Work Header

Lips Won't Let Me Go

Work Text:

The problem with having a really hot girlfriend is constantly wishing to be between her legs.

It wasn't really a problem during college, when Louis actually could spend all her time eating pussy, but now that she's a multimillionaire movie actress there's an expectation of her to actually work and network and pay attention to people other than Harry. True, it should be more than just an expectation seeing as it's her own movie premiere, but to be fair, Harry is both the hottest date and incredibly leggy and wearing a gorgeously fitted strapless dress with a slit. Not even Louis's agent could blame her for wanting to wrap Harry's mile-long legs around her shoulders.

Although bringing Harry along to the premiere caused the problem in the first place (or maybe letting Harry dress herself) (or maybe eating Harry out before they left, just to have a taste, without making her come), at least it deflects attention from Louis. With an adorable Burberry model by her side for the very first time at an official event, interviewers are just as eager to ask Harry questions as they are Louis—more, even, since they know Louis mostly gives snarky answers or walks away when she gets bored.

"Obviously I'm very proud of Lou," Harry says excitedly, speaking too closely to the mic and smiling awkwardly wide. Louis's heart hammers in her chest. "But I try not to let it get to her head."

The reporter—American, she thinks—looks delighted. "Really? How do you keep her grounded, Harry?"

Harry looks at Louis, suddenly nervous or worried that she'd said too much. Louis puts a hand on the small of Harry's back, her favourite place, and clears her throat. "She makes me do the dishes," she says, and then smoothly steers Harry away to the next photo op.

Harry lets out breathless chuckle. "I didn't think red carpets were this long in real life."

Louis's hand tightens on her hip. "Is it too much? Alberto can sneak you out, I won't be mad—"

"Babe, I love you, but please shut up," Harry cuts her off, turning to speak into her ear and lightly nuzzling her hair. Louis actually has to turn her head up. Harry's so tall, and the long dress makes her look even longer, and Louis's so weak for her it's ridiculous. "I'm enjoying it, I'm just not used to people actually asking me questions."

"I know, it's like they don't know your input is completely useless."

Harry snorts and suddenly her hand is on Louis too, resting on her shoulder when she whispers, "Or that you're such a brat."

Louis gulps almost comically. Harry has a nice voice and nice legs and nice hands and they haven't kissed in four hours. "Can Alberto sneak me out?"

Harry giggles. "Why?"

Louis rolls her eyes and turns so that she's speaking right into Harry's ear, and her mouth is partially concealed by Harry's long hair. "Wanna get to the limo already and roll up the partition. Maybe I'll wait for you to join me before I get myself off."

"Jesus, Louis," Harry breathes, stepping away from her so fast that she nearly trips on her own high heels.

Louis just shrugs and carries on along the red carpet. When she passes Harry she drops a chaste kiss to her cheek and whispers, very carefully, "Maybe I won't wait, though. Maybe you'll have to watch."


They're not all over each other as soon as Louis shuts the door of the limo. They need to tell the driver where they're going, and Harry has to pick her mood music, during which Louis kicks off her high heels and finds a nice bottle of champagne. They already had some at the event, but not enough and not alone.

Harry settles alongside Louis on the spacious back seat, and as soon as she sees the bottle Louis's brandishing, she smiles and claps excitedly. She's so—expressive, is the thing. Harry Styles doesn't give a shit what anyone thinks of her, she never tries to hide who she is or what she's feeling, and sometimes it results in being a total dork while wearing an alarmingly sexy and elegant gown. It's so charming that Louis takes a gulp rather than a sip, straight from the bottle, and then beckons Harry closer with her finger.

