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Best Intentions Get Misunderstood

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Harry’s bored. Harry’s been bored for the past hour. He doesn’t want to watch telly, or surf the internet, or read a book, or cook, or go outside. He knows what he wants to do, but Louis is being stubborn.

“Pouting isn’t going to help your case any, you know,” Louis remarks. He leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees and taps a few keys on his laptop. The stretch of muscles in his back is downright obscene. He shouldn’t be allowed to look like that and then ignore Harry for hours on end.

“I’m not pouting,” Harry says. Louis hums and watches something happen on his screen before sitting up again. It means that Harry doesn’t get to ogle his naked back anymore, but it also means that Louis’ naked back comes into contact with Harry’s naked chest, so. It’s hard to tell what’s a win and what’s a lose.

“You are pouting. You’re pouting and leering at me. I think I’ll have to add two more slaps to your total.” Harry pouts a little more, glad that Louis can’t see his face, and sneaks his hand around to grope at Louis’ cock a little.

Louis slaps his hand hard. Harry pulls it away, hissing. “You can’t just sit in my lap naked and then ignore me,” Harry complains.

“Well, first off, I’m not sitting in your lap,” Louis says. He pulls the computer onto his lap. Harry’s kind of worried that it’s going to hurt his cock, which would be horrible. Louis has such a pretty cock. Harry’s quite fond of it.

“You’re kind of sitting in my lap,” Harry grumbles. Louis isn’t, mostly - he’s sitting in between Harry’s legs with about four inches between his arse and Harry’s body, but it’s close enough that Harry can practically feel his skin.

Would like to feel his skin. “I’m not, and I’m working,” Louis says. Now that he’s got the laptop closer Harry can see that he’s got a spreadsheet open with dates and times scheduled into it, probably updating Harry’s calendar. He’s being a spectacular PA.

He’d be an even better PA if he’d let Harry put his cock in him. “You could be working on getting me off and you’d still be getting paid,” Harry says. Louis slaps him again, harder, on the thigh this time.

Harry yelps, because it really fucking hurt. Louis goes back to ignoring him, so Harry pouts and crosses his arms over his chest. Fine. Harry can play that game too.

Two minutes later it turns out that Harry can’t play that game, because from this position Harry can see just enough of Louis’ arse to keep his dick hard, the swell of it practically begging for Harry’s hands.

Harry grits his teeth and tries thinking unsexy thoughts - Liam yelling at him because he used up the last of the cereal, Gemma doing anything beyond holding hands with her boyfriend, Zayn and Louis running around after a show antagonizing everyone, Louis getting sweaty and hanging off of people, Louis getting sweaty and hanging off of Harry, Louis smirking up at him and ducking him whenever Harry tries to go in for a kiss, Louis. Just Louis.

Probably this isn’t working then.

Harry grips his cock with one hand and drags up slowly, head bumping into Louis’ arse unintentionally. It feels so good he has to do it again, dragging the head of his cock down in between Louis’ cheeks.

Louis allows it for two seconds. “You do realize that I’m not going to have sex with you, right?” he asks, but Harry can hear the amusement in his voice, so he drags his cock back up again, pausing just for a split second to push gently against Louis’ hole.

“You do realize that I don’t need you to have sex with me to get off, right?” Harry grunts, concentrating on this. It’s not hard, having Louis’ arse hot and smooth against the head of his prick.

“Okay then,” Louis says, and goes back to typing things on the keyboard. Harry keeps jerking off, grip tight, as he rummages through the bedside table for the lube. He pours some onto his cock once he finally finds it, making the glide of his hand easier.

He can’t tear his eyes away from Louis’ arse, and how his cock looks next to Louis’ arse, and he doesn’t particularly want to. He does want to see more of it, though, so he wiggles his toes underneath Louis’ thighs and tries to lift him up a little, so Harry can catch a better glimpse of his hole.

Louis remains stubbornly unhelpful, dead weight on top of Harry’s feet. Harry has to laugh a little, because it’s so fucking Louis, but he keeps going, rubbing his fingers over his cockhead.

After a few more minutes, Louis heaves a dramatic sigh and says, “If I suck your dick will you leave me alone for the rest of the day?”

Yes,” Harry says. He holds his cock loosely and waits as patiently as he can for Louis to close the laptop and set it down on the table - which is to say, not patiently at all.

