When they first met, eight months ago, it was a mid-November night, and how cold it was it’s something Louis remembers very well, so different from the light and gentle breeze that instead is blowing this evening.
The wind caresses the trees outside, gently moving their leaves, creating hypnotic patterns and Louis gets a bit lost in the movements while he’s waiting for Harry, sitting down on an uncomfortable bar stool.
Without any apparent reason, he starts thinking about that night and all he can remember is the cold. The cold. Only the cold.
And his smile.
He forces himself to think about it and God, Harry’s smile that night was so bright that could have overshadowed thousand stars.
They met in a club, for a mutual friend’s birthday, and Harry was so drunk that the first thing he said to Louis was a shouted “Fuck, your arse!” and then proceeded on cutely slapping his hands on his mouth, blabbing something behind them, eyes round with embarrassment.
“Sorry, love, I can’t understand with you covering your mouth like that.” Louis had said, laughing. Voice loud enough to be heard over the blasting music.
“I’m sorry. I promise I’m not usually an asshole. I’m just...”
“Yeah.” he had smiled bashfully.
They both chuckled. Louis brought a hand up to sweep some of Harry’s curls out of his forehead, being very drunk himself and apparently having forgotten any etiquette on not touching strangers. Harry’s eyes followed the movement, making them crossed, giving him a look of a confused frog that punched a big laugh out of Louis.
“It’s ok. I think you’re cute. Cute boys are allowed to be cheeky.”
“Oh, am I?” Harry had replied, tone dropping low, losing any trace of goofiness. Playful in a very different way. Two fingers sneakily started to dance on Louis’ belly.
“Yeah.” Louis had replied breathless. “Yeah, you are.”
At that time, Harry was still oblivious of Louis’ reputation. The stories going around on how much a player he was hadn’t really reached him, and Harry had been so carefree that night, coming straight out of Louis’ wildest dream, hitting him like a tons of bricks, nothing like the cold-hated version of himself that he presents Louis these days. And Louis-
Louis eyes snaps into focus, and he’s in the cafe again. He looks back at that night and thinks, where did we go wrong? Soon followed by a, why did I even asked him out? His hands crushing an innocent sugar sachet.
Mildly annoyed with himself, with images of that night still lingering in his head, he lets his eyes wander on the faces of the passers-by in order to find a distraction.
A strand of hair falls in front of his eyes, and with a mechanic gesture he captures it, passing a lazy hand through his hair. Confidence, it’s all about confidence, he thinks, smiling to himself.
His smile grows wider when his eyes meets somebody else’s.
Ah, Brian. He didn’t know he worked here.
Tall, broad shoulders, not very smart but he compensates his mental lacking with a very, very, very big dick. Louis lets his gaze wander on him, on that body he knows so well, while Brian puts down a tray of dirty cups and stretches his arms above is head in a gesture that may seem innocent, pure, casual enough to everyone who’s looking, but not to Louis. It's a challenge. It’s an invitation. And it recalls every single one of their meetings, full of sex, fast and wild, consumed in the first corner they could find.
One of his best fucks, he has to admit. Brian was always so full of fantasy and desire.
Louis smile turns into a frown. He doesn't seem so appealing now. Not anymore. And it’s always been one of Louis’ biggest defects getting bored very quickly, but this time he knows that’s not the reason why oh-so-good-Brian doesn’t affect him much anymore, and it pisses him off. Not for the first time.
He’s moody and he’s out of control because as of lately no one, no one, has been able to scratch the itch. No one but him, and Louis’ blood is boiling. For every time he tried to kiss lips that weren’t enough pink, or enough plush. For every time he held hands that were too small, or too sweaty, or simply too cold. For every time he forced himself to think that there was nothing missing, that everything was perfectly perfect and that brown eyes were the same as green ones.
He takes a cigarette from its packet and puts it between his lips, hands trembling already, then a curse rolls quickly out of his mouth when he remembers that he’s in a cafe and that it isn't allowed to smoke.
Why on bloody earth I’m still here? He’s gonna laugh at me. He’s going to-
That's when he sees him.
He just got out of the building on the other side of the street, right in front of Louis, he didn’t even bother to put a jacket on, the wanker.
