There’s no reason to get this panicked about such a simple thing - he does stuff like that all the time. When Louis gets too rowdy after a show Harry will put two fingers in the crook of Louis’ elbow and press down gently until Louis focuses on him. When Harry wants to get his attention he’ll put his hand on the nape of Louis’ neck. He spends more time with his hands on Louis than he does with any of the other boys combined, but that’s normal. Louis is his best friend.
Harry opens the door to their flat, humming to himself, closes it behind him and stops humming.
There’s clothes strewn about on the floor, and while that’s nothing new, there’s clothes in that pile that don’t belong to Harry and that definitely don’t belong to Louis.
He doesn’t even realize that he’s walking to Louis’s bedroom until he’s already there. The door is open, and while the light isn’t on it’s still daytime, so Harry can see what’s going on.
“Well, this is something, then, isn’t it?” he remarks, leaning a hip against the door frame. Louis jerks at the sound of his voice, hands going up to shove against the chest of the guy pinning him to the bed.
“Harry!” he exclaims breathlessly. Harry folds his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow.
“Lou,” he says. The guy rolls off of Louis and sits up. He’s glaring at Harry like he thinks that’s going to have any effect whatsoever.
“I was just,” Louis starts.
“I can see what you were just, Louis,” Harry says.
“Maybe I should go,” the guy says, because he can clearly hear the anger in Harry’s voice even if Louis can’t.
“Maybe you should,” Harry agrees, and doesn’t take his eyes off of Louis as the guy gets out of the bed and inches past Harry. Louis pulls his knees up to his chest and scowls.
They both wait until they hear the click of the front door closing behind the guy.
“I hate you,” Louis mutters into his knees.
Harry makes a disbelieving sound. “I’m not sure exactly when you got the idea that it’d be okay to pick up a guy without telling me, but let me it be the first to tell you that it is absolutely not.”
Louis flips over onto his back, the movement quick and easy, and sits up. “I can have sex without you needing to know about it,” he hisses.
Harry arches an eyebrow and folds his arms across his chest. “And what are you going to do if you don’t like something and he does it anyway?”
Louis flinches back, almost imperceptibly. Harry knows him, though, knows all his worst fears and insecurities, even if Louis won’t talk about them.
“I can take care of myself,” Louis says. He straightens up and lets the covers fall down to pool in his lap. He opens his mouth to say something else, but Harry cuts him off. He doesn’t particularly feel like letting Louis have his say, not when he went and did this.
“You can’t take care of yourself, that’s why this whole thing started in the first place.” Harry almost snaps it at him. He’s angry, almost angry enough that his hands are shaking with it. “I take care of you. I take care of you, that’s what I do.”
Louis narrows his eyes and flings the covers off entirely. He’s only wearing his briefs, bare chest gleaming just the tiniest bit with sweat. He gets off the bed with more grace than he should possibly be allowed to have and stomps the ten feet over to stand directly in front of Harry.
If it was possible for Harry to be scared of him he’d be terrified right now. But it’s Louis, so Harry stands straight, uses that extra three inches to really display how not scared of Louis he is.
“Yeah? You take care of me? You? You’re the one we’re constantly having to baby, constantly having to try to protect from all the mean interviewers who want to know about your sex life,” Louis mocks, “I’m not the one who gets upset when he misses a single fucking note and spends the rest of the night pouting until someone cuddles it out of him, am I?”
Harry’s jaw tightens. “Louis.”
Louis scoffs and jabs him in the chest hard. “And you haven’t had a relationship that lasts longer than six months in your entire life.” Harry grabs his finger and pulls it down forcefully. It hurts Louis a little, judging from the way he winces, but Harry has an intimate knowledge of exactly how Louis likes his sex, so he’s not worried about it.
“Neither have you,” he points out. Louis’ eyes darken.
“Yeah, but that’s not due to me being greedy, is it?” Louis asks. He takes a few steps back and runs his hands through his hair.
“Oh, you’re plenty greedy,” Harry says, voice intentionally low. “A guy only has to get two fingers in you before you’re practically sobbing about how you need to be fucked.”
It’s not strictly true - it’s only ever happened with one guy before, and only after Louis had a four month long dry spell and his vibrator broke in the middle of the tour, so he couldn’t get another one.
Harry could have gotten him another one easily, but he hadn’t.
“What did you just say to me?” Louis asks. He’s calm, so calm, except for where his hands are clenched into fists at his sides.
Harry could take it back, smooth this entire thing over with a few carefully chosen words, and is seriously considering doing just that when his gaze catches on the string of condoms on the table beside the bed.
He takes two steps forward instead.
“I said that you’re a greedy slut who wants cock so bad that you’ll pick up the first half decent looking guy you see in a bar just so you can get it in you,” Harry says. “The fact that you got it two days ago doesn’t even matter to you, does it? You just want a dick in you all the time, doesn’t even matter whose it is.”
Louis hits him.
Harry hits back.
Harry walks into the meeting with a bruise purpling his cheekbone and scratches down his neck. He considered getting Lou to teach him to use make up to cover it up, but that’s a conversation that he really doesn’t want to have. He also tried rescheduling the meeting, but that’s the problem with being in a band with four other people, he can’t just reschedule things like this.
Patty had given him a look when he’d picked him up but hadn’t said anything, so Harry’s pretty sure that he knows something’s up and just doesn’t want to get involved in it.
Harry is the last person to arrive. He’d spent so much time on the phone trying to get out of the meeting that Patty had literally had to come into the house and drag him out by his arm. It wasn’t Harry’s finest moment.
Harry is kind of hoping that the entire room would stop, stare open-mouthed at the bruise on his cheek and immediately start fussing over him as soon as he walked in.
They don’t, because Louis is already in the middle of a group cuddle. Harry rolls his eyes hard and throws himself down into the first empty chair that he sees. He pulls out his phone and fiddles with it. He has emails to catch up with, and he could be doing that, but instead he just stares at his background.
