Five Months (prior to proposal).
Harry showed up criminally late on a Saturday night with an entire paycheck’s worth of takeaway
and his arm slightly bleeding from a tattoo done by a friend rather than professional. Of course,
Louis welcomed him inside with a string of scolding falling from his lips as he gathers up the firstaid kit that’s never an organised case. He was in his caricatured Sherlock Holmes T-shirt that was
of sufficient size to stuff six pillows into it, watching a silly monster movie from the fifties before
The above only seemed to make Louis overall less threatening even with his glower of
reprimanding to his visitor. Harry sat on a stool while Louis cleaned his arm and bandaged it,
trying relentlessly to prompt Louis’ sweet laughter to know he’s been forgiven.
“Sweet boy.” Harry chides, grabbing hold of Louis’ hips and tugging him closer in short jerks so
the latter has no predictability for resistance. Tilting his head back, Harry earns himself a better
view of Louis’ piercing blue eyes until his face is covered by a dishtowel, his cheek lightly
smacked for insolence.
Louis frees himself from a surprised Harry and strolls into the other room where his movie and
popcorn awaited him. He made sure his groan was audible at the thump of Harry’s boots being
abandoned, his pants being dropped because Harry made every excuse for partial nudity. Before
Louis could hit the couch he was lifted into the air and lowered into the curve of Harry’s body
after a moment of sheer fright.
“Get a boyfriend, Styles, and go bother the Hell out of them for once.” Louis fussed petulantly
against the other but really he loves cuddling with Harry, bandages and blisters included. He
smacked Harry’s hand away from slipping between his knees as he pressed play on the remote,
retiring to the weight of the man’s arm over his shoulders.
Harry offered his bicep for Louis’ pillow and buried his face in the spot on Louis’ neck he could
always catch whiffs of citrus body gel. “Would you wear panties if I asked?”
“I wouldn’t wear panties if you paid.” Louis plucked several kernels from his green bowl and fed
himself one at a time, not bothering to offer Harry because the man hated popcorn.
“Come with me somewhere tonight.” Harry murmured, sounding as if sleep is not far from his
Louis yawns and stretches, turning over onto his back. Harry moves from his throat to his chest,
carving a little burrow for himself in the boy’s torso. “Okay.”
“No fight left in you?” Harry mocks, rubbing Louis’ sides with aimless strokes. “I knew I’d wear
you down, princess.”
Letting his hand slip, Louis covered Harry’s eyes for no reason he could decipher. “Where are we
“Party. It’s a big of a drive though so pack a bag, will ya?” Harry calls after his boy who is
walking away towards the bedroom.
Louis didn’t bother to alter his appearance more than pull some jeans on and comb through his
fringe with his fingers. While Harry switched off the television and closed anything that might be
a liability during their absence, Louis threw a few things into a bag. He noticed that Harry’s
clothing littered his rom as well as his own and walked out to ask if he’s supposed to be a
Laundromat; his companion replied to the accusation by twisting the same earlier offending
dishtowel and letting it unravel as a harsh slap to Louis’ bottom. They were further delayed after
that because Louis had to wash the flour out of Harry’s hair that he so thoughtfully put there.
Louis falls asleep as soon as they hit the freeway and is none the wiser when their surroundings
start melting into that of the woods. He despises the outdoors because it never seemed to have
mercy on his urban ways, while Harry is a regular camper. The pillow beneath his head is Harry’s
unnecessarily bulky jacket which is swathed in his signature scent of nicotine and Old Spice,
which keeps Louis asleep for a good while.
They arrive and Harry has to wake Louis by getting off and gently coaxing him with a mix of
sweet and devilish words in his ear. It seems to be have been working until one of the other
attending party guests comes up to greet Harry and the latter keeps Louis’ door closed until they
leave. He helps Louis dazedly put on his shoes, tumble off the seat trying to change into jeans and
zip up his jacket.
“Since when do you smoke?” Louis is walking with his body tucked safely under Harry’s arm
where it’s warm and thoughtlessly familiar. He was eyeing the cigarette that dangled from Harry’s
pursed bubblegum lips, partially sheltered by his cupped palms as he lit up.
Harry shrugged, tucking his steel lighter back into a pocket. “Thought I’d try.”
