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Ain't No Tellin' Who's In Charge Here

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The thing about Louis’ and Harry’s dynamic is that while Louis is the instigator of 99% of the foolishness, Harry will always come back at him with something ten times dirtier than whatever Louis had thought up. Of course, Louis can’t let that go, so he does something else, so Harry has to do something else, and then it’s a vicious cycle that continues until one of them makes a plea for a truce.

The truce thing doesn’t always work, but. It’s usually worth a shot.

It’s like that even when they’re at home. Sometimes it’s like that especially while they’re at home, because Louis gets bored easily and Harry is just such an easy target. A couple of days ago Louis replaced the sugar in the container with salt, a stunt that he pulls on the boys all the time. Just because it’s a classic doesn’t mean that the looks on their faces can’t be hilarious every time he does it. Harry had come back at him four hours later when Louis was washing the dishes - by hand, because the dishwasher was broken yet again - and snapped him on the arse with a towel so hard that Louis had jumped, promptly slipped in a puddle of water and nearly knocked himself out on the edge of the counter on the way down.

Of course, after that a ceasefire was declared - albeit an unspoken one - and Harry let Louis rest his head in his lap while they watched telly in the living room.

But the point is that the kind of foolishness that Louis is known for doesn’t stop when the cameras stop rolling, so when Louis lets himself into Harry’s bedroom at 5:30 in the morning to annoy Harry into waking up before he goes for a run is completely normal and to be expected.

Louis stands over Harry’s still form for approximately two seconds before he gets bored with that and launches himself down into the blankets right on top of him. Harry jerks awake with a pained hiss, simultaneously attempting to get his arms out from underneath the blankets and push Louis off of him.

Louis settles in more firmly and watches the show. Harry gives up on freeing his arms with a frustrated huff and opens his eyes. “What.” It’s not a question, and it makes Louis happy inside because a grumpy Harry is the best kind of Harry, in Louis’ expert opinion.

“Are you awake?” Louis asks, singsonging it because it will annoy Harry that much more, especially at this time of morning.

“If I wasn’t awake then would I be talking to you?” Harry demands, and oh, he’s finally freed his arms from the blankets.

Louis ignores his question and bounces a little. “I want to go to see a giant shark in an aquarium today,” he announces, even though he really doesn’t. Harry’s eyes close again for a couple seconds, and Louis thinks that it’s because he’s really channeling his hatred.

Until Harry makes a noise low in his throat that is definitely not a word and Louis freezes.

And yeah, there it is. That’s a certain part of Harry’s anatomy poking him in the bum.

“Oh, having a nice dream, were we?” Louis asks, rocking a little. Harry groans and grabs Louis’ hands, which is enough to still him.

“I hate you. Get off of me.” Louis pulls his hands free and wiggles around some more on top of Harry.

“Was it about me?” he coos, in his best falsetto voice and everything. He moves again and the sheets slide or Louis slides or something slides and then all of a sudden Harry’s dick is pressing in between his arse cheeks through at least two layers of fabric, and Louis just. Stills. Just for a second.

“No,” Harry grits out, “Now would you get off of me? This is getting seriously uncomfortable.”

That snaps Louis out of it, and he rocks a little bit more, because Harry being uncomfortable, regardless of the reason, is something that Louis lives to exploit when they’re at home.

And maybe while they’re not at home, too.

“I dunno, feels kinda nice to me,” he says nonchalantly, and the entire thing is a joke, just another way to mess with Harry. It is.

Louis’ phone chirps from where he set it down on Harry’s drawers, and he twists automatically to look. And somehow, someway, he ends up face down in Harry’s sheets with Harry pressing down into him, all sleep warm muscle heavy on top of him.

“Might be a way it’ll feel nicer,” Harry says sharply, and oh, he’s still pissed, which, okay, Louis gets that. He takes things too far sometimes, he knows.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry,” Louis says, stretching his arm out to curl his fingers over Harry’s hand. Harry exhales onto the back of Louis’ neck and turns his hand over, lacing their fingers together loosely. “I took it too far, I know.”

Harry drags their hands up and his weight shifts on top of Louis for a minute, and then Harry’s mouth presses against the back of Louis’ knuckles. It’s stupid and something they’ve done the entire time they’ve known each other - a kiss on the knuckles means you’re forgiven, usually, for whatever dumb stunt you just pulled.

“You did take it too far,” Harry mumbles.

“I know, I mean, you’re just an innocent little teenage boy, can’t help that a stiff wind can get you going, right?” Louis continues, because too far is never too far with Harry. Harry stills on top of him, and all of a sudden Louis is uncomfortably aware that Harry’s still got that problem going on.

“You’re being a tosser,” Harry says, and he’s got that dark tone back into his voice. Louis squirms and is just opening his mouth to answer when Harry shoves his hand down to clench in the fabric of Louis’s running shorts. Louis doesn’t actually understand what’s going on until Harry’s got them down around Louis’s knees.

That’s when he starts wiggling in earnest. “Harry, what are you doing,” he asks, flailing around and nearly managing to catch Harry in the head with an errant arm.

Sometime in the last few years Harry’s gotten bigger than him, though, and while bigger doesn’t necessarily mean stronger, in their case it definitely does. Louis’ shorts get flung off the side of the bed and Harry pins him back down against the mattress.

It only takes him one arm, and Louis makes a mental note to start doing something about that.

“Harry,” he says, and he’s only a little embarrassed that it comes out as a plea. Harry lets out this little sigh against the side of Louis’s head, but it’s not annoyed or exasperated or angry. It doesn’t sound anything like it normally does.

It’s pleased, and it takes Louis another second to figure out why.

And then he squirms a little harder. “Harry!” he shouts, pulling his left knee up along the mattress, trying to get some leverage to buck Harry off of him.

It’s his mistake, though, because all it does is give Harry more space to put his dick in between Louis’ cheeks again, only this time it’s bare skin against bare skin.

“Lou,” Harry breathes, voice shuddering, still keeping Louis pinned to the bed like he’s not even trying. He’s probably not. Fucker.

“Harold,” Louis says firmly, trying to ignore the way that their struggling had left them both a little sweaty and how that’s just making it easier for Harry to slip along his cleft, cock threatening to slide in between his cheeks and make a place for itself.

“It feels kind of nice, doesn’t it?” Harry murmurs, teeth pressing down on the bare skin behind Louis’ ear, and Louis’ vision gets a little hazy. He means to answer, he does, but the only noise that comes out of him is a little broken, whimpery sound that he had no idea that he could even make.

He doesn’t know when he got so hard.

“Mm,” is all Harry says, moving his hips a little so his dick slides again, and Louis swallows against the rush of saliva in his mouth.

It’s a distraction, though, or at least it must be, because Louis doesn’t even notice Harry’s hand sneaking underneath him to grab a hold of Louis’ cock, firm and sure. “You’re right, feels more than kind of nice,” Harry says, and Louis has honestly never wondered what Harry’s sex voice sounds like before.

“Jesus,” Louis gasps. Harry chuckles, and fuck, it’s dirty, it’s so dirty, and slides his hand down the length of Louis’ cock. Louis pants into the sheets, fingers clenching in the fabric.

“Doesn’t feel like you want me to get off you, does it?” Harry muses, doing that thing with his hips again. “Feels like you want me to get you off, maybe.”

“Don’t need you to get off,” Louis says, and fuck, the slide is slick enough now that it feels fucking amazing, Harry’s dick all big and hard and having a grand old time nestled in between Louis’ bum cheeks like it’s an every day occurrence.

“Wouldn’t take much, though, would it?” Harry asks, but he doesn’t wait for Louis to answer. “Just.” He bites down on the back of Louis’ neck at the same time as the head of his cock bumps up against Louis’ hole, and Louis just. Comes.

All over Harry’s fist.

“That’s my boy,” Harry murmurs, and Louis is too busy panting through the aftershocks of it, he doesn’t try to stop it. Harry’s thrusts speed up, and then he’s coming all over Louis’ arse like he has any right.

Like he has all the rights.

Louis blinks a little. There’s sweat in his eyelashes and come dripping down his arse.

Harry stays where he is for a few minutes, breathing quietly, before he drags Louis’ hand back towards himself and kisses his knuckles.


Harry gets up eventually and disappears into the bathroom, presumably to take a shower. Louis still can’t quite will his limbs to work, so he stays where he is and closes his eyes, breathing damply into Harry’s pillows.


Later, after he’s scrambled out of Harry’s bed, into his own room, and locked the door behind him, heart all but pounding out of his chest, he realizes that he’s going to have a massive bruise on the back of his neck where Harry bit him.

And he can’t help himself after that - he has to reach down into his shorts and get himself off again, even though he came less than an hour ago.


It’s weird that it’s only weird for a couple of minutes, later. Louis has to come out of his room to get food eventually, and when he does Harry is in the kitchen, eating cereal straight out of the box.