It’s a picture of Louis, because of course it, with his head tipped back, laughing, eyes crinkled up.
Harry gets kind of stuck on it, on Louis’ face, happy and open in a way that it only ever is in candid shots. Harry’s pretty sure that Louis is laughing at something that Harry had done in the picture.
He tears his gaze up when the meeting starts. It’s about their next single, and normally Louis would be the loudest person in the room, arguing about every detail until it’s the best possible representation of five different personalities, but today he’s quiet, piping up only when the other boys don’t say something he’s thinking.
Harry avoids looking at him for as long as he can, but eventually his gaze wanders over, during a particularly boring moment. It says something, Harry knows, that his gaze will always, inevitably end up on Louis, but he doesn’t want to examine what it means right now.
Louis doesn’t look worse off than Harry does, but Harry knows without having to look that Louis’ left wrist is bruised all the way around from where Harry gripped him. Louis is wearing a jumper that hangs down over his wrists, anyway, one of Liam’s, it looks like, so it’s not like the bruises are visible.
Harry feels something at the thought that he’s left a mark on Louis, deep in his chest. It doesn’t really feel like anger.
The meeting’s over before Harry even realizes it. He didn’t speak up even once, but no one seems to have noticed. The room clears out of everyone except the lads quickly, probably picking up on the tension.
“If someone doesn’t make him stop staring at me I’m going to murder him,” Louis says abruptly.
All of the softness Harry had been feeling just disappears. “I’d like to see you try, kitten,” he snaps. He stands up and goes to leave, but somehow Louis is in between him and the door.
“I know that you didn’t just imply that I’m smaller and weaker than you are,” Louis says, folding his arms across his chest.
Harry raises an eyebrow and doesn’t stop until he’s right in front of him. “If you want to keep thinking that you’re going to have to get out of the way before I physically move you.”
“Okay, I think that’s enough of that,” Liam says loudly, clapping his hands together behind them.
Louis is staring at him with narrowed eyes, not backing down. “Held my own pretty well yesterday. Not scared to do it again.”
Harry looks at him, taking in the way his hair falls over face, the bags underneath his eyes that say he didn’t get enough sleep, how tense his shoulders are.
Slowly, very slowly, he reaches out with both hands and takes Louis’ wrists. Louis’ gaze flickers down, and he watches Harry do it. Just as slowly, Harry brings his wrists together, transfers them to one hand and squeezes, not hard, but enough for Louis to feel it.
Louis’ eyes close. He goes lax in Harry’s grip.
He rips himself out of Harry’s hold five seconds later and walks out of the room.
He doesn’t come home that night, or the next.
“Harry, get it together!” Paul, their choreographer, shouts. Harry grits his teeth and tries the move again, ignoring the sweat dripping into his eyes.
He fucks it up again, and Paul calls for a fifteen minute break. Niall presses a bottle of water into his hand silently, and no one says anything while Harry drains it.
Zayn has Louis in the opposite corner of the room, and they’re talking quietly, heads bent together. It’s a private conversation, but Harry’s pretty sure that it’s about him, and he feels the irritation swelling in his gut to the point where he feels like he’s going to actually scream.
He throws the bottle onto the ground. “I’m going home,” he says to no one in particular, and strides out of the room without giving anyone the chance to say anything.
Harry’s waiting for one of the boys to bring it up, so when Niall lets himself in without notice Harry’s expecting it to be a mini intervention.
Niall just plops down on the couch, kicks his shoes off and puts his feet up. They play video games for a couple hours and drink some beer and eat some food before Niall finally brings it up.
“So what are you guys actually fighting about?” he asks.
Harry smashes a couple of buttons on the controller and pointedly doesn’t say anything.
“So you’re finally fighting about the sex thing then?”
The controller slips out of Harry’s grasp and lands on the carpet.
“Yeah, did you think we didn’t know?” Niall asks. He whoops when he kills Harry’s character, gets up and does a lame victory dance.
Harry says, very, very carefully, because this is Niall and everyone hates spoiling Niall’s dreams, “You know that the sex thing isn’t between me and him, right?”
“Uh, of course it’s between you and him, you idiot,” Niall says. He eats the last two crisps out of the bag and then tips the crumbs into his mouth. “Just because the sex isn’t between you and him and doesn’t mean that the sex isn’t between you and him.”
Harry blinks. That - that actually made a lot of sense. Fucking Niall.
“Fuck you,” he manages. Niall shakes his head and throws the empty bag directly into Harry’s face.
“You wanna play again?” he asks, nodding to the telly. Harry picks up his controller, and that’s that.
Harry calls Louis as soon as Niall leaves. He’s almost expecting Louis not to pick up, but the line clicks on just before his voicemail picks up. He doesn’t say anything, not at first.
“Hi,” Harry says. Louis breathes on the other end, a little heavily, like he’s coming down with a cold.
“What do you want?” Louis snaps, and Harry realizes with a start that he’s been sitting there for almost two minutes, not saying anything.
He definitely didn’t plan for this call to go like this, for Louis to still be so angry. “I want you to come home.” It doesn’t come out like he means for it to. It comes out a little bitter, still, a little demanding, and Louis picks up on it immediately.
“Oh, well, please excuse me for having a life outside of you,” he sneers. “But we can’t always get what we want, can we, sweetheart? I wanted to get laid like a normal person and you wanted to destroy our friendship.”
“Oh, I’m the one who wanted to destroy our friendship? We agreed that it would be safer for you to have someone there you could trust. Forgive me for wanting to keep you safe,” Harry says.
Louis makes a loud, incredulous noise. “I have enough people trying to run my life without you taking control over the one thing that should belong to just me.”
“It doesn’t belong to you!” Harry shouts. “It’s mine, it’s always been mine and it will always be mine!”