“Really?” Louis was evidently shocked as they crossed the numerous parked cars towards the
source of obnoxiously loud music. He could hear the thrilled shouts and drunken laughter that
“Hmm.” Harry was two steps ahead of Louis when they got to the porch and reached back to take
Louis’ hand, bringing his boy closer. It was because of the group of miscellaneous youngsters
surrounding a poker table laden with beer and shots who whistle a greeting to Harry. “How’s it
One of them with a killer jawline and hazy gleam over their eyes stands shakily to share in an
awkward hug with Harry. Louis likes to think he’s come a long way since his first attending a
party with Harry, and does not anymore need to be constantly anchored. He watches them have
an utterly indecipherable conversation amidst the thumping music from inside, one of them
passing a bottle to Harry that is humbly accepted. Louis’ companion turns back to bring him closer
and where he’s safer in the band of his arm.
“I know you.” Another from this intoxicated posse turns to Louis, smiling grimly. They’re
wearing a snapback backwards and a ripped T-shirt of faded print. “None of us knew you had a
Harry tightens his arm securely around Louis’ midsection and plants an unnecessary kiss to his
forehead. “Now you do, Jack, so stay the fuck away from him.”
Some whistle while Louis rolls his eyes, not as moderately impressed as they are. Jack laughs as
he uses a communal set of matches to light his cigarette. “We all hear you, Styles. Don’t worry.
Go have fun with your boy.”
When they’re past the front door and into the throng of undeniably hypnotised crowd, all moving
in languid motions as their night progresses to deteriorate their senses, Louis pinches Harry’s
waist. “I don’t know how I feel about you telling everyone I’m your boy.”
Harry raises his arm from hip to shoulders, tugging Louis into his embrace as they manoeuvre to
the kitchen while he waves meagre greetings at strangers. “I’d rather not have others know you’re
my princess too.”
“I don’t mean that.” Louis is lifted with unappreciated finesse and placed on the kitchen island
where boxes and bottles are brushed aside. Harry turns to rummage through the refrigerator,
inspecting each sealed bottle of water. “I don’t want people thinking I’m some schmuck who’s
with someone when I’m not.”
“You are with me.” Harry deadpans, setting a bottle down at Louis’ hip and frowning at the
Louis makes a surprised squeal when Harry makes his way into the gap between his legs, tilting
him back for a kiss he can’t escape. “Am not.”
Harry sighs but not in a way that makes Louis want to wither from his own argument. The man
rests his forehead against Louis’, their eyes locked in nothing platonic. “Baby, you are only lying
“Dating isn’t what we do.” Louis sets his elbows on Harry’s shoulders, balancing himself
effortlessly when Harry lifts him off the counter. “I’m sure of it.”
“You wound me, princes.” Harry breathes, grumbling miserably when Louis kisses his cheek.
“Oh please.” Louis frames the pale column of Harry’s throat, dragging his nails lightly over the
bulging vein that surfaces. “I’m the boyfriend who never sees any action.”
Harry laughs hoarsely at the statement hurled at him from his personal fireball, sobering quickly
when there’s a glimpse of something unamused in Louis’ eye. He nips at Louis’ fingertip where it
sits against the corner of his mouth. “You been waiting to bring this up for a while, princess?”
“Possibly.” Louis yawns, cracking his knuckles at Harry’s nape. He jumps at an abrupt crash from
the adjacent room, glancing in its direction while he returns to Harry’s gaze scathingly intent on
Something in Harry snaps and Louis was none the wiser to its initial stress. He stumbles when
he’s suddenly dropped but steadies himself against the counter, stiffening in fright when Harry
steps impossibly closer. Their faces are close enough to share the breath between them; Harry’s
eyes have melted into horrific emerald gems that crack under bloodthirstiness. His fists are at
Louis’ sides, keeping him captive.
“I don’t fuck you because you don’t deserve that from me.” Harry seethes, nostrils flared and jaw
achingly rigid. His anger is a mask that shields his complacency, and is rarely exposed to Louis.
“You can have all the bastard roses and every fucking thing I have to offer, but not that. You’re
too good for that.”
Harry walks away after his tantrum, leaving Louis stunned with a pounding heart and not a word
on his tongue. Louis grips the counter or else risk crumbling to the ground with the headiness that
Harry’s words triggered in him. Deep breaths do little to soothe his anxiety and he listens to a
slight whimper tack onto the end of his exhales, cheeks aflame with mixed feelings. He could not
comprehend Harry’s reason and he supposes that’s why it’s remained a secret. The topic of their
intimacy – unusual and phenomenal all in the same breath – was not something often broached
and now that it has been, Louis feels guilt like a tidal wave.