They make eye contact for a long minute, and then Harry tips the box at him silently.

Louis takes the entire box.


Actually, it is a little weird after that. Whenever Louis finds himself getting up to something, his mind goes to that place where Harry was on top of him, rubbing off on him, and something in him falters.

It’s the most sensory flashback that he’s ever had.


The boys come over the next evening, and Louis is pretending that it’s normal. He’s still got his pajamas on, so that’s pretty normal, right?

Except clearly it’s not as normal as he thought it was, because Zayn and Liam are giving him weird looks, Niall’s edging towards just coming straight out and asking, and Harry’s just not looking at him at all.

It’s probably because yesterday Harry held him down and used him to get off and Louis came so hard he nearly blacked out and they’ve barely said more than fifty words to each other since.

But Louis doesn’t handle being uncomfortable very well, and he gets annoying, and he knows it, but it’s like he can’t help it.

He starts in with his usual routine, jokes and punches in the shoulder, rubbing his hands through people’s hair, and it turns into wrestling and tackling for no reason, putting Niall into a headlock and running around the room knocking things over.

The boys start sending Harry pleading looks half an hour in, even Zayn. Normally Louis would be offended by that, but they’re all knackered and they just want to watch a film in peace. Louis can’t really blame them for that.

He also can’t stop, because if he stops then everyone will be expecting him to curl up on the couch next to Harry, in his normal spot, the one that’s been left open by sheer force of habit - mainly Louis’ habit of screeching like a dying whale whenever it’s been taken by someone.

So he careens around the room again, grabbing a DVD off the shelf, messing with some of the knick knacks that Harry’s left around.

His mistake is making his way past the couch again. Zayn trips him up by shoving his leg out at the last second, and Louis flails and lands mostly on Harry’s lap. He immediately tries to scramble up, planting his elbow in Harry’s thigh and shoving up.

Harry just puts his hand on the back of Louis’ neck and squeezes, tight enough for it to mean something, even if Louis isn’t quite sure what that something is.

He subsides with a grumpy noise, settling into Harry’s lap properly, because if Harry’s going to be a dick about letting him get up then he might as well get comfortable.

He watches ten minutes of Aladdin before he can’t help but notice that Harry’s shifting underneath him every few seconds. Louis slaps at his leg a few times, but that doesn’t help. He shifts his weight a little, and Harry’s legs spread wider underneath him.

It makes Louis sink into the gap a little, which is uncomfortable until he wiggles around onto his stomach and rests his head on top of his arms. Most of his weight isn’t even on Harry anymore, which he thinks is bloody nice of him, being so considerate of Harry’s comfort and all. Most people don’t get this sort of treatment from Louis.

Harry’s shifting stops for a couple minutes before it starts up again.

This time, though, Louis is perfectly aware of the reason why. It’s hard not to be, what with it thickening up beneath his arm and all.

Louis stays as still as he possibly can, but it doesn’t seem like that’s helping, so he squirms over onto his back and stares up at Harry’s face.

Harry’s gritting his teeth and staring so intently at the television that Louis is a little surprised that it doesn’t catch on fire. It actually kind of looks like Harry’s getting off on Aladdin being a street urchin, which kind of weirds Louis out, if he’s being honest.

And everyone in the entire world knows that Louis is just not very good at having Harry’s attention on something other than him, so he wiggles a little more. Harry sucks his lower lip in between his teeth and keeps staring at the television.

So he keeps shifting, and it’s a little weird because that’s Harry’s cock pressing up in between his shoulder blades, but at the same time it’s a little nice because it feels big and thick, like Harry can’t stop himself from being turned on by Louis moving.

It takes a minute, but Harry’s gaze eventually sweeps down to him, and Louis smiles a little, blinking slowly, because just because they’ve never been together properly doesn’t mean that Louis doesn’t know exactly what gets to him.

Louis has been playing him like a fiddle from two weeks in, because for all that Harry says that he’s not actually really attracted to boys, he’s a sucker for a boy with a pretty face and a sweet smile. There’s a reason that he can get Harry to do whatever he wants, and it isn’t because they’re friends. He’s never felt bad about it, either, which does make him kind of feel a little bad. The amount of times that he’s exploited his looks to get Harry to do something or to forget that he’s done something is not really very nice, especially once Harry started getting bigger than him and started having to look down into his face.

“Stop that,” Harry grits out, and Louis keeps the innocent smile on his face even as he squirms around some more.

“I’m not doing anything,” he protests. Harry’s expression darkens a little, and Louis has a moment to think to himself that this may have been a really bad idea before Harry’s grasping both of his forearms and using them to haul Louis up so Louis’ bum is on the couch but his legs are still tossed over Harry’s.

“Lou,” Harry says, directly into Louis’ ear, “if you don’t stop squirming around on my cock I’m going to have to take you into the bathroom and get a few fingers up in you, see how long it takes until you cream yourself.”

Louis goes instantly still, so completely that it makes the other boys look over at him for a second before returning their attention back to the movie. He can’t hear anything over the sudden rush of blood in his ears, can’t feel anything other than the sudden pulse of blood in his dick.

“That,” Louis says faintly, once he can get his vocal chords working again. He clears his throat and watches as Harry’s hands slide down his arms to encircle his wrists. “That sounds a little gayer than you usually go for, Styles,” he says, barely managing to keep it a whisper. Whatever this is, he doesn’t want the other boys overhearing it.

He can feel Harry’s eyes on him. He gives a half hearted tug to see if he can get his arms free, but it only makes Harry tighten his grip. “Yeah? An’ when I was spilling all over you yesterday, that wasn’t a little gay?”

Louis licks his bottom lip and fixes his eyes back on the television. “Maybe we shouldn’t be talking about this right now,” he murmurs.

Harry obligingly falls silent, but he doesn’t let go of Louis’ wrists. Louis wonders why the other boys didn’t notice anything and comes to the slightly shocking realization that maybe this doesn’t look any different than how he and Harry normally interact, even though Harry is gripping Louis’ wrists and he’s on Harry’s lap and they’ve been whispering together for the past five minutes.

But come to think of it, the last time they did the quiet movie night in all together, Louis had ended curled up in Harry’s lap, toes tucked underneath Harry’s thighs to keep them warm. When they’re on tour Louis normally ends up pressed up against a wall somewhere with Harry in front of him, tips of their toes touching and looking up into Harry’s face at least once a day. When they aren’t together before they go to sleep they end up on the phone and Louis wakes up with his phone still pressed up against his ear and Harry’s deep breathing still on the other end of the line, because he doesn’t hang up even after Louis passes out. It’s literally at the point where they’re on a couple’s plan. They live together.

So. Maybe there’s some things to think about, here.

But in the meantime Louis presses his toes against Harry’s dick, just to see if it’s still hard, and hides a smile into his shoulder when Harry inhales sharply.

Because, yeah. That cock is still mighty pleased to see Louis.


When the boys are getting ready to leave, Louis smacks a kiss onto each of them and runs for his bedroom while Harry waves them out of the door. He clicks the lock and then shoves his nightstand underneath the door handle, pops himself up on top of it, kicking his heels against the wood while he waits.

Harry doesn’t disappoint, jiggling the handle not even two minutes later. “Louis,” he says, and his voice is annoyed, which sends a little thrill through Louis’ belly, warming his skin all the way down to his toes.

“Harold,” Louis says, leaning his head against the door.

“Lou, darling, why don’t you let me in, hmm?” Harry murmurs, jiggling the handle again. Louis bites down on the inside of his cheek and takes a second to adjust himself in his sweatpants before he responds.

“Why? What are you planning on doing if I let you in, Harold?” Louis says.

“Might make you cream yourself again, like you did yesterday. Didn’t even have to get up in you, just the promise of it was enough to get you off,” Harry says, but clearly he doesn’t expect it to actually work because there’s the sound of sliding and then the heavy thump of him hitting the floor.

“Creamed all over you, the way I remember it,” Louis shoots back, and fuck, he’s proud of the way his voice stays even, he’s not going to lie.

“Think you’re remembering it a bit wrong, then, babe,” Harry says. “Creamed all over my fist and your sheets, more like. The only person that really creamed all over anyone was me, all over you.”

Louis can’t help his flush, feels it spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. He drags his foot up onto the night stand with him so he can spread his knees, make himself a little more comfortable. The wood is digging into his arse, but he can’t concentrate on that when his dick is pulsing between his legs. He thinks that this is probably not the first time that the sound of Harry’s voice has done this to him, but for all their joking around about being each other’s first crushes, he’s never really noticed it before.

He thinks that maybe this has been four years in the making.