He regrets the words as soon as he’s said them, because even if they do ring true right down to the deepest part of him, Louis isn’t going to appreciate them.
“You don’t own me, dickhead,” Louis says, quiet and angry, so very, very angry, right into the phone, “God, you’re such a prick.” He hangs up abruptly, and Harry resists the urge to pitch his phone across the room and into the wall.
They don’t fight a lot, him and Louis, but when they do it’s bad. The boys avoid them, and they avoid each other, because when they inevitably do end up in the same space they say awful, terrible things to each other that they don’t mean but come from a grain of truth.
Their fights are legendary. They can go on for days. When they’re not together Harry will always tell himself that he’s going to apologize, that he’s going to beg for forgiveness, but then he sees Louis and Louis opens his mouth and all that goes flying out the window. They hurt each other, and it’s intentional, but it’s hard not to, when you’re feeling cornered and like the person you love most in the world suddenly hates you.
Harry doesn’t normally get to that place with anyone, but especially not with Louis, and Louis gets angry, sure, but Harry’s the only one who can make him furious like that, and it just never bodes well for them.
Harry sets his phone down on the coffee table and stands up, stretching his back, before he goes into the kitchen to make tea. It won’t taste right, not exactly, but sleep is not going to come for a long time.
They’re doing a few days of promo before they go back out on tour, which mainly involves interviews and photo shoots. They generally get split up to do promo interviews. Harry thinks that it’s because they’re only supposed to be five minutes and when you get them all together they tend to veer of topic so badly that it’s almost a complete waste of time.
This time they’re all together and the interviewer is given fifteen minutes. They make it through alright, only getting off topic a few times, and afterwards they’re lead back to the green room.
Louis hasn’t looked at Harry once. Harry knows because he hasn’t stopped looking.
Louis leads Niall away with an arm around his back, and Harry concentrates on just getting through the rest of the day.
It works, kind of. They get through the rest of the day, but Harry can’t stop watching Louis, can’t stop looking at his face, his mouth, his everything. They’re in the green room, gathering their things, jackets and papers and phones. Harry is a little slow, clumsy in his efforts to get his things together, more than he usually is.
He’s had a hard day - it’s been hours of Louis actively ignoring him when it’s just the five of them, of Louis picking at every single thing Harry says when they’re being interviewed, of Louis refusing to be next to Harry during the group photos.
Harry doesn’t realize that they’re alone in the room, him and Louis, until he glances up to tell Liam that he’s found his headphones and his gaze catches on Louis lying face down on one of the couches.
He’s sleeping, or at least doing a good imitation of it. Harry drifts over and crouches down in front of him. He puts a hand out to wake him up and hesitates. Louis hasn’t slept well during the last couple of days - Harry can tell from the bags under his eyes, from the way he snaps even at Zayn.
Louis opens his eyes before Harry finishes thinking about how tired he looks. Harry opens his mouth to tell him that everyone’s ready to go when the boys come crashing back into the room. Louis’ eyes flicker to them and then back to Harry’s face. It’s soft, this moment, despite the fact that Zayn’s got Niall on his back and Niall’s pulling Zayn’s hair in an attempt to guide him around the room.
“The car has a flat tire,” Liam announces. “It’s gonna be a few minutes before they get it switched out. Are you guys making up?”
“No,” Louis says. He pushes Harry away and sits up, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Oh,” Liam says, and loses all interest.
Harry sits back on his heels. “Please let’s make up,” he says. Louis’ face is unimpressed. “I’m sorry,” he tacks on.
“Yes, well, it’s all well and good to say you’re sorry but actions speak louder than words,” Louis says. Harry shuffles a little closer and puts his hand on Louis’ knee. Louis drops his gaze down to it and then looks at Harry with an eyebrow raised.
“I’m sorry,” Harry repeats. He has plenty of things that he wants to add to that, but he’s not sure that he wants to say them with an audience. Not because he’s ashamed of them, or because he’s embarrassed, but because the first time he says them he doesn’t want Louis to be able to laugh them off.
Harry uses the hand on Louis’ knee to spread his thighs a little more and inches closer. He tangles the fingers of his free hand into Louis’ shirt and pulls them together. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me anymore,” he mumbles. They stay there for a few beats like that, leaning together but not hugging.
Louis pulls back too quickly, slumping back against the couch. Harry watches his lips part, and all the noise in the room dies away.
And that, yeah, maybe that’s the reason that Harry has never had a relationship that lasts longer than six months, if all the noise dies away when he looks at Louis.
“Come home tonight,” Harry says. His voice is uneven, shaky.
Then Paul pokes his head into the room to yell at them until they get moving, and Louis doesn’t say anything as he gathers his stuff.
Louis is quiet in the car, head tipped back against the seat, eyes closed. The driver pulls out onto the road and Paul looks back at them.
“Where are you being dropped off?” he asks. It’s for all of them, because sometimes they’ll hang out after press stuff, take some time to hang out as friends as opposed to One Direction.
“Home,” Harry says, leaning his head against the window. Niall, Liam and Zayn all chime in and agree. Everyone’s exhausted today, and it’s showing.
“Louis?” Paul asks. Harry looks at Louis, watches him swallow.
“Home,” he says firmly, not looking at Harry. Harry’s glad, because that way he doesn’t see the way that his eyes well up a little.
Louis starts shedding things as soon as they walk in the front door - keys, change, wallet, phone, and paper from his pockets first, then layers of clothing. Jacket, jumper, shoes, socks, until he’s left in his jeans and a loose t-shirt.
Harry watches his movements, tight and controlled. Still angry, then.
“Why do you still do it?” Louis asks suddenly. His back’s towards Harry, but his hands are curled into fists at his sides, and that’s all the body language Harry needs to be able to see.
Harry could play dumb, pretend not to know what Louis is asking, but that would be incredibly obvious, so he opts for the truth. “To keep you safe.”