He doesn’t look for Harry immediately, not when he knows the man wants to cool off. Louis pats
his pocket and finds the keys to their ride safely tucked into it, so he leaves the house hastily to
somewhere familiar. People seem more solid when it’s just him pushing against them, and Louis
often suppresses the urge to scream at them for being so unforgiving. The back seat unlocks and
Louis climbs in, plunging himself into darkness where Harry parked away from most civility. He
listens to the distant sounds of partying and resents it for the sake of his own bitterness, curling up
on the seat waiting for something to come snatch him up from the trees staring back at him.
Louis thinks about what could possibly make Harry think his physical intimacy is unworthy. He
shares already in the details that matter more to Louis, so why did he hesitate in this final tie?
Louis hates to think about it and pries his thoughts away from it for his self-preservation, fingering
the hem of his maroon jeans until the sound of close activity gets his attention.
It’s too dark to tell who or what may be nearing his sanctuary so Louis picks up the keys to lock
himself in when the door opens at his left, letting in more of the blasting noises from without that
he despised. A complaint is smothered by fear and then by something number, more like betrayal.
He paled to the transparency that only hurt commanded when he saw Harry with another, the lips
of this female stranger at his throat where Louis remembers nuzzling fondly. She just about nipped
at Harry’s mouth and something cracked in Louis. His closest friend is hoisting her into the back
seat when Louis’ presence becomes known, but the latter is jumping off on the other side to avoid
the call of his name.
Louis ran as far from the car as he could until the realisation of where he’d hidden himself dawns
on him with dread. All around were trees of the same intimidating height and creaking arches. He
sees his breath in clouds in front of him and feels the transformation of the dampness on his cheeks
from scalding to ice. Harry’s calls are further away now and Louis can’t see anything from where
he came, can’t follow the desperate cries. He hates Harry in this moment and doesn’t want to be
found for any reason by the man.
“Louis?!” It follows him as he steps over something immovable, frequenting his pitiful sniffles. He
hugs himself as the cold settles deep in his bones, eating away at his resilience. “Baby, where are
Louis wipes furiously at his cheeks, kicking the rock that impedes his path and falls to the ground
beside it. He hears Harry grow more desperate in the way his voice cracks and wavers, obviously
under enough strain to be at its end. Harry screams for him, after him, until his throat turns
blistering sore and he allows fear to cloud the pain. He’s getting softer as he goes and Louis is
It’s little under an hour before Harry finds Louis and he’s as distraught at seeing his boy sitting in
the dirt purposelessly, as Louis is to be the one blinded by betrayal.
“Baby.” Harry shuffles closer, his voice shot to Hell and barely above a whisper. He comes to
where Louis is avoiding his gaze, falling to his knees in front of the boy. “You scared me.”
Louis looks at him, the wide-blown alarm that has Harry’s pupils dilated and fingers trembling. He
feels a fool. With gingerly movements, Louis lowers his knees into a criss-cross fashion and holds
out his hand, beckoning Harry closer. He sighs, shuddering at the warmth Harry brings with him.
They lie in the crushed, forgotten leaves together with Harry’s ear over Louis’ heartbeat and their
“You promised me you’d never kiss someone else.” Louis croaked, licking his dry lips and
bringing them to Harry’s hair. He squeezes his eyes shut in time with his arms around his
companion. “Don’t break that promise, Harry. Please.”
“I thought about not having you one day because I fucked up.” Harry holds Louis’ thighs across
his own, gripping the flesh so it bruises. “I almost did, baby. I’m so sorry.”
Louis kisses the top of Harry’s head, letting a lonesome tear roll down his face. “We’ll be okay as
long as we remember neither of us is going anywhere.”
Harry kicks some of the leaves aside in his effort to be as close to Louis as possible. “You
promised never to leave me. If that changes, I can’t think of a way to come back from it.”
The bitterness of their first truly horrific fight seems to dim the flame of their relationship no matter
the effort put in to stop exactly that from happening. Louis is still transported to and from school
by Harry but neither make an effort to talk outside the blistering painful pleasantries that drive
further damage to their open wounds. Harry does not show up inebriated or merely exhausted in
the middle of the night on Louis’ doorstep for a whole week, and Louis stays up wondering
whether it bothers the man as much as it does him.