“Yeah, and it only took you two minutes,” Louis says. “Not quite sure that is the stamina I would’ve expected from Harry Styles.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other side of the door before Harry laughs. “Now I know you’re not doubting my stamina, Tommo,” he says, voice low, syllables dragging on just a tiny bit more than they usually do.

“What can I say? I guess I have to see it to believe it,” Louis says. He lets his hand drop down to his lap and rub over his dick once, hissing a little.

“Best way to prove it would be to open the door,” Harry says.

Louis laughs and lets his hand just stay on top of his dick, not moving. “Why? How you gonna prove it to me if I do, big boy? Gonna get me on the bed and open me up? How many fingers do you think it’s gonna take? Three? Four? ‘m not sure I can handle that, you know, what with it being me first time an’ all. Gonna have to give it to me gently, Harry, make sure that you don’t break me with that big cock of yours.”

“Fuuuck,” Harry hisses, and there’s a thunk against the door, like he just hit his head.

Louis bites down on his lip, lets it slide out of his mouth. “But you gotta take care of me, y’know?” he continues. His voice is wavering now, just a little bit. “Gonna have to give me kisses, make sure I’m okay, during.”

Harry makes a noise, halfway between a sob and a moan. “Know how to take care of you, Lou,” he says. “Gonna be gentle, gonna be so gentle.” Louis lets his hand creep into his sweats, pretty sure that Harry’s doing the same.

“Tell me,” he says, gripping his cock. His heart’s practically beating out of his chest.

“Gonna kiss you all over,” Harry says.

“Where?” Louis asks.

“Your mouth,” Harry says, and he sounds dreamy, like he’s spent a lot of time thinking about it, about how kissing Louis’ mouth would be. “Spend lots of time kissing your mouth. Sweet and tender, at first. Then deep, until you taste like me and I taste like you and you can’t even tell us apart.”

Louis laughs, because it’s so fucking sappy, so incredibly cheesy, but he moves his hand on his cock all the same. “Already can’t tell us apart some of the time,” he says. “Where else?”

“Your neck,” Harry says.

“Ah, lovebites,” Louis interrupts. “Like me a little lovebite here and there, I do.” Harry pounds his fist against the door once.

“Am I telling it or are you?” he demands.

“Sorry, sorry,” Louis says, and he can’t keep the smile out of his voice.

“Right. So. On the neck.”

“Yes,” Louis says.

“Then down your chest. Your nipples, for a while.”

“For a while?” Louis asks. He twists his fingers over the head of his cock and can’t help gasping.

“Until they’re sore,” Harry says.

“So it’s lovebites on the nipples, then, not kissing?” Louis clarifies.

Harry groans, but it sounds more like a sexy groan, like he’s doing something very fun, than it does an annoyed groan that Louis keeps interrupting him. “Like, sucking, for a bit. Until you get sore and ask me to stop.”

“So you want it to hurt me,” Louis says. His cock’s getting wetter, so he spreads it down the shaft to help ease the way.

“No, love, you want it to hurt you,” Harry corrects. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you get all doe eyed and sweet whenever I give them a little tug.”

Louis makes a little noise and speeds up his strokes a little. “Yes, well. Maybe I’m trying to be agreeable so you’ll back off.”

“Mm, could be,” Harry agrees, voice thick. “Or maybe you want me to put my mouth on them until you cry.”

Louis’s breath stutters right out of him. It’s not exactly news to him that he likes having his nipples played with. None of the girls he’s ever fucked have been particularly interested in his nipples, though, aside from an occasional tweak, so he’s not used to having that particular kink called out.

Especially not by a boy.

“I,” is all he manages.

Harry shushes him, practically crooning. “It’s okay, Lou, you’ll like it. You’ll like it, I promise,” he says.

Louis sucks in a deep breath. “And then?” he manages.

“And then down,” Harry says. “Your stomach. Your hip. Your cock.”

Louis drags his hand down his cock. “My cock?” he asks, breathless.

“Mm. Just a little. Just the head, just to say you’ve been good.”

“Been good,” Louis echoes, and he sounds stupid, he knows he sounds stupid, but he can’t stop it.

Harry makes a pleased noise. “Been so good for me, haven’t you, Lou?”

Louis drags in another breath. “If I been so good then why only a little?”

“Got something better for you,” Harry says. Louis lets his eyes shut.

“Something better?”

Harry makes another noise, and there’s no mistaking the sound of skin sliding against skin on both sides of the door. Louis could really use some lube, make it a little wetter, but he’s pretty sure that if he tried to stand up right now his knees would just buckle underneath him.

“Gonna turn you over,” Harry murmurs. “Bite you a little, just above the swell of your ass. Spread your cheeks.”

Louis whimpers into his arm. “Yeah, baby. Gonna eat you out good for your first time. Make you beg for it.”

“Wouldn’t beg for it,” Louis wheezes out, and fuck, he’s so close.

“You’d beg,” Harry says, and there’s absolute certainty in his voice. “Spend at least ten minutes there, licking your hole, making you wet inside with my spit, until you’re babbling and you don’t even really know what you’re saying, you just know that it’s gonna get you my cock in you. Maybe make you come on my tongue, loosen you up a little more. Bet you could come with just my tongue in you and your cock pressing up against the sheets.”

Louis makes another noise and comes, vision practically whiting out. It takes him a couple minutes to come down from that orgasm, and when he does his head is still spinning a little.

“Awful sure of yourself there, Styles,” he says finally, wiping his hand off on his sweatpants. He’s going to need to change either way.

“You’ll let me, though,” Harry says, and he sounds sleepy like maybe he’s come, too. Louis kind of regrets not hearing it, even though he just had one of the best orgasms of his life.

Louis doesn’t say anything for a long minute. This is his chance to back out, to say no. Pretend like this never happened, that he only looks at girls.

“Yeah,” he says instead. “But not today.”

“When?” Harry asks, and there’s a part of Louis that knows that if Harry was in the room with him, if they were on the bed, Harry would put his head down on Louis’ stomach and accept whatever answer Louis gave him, whether it be a day or a week or a year or ten years or never, even.

“Soon,” Louis says, staring at the framed photo on his dresser of him and Harry goofing off backstage at some gig. “Real soon, Curly.”


Louis is up before Harry in the morning and is turning around to take his tea to the table when Harry swipes the cup right out of his hand and swallows down half of it despite it still being hot.

“Oi! That was mine,” Louis complains, slapping Harry in the chest. Harry sets the cup down on the counter behind them and doesn’t answer.

Louis opens his mouth to say something else, but Harry clearly has different ideas, because he’s kissing Louis, hands cradling the back of his head. He’s hunching down a little, the way that he does when he kisses a girl, and Louis isn’t quite sure how he feels about that, so he steps up onto Harry’s bare feet and stretches onto his toes, hanging his arms around Harry’s neck for some balance.

Harry kisses exactly like Louis thought he would, determined and whole heartedly, licking into Louis’ mouth like he owns it, deep and wet. He slows down after a minute, touching the tip of his tongue to Louis’, and Louis sucks Harry’s bottom lip into his mouth and bites down.

Harry’s fingers clench against his head, sliding through Louis’ hair, and Louis savors it for a minute before he breaks the kiss and slides back down onto the ground properly.

“Today, yeah?” Harry murmurs, wiping his thumb against Louis’ lower lip. Louis sucks it into his mouth and watches Harry’s eyes darken.

He lets it out with an audible pop. “Not today,” he says, and ducks underneath Harry’s arm with what’s left of his tea, making his escape to the living room.


They spend the day curled up on the couch together, watching Fresh Prince re-runs. Louis checks on Harry’s dick a couple of times, reaches out and feels it a little, makes sure that it’s still happy to see him.

Each time, Harry groans and drops his head back against the sofa, but he spreads his legs and lets Louis feel him up.

And each time, Harry’s working a little bit of a stiffy, and Louis smiles into his shoulder and lets go.

Louis calls it quits at midnight, after they’ve eaten and watched a couple more episodes. He presses his toes into Harry’s thigh to get his attention, and Harry looks over at him, blinking slowly.

“’m gonna head to bed, yeah?” Louis says. Harry nods and closes his eyes. Louis prods him again. “Don’t you wanna give me a snog before I go?” he asks. He watches Harry’s throat work as he swallows and wonders why he never really thought about just how attractive Harry is before.

“Not sure that you’re gonna make it to bed if I do that, Tommo,” he says eventually. Louis leans forward, puts his shoulder against Harry’s chest and gives his cock a nice long squeeze. He sucks a bite into Harry’s neck and then pushes himself up.

“Night, then,” he says cheerfully, and laughs at the finger that Harry waves at him.

He falls into bed still smiling stupidly.


Harry goes away for a few days to do some press stuff. They hug goodbye at half four in the morning, Louis tucked up into Harry’s arms with his face buried against Harry’s chest. They sway in the hallway for a good five minutes like that, Harry completely dressed and ready to go with Louis barefoot and still in his pajama pants and a t-shirt.