Louis’ shoulders tense up, but when he speaks it’s calm, even. “I can keep myself safe.”
“I know. I want to keep you safe,” Harry says, but it’s too simple. It doesn’t explain the need to make sure that Louis doesn’t get hurt that’s constantly sitting deep in Harry’s chest. It doesn’t explain how Harry feels about Louis, not at all.
Louis turns around before he can decide what else to add to get that across. “I think maybe we should lay off for a while,” he says unsteadily. “Take some time to really think over what we’re gonna do.”
Harry concentrates on his breathing to stop his knee jerk reaction, which is to fold Louis up into his arms and never let him go, no matter what.
“Take some time separately, you mean?” he asks. He closes the gap between him and Louis and takes Louis’ face in between his hands.
Louis doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t relax, either. “Yes.”
“We already had a week apart,” Harry points out. There’s a voice in the back of his head whispering that a week isn’t that much, really, not if they’re just friends. Harry ignores it, because it’s just a product of not listening to his heart for four years.
“I’m not entirely sure that it helped, though,” Louis says. He’s looking over Harry’s shoulder instead of at Harry’s face, but that’s okay. It’s okay.
It’s okay because Harry is going to make him understand.
It’s still nerve wracking, though. He swallows a couple times, harder than really necessary, and clears his throat.
“I want to take care of you,” he says. He keeps his eyes trained on Louis’ face and catches the way Louis flinches, almost too subtle to be noticed. “I want to take care of you like I used to, but better.”
He has to swallow again. The words aren’t coming out like he had hoped, but they’re something. “I want to you to be okay all the time. I want you to be happy. I don’t want you to be sad or lonely or hurting.”
He pauses to clear his head. His pause gives Louis a chance to react, though.
“If you really took care of me the way that you think you do you wouldn’t let other boys put their cocks in me, would you?” Louis shouts. He shoves at Harry’s chest with both hands.
Harry stumbles back. He can feel how wide his eyes are, how his pulse has suddenly picked up. He doesn’t know how to answer that, not really, not without saying that he wishes that no other boys have ever put their cocks in Louis, that he regrets every single one of them.
He wets his lips and racks his brain for something else to say.
Louis stills, though, before he can come up with anything, and Harry is suddenly reminded that Louis has been able to read his face pretty much since the second they met.
“That. Okay. Really?” Louis says, more to himself than to Harry. Harry shrugs anyway. “Why did you let them, then?”
“I didn’t know,” Harry mumbles. He wants Louis to understand, needs him to understand.
Louis’ gaze finally meets his. “You didn’t know what?” he asks carefully, like he thinks it’s something other than what he wants it to be.
It’s not, so Harry holds the eye contact and straightens out his shoulders. “I didn’t know that for me, loving you meant being in love with you.”
“And you realized this when I was about to have sex with someone?”
“I realized this when you were about to have sex with someone without me,” Harry corrects.
“Because you want to be in charge?” Louis asks, and this is definitely not the direction that Harry thought this conversation was heading in.
“No, because - ” Harry has to stop, frustrated, because it is kind of that, but it’s also kind of not that. Louis watches him expectantly.
“Because you don’t like it when other boys get a piece of my arse?” Louis supplies. “Because you like threesomes? Because you think that just because you helped me get laid a few times you have the right to pick out every single sexual partner that I’m ever going to have?”
“Would you - Jesus, they keep getting worse the longer you keep your mouth open,” Harry says. Louis fucking grins at him, like Harry’s inability to get words out in a coherent manner is amusing him.
It probably is. It usually does.
“Because I’ve always been a part of your sex life, and the thought that I might not be is upsetting to me,” Harry says finally.
“So you don’t want to be in charge,” Louis clarifies. Harry stands a little straighter.
“No, of course I want to be in charge,” he says. “Is this - should we really be having this conversation right now?”
Louis folds his arms across his chest. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but this conversation is kind of inescapably woven into a relationship talk for me,” he says.
Harry licks his lower lip. “Okay. I want to be in charge of how you get your arse fucked, how often you get to suck cock. I want to be in charge of how you get to come and how many times and when. I want to be the only person that you have sex with for the foreseeable future. Is that enough for you?”
Louis purses his lips and nods. “Okay. I want to be the only boy who sucks your cock and lets you fuck their arse and lets you be in charge of how many times they come and how and when.”
“Jesus,” Harry chokes out. Louis arches an eyebrow.
“Harry, you’ve been in charge of how I come and when every time I’ve had sex for two years. I don’t know why you’re suddenly acting like you’ve never done it before.”
“I never really noticed that I was doing it,” Harry admits. “Is that stupid? It sounds stupid.”
“It’s kind of stupid, yeah,” Louis says. He tucks his hands into his pockets and rocks on his heels.
Harry rolls his eyes. “You never said anything either,” he points out.
Louis shrugs a little. “What was I gonna say?”
“You’ve never been shy about any other sex thing you’ve asked me for,” Harry says. “This is literally the only thing that you’ve never asked me for.”
“Okay, well, first off, I can think of at least a hundred sex things I’ve never asked you for that have nothing to do with wanting to get your cock in me,” Louis says. “Watersports, figging, bondage - ”
“You always pick the least important bit out of what I say,” Harry interrupts. He tamps down the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Louis shakes his head. “You say it’s the least important bit, but all I’m hearing is ‘Louis, I want to mummify you,” he says chidingly. “For all I know you have weird sexual habits that aren’t going to mesh with mine.”
Harry raises an eyebrow. “I think that if my sexual habits weren’t going to mesh with yours we would have already realized that.”
Louis waves a hand dismissively. “I could be into age-play for all you know,” he says breezily. Harry laughs and lets his fingers curl back around Louis’ wrist.
“You’re not,” he says. “You’re into being pushed around a little and being told what to do and being fucked.”