Louis watches him stopping before crossing. There’s an old woman beside him, they exchange some words, and then Harry lets her put her arm in the crook of his elbow and promptly helps her to cross the street with him. A smile forces its way on Louis’ face.
What a bloody, colossal idiot, he thinks, but the smile he’s unconsciously showing keeps growing.
Louis sees his vibrant green eyes looking through the glass windows of the bar, clearly looking out for him, and that’s probably the reason why Harry chose this cafe in the first place. The bastard. Always wanting to be prepared, to know the next step, always wanting to be the first to know. Or maybe it was really just because it was literally in front of his flat. One way or another, Harry remains a bastard. No doubts about it.
He must not have spotted Louis yet and for a total of two seconds Louis caress the idea of enjoying his face without actually do anything to make Harry notice him, but then he knows that it's just a matter of time before the curly haired boy starts thinking that Louis has probably ditched him so, before he can leave, Louis raises his hand and waves it until blue eyes meet green ones.
While he’s approaching, Louis lets his eyes wander subtly over his body.
The lean torso, pale skin shown by the never fully buttoned shirt, where Louis likes to leave his marks. Long, long legs that go on for miles and Louis feels a thrill running up his back if he thinks of the last time he was in between them. He must have washed is hair recently, without having the time to blow-dry them, because his curls are wild, curlier than ever, sticking in every direction.
Louis focuses on his face and God, his lips. So pink. So soft. They stretch so wide when he’s smiling, so hard that his dimples are showing. Those fucking dimples.
But when Louis meets his eyes, there’s no trace of that smile. No, Harry is frowning.
And, yeah, Ok. So maybe he wasn’t so subtle on checking him out. Ok. Fine. Big fucking deal. They slept together not even two nights ago, for fuck’s sake, it’s not like-
Louis forces himself to calm down, and when Harry is finally close enough, he gets up and gently places a kiss on his cheek. A faint smile is all Harry offers in response.
“To what do I owe the honour?” Harry says as soon as he sits down and he almost sounds tired.
“Honour of what?” Louis asks while watching him, trying to figure out if he’s really tired or just annoyed.
“Come on, Louis.” And yeah, he’s annoyed. “What are we doing here? What do you want?”
“Just the pleasure of your company?”
Harry smiles, but it looks forced, feigning amused while with a gesture of his hand calls the waiter.
Louis is still watching him, his eyes never leaving his face, and it’s blatantly clear now that Harry is still following the waiter’s movements in order to avoid looking at him, that he is obviously ignoring him. As time passes on, Harry’s mouth morphs into a thin line and his fingers starts nervously tapping on the counter.
Oh, dear Lord. What now?
But that’s it, isn’t it? That’s Harry. Harry, who he does not understand even though Louis never bothered to explain. The same Harry that doesn’t talk to him. The same Harry that it’s like book in Louis’ hands, written in ancient Hebrew and Louis has no idea how to read it. He always needs to fight for words, for anything, cause nothing is granted.
The very same Harry that drives him crazy. Every. Single. Fucking. Time.
They can’t stand each other, they know that. Everyone knows that. After that first night it was clear to everyone that they were not meant to be friends. They were not meant to be anything. Close together in a room they will last less than thirty seconds before ripping each other heads off, ask whoever, everyone knows that.
But Louis knows that it isn’t true. He knows the truth. God, he wants him so badly and knowing that Harry despite him so much only increase his desire. Nobody else can have what they have. Nobody. Louis wants to be the only one who can-
“So” Harry says interrupting his thoughts, “Can I finally know the reason behind this ‘meeting’ or do I have to guess?”
“Why must there always be a reason, Harry?”
“Ah.” Harry laughs humorlessly. “Because with you, Louis, there is always one. You need a favour,” he starts counting on his fingers, “you need someone to talk to, you need a fuck. There’s always something.”
“Maybe I just really wanted to see you. And I’m starting to resent the decision.” Louis fires.
“Yeah, ok. Fuck off.” He says, standing.
“Where are you going now?”
“The restroom. Am I free to go or do I need a written permission?”
God, fucking, dammit. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” Louis mutters tiredly, looking at Harry’s shoulders sway away from him.
“That’s because I learned from the best.”