It’s a little bit ridiculous, because Harry is literally only going to be gone for three days, so there’s really no reason for a five minute long hug.

Louis will deny until his dying day that his eyes are a little wet by the time they pull apart. Harry doesn’t say anything, which is good for him if he doesn’t want to get punched in the balls, but he does swipe the pads of his thumbs underneath Louis’ eyes and kiss him on the mouth, just once, short and sweet.

“I’ll call you when I get to the hotel, yeah,” Harry murmurs.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees.

“Invite the lads over, alright,” Harry says. Louis nods, and Harry kisses him again. Louis clings on a little longer this time before he drops back down onto his feet.

“Would you just go already, I’m sick of looking at your face,” Louis complains. Harry kisses him one more time, close mouthed and fast, before picking up his bag.

“I’ll see you in three days,” he says, and then he’s out the door. Louis closes it behind him and leans against it for a minute, just breathing, before he goes into the kitchen to make another cup of tea.


He puts a movie on, just for background noise, and thinks.

He thinks that maybe he and Harry have been flirting right since that first meeting in the bathroom at the X-Factor. He thinks that he’s probably known that he’s Harry’s type since then. He thinks that he really started using that against Harry when Harry started getting bigger than him, and he still doesn’t feel bad about it.

He especially doesn’t feel bad about that time he emptied an entire can of silly string into Paul’s bag and blamed it on Harry, and then convinced Harry to go along with the story by hooking his fingers through Harry’s belt loops and staring up at him from underneath his eyelashes with his mouth wet, even though he probably really should.

He thinks that he likes the way that Harry hauls him around when he gets particularly annoyed with Louis, just drags him up onto his toes and physically moves him somewhere. He thinks that he’s probably never had sex with a boy because the look on Harry’s face when he found out would be absolutely devastating. He thinks that Harry’s probably never had sex with a boy because if Louis found out about it the result would have been catastrophic.

He thinks that he’s probably only had sex with a handful of girls in his entire life because something about it doesn’t feel quite right - not that they’re girls, but that they’re not Harry.

He thinks that they probably could’ve been together for four years if Louis hadn’t been scared the entire time.

Probably this will be a thing, then.

Probably this will be the thing.


He gets the boys on a conference call, meaning to tell them right away that him and Harry are going to be a thing.

Of course, it immediately devolves into an argument about which Power Ranger is the best, which, obviously the red one, something that Louis feels very passionate about, and he can’t let it lie that Liam has said the blue one.

What the fuck even, Liam.

“Leave the band if you don’t like the red one, then, Liam!” Niall shouts, half drunk and happy, and he’s making fun of Louis, but they all laugh anyway.

“Yeah, Liam, leave the band,” Zayn chips in.

“Oi, maybe you should all leave the band and it’ll just be me. It’ll be called Louis and the Tommos,” Louis says. He pokes dubiously at the lump of pasta in the pot. “Do you suppose that pasta’s supposed to be all clumpy and weird looking after you boil it?” he asks absently.

There’s more laughter. “Just order a pizza, Tommo,” Liam says.

“Didn’t want pizza, Payno, if I did don’t you think I would’ve ordered meself one?” Louis gripes, giving up on the pasta and banging it out in the rubbish bin.

“Never really been too good at letting yourself have what you want,” Liam shoots back. He says it all the time, usually when Louis is drunk and having a bit of a cry on his shoulder, because Louis is nothing if not a weepy drunk, but for the first time Louis actually understands what he’s talking about.

Would’ve been helpful if he’d sat Louis down three years ago and laid it out for him.

“About that,” Louis says carefully, flicking the kettle on because if he can’t have pasta he might as well have tea.

There’s silence for a split second, and then Zayn whoops so loudly that Louis actually has to pull the phone away from his ear.

“You finally did it,” he crows, and then the sound of their voices all blur together, and Louis picks at his fingernails, smiling stupidly to no one but himself while he waits for them to stop talking over each other.

Once they finally do, he says, “Well, not yet, exactly. But it’s in the works.”

“But like, you’re sure?” Zayn demands. He’s always been strangely invested in Louis’ sex life, but come to think of it, that’s probably because he was making sure that Louis was never actually into someone too much.

“Course I’m sure,” Louis scoffs. “Been sure that if it wasn’t him it wouldn’t be anyone since I was eighteen, haven’t I?”

“Well, yeah, but we were never quite sure that you knew that,” Liam says.

Louis clears his throat. “Might have realized it recently,” he allows.

“So what is this, then, a call to get permission?” Liam asks.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Yes, daddy, may I please have your permission to date a boy?” he asks, sweet as he possibly can. Niall laughs, long and loud, practically wheezing.

“How many times do I have to tell you to never call me that. It’s very disturbing,” Liam says.

“Oh, but daddy,” Louis whines into the phone.

“I’m hanging up now,” Liam informs him, but there’s no sound to indicate that he’s actually disconnected.

“I love you too,” Louis says.

“So you’re gonna tell him proper, then?” Zayn asks. Louis pours the hot water into his mug carefully, phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder, because his toes are bare and while it wouldn’t be the first time that he’s spilt hot water all over them it’s never pleasant.

“What, like, full on love confession in the middle of the airport? No, nothing like that.”

“Oh, maybe like with a guitar and in a suit,” Niall says.

“Or with flowers and chocolates,” Liam suggests.

“In the rain,” Zayn adds.

“With a boombox,” Niall yells, tinny like he’s dropped his phone.

“While riding a tractor,” Liam says.

“I hate you all and I’m going to go watch Game of Thrones,” Louis says. There’s a chorus of ‘bye, we love you’s even as Louis clicks the end call button and tosses his phone onto the counter.

He doesn’t try to wipe the smile from his face.


Harry calls at three in the morning, which is way after he was supposed to, but Louis supposes that he got busy and wasn’t able to. It’s happened before.

Louis contemplates not answering, because he was actually sleeping, but Harry will just call him repeatedly until he answers, so he picks it up and smushes it against his ear.

“What,” he sighs, rolling over a little and rearranging his pillows.

“Did you know,” Harry begins, syllables accentuated in a way that means he’s well on his way to being drunk, “that dog’s noses are like fingerprints? If you ever lost your dog you could use its nose print to identify it.”

“I don’t have a dog, Hazza,” Louis says. He knows that he sounds grumpy because that’s the way that he means to sound after picking up the phone at three o’clock in the morning, but he’s smiling all the same.

“Yeah,” Harry sighs. “Could get you a dog.”

“And what would I do with it while we’re on tour?” Louis asks. He drags the blankets up over his shoulders a little better.

Harry pauses. “Yeah. That’s sad. You deserve a dog.”

“What kind,” Louis says. He really shouldn’t be indulging this, but. It’s a drunk phone call from Harry at three in the morning, so how could he not indulge it?

“Maybe, like, a Maltese. Small and cute and fluffy just like you.”

“I think I’m offended by that,” Louis says.

“I think I’m offended by that,” Harry mimics, adopting a high pitched lilt in his voice. If they were together Louis would punch him for it, but as it is he just adds it to his mental tally of how many dick slaps Harry’s gonna get once he gets home.

So far he’s at five.

“So what have you been drinking?” Louis asks.

Harry laughs. “Like, these pink cocktails? I dunno what’s in them but they’re pretty good.”

“Pink, really?”

“Yeah, like they kind of taste like strawberries. Some girl at our table was drinking one and she left to go to the bathroom and didn’t come back for like, fifteen minutes and I was thirsty so I tried it, right? And it turned out to be pretty good so I drank the rest of it and then when she came back she was all like, hey, where’d my drink go? So I was just like, oh, I think some guy tried to slip something into it so I tossed it, right, and she was just like, oh, okay, thanks.”

Louis laughs, tucking his toes into the back of his knee. “She really believed that?” he asks.

“Well, yeah, I mean, it’s not like she thought that Harry Styles was walking around stealing her drinks, innit?” Harry doesn’t wait for an answer before continuing. “Did you have the boys over?”

“No, just meself with a cup of tea and Game of Thrones,” Louis says. “Quiet today.”

“Yeah? Sounds nice,” Harry says, and he sounds wistful.

“Yeah. Most exerting thing I did today was try to cook some pasta.”

“Try and failed, you mean?” Harry asks. Louis pouts into his pillow.

“Cooking is hard,” he complains.

There’s the sound of rustling on the other end of the line, and it makes Louis suspicious. “So what’d you eat then?” Harry’s voice is hushed, like he’s trying to be quiet, but he’s still drunk and he’s never been the greatest whisperer even at the best of times, so he’s mostly failing.

“Are you hiding from someone?” Louis demands. The ensuing silence is guilty. Louis would recognize Harry’s guilty silence anywhere, and this is definitely it.