Harry's smile turns a bit mischievous. Instead of sliding over, she hitches up her dress and swings a leg over Louis's thighs, ending up straddling her. She trails her delicate fingers down from Louis's ear and to her chin, tilting her face up. It's impossibly gentle in comparison to the way Louis's pulse is racing, in reaction to suddenly having a lapful of girlfriend. They're just looking at each other for a moment, Harry's fingers fluttering over Louis's bottom lip. She's only got eye make-up on, lips naturally glossy pink and cheeks flushed whenever Louis flusters her a bit. Which is almost always. Her curly hair is held together with a pretty headband that Louis kind of wants to tear off.

She's so busy staring into Harry's big eyes that she kind of misses the moment Harry leans in, until her brain registers kissing distance!, and that's that. Harry's tongue darts out, tasting champagne over lipstick over Louis, and it's tender and slow and Louis instantly brings their mouths together. Harry opens up to make a happy little sound, and Louis can't help but smile into it, catching Harry's plush bottom lip between hers and nibbling a little. Harry makes another little noise. Louis feels… heat. It's not quite urgent yet, but it's consistent and pleasant and definitely mirrored when she leans back on the seat and looks at Harry's pretty face. "Thanks for coming tonight," she says, fitting it in the space between Harry's lips.

Harry nudges their noses together. "Didn't come yet."

Louis makes a show of cringing at the cheap joke. "Long way home. Lots of traffic at this hour."

Harry's eyes darken a little. Even through the layers of both their gowns, she can feel Harry shift her hips. Because she's finally, finally between Harry's legs. "Really? We're gonna do it in the limo?"

This is it. This is the highlight of Louis's life. She hooks her chin on Harry's shoulder, and then says ecstatically, "Driver? Roll up the partition please."

Harry snorts rather loudly into Louis's neck. As Louis watches the partition roll up just like Beyoncé said, she can feel Harry root around for the champagne bottle. When she leans back, Harry's already got the cap off. She raises the bottle to her lips with her eyes locked with Louis', and she's so—it's so obvious that she's teasing, that her beautiful lips part just slightly for Louis's benefit, that she tilts her head back a little for more than champagne.

So Louis snatches the bottle and takes a swig herself, only to avoid hitting Harry's nose she has to tilt the bottle and ends up spilling champagne down her own chin and right to her cleavage. It really wasn't planned, really, but then Harry's staring down at her body with wide eyes, and Louis's breath hitches. She still can't breathe when Harry brings her soft lips right over the tattoo on her collarbones, when she laps up the spilt champagne and trails her tongue down, down, between Louis's full breasts until she's interrupted by fabric and Louis finds herself cursing. Harry's mouth on her always has an electric effect, whether it's a playful nip to her finger or a long, concentrated effort into marking up her neck and giving make-up artists a headache.

Harry stops with her nose buried between Louis's tits and her mouth latched tight on her skin, making Louis clench, making her hands move on their own. They fit easily over Harry's hips, but that's hardly enough. She runs her fingers from Harry's calf and up, sliding under her dress, tickling the backs of her knees and scratching her thighs the way Harry likes. She goes for the arse. Harry's wearing a thong; of course she goes for the arse.

Harry gasps against her when Louis fits her hand over one of Harry's cheeks. She feels soft and warm, enough that Louis pets her for a few moments before slipping two fingers under the barely-there thread of her thong and moving down. She actually gasps when she reaches her destination—Harry's so wet, it takes all of Louis's willpower to keep her touch light instead of pushing right in. "Someone's ahead of me," she accuses.

Harry doesn't laugh, too busy gasping into Louis's cleavage and twisting her hips, begging Louis to dip in. "Someone had her tits out all night," she ends up saying.

Louis rolls her eyes and moves her hand back up over Harry's arse, making her sag into Louis's body in frustration. "Someone has her tits out every day. Queen of plunging necklines. Do you hear me complaining?"

Harry noses easily under Louis's dress—always loose, always comfortable, or she won't leave the house—and sinks her teeth right into her lacy bra. "M'not complaining. You're gorgeous. Queen of my heart."