“I’m not deepthroating you,” Louis warns. He rearranges himself, leaning over Harry’s lap.

He doesn’t need any help, Harry knows, and he’ll just do it when he feels like it, capable of sinking all the way down in one breath, but Harry still threads a hand through his hair.

“You don’t need to,” Harry says. “Probably just come the second you get your mouth around me.” Louis shoots him an amused glance, up through his eyelashes, so fucking pretty that Harry groans and pushes his cock a little closer to Louis’ mouth hopefully.

It’s probably gross, lube still clinging to his cock, but Louis lets him push in without even wincing, head of his cock slipping past Louis’ lips, into the warmth of his mouth. And that. That feels like heaven, the same that it always does. No matter how many times Louis deems it appropriate to suck Harry’s cock it always feels like the end of the world in the best possible way.

True to his word, Louis doesn’t take in much more than the first few inches, mouth warm and wet on Harry’s cock. He’s being lazy about it, the prick, and it’s a lackluster blowjob at best, but there’s no denying the fact that it’s going to get Harry off regardless.

It’s going to get him off pretty quickly, at that. How could it not, with this view - prettiest boy he’s ever seen mouthing at the head of his dick, determinedly not looking up because he always complains that Harry gets too intense when he’s getting blown, but Harry knows he likes it. Knows that he likes being looked at when he’s sucking cock, hates the thought of Harry’s attention straying, even for a minute.

“God,” Harry sighs, slipping his fingers through Louis’ hair. “Always suck my cock so good, baby, don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

Louis pulls off abruptly, leaving Harry’s cock cold and wet, already missing the warmth of Louis’ mouth. “Changed my mind,” he says, shoving the sheets out of the way irritably and climbing up into Harry’s lap.

“Gonna get fucked?” Harry asks, immediately slipping his hands around to hold Louis’ arse, get his fill of how it feels.

Not that he thinks that he could ever get his fill of how it feels.

“Not if you keep talking,” Louis snipes, fumbling around behind Harry with one hand until he comes out with the bottle of lube.

“You like it when I talk, though,” Harry murmurs, taking the lube when Louis presses it into his hand and snicking it open. It’s cold when he squeezes it out, so he rubs it between his fingers for a minute, warming it enough that Louis will only complain half-heartedly about it.

It takes a minute to arrange Louis into a position that won’t make Harry’s wrist cramp from the angle, but once he does it’s so worth it, pressing his index finger into that warm, tight clench of muscle.

Louis’ still a little loose from earlier, from before he showered Harry’s come out, and he doesn’t need much prep, but that doesn’t mean that Harry’s not going to give it to him.

“Hate the sound of your voice,” Louis maintains, even though he’s slumped against Harry’s chest letting him finger the finest arse in all of England. All of the U.K. All of the world, probably.

If he hated the sound of Harry’s voice there’s no way he’d be letting Harry do that.

“Let me tell you something,” Harry says, nudging a second finger in beside the first so he can spread them out and feel Louis shiver against him. He’s always more sensitive the second time around.

“Not sure that anything you have to say is going to be worth listening to,” Louis says.

Harry might’ve believed it if it wasn’t for the way that Louis tightens up around his fingers, nails scratching over the backs of his shoulders.

Also if it wasn’t for the way that Louis doesn’t mean most of the insults that he hurls in Harry’s direction.

“I love you,” Harry says, rubbing his fingertips over Louis’ prostate firmly and repeatedly, until he’s got Louis’ back arching and his mouth dropping open a little. It’s not exactly what he meant to say, but it’s close enough.

This position isn’t cutting it anymore, not when he can have Louis underneath him in the bed that they bought together, in the bed that they only get the chance to sleep in so many times before they go back out on tour.

They should probably make the most of it. It was a rather expensive bed, after all.

“You better fucking love me, been letting you put your cock in me arse bare for months,” Louis grumbles, hitting the mattress with a soft noise that isn’t quite surprise.

“Love that you let me put my cock in your arse bare,” Harry says, wiggling his fingers in case Louis has forgotten where they are.

Louis’ impatient squirm definitely tells him that he hasn’t. “You should be grateful,” he says, wiggle turning into the rocking that always means that he’s beyond ready.