“No,” Harry mutters petulantly.

“Who is it, then? Is it Paul? Please tell me it’s Paul, I’m tired of being the only one he ever blames his gray hairs on.”

“No, there’s some girl trying to get me to come back to her hotel room with her,” Harry says. “But yeah, also Paul.”

Louis laughs. “Why don’t you just tell her that you don’t want to hook up?” he asks.

“Because she has no idea who I am and she’s actually really nice and I don’t want to hurt her feelings,” Harry says miserably. Louis laughs harder and almost loses his grip on the phone. “Don’t laugh at me, I’m sitting in a broom closet with the light off,” Harry complains.

“Tell me about the dog,” Louis orders instead of answering.

“Right, well, it’d be a girl, obviously,” Harry starts.

“Obviously,” Louis drawls.

“Her name would be - I dunno. Her name would be Pumpkin or Muffin or something like that. She’d be the most energetic one that we could find, and we’d get her from the pound.” Harry keeps talking, but Louis is mostly tuned out. He makes little noises here and there so it seems like he’s listening, but mostly he’s just drifting towards sleep.

Harry’s voice trails off after a couple of minutes, so Louis makes an encouraging noise into the phone.

“Soon, yeah?” Harry asks quietly. Louis licks his lips and is suddenly glad that they didn’t Facetime.

He takes a minute, because after he says it there’s really no going back.

“When you get back,” he says. He hears Harry’s sharp inhale and bites down on the inside of his cheek.

“When I get back, really?” Harry asks. Louis hums but doesn’t actually answer. He can’t quite bring himself to say it twice. “Louis,” Harry breathes. There’s commotion coming from Harry’s end, a clatter, and then Harry’s voice comes back. “I gotta go, Paul found me. But. I can’t wait to get home.”

Louis smiles into the pillow. “Yeah.”

“Not just for that,” Harry says urgently. Louis would bet his entire net worth on Harry clutching the phone to his ear like a lifeline right now. “I miss you.”

“Alright, Styles, he knows you love him, can we get going?” Paul’s voice cuts in distantly.

“I miss you too,” Louis says, and hangs up before Harry has the chance to say anything else.

He gets up with his duvet clutched around his shoulders and makes himself a cup of tea to take back to bed with him. No point in pretending that he’s going to sleep again.


He has Stan over the day before Harry’s due back, and they’re just hanging around watching movies and eating tons of junk food, doing nothing.

Louis doesn’t hear the turn of the key in the lock, but he does hear the sound of the door being shoved open, and his heart jumps for a second. It’s probably just paranoia, but Louis has always had this irrational fear of a crazy fan finding out where he lives and breaking in while he’s there.

His common sense comes back to him quickly. That door slam has Harry written all over it. There’s a dent in the wall behind nearly every door in the entire flat from the way that Harry opens doors.

Louis very manfully does not scramble over the back of the couch to fling himself into Harry’s arms. Stan knows, of course, but it would add fuel to the already stoked fire of ribbing Stan has on them.

Louis looks up when he feels Harry’s arms settle on the couch behind him. “What’re you watching?” he asks, normal volume but directly into Louis’ ear.

Gladiator,” Stan says.

“Thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow,” Louis says. Harry shrugs, the movement of it making his hair tickle the back of Louis’ neck.

“Skipped out on a couple interviews,” he murmurs. His breath smells like mint, like he’s just been chewing gum, but he’s not now so he must’ve thrown it out somewhere along the way.

Louis means to say something, tell Harry he would’ve picked him up at the airport, but one of them moves and suddenly they’re kissing.

It’s not a deep kiss, and it’s more sweet than it is dirty, but it still has Stan clearing his throat and throwing little balled up pieces of paper at them within ten seconds. “Alright, then, that’s my cue to head out,” he says cheerfully. Louis breaks the kiss and wipes his thumb across his mouth. Stan makes overdramatic gagging noises as he passes them.

“I should make sure he doesn’t forget his keys again,” Louis says. Harry’s lips quirk up into a tiny smile that looks completely ridiculous, so Louis forces it down with two fingers before shoving himself up off the couch.

He wanders over to the hallway where Stan’s shoving his feet into his shoes, hands pushed into the pockets of his sweatpants.

Stan immediately starts singing Let’s Get It On under his breath. Louis punches him in the shoulder. Stan punches him back and it turns into wrestling on the floor within thirty seconds.

Louis isn’t proud, but he wins by going in for the dick punch.

Alright, so maybe he is proud. He’s a cheater and he’s fine with it.

Stan groans on the ground for a minute while Louis scrambles back to his feet, using Stan’s side as leverage to push himself up.

“I hate you so much,” Stan groans when he finally staggers to his feet. There’s an unmanly moment of hugging and hair petting before Stan pulls the door open, making a fake disgusted face. “Louis cooties,” he squeals loudly, making a show of trying to brush them off frantically.

Louis all but shoves him out the door.

When he gets back to the living room Harry’s sitting on the couch, head tipped back with his eyes closed. There are dark shadows underneath his eyes, and he looks tired.

Louis hesitates for long enough that Harry cracks an eye open. “You just gonna stand there all night?” he mumbles.

Louis shuffles over and sits down, swinging his legs up onto the sofa with him. He curls into Harry’s side slowly. It’s not any different than how they usually are, but it feels different somehow.

Harry’s arm settles across his back and pulls him the rest of the way in. “You’re being weird,” he says. Louis settles his head down onto Harry’s shoulder.

“It is weird,” he complains.

Harry’s quiet for a minute. “It’s not weird,” he says finally. Louis makes a little disagreeable noise. “Shh, no, it’s not weird. It’s like, we already do most of this already, right? It’s not like I’ve never kissed you on the mouth before.”

“Usually it’s when I’m drunk, though,” Louis points out.

“Usually when you’re drunk you’re climbing all over me and I can’t help it,” Harry says.

“I do no such thing,” Louis protests, smacking Harry in the stomach. Harry grabs his hand before he can do it again.

“You really do. It’s just the sex thing that’ll be different. Everything else will be the same.”

“Just the sex thing?” Louis mocks. Harry ignores him and laces their fingers together on his stomach. “What if the sex thing isn’t good though? What if it completely fucks us up?”

“The sex thing isn’t going to fuck us up,” Harry says quietly. “Didn’t fuck us up the first time.”

Louis sucks on his lower lip for a second. “It fucked us up a little.”

“It fucked you up a little,” Harry says. Louis looks up into his face instinctively, to see if he’s lying, but he’s still got his eyes closed and his expression is relaxed and open. Happy, even.

“What, are you trying to tell me that you were like, oh, hey, got off on Tommo, that’s completely normal?” Louis demands, because he can never just let things go.

Harry’s throat works as he swallows. He takes his time before he answers. “Well, no, I’m not saying that it was normal, exactly, but if I’m being completely honest then it didn’t fuck me up because I was waiting for four years.”

Louis deflates and puts his head back down on Harry’s shoulder. He knew that, obviously, but there’s a difference between knowing it and having it told to you out loud.

“Four years,” Louis echoes dumbly.

Harry nudges him. “I would’ve waited forever, you know,” he says.

“Ugh, that’s even worse,” Louis complains. He elbows Harry as hard as he can manage, and then again and again, until Harry catches his arm and hauls him into his lap, keeping him there with one arm around his back.

It’s not the first time Harry’s pulled that move - hell, it’s not even the fiftieth. It’s the first time Louis is conscious of how it makes him feel, though, a little trembly and hot all over.

Fuck Harry for getting so strong.

“Is today the day?” Harry asks, gripping Louis’ wrists with both hands.

Louis wiggles irritably. “I already told you today was going to be the day.”

“Is now the time?” Harry persists.

Louis’ throat clicks as he swallows. “Now could be the time.”

It feels inevitable at the same time as it feels terrifying. Harry believes in fate in a way that Louis doesn’t, but right now it feels like this moment has been a long time coming.

But fuck if the thought of it isn’t scary.

“It doesn’t have to be the time,” Harry says quietly, thumb stroking slowly over the bones in Louis’ wrist like he can feel the way Louis’ heart beat has picked up.

He probably can. He’s always been strangely attuned to how Louis is feeling at any given moment. He’s always been the person who knows when Louis is feeling like shit - sometimes the only person who can tell when Louis is feeling like shit.

“It’s just a big step, yeah?” Louis says, just as quietly. There’s a chance that Harry will misunderstand him, that he’ll think that Louis is talking about the sex.

It’s not that Louis isn’t talking about the sex, because he is, but the sex won’t be like any of the other sex Louis has had. This is going to be the sex that he’s having for the rest of his life, and two weeks ago that was a level of committed that he never really thought about.

“It’s a big step,” Harry agrees. “But you’re gonna love it, I promise. It’s gonna feel so good.”