She flushes, and rewards Harry by snaking her other hand over her arse too, so she can spread her better and the next stroke down is mildly more satisfying. Mostly for Louis, since she gets to hear Harry whining every time she stops just short of touching her trimmed pubes. (It's a thing. Harry actually used to be completely shaved, a model thing, but Louis convinced her to leave some for her to play with. The method was rubbing her clit hard with three fingers until Harry was close enough to scratch Louis's back, and then letting go completely and tugging on the fine hairs painfully enough to make her even wetter. It's a good thing.)

"Lou," Harry moans miserably, pushing out into Louis's palms. It does not help Louis stay calm, especially considering how Harry's tongue is getting the lace wet and scratchy against her hard nipple. Louis's back arches a little, and Harry opens her mouth wider gratefully and flicks her tongue over Louis's nipple.

"Get me off," Louis decides, pushing even more into Harry's mouth. "Want you wet enough to drip when I eat you out after."

"Yes, fuck," Harry whispers, already swivelling her hips over Louis'. Nothing gets Harry hornier than seeing to Louis. It's another good thing.

She wants to be good for Louis more than she wants for Louis to blow her already, because she's... Harry. She kisses Louis, solid and deep and hot, and then her clever fingers find the zipper on Louis's dress and the flimsy fabric drapes over their hips. Harry actually stops kissing her to take a look, and then she kind of freezes. Louis thinks fuck yeah, because she actually bought nice lingerie for this event and it's nice to be recognised. Louis also thinks fucking come on, because Harry's hands are just hanging by her side limply instead of feeling Louis up. Completely negating the purpose of knickers.

Louis bucks her hips up, catching Harry off-guard and causing her to topple forward. The smooth fabric of Harry's dress feels nice on Louis's bare skin, and tight enough on Harry that she can feel her soft chest and tight stomach lining up against Louis's. "Do I need to ask again?" Louis says, stricter than necessary.

Harry shakes her head and ducks down to kiss over Louis's bra again, one hand coming up to cup her and the other fluttering down to her naval. Louis sucks in her stomach in anticipation, and then exhales in surprise when Harry rises to her knees, still bent over enough to scrape the peak of Louis's nipple with her teeth. Louis gets the message and unzips her dress the rest of the way, pushing it off completely. After some shuffling in the bit of space Harry left her, she slides her panties down to her thighs as well.

As soon as Harry sits back down over her, she starts kissing her neck hard, in complete contrast to the delicate way her finger, just one, is still running in circles over her stomach. Louis turns her head in faint annoyance, her own fingers digging into the flesh of Harry's arse. Patience is definitely not her virtue, especially not after wanting this all night. She wants to come, and then she wants to lay Harry out on the seats and eat her out with the fancy dress still on.

"Get to it," she says again, only this time she slides the tip of her finger into Harry. Harry moans brokenly and bites Louis's shoulder, but she doesn't move her hips to get more, and doesn't protest when Louis moves back up to grab her arse.

What she does do is finally press her finger down to Louis's pussy. Harry moans even louder than she did when Louis teased her, as if sinking her fingers into a wet cunt is more satisfying than anything Louis could do to her. Or maybe it's just feeling how turned on she made Louis. Whatever it is, it gets her excited enough to slick her fingers inside Louis and then pull them out to play over her clit and—yeah, Louis's definitely moaning louder than Harry now.

"Good?" Harry asks, but it's not really a question. They've been together for six months, she knows what's good for Louis. What she's really asking is for Louis to talk. It's surprisingly hard, as most of her attention is focused on Harry's two slippery, long fingers. She's pressing them down one at a time, so she doesn't even get her clit directly, but it's rhythmic and close enough and winds her up embarrassingly fast.

"Good," Louis finally hisses. It's like her body is straining—thighs trying to spread, hips trying to rock back against Harry, but she's trapped under her weight. The only outlet she has is to talk. "Good, good girl. I'm getting the dress all wet because of you, d'you like that?"