He’s hating him, now, and all of a sudden he can’t remember a moment where he didn’t hate Harry bloody Styles to guts, anger growing avidly in his chest while he watches him float away. Harry’s always had the extraordinary skill of ruining everything. Always. Louis tries, he tries, to calm down, to talk himself out of it, but there's not much to do when you’ve got a bloody door shut in your face, is it?
Maybe this was a mistake, after all. Maybe Harry really hates him and they’re not meant for anything else than a good fuck here and there. Maybe Louis was projecting everything, making things bigger than they are in his head. Fuck it! Louis thinks, and in a flash, he’s standing, he leaves the money for a coffee that hasn’t even been prepared yet and bolts toward the door.
And yet, something was there, Louis is sure of it. He saw it. He saw it every time Harry let him held him close, in the darkness of their room, in rigorous silence, both of them too afraid of saying or doing anything. He saw it in the madness running through both of them at every touch.
He's sure he saw it when for the first time, two nights ago, Harry asked him to stay.
Louis stills completely, one foot already out of the cafe.
This wasn’t a mistake. He won’t let Harry ruin it. He turns around, to run after him, to fucking do something, to yell, but Harry is already there, looking at him with a cold, unimpressed look, like he was expecting Louis to leave. Like he knew that this is all Louis is good for.
But it’s too late, Harry’s legs starts to move and with a cold “Save it.” he slides past him, he doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t give Louis another glance while he crosses the road without checking if any car is passing by and goes straight to his building.
Louis legs move before he decides to do so, he runs after him, squeezes himself between the main door that was still open and in a moment he’s there. Harry is just getting into his flat, he reaches out to take Harry’s wrist in a firm grip and tries to stop him, but Harry is too strong and with a sudden movement he’s freeing himself, trying to close the door quickly, but Louis is fast on his feet and he’s in. He's in.
And maybe Harry wanted to finish that sentence, but he couldn’t, Louis’ lips were already on his.
And it is one of their kisses.
One in which Harry once drunkenly admitted that he always gets himself lost between that good, sweet smell and that taste that's unmistakably Louis’, and where Louis lets him wander without stopping him, for once. Louis who always feels the need to close his eyes whenever he kisses Harry, even though he never used to close them. ‘Makes me feel in control’, he once lied to someone who complained.
Lie, lie, blatant lie. He just never met someone like Harry. He just didn’t know that there was so much to feel. To taste. He didn’t know there was supposed to be something more than his personal pleasure.
They stop only when both of them are out of breath and Harry lowers his head until he’s in the hollow between Louis’ neck and shoulder, breathing as much air as he can. Louis’ air.
It is always like this, they are like this. If they could they would kill each other, but then they always end up in each other’s arms, without understanding why.
“You cannot take me, trap me and kiss me whenever you like, you know.” Harry says, trying to slap him in the chest.
Louis catches his wrists again, “Is that so? I thought you liked it...”
“That doesn’t change anything! You... you... I don’t understand you and, and-” then again, Louis’ lips are on his, but this time Harry slaps him in the face, “You can’t do that! You can’t kiss just to shut me up, you are-”
“An asshole, a jerk, a dickhead, a moron, you hate me to death. Yeah. Can we stop now? Can we... why can’t you always be the boy that I had in my arms a moment ago?”
“It will not happen again.” Harry snaps, and it sounds like he’s mostly trying to convince himself, and Louis is so, so tired of it.
“You keep saying it. We kiss, we fuck, we hold each other close with the fear of letting go and then we fight and you run away. And then all over again.”
“Well, you’re used to one-night stands, aren’t you? That’s all you know. That’s all you want. A warm hole to fill whenever you feel like it.” Harry spits like venom, a murderous look in his eyes.
“It’s been months, H. And you’re the only one I’m sleeping with.” Louis says gently.
“Should I feel honoured?”
“You left me.” Harry says, taking Louis’ arms off of him and taking a step back, putting some distance between them.
Louis sighs and takes a step forward.
“You left me alone. When I asked you to stay you left me!” Harry accuses, a finger stabbing Louis right in the middle of his chest. “You- God, you are an asshole. And I’m an idiot.” he says laughing, but it’s not really a laugh. It's something bitter, a lot sad, and it stings Louis’ heart. “I’m an idiot. I keep... I keep letting you do whatever you want to me, hoping that... hoping that you will realize... but you won’t, because you’re a selfish bastard an I hate you. I hate you!”