At school on a rainy Friday when Louis just finished his final presentation of the year and
received as honourable a grade as he deserved, he walks down the hallway to his locker feeling
oddly cheery. Assignments for his final secondary schooling year are over and he’s going to
celebrate with cheap takeout and an old film. Unfortunately, there’s someone waiting for him at
his locker that isn’t Harry or anyone Louis has the desire to see for an eternity.
Davis Harrison is the school’s all-round imbecils and specimen from the depths of Hell. He had
perfect hair and teeth that made his megawatt smiles worth all the drama of scandalised teenagers
that followed him, pants down, everywhere. He’s the one who got what he wanted always and
Louis managed to stay off his radar until a month ago when those chilling grey eyes began settling
on him from across corridors, cafeterias and classrooms.
Louis always looked away from their unnerving stare and thanked the deity above for Davis never
having actually approached him. Now, facing down the person he was aggravated by made Louis
more fatigued than concerned.
“Can I help you?” Louis would have turned around if it hadn’t been for his phone in his locker.
He turned the combination dial and prayed for Davis to walk away.
The other leaned against the pillar at Louis’ side, smirking in that devious manner that made Louis
want to smack him. “It’s Friday, yeah? Thought you might wanna go somewhere.”
“That’s uh….-sweet of you, Davis, but I have plans.” Louis stashes his phone, necessary
textbooks and stationery into his backpack. He pauses after closing his locker to make sure his
laptop isn’t susceptible to breakage.
This does not sit well with Harrison for the way his smirk melts into a grim frown. “With who?”
“Does it matter?” Louis knows not to antagonise those standing a few inches above him but he
also has no plan to be polite around such an arrogant individual. “See you on Monday.”
Davis is quick to turn on his heel and follow when Louis marches down the hall towards the exit,
keeping up effortlessly with his lengthy strides. “You seriously not gonna give me a chance,
Louis hides the roll of his eyes. “Aren’t you dating Emily from AP Math?”
“Not dating, sugar. No.” Davis does the thoroughly annoying by holding open the door for Louis,
one that is a few meters away from the main exit.
“Don’t call me sugar.” Louis says strictly. He scowls at any pet-name for him from anyone other
than Harry, for reasons that confuse him.
Davis has the grace to look somewhat embarrassed and he raises a hand to scratch the back of his
neck, feigning sheepishness. “So, I can’t convince you?”
Louis saw through this parade of innocence; he’s witnessed it in action many a time directed at
other hopelessly smitten youngsters. He shrugs apologetically but before he can speak, Davis
grabs his arm. The expression he beholds is sheer annoyance at Louis’ rejection, his brows knitted
together in a deep frown and his lip curled in a sneer. Louis just about manages to withhold a
wince from the grip on his arm tightening to an extent that hurts, not wanting to give Davis that
“Let me go, Davis.” Louis grits impatiently, not stepping back when his pursuer looms over him
in an effort to be intimidating.
Something ensues in the background. A light tapping or clicking of a heel on the linoleum floor,
but seems to grasp Louis’ attention in entirety. He looks over Davis’ shoulder with an involuntary
rise to his tiptoes, but sees nothing.
“Gimme that chance, Lou.” Davis lowers the tone of his voice and it’s nothing but unsettling.
“I don’t think he will be.” A third voice added to their tragic communication, embodying itself as
Harry appearing just at their left and calmly shifting his weight to rest against the wall. His eyes
are scathing, set on Louis with a frustrated twitch of his lips. “Will you, princess?”
Next to the towering and ominous presence of Harry, Davis was more of a teacup pet. Louis
always felt safer with Harry around even if he could hold his own if absolutely needed. He feels
that calm settle over him now when Davis’ arm loosens and he’s free to shuffle closer to Harry.
There was murder in those emerald eyes and Louis wanted to subdue it before the impulse
“Didn’t know you were the one he’s with, Styles.” Davis straightens up stiffly and Louis takes a
breath of his renewed personal space.
Harry doesn’t reply and remains as stoic as before, his jaw rigid and gaze hooded. Louis knew this
mood too well to let it slide, and when Davis swallows his pride to walk away he lets himself be
roped into Harry’s arms. The man watches him go until he’s absolutely certain that Davis isn’t
turning back, holding Louis’ sides in the band of his arms tensely. He hadn’t noticed how heavy
his breathing had become until he had his forehead resting on Harry’s shoulder and his fists curled
into the man’s jacket lapels.