“I’m into that,” Louis agrees. “I’m also into being kissed by cute boys, I don’t know if you realized that.”
Harry nods along. “So should I call Liam for you then?”
Louis cackles and shoves at Harry’s shoulder with his free hand, pushing him back until he falls onto the couch. He climbs up onto Harry’s lap with absolutely no hesitation whatsoever. Harry’s hands settle on his hips.
“Liam’s my brother, you pervert,” Louis says, still shoving idly at Harry’s shoulder.
“Some people would say that I’m your brother, too,” Harry says. Louis mimes gagging, fingers tangling in Harry’s shirt.
“You’re a lot of things, love, but you’ve never been like my brother,” Louis says.
Harry’s eyes catch on the necklace dangling underneath Louis’ shirt. He lifts a hand and winds his fingers through it, the metal warm to the touch.
It’s Harry’s necklace, but that’s not surprising, considering that Louis doesn’t own any. Harry mainly just feels a little warm that Louis’ wearing it, has been wearing it, even though they were fighting.
Maybe because they were fighting.
“Brothers don’t help each other get off when they’re tired and frustrated and can’t get the right angle,” Harry says, lifting his eyes back up to Louis’.
“Thought we weren’t talking about that,” Louis says.
“We’re talking about a lot of things today,” Harry says. “When did you know?”
Louis doesn’t even blink. “I mean, part of me always knew, I guess? I dunno if anyone’s ever told you this, but you’re kind of attractive, Harold.”
“I’ve got that symmetrical face,” Harry agrees. He shifts underneath Louis’ weight.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Louis says. “You’ve got that weird chin thing going on.”
Harry strokes his chin. “When did you really know, though?” he presses, because this tangent could go on all day if he doesn’t stop it.
“A couple months? I knew the sex thing was weird the whole time, but it was easy enough to ignore, especially ‘cause none of the boys said anything about it, either. But every time I asked about Ryan you got this look on your face like you wanted to say no but couldn’t come up with a good enough reason.”
“I couldn’t,” Harry says.
Louis fiddles with one of the buttons on Harry’s shirt. “I wanted the reason to be that you didn’t want other guys fucking me. It seemed like that wasn’t possible, though, so I went out a picked up a guy without you.”
Harry concentrates on not letting his fists clench. He mostly succeeds. “What I do with you, I haven’t ever done it with anyone else, you know that, right?”
Louis nods. “I know that, yeah.”
“And that doesn’t worry you?”
“No,” Louis says simply. Harry needs more than that, though, and it’s showing on his face, so Louis sighs. “Look, it’s like - I’m not going to lie, sex is a big part of a relationship for me, but you’ve been doing that for me pretty much since the beginning. I’ve never done it without you, either, and we’ve figured it out.”
Harry inhales. “Okay,” he says. Louis looks at him.
“Okay?” he asks.
Harry smiles and tugs Louis closer, until their heads are resting together. “Okay. You trust me to give you what you need and I trust myself to figure it out. It’ll be fine. It’ll be amazing, probably, the first time we have sex together.”
“Okay,” Louis says again. Harry traces over his cheekbones with his thumb.
“I think it’s probably not going to be today, though.”
Louis laughs quietly. “It’s been a bit emotional,” he agrees.
“Yeah,” Harry says. “So I’m just gonna kiss you for a while, and then we’ll go to sleep.”
“Okay,” Louis says, and Harry tips their mouths together for the first time.
It’s perfect, warm and wet and sweet, and Harry could do this for the rest of his life. Will do this for the rest of his life, if he gets any say in it.
They kiss for a few minutes, until Harry’s cock gets too insistent about being freed. Harry pulls back and rubs his thumb across Louis’ bottom lip, ever so slightly swollen.
“I love you,” Harry tells him.
Louis’ eyes crinkle at the corners with his smile. “I love you too,” he says easily, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, so Harry has to kiss him a little more.
It’s less easy to pull back a second time, but Harry manages, swats Louis on the bum to get him moving, and they head up the stairs to go to sleep.
Harry wakes up hard and pressed into the curves of Louis’ back, and they didn’t do anything yesterday because it was a long, emotionally complex day, but they slept ten hours and there’s sunlight streaming into the room and Louis is only wearing his underwear, so now seems like the perfect time.
Louis’ on his side, knee pulled up close to his chest, and it makes it easy to push him over until he’s completely on his stomach, arms folded up underneath his head.
It doesn’t wake him up, but that doesn’t matter. Harry’s pretty sure that there’s no way he can sleep through this.
The good thing about Louis still sleeping is that Harry can look his fill. Louis would never let him do this if he was awake, is constantly shoving his hand into Harry’s face and pushing him away when Harry looks at him for too long, which isn’t really fair when you have a face like Louis’, Harry thinks.
Harry’s eyes drift down Louis’ back and get hopelessly stuck on Louis’ bum, hidden underneath his briefs. Harry wiggles his fingers underneath the waistband and inches them down, breath caught in his throat as Louis’ arse becomes bare.
It’s. Harry has to swallow the rush of saliva in his mouth. Harry loves bums, has always loved bums, and Louis’ is the best bum ever, hands down. Harry wants to taste it, just a little, so that’s what he does, skimming his lips down Louis’ left cheek.
Louis grumbles a little, hips shifting on the bed, like he’s starting to wake up but he still has to be convinced.
Harry can convince him. He pulls Louis’ briefs all the off, flinging them down to the corner of the bed. They’ll be impossible to find later, but that’s alright.
He digs his thumbs into Louis’ arse cheeks and parts them, inhaling deeply at the sight of Louis’ tiny pink hole exposed to him. He rubs a finger over it, glancing up at Louis’ face. His eyelids twitch a little, and Harry can’t tell whether he’s actually still asleep or whether he’s faking it, but Harry will give him what he wants either way.