“And you? Are you not?” Harry asks, voice cracking, “Weren’t you exaggerating when you kissed me the first time, giving life to this ridiculous farce? Weren't you exaggerating every time you touched me and then promptly reminded me that it was just a game to you? Weren't you exaggerating every time you made me feel like your little rag doll, the back-up plan, the consolation price when who you really wanted wasn’t there? Weren't you exaggerating then? No, no, you weren’t, right? Cause you’re never wrong, are you? You think you have the right-
“Can you just please shut up and fucking-” Louis begs, tacking another step forward.
“Stay away from me.” Harry threatens, not backing up.
“A fool? Yes, yes, I am. Everyone who would willingly reduce themselves in this state for you can be called a fool. Only a fool, Louis.”
“I’m trying to tell you something-”
“No, you’re right.” Harry interrupts him. “I am the one to blame. I made the mistake of letting myself be involved when things have always been pretty clear. It was a game, just a stupid game, that’s all it has always been. But I started to confuse the game with reality, I started to mix what was in my head with what was really happening. It’s my fault, I know and if I could go back to that bloody day, months ago, I would erase the beginning of this stupid thing that somehow I have managed to turn into a small version of a boring Telenovela!” he finishes taking a big gulp of air, chest rising with labored breath. A hand come up to run through his hair and when he starts talking again, it sounds strained, forcibly calmer, “You need to stay away from me. It's- it's over. Whatever this was, whatever we were doing, whatever-” Harry says quickly but he stops himself before getting worked up again, eyes darting everywhere but Louis’ face, “It’s over.”
Louis surges forward, capturing Harry face in his hands, and quickly starts kissing him. I’m here. He hopes that Harry feels it. I won’t let you go. His left hand slides on the back of Harry’s head, curls gliding through his fingers. Listen to me.
“Listen to me, and listen carefully.” Louis says, lips merely an inch from Harry’s, voice low and deep, “This thing where you decide for the both of us needs to stop. You decide when this story begins and you decide when it’s over, you decide how and why. It's enough. I had enough to just let you-” his words are interrupted by Harry’s constant squirming trying to get free, “Listen to me!”
Harry's hands are tight fists on his chest, crushing his jumper, as if he’s not sure if he wants to push Louis away or just swallow him in. Louis captures his lips again and Harry is not moving at all until, moments later and under Louis' insistence, his lips part to accommodate Louis tongue, and from that point on there’s nothing gentle about it. Louis is frantic, rough, hands fisting tightly the hair at the nape of his neck, like he’s afraid to let go, listen to me, listen to me, listen to me.
Harry’s now squished between Louis’ body and the wall, one of Louis’ legs between his and the pressure on Harry’s cock is so delicious that he starts to grind down unconsciously.
The both moan in unison, Louis brings a hand down to quickly move Harry’s leg out of the way and then he’s standing right between his open legs, they start pushing against each other so hard that Louis is lost between the pain and the pleasure.
Harry’s moaning and panting, lips already a beautiful mess, head bent back to lay against the wall and the stretch of his long, pale neck is too much of a temptation for Louis, so he does the only logical thing he can think of: dive in.
He kisses, and bites, and sucks on it like his life is at stake. Because it’s Harry, and it’s soft skin and sharp edges, and it smells divine, and it tastes like sweat and paradise and Harry, and Louis didn’t know how much you could get addicted to someone’s taste, for God’s sake. He reaches with both hands to grip the outside of Harry’s legs to lift them up a bit, clasping so tight that he can’t feel his fingertips anymore. The change in angle is both amazing and a torture, it’s good, it’s so good, that Louis can’t stop but he wants more, more. Always more.
“Nobody. Nobody can do it.” He grunts, between another kiss and a bite, “I hate them. Every single man I slept with. I hate them.” Hips snapping with every word. “I hate them because they have nothing of this body. They're not you.” Louis moans desperately, “…nobody, nobody makes me crazy like you.”
Harry’s hands are trembling while he start undressing Louis, movements urgent and frantic.
“I hate you. I hate you.” he pants while his hands are now caressing Louis’ bare stomach, nails dragging until they reach his shoulders. He puts a hand on Louis’ neck and grips so hard that it’s almost too much for Louis to bare. Harry squeezes tightly his eyes and brings his forehead down into Louis’. “I fucking hate you. So much.”