Sometimes Harry gives in to him, sometimes he doesn’t. This is the second time they’ve had sex since they got out of bed four hours ago, though, and Harry spent twenty minutes eating him out the first time, so this’ll be the time he gives in.

Plus the way that his cock has been hard for what seems like eternity is really starting to become apparent.

“I am grateful,” Harry says, using his free hand to hold Louis’ head still so they can kiss again, just for a minute.

“Good,” Louis says, letting Harry push his thighs farther apart. “Wouldn’t want your ego go getting even bigger.”

“You say that now,” Harry says, biting at Louis’ mouth a little, “but the sounds that you make when you’re getting fucked only does good things for my ego.”

Whatever Louis was going to say gets lost in the noise he makes when Harry presses his cock against his hole and starts pushing in. It doesn’t take much, not when Louis is this ready for it.

There’s nothing like fully sinking his cock into this arse, and Harry means to tell Louis that, because he feels like it’s something Louis ought to know, but Louis cuts him off by saying, “God, never gonna get used to how fucking big it is,” with his mouth open and soft, plush from being kissed.

Logically, Harry knows that he’s mostly saying it to get a reaction, but there’s the tiniest little part that’s saying it because it’s true, and that will always get to Harry, no matter how small the part is.

“Like how big it is, don’t you,” Harry grits out, pulling out nearly all the way only so he can push back in, smooth because Louis is still slick and open from the first time.

“Only reason we’re still together, your dick,” Louis says, curling his leg around Harry’s back tighter. “Would have dumped you ages ago if it weren’t for this dick.”

Jesus. This shouldn’t be going directly to his cock the way that it is. “Need cock to make you feel good, yeah?”

He probably shouldn’t be so ready to come after three thrusts, but there’s the smell of sex in the air, the bed’s warm and he’s got his boy underneath him, griping at him like that’s going to distract him from how much he loves Harry’s cock.

“Gotta be a big cock, though,” Louis says. His hair’s mussed up underneath his head, and he looks about three years younger than he is, pink cheeked and sweet despite the fact that he’s clenching down on Harry’s cock like he was born to take it.

“Gotta be my cock,” Harry murmurs, and sets about holding back his orgasm so he can make Louis come first. It’s hard, because as much as he makes it into a joke Louis actually is the best thing he’s ever felt, and anytime Harry thinks about how lucky he is that Louis loves him back he’s nearly there.

Kissing Louis isn’t a good distraction, but he does it anyway, biting at Louis’ bottom lip until he opens up and lets Harry slip him some tongue.

Louis makes breathy, whimpery little noises into the kiss, hands clutching at Harry’s shoulders as he fucks him with long, slow strokes.

It’s too hard to keep up kissing Louis’ perfect little mouth at the same as he fucks his perfect little arse, so Harry lets it break and noses up against his jaw instead, dragging his mouth across Louis’ skin.

It has the completely gorgeous effect of causing Louis to arch up before Harry’s even used his teeth, back bending underneath Harry’s weight. He sucks until there’s bound to be a nice bruise there tomorrow, one that Louis will undoubtedly slap him for, and listens to Louis sob out little noises like he’s going to come any second.

He is, Harry realizes, toes curling against Harry’s back, clutching him tight between his thighs. He always needs some help the second time around, though, so Harry manages to get his fingers closed around Louis’ cock and pull him off without any finesse at all.

“Harry,” Louis murmurs, eyes fluttering like he’s trying to keep them open but mostly failing. The blue of his irises peeks out between blinks, pupils blown wide, and it’s not going to take him much to go over the edge.

Harry has the thing that’s going to get him there, though, and for once he’s not talking about his cock. “I love you, baby.”

“You fucker,” Louis gasps, even as he comes, cock spurting nicely in Harry’s hand. He always looks so fucking good when he’s coming, and Harry’s pretty close anyway, so he speeds up his strokes a little and doesn’t let go of Louis’ cock, jerking him through his orgasm as Harry chases his own.

Louis hasn’t even gotten his breath when he knocks Harry’s hand off and shoves him back, hard enough that Harry actually goes, cock slipping out of Louis’ arse and instantly missing the hot tight warmth.

“What,” Harry manages, one hand flying to his cock to grip it and keep it warm.

“Shut up,” Louis orders, pushing until Harry’s lying flat on the bed and swinging a knee over his hips. “I’m - I’m in charge now, understand?”