“That fucker’s going to have his face caving in one day.” Harry muttered while cradling the back
of Louis’ skull and tightening the other arm around Louis’ hips.
Louis exhales shakily and gets up on his tiptoes, winding his arms securely around Harry’s neck
so he can tuck himself into the alcove beneath Harry’s chin. “Thanks for coming to find me.”
Harry hummed throatily, lowering his hands to Louis’ back pockets and gently squeezing the
boy’s posterior. “Let’s go home, princess.”
The roads are slipper from the merciless showers pelting down on the roof of Harry’s van and
sliding down across the windscreen to blind the driver. Louis hears every crack of thunder and
marvels at the flashes of epic lightning in the distance. They’re so livid and free to unleash
themselves in horrific splashes, cracking through the earth in the beauty of terror. Harry drives as
he always does, effortlessly and unhindered by the conditions impeding their path, until a crash
ahead on the highway brings them along with dozens of other cars to a halt.
“Think it’s serious?” Louis already has his shoes kicked off somewhere in the back-seat, leaning
forward curiously between the two front seats.
Harry switches off the engine and sits back frustratedly, rubbing his temple impatiently. “Probably
is. Bastards can’t drive and they’re still on the road.”
“Maybe it was a genuine accident, H.” Louis squeezes his way into the front passenger seat over
the driver’s console, crossing his legs and revelling in the heater’s radiation.
His companion’s scoff echoes above the softened radio. “Don’t be naïve, Louis.”
“It’s possible.” Louis hates fighting and especially with Harry so he tries to avert the impending
heat, ignoring how scathing the man’s stare is. He frowns at Harry’s shaking leg and nearly
frequent cracking of knuckles. “Are you late for something?”
Louis cannot explain why he winces. “Something important?”
Harry is looking over his shoulder at his blindspot, and whatever he sees has him turning the key
in the ignition and reversing. Cars are going to crowd around them and he eases out of the
enclosure swiftly, swinging around into the opposite lane.
“Yes it’s important.” He belatedly replies, switching on his headlights.
“Should have told me in the morning.” Louis yawns, reaching back for his water bottle. “I’d have
taken the bus home.”
Harry glances at him them, grim and repressed frustration smoothing out on his features. His
shoulders lose their stiff tension and he grips the steering wheel with less might. “You’re priority,
“You still have a life, Harry.”
They’re turning back into the district of Louis’ school and a humoured expression takes over
Harry’s features. “Think if I leave you here again, you could make it for the bus?”
“Uh.” Louis looks at the time on the dashboard. The next bus would be arriving in an hour, so he
shrugs and caps his bottle. “Yeah, if you leave me-”
“Huh?” Louis’ voice is muffled against his shoulder from the position he’s in trying to gather his
backpack in a stretch.
Harry sighs and reaches over to tug on the boy’s shirt, pulling him back into his seat. “You think
I’d actually leave you here?”
Louis shrugs meaninglessly, blowing his fringe out of his eyes and capturing Harry’s hand from
his thigh. “You were in a hurry and-”
“And nothing, princess. It was a joke.” Harry tightens his grip on Louis’ thigh and turns into a
street beyond Louis’ school yard, getting them closer to the highway’s opposite side. “I fucked up,
baby, but there’s no way you’ll stop being my number one.”
“You don’t stay over anymore, how come?” Louis hates his memories from that party and shoves
them down when they try to resurface.
Harry releases a slow exhale and stretches over at a red light to kiss Louis’ cheek. “Because I’m a
fucking idiot who doesn’t deserve the best boy in the world.”
Louis laughs and steals himself a dramatic peck on Harry’s jaw, leaving the skin a little damp and
nipped at. “Whoever the perfect boy is, he can find someone else I firmly believe you’re all mine.”
“You’re getting spanked for that.”
“Am not.” Louis quips, a perfectly innocent shimmer about his smile.
“Don’t worry, baby, you’ll like it.” Harry accelerates past the intersection just to pull off in front of
a bakery with a painfully neon welcome sign. He’s just about done adjusting his seat when Louis
climbs in the back again, inevitably followed by Harry.