Harry sighs and starts going faster, dropping the pulsing rhythm she worked up in favour of pressing down flat and rubbing hard. Louis throws her head back and grunts, feels her whole body get hotter. That gets to Harry and she ends up moaning too, right in Louis's ear, so light and sweet, it's—god, it's got her clenching, she needs—"More, H, give me."

Harry muffles a sound in Louis's neck and adds another finger, rubbing all three along her slit, bumping over her clit one by one. It's good, but not exactly what Louis meant. "More," she stresses.

This time Harry sounds distressed, and suddenly she's rising up again and Louis's staring right at her chest. Before she knows it she's got her tongue moulded to Harry's nipple, over her red, strapless bra. It takes Harry whining her name for her to wonder why Harry isn't sitting on her anymore, and then she feels how still Harry's hand has gone between her legs. She lifts her own hips experimentally, and Harry nods quickly, cupping Louis's crotch again. Oh. "Want me to ride your fingers, baby? Want me to take over?"

"Please," Harry whispers. She braces her other hand on the headrest behind Louis, bringing her tits even closer to Louis's face. The only thing saving her from another distraction is Harry gently swirling her fingers around her hole, dragging in her wetness. All right.

Louis keeps a steady hold on Harry's arse, making sure she's still propped up when Louis spreads her own thighs as much as she can and then rocks her hips, taking two of Harry's fingers smoothly. Louis doesn't stop until Harry's fingers are all the way in, and then she just keeps grinding, breathless and adjusting. Harry's got long legs and a gorgeous face and wavy hair, but truly, her best feature is her hands, elegant and capable. She's clumsy with anything but Louis, it seems.

"Yeah, fuck," Louis moans, shivering all over when Harry starts twisting her fingers, not even fucking her but keeping her full and waiting and—"Yeah, oh yeah, god, Harry, keep—there, ah—"

Harry keeps it up, just like that, fingertips hard on Louis's spot and making sparks crack through her, heavy pulses thumping under her skin. She's so close all at once, restless and probably leaving marks on Harry, but she doesn't care, nothing matters in this moment but the rush she's chasing. "Good, so good," she moans shamelessly. "Finish me, know—yeah—know you can."

Harry's scissoring her fingers suddenly, stretching and making heat soar in Louis, and then her thumb fits right over Louis's clit and that's it, she comes with a muffled cry and a head rush. Harry keeps rubbing her gently, inside and out, so it's drawn out and perfect and for a moment Louis actually feels weak. Without even taking her fingers out, Harry sinks back down on Louis's lap, so her hand is stuck between their hips and she pushes even deeper inside her. Louis trembles, clenching her thighs shut around Harry's wrist, and then Harry settles and Louis can actually feel how wet she is.

Maybe the real problem with having a super hot girlfriend is that Louis's always fucking horny. This could have been her fourth orgasm and she'd still be all-consumed by the need to touch and taste and unravel Harry.

She doesn't ask if Harry's ready before she pushes her over the side and lays her out on the seats, so long and pretty. With the aftershocks mostly gone and nothing touching her, Louis finally feels like she can focus. Which means drinking Harry in, all stretched out on the leather. She's beautifully flushed, her pink dress hanging off her haphazardly to reveal just one perky breast and one pale thigh. Her chin is messy with Louis's lipstick, and when she reaches up Louis thinks she's going to wipe it off, but she just—opens her mouth and starts licking her fingers, sucking them into her mouth obscenely and tasting Louis.

It's. Yeah. Without preamble, Louis lifts her dress and twists around to duck her head between her legs. The plan was to dig right in, but as soon as she finds herself under the layers of fabric Harry's scent is so strong and heady she needs a moment just to breathe it in. If she does it while lapping up the wetness already slicking up Harry's inner thighs, well, it's not like Harry's complaining.