He grabs a hold of Harry’s cock and sinks back down onto it, head tipping down like he’s going to watch himself doing it. Harry’s hand gets knocked out of the way as he’s enveloped, and this isn’t unprecedented, exactly, but.

“Gon’ get yourself off again?”

That’s the only reason for this to be happening right now, but Harry’s cock isn’t sure that it approves of that. On one hand, Louis getting off is always going to make his cock happy, but on the other hand he’s been fucking Louis and wanting to come for at least ten minutes, and he’s not sure that he can last long enough to give Louis another orgasm.

“Maybe,” Louis answers, hands pressing into Harry’s sides as he starts moving, finding his rhythm easily.

“Gonna make it quick though, right, baby?” Harry presses, curving his fingers around Louis’ hips and helping him move, not that he needs it.

Louis tips his head back, baring the line of his neck, sparsely stubbled because he shaved yesterday. “Gonna take as long as I need.”

It probably won’t take him long. His cock is already hard again, lying against his thigh and twitching every so often, like it wants a hand. Harry can sympathize with that, but he’s already given Louis a hand twice today and he knows for a fact that Louis can manage without one.

It’ll still take him longer than Harry wants to give him, though. He could just roll Louis over and get back on top, and it wouldn’t even take that much effort - Louis would go easily, like he always does - and give it to him until he came, and it’d be faster than letting him do it at his own pace, but then there would be more slaps.

Probably at least ten.

The trick is to make Louis want to be back on the bottom, which actually isn’t as hard as it sounds.

“Okay,” Harry says, and lies still while Louis moves on top of him.

When they have sex, Louis is normally underneath him, and that’s the way he likes it best, because he can kick Harry in the back and complain that he’s not doing it hard enough or fast enough or at the right angle without actually having to work at making it better himself. They’ve done it like this before - they’ve done it in every position Harry can think of - but never after Louis has already come once and is working towards a second orgasm.

Harry is all about making his boy feel like the best thing in the world, because he is, even if he still slaps Harry in the face, and normally that would involve meeting Louis’ motions with his own and petting him all over, telling him what a good job he’s doing, focusing on making him come.

Now, Harry’s attention is split between his own orgasm and Louis’, so he lets his arms drop to the mattress and tries very hard not just flip Louis back over and go to town on him.

He watches Louis move instead, at his pretty little belly, already splattered with his own come, drying in a way that must be uncomfortable, at his thighs, spread wide around Harry’s hips, at his pink little nipples, up at his plush little mouth.

He means to keep his mouth shut and just let Louis do his thing until he gets too frustrated and demands that Harry takes over, but the words start slipping out of his mouth anyway.

“Look at you, so pretty for me,” he says, scratching his nails along the sheets so he doesn’t do it to Louis’ skin instead, “gonna let me fuck you until we both get off, huh? Get you off again even though you’ve already come twice today, greedy little thing.”

Louis sucks his lip between his teeth and starts moving faster. “Never let another guy fuck you like this, would you? Just gonna keep letting me get up in this arse for the rest of your life.”

“You fight dirty, Styles,” Louis says, voice barely more than a rasp, the way it always sounds when he gets so turned on he can barely breathe.

No matter what he says, though, Louis will always be the dirtiest fighter in the world. “Gonna get cock for the rest of me life, and it’s gonna be yours. That do something for you?”

Harry’s hands go flying back up to grip Louis’ hips again, much tighter this time. “Baby, please, can I, please - ”

“Yes, yes,” Louis says, just as urgently, and Harry’s moving before he’s even finished, flipping them back over. He doesn’t waste any time before picking up a rhythm, both faster and harder than Louis had been going. It only takes a couple of thrusts to find Louis’ prostate, and it’s immediately obvious from his tiny little whimpers.

He would get his hand around Louis again, but he’s got his hands full, arms wrapped around Louis’ back so they don’t go skidding up against the headboard, trying to keep from smashing his head open. Not that he thinks that Louis would really notice right now, trying to meld his legs into Harry’s sides.

“Louis, baby, come on,” he groans, sweat trickling down his temple, dangerously close to his eye. “Show me how pretty you are when you come, yeah? Know you like doing that.”