Harry’s coming down on Louis before the latter’s shoulders can hit the seat, and his enthusiasm is
conveyed in the fervour of their kiss. Louis whimpers against Harry’s lips, arching his back so the
man’s arms can wrap around him securely. He parts his lips in time with his legs hooking over
Harry’s hips, drawing the man closer against him. A tongue slips into his mouth and Louis resigns
fighting for dominance, settling into his fate with a contented shudder.
Louis reaches over Harry’s shoulders to pull impatiently at the other’s shirt, relishing in the
warmth of bare skin in contact. His heart beats with aching rejuvenation when Harry’s hands tug
incessantly at his waistband and his frown deepens with each fruitless effort until the fabric rips a
little and he can pry it off Louis’ legs. He loves his boy’s skin; it’s always a sweet gold in tan,
hairless and flushed from any amount of effort. Harry runs his calloused palms along their length
from knee to hip until he’s lost count and merely tucking himself in where he’s most secure.
“You make me feel safe, you know.” Harry eases his weight onto Louis’ form, setting his
forehead against Louis’. He was whispering as though he didn’t want another soul to hear and
smothered his words against Louis’ mouth with a pained expression.
“I do?” Louis blinks, surprised.
Harry hummed in response. “You do, baby. The world may be so fucked up that no one in it
knows how to find a purpose but you’re it for me. You’ve always been it for me.”
* * * * *
Louis’ favourite way to wake up used to be when he walked downstairs in his old home and had
enough to satisfy his pickle craving for breakfast or enough cash to blow on another pack of
Poptarts. Things have certainly changed since then and he can’t imagine a better route for which
his past should be grateful. Harry’s taken their recent renewal of a sex life to every advantage he
can think of, and savoured his opportunity to get under the covers to the apex of Louis’ thighs.
He let Louis sleep for as long as it took him to moisten the skin he thought to be most delicate,
flicking his tongue and lapping at the sinful stickiness he knows had been from the night before.
Louis would whimper in his sleep and writhe uselessly against the sheets. Harry gripped the pert
roundness of Louis’ behind and delved into the crevice between them, applying more pressure
with each drag to surpass tight muscle.
Twirking the boy’s nipple had Louis slipping out of his slumber with a breathless gasp and
immediately finding the head of curls between his legs, tugging desperately even with his eyes
partially closed. Harry obliges with a lick of his lips, smirking into their uncoordinated kiss and
drinking in Louis’ mewl. He brings his hand down between them, missing the warmth of Louis’
tightness where he buries two of his fingers. Louis shudders, his skin flushed down to his belly
button and his breaths quickening in arousal.
“Good morning, princess.” Harry smirks at the catch in Louis’ inhale, scissoring his fingers and
pumping them in slow strokes into his boy. He waits for the arch of Louis’ back and the promising
swell of his length, before curling his fingers to increase the intensity of Louis’ stretch.
Louis hates how out of control Harry can make him with a simple caress or kiss. He groans
frustratedly at Harry’s girth poking his inner thigh but not making its way to where Louis needs
him. Impatiently, Louis reaches down to touch himself for some kind of relief but Harry brushes
that hand away, lowering his mouth to take its place instead. He takes Louis into his mouth at the
same time that he adds a third fingers, watching his ministrations tear Louis apart with pleasure.
He finds the sensitive puckered slit at the head of Louis’ length, tracing the outline with the tip of
his tongue as he thrusts his digits with more fervour at each stroke. Louis is so sensitive with his
pregnancy and orgasms quicker than he’d like to, but Harry finds it to be as endearing as anything
could ever be. He waits for that familiar clenching of Louis’ rapidly spasming form before
hollowing out his cheeks and drawing the climax out of his trembling boy, groaning at the taste on
his tongue and heat wrapped around him.
Louis bites his lip, those brilliantly illuminated sapphires displaying the simmering adrenaline from
his release. He feels the man’s hardness against his hip and allows himself to be distracted
momentarily by their kiss, sighing from content when Harry’s tongue slips into his mouth to tease
“Morning.” Louis murmurs against Harry’s lips, empowered by the long groan he elicits by
gripping Harry’s throbbing length. He runs his fist over it, twisting at the head and tracing the
veins along his shaft.
“Baby.” Harry grits, opening Louis’ thighs with his own. He lean down to the juncture in Louis’
neck, sucking on the skin in deep draws until it bruises. “Are you sensitive?”
“No.” Louis released Harry and waited eagerly for what was to come, digging his nails in when
his body was taken in sweet synchrony. Harry angled his hips and rolled them into Louis’ with a
pleasured moan, absorbed in his boy’s soft noises.