She tries to get more comfortable in her crouch, bringing her hands next to her head so she can dig her nails into Harry's legs, and push one right off the seat. It makes more room, and Louis can only hope Harry was too distracted to hear the disconcerting ripping noise from the dress. Whatever. Louis trails her fingers up and up, scratching the crease between Harry's thigh and groin, trying not to moan herself when she feels how incredibly wet Harry is. She can't help but tease her with it, fluttering wet fingers over Harry's thong and thighs and anywhere but where she wants it.

When she does pull the fabric over and reaches her clit, hard and slippery and lovely, it doesn't seem to relieve anything for her. It never does—Harry loves getting fucked almost more than she loves getting head, or spanked. Louis usually gives her what she wants, not because she's so indulging, but because Harry gets too wet not to give in to temptation.

Right now, though. Right now she's still dressed and lying down in a moving vehicle with a spacious backseat that is definitely not soundproof. When she whines, Louis's not the only one who can hear her. That turns her on possibly more than the sight of Harry in a tight dress, Christ. She pushes two fingers against Harry's clit and starts doing her Thing, shaking her wrist so fast that her fingers are flying over Harry, and suddenly she can hear her so clearly even from under her dress. She'd probably be able to hear Harry moaning like that from halfway across the world. "Louis, fuck me, please, please," she whines, desperate and miserable, her thighs quivering around Louis like her body's longing to thrash and help point Louis in the right direction.

It only convinces Louis to keep going, concentrating all her efforts on Harry's clit. Harry starts squirming more, almost like she's trying to knock Louis away, but Louis holds on and just rubs her faster, digging in and sliding away. When Harry actually tries to lift her hips closer to Louis's mouth, Louis slaps her thigh soundly and flattens her down. Harry just moans louder, twitching all around her. Louis knows she's close. "C'mon, darling," Louis says, keeping steady pressure on her clit while licking up her soft thigh, stopping just short of her pussy. "Give me one. I'll keep going, fuck you good."

That's all Harry needs, it seems. Well, that and Louis running fast circles over her clit and biting down on her thigh. With a high-pitched noise she tenses up under Louis's hands and mouth, and then releases, practically melting into the car seats. Louis doesn't even give her a second, keeps rubbing her through it as long as Harry shudders and pants like Louis's forcing every hitched breath out of her. When Harry's hand finds Louis's hair under her skirt, silently begging for her to let go, Louis only moves her fingers down her cunt and right inside her.

She has to bury her face in Harry's thigh, unexpectedly affected by how wet and tight and soft Harry is inside, how she gives so fucking easily. Harry actually cries out a triumphant yes and hitches her hips up, ever inviting. Louis kisses her thigh indulgently and then starts moving, at first slowly curling inside her and then pumping in and out, so fast the flimsy thong scratches her fingers and she can hear the wet sound of her fucking. It's her favourite sound in the world, even more than Harry singing in the shower.

Harry's legs are shifting restlessly around Louis, but her hips are nailed down, happy to take whatever Louis's giving her. She's fucking her hard, much harder than she likes it herself, two fingers slamming into her faster than Louis can enjoy the feeling of her velvety walls, faster than she can crook her fingers and search, because that's how Harry loves it. Every time Louis thrusts in, the only thing louder than the squelching noise is Harry whimpering, breathy and happy and jittery.

Louis only slows down when her wrist starts cramping, and Harry whines so nicely that Louis wishes she had a strap-on. Not that there was anywhere to hide it. Her fingers will have to do. Harry loves them well enough. She gives it to her slow and steady, crooking her fingers on the pull out and then pointing stiffly on the push in. Now that she's less frenzied, she tries to take a deep, calming breath, but the smell of Harry's arousal immediately overwhelms her.

Her mouth is on Harry's pussy before she really has to think about it. She licks her out slowly, from where her fingers are buried in her and up to where her clit is practically pulsing. Harry reacts like she's been struck by lightning—her legs kicking out and hitting the car door loudly and her thighs clenching around Louis's ears, but she can still hear, hear her whimper Daddy.