Louis is making the hottest fucking sounds as his fingers slide into Harry’s hair and mashes their mouths back together, less of a kiss than it is a bite. “Tell me,” he demands. He sounds a little lost, a little overwhelmed, and it’s a product of being so close to coming for the third time, Harry knows, but that doesn’t stop him from giving in to him anyway.

“You’re terrible and awful and you slap me for no reason all the time and I love all that about you,” he says. “And I love that you don’t let me get away with anything and I love that you take care of me even when you won’t admit it and I love you so much it hurts sometimes.”

That’s all it takes to have Louis coming again, untouched this time, eyes squeezed closed like it hurts a little, and that finally, finally means that Harry can concentrate on himself.

He shifts Louis up a bit, keeping his thighs pinned to his sides, and gives him a few good thrusts, watching Louis’ face, and comes easily, shuddering out his orgasm in the tight warm clench of Louis’ body.

Louis waits until he’s pulled out and re-arranged them underneath the covers to dole out his first slap, hitting Harry in the groin, just above his dick. It’s not hard, but still.

“Seriously?”

“Don’t just fuck me and then tuck me into bed like I’m some bloody prostitute that you won’t even kiss,” Louis complains immediately. “The fuck does this look like to you, a brothel?”

“You want kisses, baby?” Harry asks, and gets his mouth on Louis’ before he has the chance to slap him again. They snog for a while, slow and lazy, until Harry’s eyes start to get heavy and they’re both just breathing into each other’s mouths.

He’s almost asleep by the time he gets a slap in the dick.

 

They’re in the middle of an interview, and Liam’s getting the third degree about his relationship status, completely failing at avoiding it. Harry would help him out and change the subject, but Liam had helped Louis remove the laces from every single pair of shoes that Harry owns. They’d used them to tie all of Harry’s underwear together. He’s still a little mad about it.

So Harry doesn’t say anything. He sits back, smirking, while Liam shoots him death glares every time the camera pans away from his face.

He’s not expecting it when the interviewer turns to face him and says, “And you, Harry, you’ve been awfully quiet about your love life lately. The only person who’s been caught coming out of your hotel room is one of your crew, is that right?”

Harry laughs. “No, I think Liam’s also been caught coming out of my hotel room a couple times, haven’t you, babe?”

Liam laughs, too. “God, imagine all the inventive ways he’d come up with to torture us before he finally murdered us.”

Harry has to laugh into his hands, partially because Louis totally would, but mostly because the idea of fucking Liam is just funny. If Harry ever tried doing the things he does to Louis to Liam, Liam would flip out within the first five minutes, guaranteed.

By the time their giggling fit is over, the interviewer has the most confused expression on her face that Harry’s ever seen. “Who is this, then?” she wants to know.

Now it’s Harry’s turn to be confused. “Louis?”

Her face falls a little. “Oh. I thought you were going to give us a scoop on who your latest love interest is.”

“Oh, mate, you’re going to get so many slaps once he sees this,” Liam cackles. Harry shushes him absently, still wondering what’s going on.

“I mean, he’s not a new love interest or anything but he is the only one,” Harry says.

“Who?” the interviewer asks, expression brightening up again. This seriously can’t be happening.

Harry looks over to Paul, waiting for them to finish in what looks to be a comfortable chair. Harry’s jealous. They always get stuck on furniture that’s too small for them. “Is she serious?” he asks, but Paul has the same blank look on his face that Harry does.

“Well, that does explain the complete lack of a freak out by everyone,” Zayn comments. It’s the first thing he’s said in nearly five minutes.

Harry’s - Harry’s flabbergasted. There’s really no other word to describe what he’s feeling right now. “I kiss him on the mouth!” he cries. “He’s the only person I’ve kissed on the mouth in a year and a half! What did people think I was doing?”

“Well, he’s not the only person you’ve kissed on the mouth,” Niall points out. “Remember that time you tried to kiss Liam on the cheek and accidentally got his mouth? That was like, three weeks ago.”

“Wait wait wait,” the interviewer says. Harry really needs to work on remembering names. He’s good with faces, but names elude him. “Are you telling me that you’re in a romantic relationship with your tour manager?”

Harry can’t stop his face from immediately scrunching up. Paul makes the exact same face from across the room. “Assistant tour manager,” he corrects.

The woman’s face is still a little disbelieving. Harry turns to the boys. “I didn’t imagine kissing him in public or telling everyone who asked that he’s my future husband, did I?”