Louis rolls his eyes and punches Harry’s shoulder. “Every time,” he mutters. “What if I wanted to be on top?”

Harry shrugs, pulling an exaggerated frowny face. “Well, I mean, I guess we could try that, but I’m not sure that you’ll really like it.”

It’s not offensive, and there’s a part of Louis that suspects that he’s right - the part of him that goes trembly and warm whenever Harry touches him right - but Louis wouldn’t be Louis if he didn’t pretend to take offense to things that could be considered even the tiniest slight, so he punches as much of Harry as he can.

Until Harry pulls a move straight out of a romantic comedy and grabs Louis’ wrists and somehow manages to flip Louis underneath him and pin his arms above his head.

It’s a shocking display of strength that has Louis’ thighs parting without his conscious input, until Harry’s settled between them, leaving their dicks more or less lined up through their clothes.

It’s also a move that leaves their mouths less than two inches apart, air between them thickening with every breath. It’s not the first time that they’ve shared breathing space like this, because neither of them have ever had much in the way of boundaries, but it feels like the first time Louis has ever been aware of how his cock is lying between his legs, already half hard, just from Harry manhandling him like that.

“You know what I think?” Harry murmurs. There’s no denying the way he’s watching Louis’ mouth, eyelashes almost fanning his cheeks from the angle.

“That you’re full of yourself?” Louis supplies helpfully, and makes the executive decision to start undoing the buttons on Harry’s shirt.

Well. The three buttons that are done up, anyway.

“That pretty soon you’re gonna be full of me,” Harry says. He shrugs out of the shirt when Louis has got the buttons undone, leaving him in a plain t-shirt.

“You have the cheesiest lines I’ve ever heard,” Louis says. He flicks at one of Harry’s nipples through the cloth idly and watches Harry’s eyes darken. He can’t stop thinking about Harry promising to use his mouth on Louis’ nipples, can’t stop his thighs from tightening around Harry’s hips.

“They may be cheesy but they make you hot,” Harry says, and doesn’t give Louis a chance to respond before slanting their mouths together.

It’s a slow, thoughtful kiss, like they have all the time in the world, and Louis supposes that they do, but it isn’t the type of kiss that he wants right now. He wants to be kissed fast and hard, a little bruisingly, to be bitten and made to hurt a little. He wants to be able to feel it in the morning.

He’s pretty sure that pulling Harry’s hair will help get him that, so that’s what he does, yanking on whatever he can reach.

It doesn’t really work the way he intended. He doesn’t get kissed harder, but he does get hauled up off the couch so abruptly that his head spins a little. He stumbles on his feet, trusting that Harry won’t let him fall as they make their way down the hall.

“You can never just let me have something nice, can you?” Harry gripes, stripping Louis out of his shirt effectively.

“I’m letting you have me, aren’t I?” Louis demands, shimmying out of his pajama bottoms, leaving him naked save for his pants.

“I said something nice,” Harry says. He pulls his own shirt over his head just in time for Louis to shove him hard enough for him to lose his balance and go down. He gets tangled on the way, which seems like a perfect opportunity to Louis, so he straddles Harry’s hips and starts pinching him mercilessly.

Harry’s lack of gracefulness hasn’t gotten better over the years, but somehow he still manages to get out of his shirt and get Louis back underneath him in what feels like no time at all. The floorboards are cold against Louis’ bare skin, but he only thinks about that for a brief second before Harry’s kissing him again, harder this time, more bite to it.

The denim of Harry’s jeans is rough against Louis’ bare legs, not worn down as much as some of his others are. It’s weird to recognize that he knows that, that he knows the feel of Harry’s jeans against his bare skin well enough that he knows how new they are.

He’s such an idiot. He doesn’t know how he didn’t see this coming before.

“You know how much I love you, right?” Harry asks, breaking the kiss just enough to breathe the words into Louis’ mouth.

“I’m starting to get the idea, yeah,” Louis says. It earns him a swat to the side and a full, dimply grin that he feels more than he sees.

They kiss again, just for a minute before Harry’s pulling away again. Louis’ fingers itch with the urge to pull him back down, but he’s pinned again, Harry’s hands holding his wrists against the floor.

It’s starting to become a thing.

“You wanna move this to the bed?” Harry asks.

Louis licks his lips. He can’t actually taste Harry there, because they use the same toothpaste and that entire idea is kind of dumb anyway, but it’s a nice thought. “Well, I definitely don’t want me first time to be on a hardwood floor, so.”

“Can’t even be nice to me when I’m being nice to you,” Harry grumbles, and then he does this thing where he grips Louis by the wrists and under the thighs and somehow manages to toss Louis onto the bed.

Louis blinks up at the ceiling and tries to ignore the fact that the throbbing in his cock just became a whole lot harder. “Yesterday on the phone you told me that you were going to dunk my head into a pot full of boiling oil.”

“Yesterday on the phone you told me that I deserved to be skinned alive for not leaving you enough pre-cooked meals to last three days,” Harry says pointedly. Louis glances over and props himself up on his elbow to watch Harry attempt to get out of his jeans gracefully.

He fails, of course, but it’s a riveting show, the shake and shimmy that he has to do. Louis wonders whether he looks that ridiculous getting out of his own jeans and decides that he doesn’t. Everything he does looks awesome.

“Well if you had have thought to make me enough food I wouldn’t have had to eat pizza for the last three days straight,” Louis says. He makes space on the bed for Harry to lie beside him only for Harry to come crashing back down on top of him, hard enough to send Louis’ breath stuttering out of him.

“I told you like three times that I left it in the freezer,” Harry says, pushing Louis’ hair back out of his face. His hand stills behind Louis’ ear, fingers curving against his skull.

“It was vegetables,” Louis says, and cuts off Harry’s reply by straining up to kiss him.

As far as distraction tactics go, it works pretty well. If Louis had have known that kissing Harry would be a surefire way to get him to forget about things he would have been doing it this entire time.

It works in distracting Louis, too, until he forgets what they were even talking about, bottom lip stinging when Harry bites at it. His fingers tighten on Harry’s biceps, probably pressing bruises into his skin.

“Love your mouth so much,” Harry’s mumbling, still biting kisses into it. Louis has to strain to hear it, and immediately flushes a little more.

“Yeah?” he asks, because he can’t just let Harry get away with this shit. He can’t think of anything else to add, though, so he just stares up into Harry’s face with his lips parted and still tingling.

“You have no idea how much,” Harry confirms, ducking his head back in to kiss Louis again, short and sweet, before dragging his mouth down Louis’ jaw, down his neck, until he finds a place that he deems acceptable and settles in, pressing a gentle kiss against it before biting.

Louis gasps and squirms, trying to shove his hips up against Harry’s at an angle that’ll make them both feel good. It’s harder than it sounds, because Harry is all but dead weight at the best of times, and he doesn’t seem inclined to help.

He can’t get good friction going, but he keeps doing it anyway, not willing to stop when it feels a little better than just lying still had, a little easier to believe that he’ll actually get to come sometime soon.

There’s going to be a bruise the size of England by the time Harry’s done, but the pulse in Louis’ cock is enough to convince him that the hurt of it isn’t bad enough to stop him.

He doesn’t want to say that he just lies there and takes it, trying not to whimper while Harry sucks a lovebite into his neck, but he just lies there and takes it while Harry sucks a lovebite into his neck.

His thighs spread a little more to make room for Harry’s hips when he starts sliding down, pressing his teeth into Louis’ skin randomly, gently, until he’s at a nipple.

And then he puts his mouth on it.

“Oh my fucking god,” Louis breathes, back arching up off the bed helplessly. His hands fidget at his side, unsure of whether they want to push Harry’s head down or pull him up.

It hurts, because Harry’s using his teeth for real now, in a way that he wasn’t before, but it hurts so fucking good, sting concentrated in a place that it’s never really been before. No one’s ever really thought to return the nipple twists that Louis gives them, not even Harry.

Louis never knew that it could feel like this.

“Knew you’d be sensitive,” Harry murmurs, and then his hand comes up to pinch Louis’ other nipple, rolling it between his fingers, and Louis completely loses track of whatever he meant to say to that.

There’s something about it, something about the way it makes his cock drip and his balls tense, that makes him think that he could probably come from it. He could probably actually get off like this, with only Harry’s mouth and fingers on his nipples, without anyone touching his cock.

He wants to. He wants to so much, wants to see if he could actually do it or if he’d beg Harry to stop first, but not today. Not right now. There’s something that he wants more right now.

“You promised me,” he starts, and then has to stop to swallow, almost compulsively. “You promised that you were gonna eat me out for me first time.”

Harry’s head lifts, leaving Louis’ nipple vaguely sore and wet. “You don’t want any of the other stuff first?” he asks, voice a little deeper than normal.