"Fucking hell," Louis whispers right against her clit, fighting to clear her head through the wave of arousal shooting through her as soon as she hears the word in Harry's lilting voice. But actually, fucking hell. She detaches her mouth and takes her fingers out at the same time, so that when she looks up she catches Harry arching her back beautifully, one hand cupping her bare breast and the other braced against the car door. The sight is so breathtaking that Louis's brain just blanks out, staring at Harry's pale, sweaty skin while still feeling her wetness on her own chin.

"Daddy, I—please," Harry moans again, devastated this time, and Louis's on her immediately, stretched over her body and clasping a hand over her mouth.

Harry's eyes snap open in what should be alarm, but really she just looks dazed, and Louis realises why a moment later, when she feels Harry's tongue running over her palm and remembers that it's the hand that was just over her. In her. Louis's so turned on she can't breathe, almost forgets why she's not between Harry's legs anymore, but then the car goes over a bump and she remembers.

There's a long list of drivers and security guards and make-up artists they've traumatised in the past few months. Louis takes pride in it, really, making Harry gasp and moan and whimper, and she herself has always been loud in bed. But that—Daddy—is theirs and theirs alone. "You like that, don't you, kitten?" she whispers in Harry's ear, pressing down harder on her mouth so she smells it too. "You know the partition doesn't do shit to cover up sounds and you like the driver hearing you lose it like that, asking your daddy to fuck you harder."

Harry squeezes her eyes shut and her fingers around her own nipple and her legs tight around Louis's torso, like she can't help it, wrecked just from Louis's words. When she licks between Louis's fingers again, though, Louis gets an idea. She shifts on her knees to slide her panties off her legs and ball them up. At once, she takes her hand off Harry and grabs her chin to open her mouth wide. Harry opens her eyes to find Louis dangling the panties over her face, and she just moans weakly and nods, sticking her tongue out.

Louis stuffs the panties in her mouth and watches breathlessly when Harry tilts her head back blissfully and audibly sucks, trying to get the most out of Louis's taste, that's soaked through the knickers. It's way, way too much for Louis. She tears her gaze away and moves back down Harry's body, can't resist a kiss to her chest and a bite to her hip before she settle back in her rightful place, between Harry's legs.

This time she lifts up Harry's dress, probably making the tear worse but she couldn't give less of a shit. With Harry's legs lit by the yellow car light, Louis can see her glistening skin, can see the straining muscles of her thighs and the completely soaked shimmery thong. She finally takes it off, and finds herself stuck staring at Harry's pink pussy as she sinks two fingers back inside her. She pins Harry down by the hip as she starts up a furious pace inside her, the rope tattoo going blurry and her knuckles drenched.

Harry's starting to clench around her, breathing sharply around the makeshift gag. Louis doesn't know how long she could last, so she pulls out all the stops. Slowing down her hand, she leans in and licks over her again, the musky taste familiar on her tongue. Her pumping gets almost lazy as she focuses, rubbing her tongue hard between Harry's folds and then flicking against her clit, teasing the hard nub until Harry's whimpering almost helplessly.

She uses her thumb to spread Harry's lips a bit, then thinks what the hell and adds a third finger inside, clenching them all tight together facing up. Harry's too tight for her to move around much, so she just goes at it with her mouth, closing her lips around her clit and sucking, working her tongue in a fast rhythm that's driving Harry insane.

It gets harder when Harry starts wriggling too much, lifting her shaking thighs to close around Louis's head, but Louis's not bothered. She's, like, the opposite. She adores how responsive Harry is, how she can get so lost and give Louis so much. She could keep her like this for a full hour, eat her out so good she'd fall on her arse if she tried to get out of bed with wobbly knees, but they're not in bed, and they have to be getting close to home.