He catches a glimpse of Louis out of the corner of his eye, passing through the room with a clipboard in his hands. He’s probably actually doing something, but Harry is so confused right now.

“Louis!” he yells. Louis stops and then takes another few steps, like he’s thinking about ignoring Harry yelling out his name in a room full of people. “Louis!”

Louis sighs. His shoulders slump, like he’s preparing himself for battle. Normally Harry would be offended by that, but he can’t concentrate on it right now. “What.”

Harry waves him over, ignoring the way Louis drags his feet. He puts his hands on Louis’ face as soon as he gets close enough, tipping his chin up so Harry can look him in the eyes. He’s a little squirmy, but only the way he always is when Harry drags him in front of a camera if he’s not prepared for it. He probably didn’t hear any of the conversation, then.

“We’re dating, right?” Harry asks, a little desperately.

Louis arches an eyebrow. “I’m not sure that I’d call what we’re doing dating,” he says thoughtfully. “I don’t think you can call hanging out in a hotel room and having sex dating.”

“You’re making it sound like you’re my booty call on television,” Harry hisses. Louis shrugs, uncaring.

“It’s not like it’s live,” he points out. He takes a second look at Harry’s expression and sighs. “Alright, just tell me what you’re so upset about.”

“She didn’t know that we’re together,” Harry says.

Louis laughs. He stops when no one else joins in. “What, seriously?”

“She wanted me to give her a scoop on who my latest love interest is,” Harry says.

Louis’ expression evens. He doesn’t seem upset. Harry doesn’t understand why he doesn’t seem upset. This is very upsetting. The entire world needs to know that he’s got this locked down.

Seriously though. Harry doesn’t understand how many times a picture of them kissing in public has to end up in the tabloids for people to stop thinking that Harry’s trying to hook up with Selena Gomez or Demi Lovato or whoever this week.

And, okay, most of the time it’s just a picture of them kissing goodbye at the airport when Harry goes to L.A. to do some promo for a couple days, but it counts.

Then there’s also the blurry two minute video of them kissing behind the tour bus where they thought no one could see them that definitely counts.

“So she wanted you to talk about how you’re secretly in love with Liam, then?” Louis asks. Harry doesn’t approve of what his face is doing, but he can’t get it to stop.

“Don’t joke,” Harry says. Louis sighs again and takes a step towards Harry, fitting them together properly. He fists one hand in Harry’s shirt, the way he does when they’re at home and he’s about to use his grip for nefarious purposes, usually to make Harry follow him somewhere.

There’s really no need for it. Harry would follow him anywhere.

“You want me to tell them?” Louis asks quietly. He uses his grip to pull Harry’s shoulders down, a little closer to his.

“I just want them to know,” Harry says, frustrated. Everyone should be able to tell. It’s written all over his face whenever he looks at Louis.

Louis hums and slips his hands up to Harry’s neck, tugging gently until Harry lets him rest their heads together. “We’ll do an interview if you want,” he murmurs, soft enough that Harry’s the only one who hears it. “I’ll even let you kiss me on camera if you want. But you know that I don’t care, yeah? The headlines about Harry Styles picking up a new woman every week don’t bother me. It’d be stupid to believe them when I know you’ve been locked up in a hotel room with me.”

The hurt in Harry’s chest eases a little. Louis being happy is one of the most important things in the world. Harry has to make him happy. “Lemme kiss you,” Harry says. If they were at home or in a hotel or even backstage with the boys Harry wouldn’t ask. He’d just do it and suffer the consequences if Louis didn’t appreciate it at the moment.

They’re in front of an interviewer and a tech crew with a couple cameras, though, and Harry’s conscious of that, if only barely. He doesn’t want his miniature freak out to be aired, but it’s more important that Louis knows that Harry loves him.

Louis says something that Harry doesn’t catch before fitting their mouths together, soft and warm. The hurt in Harry’s chest fades away completely.

Louis only kisses him for a minute before he’s pulling away, already turning and saying, “That footage is never going to see the light of day without our consent if you ever want to work in this industry again.”

Jesus. Harry loves him so fucking much.

 

“You have to be quiet,” Louis hisses. His elbow catches Harry in the throat, hard enough that Harry chokes a little.