Stomach. Hip. Cock. Louis remembers it vividly, listening to Harry’s voice through the door and getting himself off so good that he didn’t even hear when Harry came, fucking his cock through his fist just like Louis’ had slid through his.

“I want it,” Louis says. His hands finally remember how to work and slide up along Harry’s arms until they’re resting on his shoulders. “I want it a whole fucking lot.”

“But you want to be eaten out more,” Harry finishes.

“You still want to?” Louis asks.

“So fucking much,” Harry says. “One of the quickest ways to get me off, thinking about it.”

It feels like this might be something important that needs to be clarified. “Eating out a boy or eating me out?”

Harry’s staring at him. “Have you ever looked at your bum in a mirror?”

Louis rolls his eyes. He should have expected the sex to be ridiculous, and he did, obviously, but maybe not this ridiculous. “Harry.”

“Of course it’s you,” Harry whispers, like he’s afraid that saying it too loudly will scare Louis off. “I’ve spent so much time thinking about how you’d look while you’re getting your arse eaten that it’s kind of a time passer. I think about it when we’re on the bus and I can’t sleep, or when we’re flying, or in between songs onstage. I think about it a lot.”

Okay, maybe he was only saying it quietly because even in a whisper the words make Louis warm all over, toes curling just the tiniest bit. Hearing the words in a normal voice might have actually made him come or something equally as drastic.

“You’re the worst,” Louis says, blinking a little. Now that Harry’s gone and said it, Louis can’t stop thinking about it, about getting eaten out whenever Harry wanted. How easy it’d be. How it would feel.

“I’m the best and I’m the only person you trust enough to let eat you out,” Harry says. He runs his hands up Louis’ sides, stopping when they can’t go any further. This should feel weird, probably, being underneath someone bigger than him in a sexual situation, but mostly it just feels normal.

Seriously. How did Louis not see this coming.

That doesn’t mean he has to start taking any of Harry’s shit, though. “Could ask Liam.”

Harry laughs, dropping his head onto Louis’ chest. “Because that wouldn’t be the most awkward conversation that you’ve ever had in your entire life.”

“Actually, I think the most awkward conversation that I’m ever going to have in my life is the conversation I have trying to explain this to my mum,” Louis says thoughtfully. It’s weird, talking about his mum while his cock is still hard, but it’s not really any weirder than talking about Liam while his cock was hard.

“Was I not supposed to have known this for four years?” Harry asks, adopting a higher pitch that’s clearly supposed to be Louis’ mum.

It’s actually not bad, his imitation, but he’s still talking about Louis’ mum while they’re trying to have sex. “I hate you,” Louis says, and wiggles until he can kick Harry in the back.

He’s in the middle of congratulating himself on being so flexible when he ends up with a face full of pillow. “Jesus, that’s going to get really old really fast,” he gasps, spitting out a mouthful of fabric.

Harry settles over Louis’ back easily, skin warm in all the places that they’re touching. “It’s never going to get old,” he murmurs, and then there’s cold all along Louis’ back. He only has a second to wonder what’s going on before Harry’s peeling him out of his pants, leaving him completely naked.

It’s a little less weird than he thought it might be, being completely naked while Harry looks at him. There’s heat squirming in his belly, but it’s a good kind of heat, a kind of oh my god he’s looking at me heat that Louis has only ever felt when it’s Harry looking at him.

There’s plenty of time for Louis to respond before Harry’s hands land on his arse, but for some reason he just doesn’t, like he’s pinned to the mattress by the weight of Harry’s stare.

Harry’s hands just rest there for a minute, squeezing so lightly that Louis can barely feel it. “You have such a nice bum, too,” Harry says, and then there’s no time to say anything before his breath hits Louis’ hole, before the first swipe of his tongue.

“Bloody hell,” Louis wheezes, fingers tangling in the sheets. It’s like everything that he never knew he was missing. Warm, wet laps over a place of him that he never thought he’d feel a tongue, never thought that he’d feel Harry’s tongue.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, not even bothering to lift his face. The words rumble through Louis’ skin, and his thighs clench like they’re trying to trap Harry’s head.

“Like you don’t know, you bastard,” Louis manages. Harry licks over him again, and again, and fuck if he wasn’t right. He’s only been at it for a couple of minutes and already Louis feels like he’d say anything to get Harry to keep doing it until he comes all over the sheets.

There’s a lot of things that Harry knows about him, things that Louis has never had to tell him, but he knows all the same. Things that maybe Louis wouldn’t want to admit to, but things that are true all the same.

Clearly this is one of them. Holding back isn’t going to do anything but prove Harry right, and that’s going to happen either way, so.

“Please,” Louis gasps, trying to shove his hips back into Harry’s face. It’s rude, maybe, but Harry really should have seen it coming.

Turns out that he did see it coming, though, because there’s nowhere for Louis’ hips to go, not with the way Harry’s holding them so tightly. “I got you, baby,” Harry says, the words almost lost. It’s so hot, almost stifling, and Louis is sweating but Harry is too so that doesn’t even matter.

Something changes. Maybe Harry was waiting for Louis to ask for it, because he starts giving it to him properly, jaw working hard enough that Louis feels bad for him, just for a split second. Then he doesn’t care anymore, because this might be the best thing he’s ever felt in his life.

It gets better. Somehow, it gets better. Harry’s tongue eases past his rim, inside of Louis’ body.

And that. That’s like fireworks going off in his brain. His legs spread, trying to coax Harry into leaning into him harder, and by the time he realizes that he’s talking he’s already promised Harry his firstborn - which, he isn’t sure how that’s gonna work, seeing as Louis’ firstborn will also be Harry’s firstborn - at least ten sexual favours that Louis didn’t even know that he knew, and all of Louis’ royalties from the next album.

Whatever. They practically have a joint account as it is.

“Shh, sweetheart, I know what you need,” Harry says, and Louis fumbles with his own hands until he finds one of Harry’s and clutches on, fingers curling. Harry’s tongue stabs into him again, harder this time, and it’s not like Louis has never put his own fingers inside of himself before, but this is different.

It’s not as full, but it’s better. Jesus, it’s so much better.

Harry wiggles his tongue around, not withdrawing it from Louis’ hole, and Louis gasps helplessly into the pillow as he comes, eyes slipping closed as he rides it out.

His lashes feel spiky when he opens his eyes, clumpy like they’re sticking together. His fingertips and toes are still tingling from the force of his orgasm, cock gone mostly soft. Harry’s tongue is gone, but the weight of him is back, head resting against Louis’ spine. His fingers are drawing idle patterns on Louis’ ribs, oddly soothing even though Louis is normally ticklish.

“What the hell,” Louis croaks out. He wiggles irritably until Harry lifts up enough that he can turn over, trying to ignore the way his cock is sticky with his own come.

“You sound angry,” Harry says. He doesn’t look worried, eyes bright and mouth still red.

Louis’ arms feel like jelly. It’s a struggle to get them up around Harry’s neck, but he manages. “Of course I’m angry, I thought you were exaggerating when you said that I’d beg for it.”

Harry’s making an effort not to smile, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. It’s not working, dimples still forming in his cheeks, but one of Louis’ main goals in life has always been to make Harry smile, so he can’t take offense to it, even though Louis can normally take offense to anything.

“Well,” Harry says.

“Anything you say will be used against you in the immediate future,” Louis says, cutting him off before he can say whatever dirty thing he’d planned on saying.

Harry’s smile isn’t anything close to fading. “I didn’t need to have had sex with you before to know what you’d like.”

Jesus. Occasionally he does live up to his reputation as England’s most inexplicably charming man.

Cockiest too, of course, but that’s not anything new. “Shut up and kiss me.”

“You sure you wanna get kissed by this mouth?” Harry asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

Like Louis would be grossed out by the thought of Harry’s mouth after it’s been on his bum. He’s more grossed out by some of the things that Niall’s eaten. “Well if you didn’t want to kiss me you could have just said so,” he sniffs, and makes a token attempt to push Harry off of him.

“Please, like I’ve ever not wanted to kiss you,” Harry says, and holds Louis’ wrists together in one hand as they kiss. It’s a loose grip, one that Louis could get out of easily if he really wanted to, even if he stuck to playing fair.

He wouldn’t, because playing fair isn’t in Louis’ nature, but he could.

It’s a long, slow kiss, deep and warm and wet. It’s the type of kiss that people have after they’ve been together for a while, sure of itself. Probably they’ve been together in everything but name and physicality for years, though. Louis is just slow on the uptake, sometimes.

“You wanna come any time this century?” Louis asks, breaking the kiss properly. If he concentrates he can feel the slickness in his arse still, looser than he normally is. It doesn’t feel weird, exactly, but it’s something that will take a little bit of getting used to.

“I wanna come a lot of times this century,” Harry answers. The flex of muscles in his arm, holding Louis’ wrists above both of their heads, is downright obscene.