Harry licks a broad, flat stripe right over Louis’ hole. Louis’ hips shift, probably would have come up if Harry hadn’t been holding them pinned down to the bed.
Definitely awake, then.
Harry gives him a few more licks before looking back up. Louis has two fingers shoved into his mouth, biting, not sucking, other hand fisted in the sheets. He’s already a little sweaty, just from Harry licking him a little, not even properly eating him out yet.
“S’good, baby?” Harry asks, rubbing his thumb over Louis’ hole again. Louis nods, jerky, into the pillow. “Yeah. Dreamed about this during the night, you know, holding you open and getting my tongue up in you.”
He pushes Louis’ knee up a little higher. It makes the stretch in Louis’ thigh more noticeable, which is so aesthetically pleasing Harry nearly forgets to breathe. “Hold that there for me,” he says thickly, and spreads Louis open again.
He doesn’t waste any more time, just gets his mouth back on Louis’ hole, eating him out in earnest. It’s different than eating out a girl, obviously, but Harry likes it better, like the way it makes Louis whimper and his thighs shake, trying to fuck back onto Harry’s face and failing because Harry won’t let him, holding his hips down into the mattress with both hands.
It’s a thought to entertain for another day, letting Louis ride his face, because fuck, Harry’s cock likes the idea, throbbing in his pants, but right now he likes this more, holding Louis down and eating him out so good he’s forced to rub his cock against the sheets, getting them wet and sticky.
Harry gets a little bit lost in it, in how Louis tastes, in the way he whimpers for it, in the way he can’t stay still even with Harry holding him down. His own cock is heavy, but he could probably get off like this if he wanted to, just on how Louis reacts to having Harry’s tongue in his arse.
Louis’ noises get higher in pitch. “Harry,” he gasps out. His leg twitches, probably having trouble keeping it at that angle, so Harry takes pity on him and helps him hold it there while Louis continues, “I can’t, I’m gonna come.”
Harry hums and stabs his tongue in a little harder, feels Louis’ muscles give way and let him lick the inside, let a piece of Harry into his body. “You can come whenever you want,” Harry murmurs.
Louis shifts, pushing up a little. “I want to come on your cock,” he says. Harry bites him, has to, sinks his teeth into the meat of Louis’ arse. Harry can’t wait for it to bruise, for it to get so tender that Louis gasps and sobs when Harry tongues it later. For Louis to sit down on a hard plastic chair and remember Harry doing this to him.
“You’re going to,” Harry tells him. He sucks the bite mark for a second, feels Louis’ thigh tremble in his grip. “You’re going to come on my cock and on my tongue. Maybe you’re going to come on my fingers too, I haven’t decided yet.”
“I can’t come three times,” Louis says. There’s a tremor in his voice from just thinking about it. Harry licks him some more, gets him wet with Harry’s spit. His back arches when Harry eases his tongue inside again.
“I think you could,” Harry says. “I’m pretty sure you could, but you don’t have to do that today. You’re gonna give me two today, because you brought home a guy and I didn’t say that you could do that, did I? You’re gonna make it up to me, right, baby? Give me two orgasms?”
Louis shudders, his whole body shaking with it. “I dunno,” he says. Harry hushes him and licks him again, because Harry knows, even if Louis doesn’t.
And Louis said that he wanted it, wanted to be eaten out, so Harry gives it to him, fucking into him with short little jabs of his tongue while Louis’ noises get louder and louder. He’s still not loud, but it’s the loudest Harry has ever heard him during sex, and fuck, Harry’s cock likes that so much.
He feels it when Louis starts to come, muscles clenching down tight on Harry’s tongue, and if it feels that fucking good when it’s only Harry’s tongue Harry can’t wait to feel it on his cock.
Louis breathes out steady ‘oh oh oh’s as he comes, eventually loosening up on Harry’s tongue. Harry rubs his hands along Louis’ sides and thighs, everywhere he can reach, and keeps eating him out for a couple minutes, ignoring the way he’s trying to squirm away.
The sheets are probably rubbing uncomfortably at his cock, covering it with his own come, but Harry knows Louis’ body, knows that just because it’s uncomfortable doesn’t mean that it’s not good.
The thought of seeing Louis’ cock half hard and covered in his come is making Harry’s mouth water a little too much, though, so Harry gives Louis’ hole a few more licks before sitting back and wiping his mouth and jaw off against his arm. He eases Louis over onto his back and looks at his face, flushed and sweaty, eyes half closed like he’s going to fall asleep.
Harry stretches up to kiss him. His jaw’s a little sore, but it’s the best kind of sore, knowing that it feels that way because he had Louis underneath him whimpering and coming apart on his tongue.
Louis’ being lazy, letting Harry push into his mouth and suck on his tongue, much more passive than he was yesterday, and Harry doesn’t know whether that’s because they’re having sex or whether it’s because Louis is fucked out, but he likes it either way, likes that he gets how to direct the kiss, likes that when he tips Louis’ head back a little further Louis just goes.
“Did you like it as much as you thought you would?” Harry asks. His fingers slide down Louis’ body to find Louis’ cock, half hard and wet, jerks it a couple of times.
Louis’ hand flies down to Harry’s, but he doesn’t try to pull Harry off, which is good, because Harry wouldn’t have let him. He hisses into Harry’s mouth, sensitive, and Harry tightens his grip a little. “I came without touching myself,” Louis says. He sounds dazed, like he can’t believe it.
Harry can. Louis had the mattress to help him out, anyway, rutting down against it, and it’s not the first time he’s come like that. Harry can’t wait to see Louis’ face when he makes him come on his cock untouched.
“You did,” Harry agrees, because it’s close enough, anyway. He glances down to see what Louis’ cock looks like in his hand. It’s just as pretty as he’s always pictured it, thickening back up even as Harry watches, the glide of his hand made easier with Louis’ come.