“Shut up, shut up. Shut up.” Louis says while kissing and biting Harry’s left shoulder, hands ripping off his shirt. “Fucking shut up.”
Louis starts pulling at him at same time as Harry start pushing, both of them wanting and needing the bed. They stumble together through the darkness of Harry’s flat, Louis knowing every corner of it like the back of his hand by now, clothes falling everywhere while their mouths never really leave each other for too long. When they reach the small bedroom, Louis pushes him into the bed and Harry drags Louis with him in the fall.
They’re all over each other, crotches grinding together with only their briefs separating them.
Harry is a panting mess, hands touching Louis wherever he can reach.
“You drive me crazy. You drive me fucking nuts. Louis.”
Louis is making his was down Harry’s sternum, lips kissing him reverently everywhere. Listen to me. When he reaches the bellybutton, he dips his tongue in it, sucking and biting the tender flash soon after and Harry’s hips arches off the bed, a needy whine leaving his lips.
“Shh.” Louis says, blowing cool hair on a fresh love bite and watching the hair on Harry’s happy trail stand up. Listen to me.
He keeps going down, and when he’s reached the head of Harry a cock he starts sucking at it through the soft cotton of his briefs. Harry’s hands shout out to grip Louis shoulders, as to anchor himself.
“Louis, Lou- fuck!” voice broken by a moan, “Please.”
“No. No.” Louis says sucking the tender flesh, hands carefully peeling Harry’s briefs from his legs. “Let me have this. Let me- let me have this.” And he doesn’t know what he’s saying, he’s pleading and he’s never done that before, the words are like cotton in his brain and feel like glue in is mouth.
His hands run through the expand of his legs, inch after inch of pure blissfulness. He kisses, and bites and sucks and at every motion Harry’s legs part a little bit more till he’s completely exposed to Louis, and Louis eyes roll so far back that it hurts.
It’s the holy grail. It’s the water in the heart of the desert. It’s a small island in the middle of the ocean. It’s everything Louis ever wanted and it’s there, pink and winking, and soft and Louis doesn’t even think about moving, he just does.
The moment his lips are on Harry’s rim everything in his head goes quiet, the loud buzzing noise in his head simply dissipates and he has to stifle in a moan because Harry’s making the sweetest sounds. Louis thinks he’s going to die.
Louis eyes darts up to Harry’s face. He's looking at the ceiling, lips parted and cheeks a lovely shade of pink. He's trashing and writhing on the bed, while Louis mouth keeps on with its restlessly sucking, hands tightly fisted into the sheets below.
Louis' hand, in a little sprout of lucidity, reaches between the bed and the wall, where he suddenly remembers dropping a bottle of lube two night ago in their rush. It's always like this, it’s always overwhelming, always rushed because they can’t wait to get their hands on each other and Louis wonders if it will ever come to an end, if this unrelenting feeling of dizziness, this constant feeling of wanting more, will ever leave them. But when Harry's hips jump off the bed when the first digit is in, Louis is sure it never will. He’ll never have enough of this, of Harry, of his body, of the soft noises that escape his mouth.
His tongue slides right beside his finger and the taste isn’t so great anymore, starting to get more lube-y than Harry, but there’s still a little trace in it and Louis will keep on going until he’s sure he cannot taste him anymore.
“So soft...” he pants while his finger caresses Harry insides and Harry’s promptly clenches on him as a response. “And so strong. So warm. God, I can’t wait to be inside you.” And when his finger hits Harry’s prostate right on clue, his legs starts shaking on either side of Louis’s body.
“Then get on with it.” Harry grits out.
Louis slides a second finger in it and from that point on everything is a blur. They are both a moaning mess, Louis hips humping desperately the bed to have some relief. His fingers are still working restlessly on opening Harry up, but he slides up Harry’s body to capture his lips. Harry raises his hips just so his cock can slide on Louis’ stomach and Louis swallows greedily all the noises he makes. His free hand has captured one of Harry’s and they’re holding so tight that their knuckles have turned white.
And then Harry is pushing him, forcing him to stand first on his knees and then sit on the bed. He produces a condom out of God knows where and, after putting it on Louis whit skilled fingers, he crawls until he straddling his legs, his mouth never leaving Louis’.