Louis really needs to start sabotaging his gym trips. “Well I don’t think that you’re going to come like this any time soon.” He’s half hard again himself, and he’s pretty sure that he could get all the way there again with no problem.

“I dunno about that,” Harry says thoughtfully. “If you just lie there and look pretty it probably wouldn’t take very long at all.”

“Are you trying to say that I don’t look pretty right now?” Louis demands. He starts shoving Harry’s pants down his hips, trying to get him to take the hint. For someone who’s been waiting for this for four years he doesn’t seem to be in any particular hurry.

“If you were any prettier I might have to put a bag over your face so I wouldn’t have to look at you anymore,” Harry says. He’s finally taking the hint, though, shucking his pants and kicking them off the end of the bed. They’ll probably end up neatly folded over a chair by the time Louis gets up in the morning.

“What a coincidence!” Louis exclaims. “If you were any uglier I would have to do the same for you.”

“Is there any lube in here?” Harry asks abruptly, in that spacey way he has when he’s been thinking about it for a minute but having an entirely different conversation at the same time.

They glance towards the bedside table at the same time and decide that no, there’s not. It’s the room that they sleep in most often, which Louis probably should have recognized as odd before, because when he sleeps in here it’s always with Harry. It’s closer to the living room, so they end up falling into bed at three or four o’clock in the morning when they can’t keep their eyes open any longer.

There’s a minute of silence before Harry sighs and heaves himself out of the bed, making for the door faster than he normally would. Louis splays himself out across the bed more comfortably, wrists a little cold now that they don’t have Harry’s fingers wrapped around them.

He’s only getting a little bit bored by the time Harry comes back. His cock is still the same, half hard, but clearly the time apart hasn’t made Harry’s flag even a little. It’s not the first time that he’s seen it hard, but it’s different this time, knowing that it’s going to be inside of him soon.

A little intimidating, if he’s being honest.

“So how many fingers are you gonna give me?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow. Harry comes to a slow stop a couple of feet away from the bed and looks him over, lingering on his cock, come still clinging to it.

“How many do you think it’s gonna take?” Harry asks, gripping his cock with one hand loosely. It looks big even in his own gigantic hand, but honestly.

“I mean, I don’t think any are really necessary, if I’m being honest,” Louis says, shrugging one shoulder.

Harry lets go of his cock to get back onto the bed, settling back down between Louis’ legs like he never left. “So I should just shove it in, that’s what you’re saying?”

Louis hides his wince pretty well, he thinks. “Maybe one,” he allows graciously.

“Maybe three,” Harry says, opening the lube and pouring some out onto his fingers. He rubs it, trying to warm it, which Louis appreciates, even if he’s not going to say that out loud. Can’t have Harry getting too big of an ego, after all.

He already knows exactly how good he takes care of Louis.

“I dunno how big you think your cock is, Styles,” Louis starts. He gets cut off by Harry’s mouth pressing against his, kissing him insistently.

The fingers nudging up against his hole come as a shock. He was mostly expecting Harry to fuck around a little more, take his time, but now he seems determined, slipping his index finger straight in.

It’s nothing that Louis hasn’t felt before. Bigger, sure, because Harry really does have gigantic hands, but it’s not like he’s never fingered himself before, even when he wasn’t thinking about taking a cock in him.

So he really doesn’t know why he gasps like he’s never felt anything like it before. “Feels good?” Harry asks, mumbling the words into Louis’ mouth.

Normally the first finger doesn’t really feel like anything. A bit of pressure, maybe even an intrusion if he’s not ready for it. Now, though, it feels like sparks flying up his spine, blood pumping through his cock.

“Yeah,” Louis says.

“Tell me when you want another,” Harry says, finger wiggling and brushing up against Louis’ prostate.

Louis’ toes are already curling. “Now,” he says immediately, trying to find a section of Harry’s hair that isn’t too sweaty to hang onto.

Maybe if this was anyone but Harry they’d be concerned that he was taking it too fast, his first time getting prepped to take a dick in him. They’d be wrong, but Harry isn’t one of them, slipping a second finger along with the first without Louis even having to punch him in the face.

It feels fuller, fuller than it usually does when Louis uses two fingers. There’s more pressure, better pressure against every spot that feels the best. There’s tangles in Harry’s hair, probably from sleeping on the plane. Maybe if he fucks Louis good enough Louis will give him a head massage in the shower.

Two fingers turn into three without Harry having to ask if he’s ready for it, spreading and twisting. The kissing is less kissing and more breathing into each other’s mouths by now, but that’s alright. It’s enough to know that their mouths are close enough that they could be kissing, sharing the same space.

There’s something to be said about having sex with the person who knows you best, the person who can tell what you want without having to ask. It’s already the best sex of Louis’ life.

“Hey,” he says, breathing the word into Harry’s mouth.

“Hey,” Harry says back. He looks like he’s in love. He doesn’t look any different than Louis can ever remember him looking.

God, Louis sucks so much.

“You know how much I love you, right?” he asks. Harry’s fingers slow to a complete stop.

“I’m starting to get the idea, yeah,” Harry says. Louis changes his mind. Harry just looks like a dickhead.

Before he can tell him that, Harry pulls his fingers out and rips a rubber open easily. Louis tries not to think about how many other people he’s done that with. Not as many as the media would like to think, but there’s no pretending that this is Harry’s first time.

First time with a boy, though. That has to count for something.

First time with Louis. That should count for everything.

“You ready?” Harry asks. One of his hands goes to Louis’ wrist, almost automatically, like that’s what it does when it’s not doing anything else.

Louis licks his lips while he considers it. “Ready,” he agrees. Harry kisses him again, short and sweet, before he starts pushing in.

It’s different than fingers - big and inescapable, held down underneath Harry’s body as he gets dicked for the first time. Harry doesn’t stop until he’s all the way in. Louis has absolutely no idea how long it takes, only that Harry keeps slowing to press kisses to his mouth that distract him from figuring it out.

Once he’s all the way in, his free hand joins his first one, on Louis’ other wrist. Louis chews on his lip a little and lets his legs spread a little, giving Harry more room to work with.

“Alright?” Harry asks.

“S’good,” Louis says. It is good, good enough to make him remember his cock, lying hard against his thigh. He doesn’t pull free from Harry’s hold so much as he pulls both of their arms down until he can wrap his fingers around it.

“Really good,” Harry agrees, watching for a minute before he starts moving. It’s real movement, none of those tiny little gentle thrusts to test things out.

Damn but did Louis pick a good one.

Either Harry actually is a sex god or he’s so in tune with Louis that he can tell what every tiny little movement or noise means, because it takes him all of three thrusts before he figures out the angle to nail Louis’ prostate consistently at.

“I’m gonna divorce you,” Louis mumbles, clutching onto Harry’s shoulders and trying not to let his eyes roll back into his head.

Harry’s answering laugh is short of breath, so at least there’s that. “Gonna take me for half of my assets?”

“You were the idiot who didn’t make me sign a pre-nup,” Louis says, letting his eyes slip closed.

“Like you would’ve married me if I had have,” Harry says. Louis doesn’t wait for him to figure it out this time, just hauls him back down to kiss him again. It makes the thrusts shorter, but that’s okay. He feels like he’s coming out of his skin as it is.

“Marry you no matter what,” Louis murmurs. Harry makes a noise that’s a cross between a moan and a hiss, decidedly unsexy, no matter what Louis’ cock thinks. He pushes himself up onto one elbow and starts really giving it to him, fast and strong and jesus what the hell has this kid been eating for the past four years.

He strokes his cock the best that he can, getting bounced along with Harry’s thrusts, and he knows that he’s clenching around Harry’s cock as his orgasm gets closer and closer, but that has to feel good, right? Harry’s making noise like it does, so Louis bites his own lip and strokes himself faster and comes.

It’s not as intense as his first orgasm, so he manages to tune back in in time to catch Harry start coming, mouth slackening, eyebrows tightening.

Louis is of the opinion that most people look pretty stupid when they come, himself included, but he’s willing to make an except for Harry. It doesn’t feel like he thought it would, mostly just feels the same. Steadier, maybe, because Harry shoves in and stays there while he comes.

The appeal of doing it without a rubber is starting to make more sense. More cleanup, but there has to be a reason that it’s so popular in porn. Maybe they’ll try it that way next time. Louis is pretty sure that Harry wouldn’t disagree.

Harry takes a minute to catch his breath, face tucked into Louis’ shoulder. Louis suspects that he’s crying a little, but he doesn’t call him out on it. He’s pretty sure that it’s good crying, the product of getting what he wanted after four years.

“I’m gonna put a clause into the pre-nup that says that you can’t be so mean to me anymore,” Harry says eventually.

Louis waits until he’s pulled out to kick him out of the bed.

There ain’t gonna be no pre-nup.