Harry wants to taste that, too, so he slides down and sucks Louis’ cock into his mouth, feeling it fill. He’s sucking too hard, probably, but Louis just pets his hair and babbles nonsense that Harry only half hears, concentrating too hard on not letting his teeth touch Louis’ dick.
That starts seeming like a good idea, though, so he lets his teeth scrape gently along the vein on the underside. Louis whines, thighs parting even more for Harry’s shoulders. Harry draws back and sucks on the head for a second, tongues across the slit and gets a burst of wetness that he swallows down.
He pulls off completely, leaving an inch of space between Louis’ cock and his mouth, and says, “Get me the lube.”
Louis doesn’t seem to be moving, so Harry looks back up at him impatiently. Louis’ got his eyes closed and his teeth sunk into his wrist, which is entirely unacceptable. Harry smacks him on the inside of the thigh hard, ignoring the way his hips jerk and his cock hits Harry in the cheek.
“I said get me the lube,” Harry repeats. He wraps a hand around the base of Louis’ cock and flicks the tip with his middle finger, not lightly.
Louis whimpers, thigh flexing on Harry’s shoulder. His head rolls on the pillow, hair matted down with sweat. He looks wrecked, completely out of it, so Harry pushes himself up onto an elbow and reaches over, fumbling through the bedside table until he finds a mostly empty bottle. He takes a condom, too, even though he doesn’t particularly want to. That’s a discussion for another day, when Louis can actually contribute to the conversation, not when he’s got his legs hooked over Harry’s shoulders and wanting it so bad he could cry.
He’d probably agree to anything right now, and Harry kind of wants to see how far that would get him, but that’s not cool, also a conversation they need to have on a later date, how far Louis would let him go.
Harry shoves at his own pants until he can kick them off. They get caught on his toes, and it’s so frustrating that he has to laugh, just for a minute, before he can concentrate again.
Harry bites the inside of Louis’ thigh, where the skin is the thinnest, drawing out a tiny hurt noise from Louis. He fumbles with the lube until he gets it open and spills some down his fingers. More spills onto the bed beneath Louis’ body, but Harry doesn’t particularly care about that. He can buy another bottle tomorrow.
Harry sucks Louis’ cock back into his mouth and presses his index finger inside Louis’ bum at the same time. It goes easily, still a little wet from Harry’s tongue. It feels so good, Louis’ body heat and muscles clenching down around his finger that Harry doesn’t notice Louis’ moving his hips until he thrusts up too hard and Harry nearly chokes.
Harry pins him back down with his shoulder, wiggling his finger inside Louis’ body. Louis’ making noise above his head, breathless little whimpers, foot planted in the middle of Harry’s back.
Harry tries to split his attention between Louis’ cock and his bum, because Louis has a lovely cock and if it’s going to be in Harry’s mouth it deserves Harry’s full attention, but it’s hard when he has that tight heat clinging to his finger where his cock wants to be so badly it’s drooling all over the sheets.
Harry has to give up on sucking Louis’ cock when he pushes his second finger in, puts his head down on Louis’ thigh and watches the best he can as he thrusts his fingers inside Louis’ arse, trying to spread him open enough for Harry’s cock.
“You look amazing,” Harry says. He pushes Louis’ legs further apart, so he can see better, and scissors his fingers. It’s different, seeing Louis being opened up from this angle, so much hotter than anything Harry’s ever seen or done before.
“’m ready, ‘m ready,” Louis says. He nudges at Harry’s side with his foot.
Harry bites him again, marveling at the way Louis keens for it, for Harry’s teeth in his thigh, so close to his cock. “You’re ready when I say you’re ready,” Harry says, and sinks another finger in. He can’t resist putting his mouth there, where his fingers are stretching Louis, dipping his tongue inside the best he can with his fingers in the way.
Louis practically sobs. “’m ready ‘m ready ‘m ready,” he chants. “Harry, Haz, Hazza, please fuck me, please put your cock in me.”
Harry moans and fucks his tongue in a couple more times before pulling out, fumbling with the condom until he manages to get it open and rolled down onto his cock. Louis adds his hand to the mix when Harry slicks the lube on, fingers brushing over Harry’s cock.
“Stop that,” Harry says. He has to knock Louis’ hand away to finish the job, gritting his teeth. If he gets Louis’ hand on his cock right now he’ll come, before he even gets the chance to get inside Louis properly.
It doesn’t bother Louis, though. He slips his hands up Harry’s chest and clings onto his neck while Harry starts pushing in, hands underneath Louis’ thighs to hoist him up into Harry’s thrust.
“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” Louis says, nails digging into Harry’s back as his hands go skidding along Harry’s back.
“Is it, are you okay,” Harry manages. Louis is tight on his cock, tight and warm and perfect and this is already the best sex Harry’s ever had.
“Fuck me please fuck me,” is all Louis says, so Harry complies, thrusting deep and even. He manages to get their faces together, licking into Louis’ mouth even though neither of them have brushed their teeth and Harry’s been eating arse and sucking cock all morning.
Louis doesn’t seem to care, though, lets Harry bite his bottom lip and suck on his tongue and snog him according to how hard he’s thrusting. “Baby, you feel so good,” Harry says into Louis’ mouth helplessly. He’s not quite sure that Louis hears him, but it doesn’t really matter. Louis must know anyway.
Louis holds onto Harry’s neck, even when Harry straightens up a bit, so Harry’s left holding his entire weight and doing all the work and Harry’s cock couldn’t be happier.
It changes the angle enough so Harry can nail Louis’ prostate on every thrust, short and hard. It breaks the kiss, but it leaves Louis whimpering into Harry’s mouth. “Are you going to come for me?” Harry asks. He fucks Louis a little harder, keeping the exact right position.