She plants her whole mouth on Harry and sucks hard, right as she curls her fingers against the slightly different texture. Harry goes absolutely wild as she comes, screaming through the panties and clenching down so hard Louis's fingers actually hurt, but Louis's so giddy, so spurred on by Harry coming hard that she keeps rubbing, even when she raises her head, even when she has to slip one of her fingers out, even when Harry goes completely boneless and unresponsive, even when Harry tries to squirm away because she's oversensitive, even when Harry curls in on herself and sounds almost pained, and especially when Harry cries out and comes again in the space of five minutes.

Louis would honestly keep going if she didn't feel the car slowing down. She draws her fingers out and straightens her aching back, cursing when she hits her head on the roof. She expects Harry to laugh at her, but when she looks down, well. Harry just looks wrecked. Her arms and legs are spread out as much as they can be in the admittedly spacious car, and her dress is all twisted up and torn in places, so the strapless top barely covers the butterfly tattoo. Her messy hair is all over the place, cascading beautifully, but nothing is more astounding than her face.

Her cheeks are blotchy and her lips are swollen and red. Her eyes aren't even closed, she's just looking up like she's deliriously pleased with the cosmos. It's her best look, Louis thinks smugly. No make-up artist ever hired by any magazine hounding Harry could replicate this. She considers making Harry lick her hand clean, but there's something even more satisfying about wiping it off on the dress. Ruining something beautiful, after just ruining something as beautiful as Harry.

Plus, Harry's mouth is still full. Louis crouches over her carefully and slips the panties out of her mouth. Harry swallows but doesn't react otherwise, still blissed-out. When she catches sight of Louis, though, her whole face splits with a grin, and she beckons for a cuddle with shaking arms. Louis obliges. It's uncomfortable, one knee jamming into the backrest and one knee almost hitting the floor, but her face ends up in Harry's chest and there's no place she'd rather be.

"Alright, kitten?" Louis asks, nuzzling into Harry's breast.

Harry keeps making these involuntary noises, every exhale accompanied by a satisfied moan. Louis's chest feels like it's going to burst with love. And also smugness. "The best," Harry finally answers, voice airy and scratchy. "Best I ever had. Fuck, I'm all shook up."

Louis holds her tighter, totally revelling in how Harry's still quivering and breathing hard. "Now can I say thanks for coming?"

It takes Harry a long minute to remember what Louis's even referencing. And then she grunts. Even annoyed, she sounds breathless and orgasmic and hot. It's the best. "I can't believe you ruined my Burberry gown. These things actually cost money, you know."

Louis rolls her eyes, knowing full well Harry's the one getting paid for wearing Burberry in huge red carpet events. "I know. Good thing mine is intact."

Harry grumps. "What am I supposed to wear then? You know there are paps out there."

Louis pretends to consider it for a long moment. "Well, I mean. If you must wear something, I guess you could wear my overcoat."

"That's so obvious, though."

Louis quirks an eyebrow and playfully bites the side of Harry's breast. "I dunno, I suppose you could walk out there starkers, but I kinda like the thought of you naked and wet and sweaty under my coat."

"Um." Harry gulps. "Yes. Okay. Coat."

"Good girl." Louis smirks and rolls off of Harry, quick or she'll just stay there for the rest of the night. "Come on then. Got paps to shock, a driver to pay outrageously and a cat to pet."

Harry doesn't move a muscle, spent and delicate and painfully lovely. "Can you pencil in me eating you out for three hours?"

Louis's knees certainly don't buckle. She falls back on the seat on purpose, to straighten out her dress. "If you insist."

Mysteriously energised, Harry perks right up and kisses Louis. She picks up the flowy end of her own dress and uses it to clean up Louis's face, smeared lipstick and Harry. It's oddly tender, considering the plans they've just made. She pecks Louis one more time, and then turns around to fish out Louis's coat. Louis stares at her arse for far longer than necessary, and mentally pencils in some quality strap-on time, after the four-hour head.


The pictures flood the Internet almost instantly: Harry obviously undressed under a grey knee-length overcoat, and Louis clutching the dress Harry's been photographed wearing. With a wicked smirk.

Sometimes, having a really hot girlfriend is no problem at all.