“A fucking God, that’s what you are.” Louis mumbles, hands claiming their rightful place on Harry’s hips.
Harry’s side of his mouth lift just a little bit up, in the shyest smile Louis has ever seen on him, hand reaching down to grasp Louis’ cock guiding it to his hole.
The moment the head breaches past the rim they both still. Harry's hands are digging holes in Louis’ neck where he’s holding for dear life. Their foreheads are pressed together, both panting in each other mouth, and Louis doesn't know what to say.
What could he possibly say anyway? There's a giant lump in his throat and there’s a constant loud drum where is heart is supposed to be, and it’s beating so loud to the point where Louis feels like he might be exploding. He takes one of Harry’s hand and, together with his, he drags it down until they’re resting on Louis chest, right up on his heart.
Can you feel it? He wants to say. Are you listening? Can you feel it? “I... I- Harry, I-” His mouth doesn’t seem to work, he tries and tries, but no sound is coming out of it, and it’s ridiculous, because they’re in the middle of something, but Harry’s free hand leaves his neck, a thumb gently caressing his lower lip, and moves their intertwined hands from Louis’ chest to his and Louis has no time to react, he has no time to truly realize how much Harry’s heart is beating as well because the next second is the one Harry decides to just slam down his hips, taking all of Louis cock in one go.
The sensation is fucking phenomenal and Louis moans so loud that, for just a fraction of a second, he’s almost embarrassed of himself. But then Harry’s hips start to build up a rhythm and all coherent thoughts fly out of Louis mind.
Harry groans when Louis hoists him up to adjust him in his lap, their torsos aligning perfectly. Louis can't breathe. The heat, the pressure, the tightness is all too much.
“Fuck. Fuck, Harry.” he mumbles against his sweaty neck while Harry is bouncing now earnestly on his lap.
Louis kisses his neck, then sucks on it, then proceeds to do it all over again in the crook of his shoulder. Harry groans and whines, hands almost ripping the hair on the base of Louis’ neck out from how tightly he’s gripping them. He's alternating between bouncing up and down and grinding down and low in his lap.
Louis yanks at his hair, only to clash their mouths together again. Harry’s legs are starting to tremble, his movements less forceful, so Louis flips them over.
Harry is surprised for only a second, both of them just breathing into each other's mouth, the movement making Louis jab directly into his sweet spot and he moans, loud and clear.
“Fuck me.” He says while his legs come to wrap around Louis’ waist, digging his nails into Louis’ shoulder. “Fuck me. Fuck me now.”
Louis just nods, takes one of Harry’s leg from his waist and puts it on his shoulder and then starts pounding again.
“Fucking- fuck- God, Louis.” Harry's blabbing and Louis is lost between the heat coiling in the pit of his groin and the sweet, wonderful taste of Harry’s sweat on his lips whenever he kisses him. Everywhere he can reach. Lips. Cheeks. Collarbones. It doesn’t matter.
“Oh, God,” he whines, “Oh my fucking-”
“Louis. Louis. Louis.” Harry slaps a hand on his face and Louis has the time to fuck into him only twice before Harry’s coming undone between them, clenching so tight on Louis’ cock that with only one last push Louis’ shooting hard in the condom.
They don’t move. Harry only dares to bring his leg down from Louis’ shoulder and Louis lowers himself enough to lay completely on Harry’ chest, cock still buried deep, but other than that they don’t dare to make a move.
They just lay there, panting, Harry’s eyes fixed on the ceiling and Louis’ lost in the pores of Harry’s skin. They're beginning to cool down, and Harry’s come is starting to turn sticky and uncomfortable between them, Louis’ cock has gone completely soft in Harry’s arse, but still they don’t move.
After a while, Harry’s fingers come to cradle between Louis’ hair. Louis lift his head a bit, chin resting on Harry’s sternum, and God, he’s so beautiful.
“You should leave.” He says, but there’s a hint of a smile that doesn’t want to leave his face.
“You should kiss me.”
Harry smiles then, a genuine smile, a blinding, all-the-stars-are-crashing smile, and then they’re kissing again, but it’s just lips, just simple pecks. Teeth getting in the way because they juts can’t stop smiling.
“No more running?” Louis says hopefully, after a beat.
“No more running.” Harry answers and just like that he kisses him again.
- fin -