“You wanna come, Louis?” He doesn’t need Louis’ nod, but it’s good, anyway. “You wanna come with my cock in your arse, fucking you exactly how you like it, giving it to you better than you’ve ever had it before? You know I’m gonna give it to you every day for the rest of your life, as many times as you want it. You’re gonna get spoiled with all the cock you’re getting, never have to get off without having me in you again if you don’t want to.”
Louis sobs as he comes again, without a hand on his cock, come spurting between their bodies. It must hurt, at least a little, to come like that a second time, nothing to help him along but Harry’s cock ramming into the best spot inside of him.
Harry groans and fucks into him faster, knees sliding up the bed. Louis’ face is wonderful, the most amazing thing Harry’s ever seen, blissed out and happy and sweaty, eyes mostly closed.
He comes with Louis nipping at his bottom lip with sharp little teeth, probably drawing blood. Harry doesn’t care, can’t care, not when he’s coming inside of Louis, not when Louis clenches down tight around him and milks him through it.
It’s a spectacular fucking orgasm on both their parts. Harry has to catch his breath before he can pull out, which isn’t easy with the way Louis refuses to stop kissing, but he manages.
Louis still won’t stop kissing him, and Harry doesn’t mind, loves it, maybe, loves it that all the other sex Louis has had has never involved post-coital kissing, so Harry lets it go on for maybe a little bit too long, judging from the way his back starts protesting.
It’s easy to roll over, though, tug Louis on top of him, so that’s what he does, and they keep kissing until Harry’s mouth is numb and Louis isn’t doing anything more than keeping his mouth open for Harry to push his tongue into.
Harry rubs his thumbs over Louis’ cheeks once they’ve finally managed to pull their mouths apart. “You were crying?” he asks. Louis’ come is starting to get tacky in between their bellies. Harry’ll get up in a minute to get a flannel and get rid of the condom, still covering his soft cock.
“It was good crying,” Louis mumbles. His eyes are already starting to close, so Harry shifts him onto the mostly dry part of the bed and convinces his legs to work long enough to cross the room and grab a cloth from the bathroom and plop the rubber into the bin.
He wipes them both down perfunctorily, tossing the rag somewhere underneath the bed. He doesn’t even have the energy to feel disgusted with himself, not after sex that good.
Louis immediately curls into him once he lies back down, slinging a leg in between Harry’s and tucking his head into Harry’s shoulder. Harry tired but not sleepy, so when his hand drifts down Louis’ back and slip in between his cheeks without Harry’s explicit consent he doesn’t try to stop it.
“Don’ put your fingers in me afta you already fucked me,” Louis slurs. Harry shushes him and does it anyway, slipping two fingers back into wet warmth of Louis’ hole.
Louis immediately lets out a tiny little sigh and wiggles around like he’s seeing if he can get it up again. Harry’s cock takes an interest, because he’s twenty and he has his fingers in the most beautiful person he’s ever laid eyes on, but Louis seemingly decides that he can’t and falls asleep with his mouth open on Harry’s shoulder.
Harry rubs at Louis’ prostate idly, kind of trying to see if it’ll get a reaction but mostly because he can’t believe that his cock’s been in there, that his cock is going to be in there again before the day is up.
The only reaction that it gets is a jerk of Louis’ knee. Harry licks his lip and rubs a little more before slipping his fingers out. He’ll finger Louis awake later, after they’ve gotten a couple more hours of sleep.
Harry can’t fall back asleep without saying it one more time, though, so he nudges Louis until Louis cracks one eye open, glaring at him. “What.”
“I love you,” Harry says. He considers putting his fingers back inside Louis now that Louis is more or less awake, but he refrains. Louis might actually stab him.
“I love you too, dickwad. Don’t even think about putting your fingers back in me right now or else I’m going to make you sleep on the floor,” Louis says. He makes a ridiculous pouty face until Harry practically pulls a neck muscle to kiss him, then shoves Harry’s face away and goes back to sleep.
If Harry waits until Louis is sound asleep and then puts three fingers in him for a while Louis never has to know.
The next week passes in a haze of sex and rehearsals. They don’t actively tell the boys, but Liam takes one long, suspicious look at Louis when they walk in together and immediately starts fake vomiting everywhere.
Louis jumps on him and they end up wrestling, because of course they do. Louis wins and demands to be piggybacked around as a reward for the rest of the day, even when Paul shouts at them to actually do some work.
Especially when Paul shouts at them to actually do some work.
Every time Liam looks over at Harry his entire face scrunches up, and it catches on, until Harry can’t take more than two steps without hearing gagging noises. Harry ducks his head and hides his smile, because it’s exactly the type of immature stunt that they always pull on each other and it never seems to get old.
Louis lets it go on for most of the day. Harry goes to use the toilet and comes back to see Louis and Liam talking in the corner of the room. Louis has a tiny, tiny smile on his face, and Liam glances over at Harry a couple times. Harry smiles back and lifts a hand, waggling his fingers at them.
They flip him off in unison. It’s a little creepy.
Rehearsal goes on, and so does the gagging and fake vomiting and teasing every time Louis’ eyes meet Harry’s, until Louis throws both hands up in the air, stomps his way over to Harry and yanks his head down to be kissed.
Harry goes immediately. He’s been thinking about it all day, about getting Louis’ mouth underneath his again, and now that he’s finally got it he uses it to his advantage, coaxing Louis’ mouth open and slipping him some tongue.
The dramatic gagging noises get too distracting, though, so Harry lets Louis pull away, shouting, “You fuckers better get used to it!”
Harry sighs and rests his forehead against the back of Louis’ head, but he can’t stop the smile from overtaking his mouth.
“No fucking on the bus!” Niall screeches, and Harry doesn’t know who’s the first one to jump, but somehow they all end up in a pile on the floor.
Harry manages to find Louis’ wrist in the mass of limbs and curls his fingers around it tight. He doesn’t plan on letting go.