He came from all the sensations that Louis induced in him, those gentle hands on his back that
responded to every twitch with jolts and whimpers. Harry would silence Louis with kisses if he
wanted to test the boy’s boundaries and smiled into it each time. His boy is beautiful and delicate,
all his to take care of.
“You’re always so restless after this.” Harry knew better than to shuffle and get comfortable when
Louis was trying to accomplish the same. His boy is priority.
When his pillow was fluffed into the perfect mound beside Harry’s ear and his limbs were
sufficiently draped across his fiancée’s form, Louis settled. His feet were always cold and Harry
has recently stopped minding their abrupt appearance between his legs in the middle of the night.
The humidifier still sat in the corner of the room, stick-on bobbing eyes staring back at them in a
way they’ve mastered in ignoring.
“You have yet to stop complaining about it.” Louis mumbled into Harry’s ear, his fingertips
dragging lightly over his stubble.
Harry squeezed Louis’ hip and ran his hand down the length of his boy’s thigh. “I’m off today.
What do you want to do?”
Louis yawns and stretches to pop the knots in his back, relaxing with a shudder when Harry’s
fingertips graze his sensitive nipples and growing baby bump. “Let’s stay home and do yoga.”
It takes some convincing on Louis’ part to make Harry run to Reggie’s supermarket and pick up
two yoga mats while only one ends up being used. Louis pulls up a video that he follows strictly
while Harry theatrically sits behind him on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, whistling at each of
Louis’ poses. After an hour, Louis collapses onto Harry’s lap where the man sat with outstretched
arms and fell asleep without bidding it.
Harry hears his phone ring in the other room and has to lay Louis down before going to answer it.
The flashing caller identification renders confusion in him, as Ricky ought to only be calling him
in the case of a fight after his time off. A week away from the ring is what he asked for.
“Yeah?” Customarily, he glances at the door to see if his voice prompted Louis to follow him.
Ricky is a busy man. Rarely does he spare time out of his bustling schedule to entertain Harry’s
qualms – he has many clients and while Harry is his most successful, each earns Ricky’s equal
attention. “Got the guy you’ve been asking for.”
“Yeah, him.” Ricky stops his shuffling for a second. “Can I put you down for Friday?”
Harry frowns. “It’s my week off.”
“He says he won’t fight another day.”
“It’s his ego at stake, Ricky. We fight another week or he can go fuck himself.” Harry glances
over at the doorway and finds it occupied this time, by Louis shuffling into the room quietly.
“Hang on, Ricky. You need something, princess?”
Louis yawns and shakes his head behind his curled fist. He waves his hand dismissively for Harry
to carry on with his phonecall while he gathers a towel and new soap for a shower. Harry watches
Louis navigate their less than organised bedroom warily and with concern for his boy tripping
over a stray shirt with his eyes presently half closed.
“You there, Styles?” Ricky’s voice through the receiver brings Harry back to the present dilemma.
“What am I telling Jonny?”
Harry clears his throat and steps to the side when Louis manoeuvres beyond him gracefully. “UhTell ‘im I won’t fight during my week off.”
“You sure? This fight could bring in more cash than any of your older ones.” Ricky has a knack
for money and all its attributes.
It’s like the world pauses on its spin to allow Harry a glimpse around his conditions, the home of
his fiancé and their child. They could use the money to find somewhere more suitable; their baby’s
nursery could finally become a reality in construction rather than a reminder for soon. “I’m sure.”
Ricky takes his response as final after that and hangs up after a quick word on next Friday’s match
against someone Harry’s never heard of before. Meanwhile, the bathroom door is poorly
restricting the reverberations of Louis’ shower playlist which consists of anything from NSYNC to
Bastille. Harry knocks on the door to check on him and leaves it partially open afterwards for his
own ease of mind.
“You okay in there, baby?” Harry calls through the wood coated in chipped paint.
Louis answers in the affirmative and soon begs Harry to let him shower in peace. “Can you make
me a sandwich? One of your special ones.”
Harry barely hesitates before acquiescing. Two weeks ago he was preparing a snack for Louis
with the boy hovering at his back to alter what didn’t sit well with him; a regular grilled cheese
sandwich had shredded chicken and fries added to it with sliced pickles instead of chips. Harry
likes to think it’s the least strange from all of Louis’ cravings