“I hate this so much,” Harry groans. He presses himself into the wall harder and tries not to hit his head on the bunk above them. He still doesn’t know why he let Louis talk him into taking a middle bunk. It’s the one with the least head space plus Harry nearly falls out every night when Louis shoves him to try to get more room.

At least if they had have taken the bottom one Harry would only roll out onto the floor instead of crashing his way down to the ground. The last time that happened Louis had laughed at him for a solid five minutes and then gone back to sleep.

Zayn throws his leg over Harry’s lap and sucks one of Louis’ fingers into his mouth. Harry absolutely doesn’t glare at him.

Louis notices him not glaring and rolls his eyes. “This was your idea, you know,” he points out. He probably thinks he’s being rational.

“That was before I knew there’d be touching,” Harry says. He gestures wildly and nearly hits Zayn in the face. Good. He has it coming.

Louis cackles. Harry contemplates shoving him out of the bunk, but it doesn’t seem like a very good idea. Louis is really good at withholding sex. Harry is not so good at having sex withheld.

Plus there’s the whole slap thing that Louis has yet to let go of. Harry had high hopes for seeing the end of it when they’d gone back on tour, thinking that Louis probably wouldn’t want to be slapping the person he’s having regular sex with in the face, but it turns out that Louis is an equal opportunity slapper. They’ll probably have four kids and be cheering the last one on during her high school graduation and Harry will still get a slap in the face.

“Of course there’s touching, did you think I was going to be able to get it in all by myself? It’s not exactly the smallest I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s what she said,” Zayn mutters, and Harry resists the urge to commit suicide by shoving his face into his own pillow and suffocating himself.

Louis wiggles his eyebrows and goes, “No, that’s what he said.” Harry groans loudly, covering his face with his hands.

“I hate both of you,” he mutters. Louis lands a stinging smack to the back of his hands, knocking his head back into the wall.

Harry lets his hands drop limply to his sides and pouts until Louis sighs as loudly as he can, swings a leg over Harry’s lap, and leans in to kiss him.

The kiss is chaste, more a smack of lips than anything, and of course Harry immediately gets another slap in the face as soon as Louis pulls away.

“I don’t understand why I can’t help you with this. It was my idea,” Harry complains.

“Anything you touch is going to end up covered in glitter,” Zayn says darkly, which isn’t even remotely fair. Accidentally spill glitter all over someone’s clothes one time and you never hear the end of it.

Harry folds his arms across his chest and slumps back into the wall. “I still don’t see why this has to involve glitter, anyway.”

“Because the look on Liam’s face when he’s shaking glitter out of all of his gym equipment for weeks is going to be hilarious,” Louis says. He shakes a little more onto Zayn’s hand, and they’re working perfectly in sync without even having to say anything to each other.

Harry despises the both of them.

“I just said that it would be funny if it was something that’s hard to get out,” Harry mutters.

“Which is glitter,” Zayn says scathingly. Harry makes a mental note to convince Louis to burn all of his shoes. It’ll probably take some work, but Louis is always in a much better mood after he’s been eaten out. Maybe he’ll even let Harry help.

“Whatever,” Harry says. He closes his eyes and resolutely doesn’t watch the way Louis and Zayn look huddled close together, because if he does that he’s going to get even more pouty and then Louis will add another five slaps to his tally.

He’s already at forty-five. He can’t handle any more being added.

He keeps his eyes closed until they’re finished, and then only opens them a little so he can watch Zayn climb out of the bunk much more elegantly than Harry has ever been able to do.

Louis rummages around for a few minutes, presumably putting things away. They’re still going to wake up with glitter stuck to their cheeks, but Harry can handle that. It’ll probably be a good look for Louis anyway.

He opens his eyes properly once Louis starts shifting in earnest, trying to draw the covers up around them. It’s not particularly cold in the bus, and they’re going to wake up warm and probably at least a little sweaty, but Louis hates sleeping without something covering him.

“Don’t give me that look,” Louis orders, flipping over so he’s on his side. Harry’s still leaning up against the wall, and he’ll get shit for that in a few minutes, being in Louis’ spot, but for now he just sits there and admires the curve of Louis’ spine.

Fucking no sex on the bus rule.

They can do something that’s almost as good as sex, though, so Harry lies down behind Louis, fitting them back to front, bare skin against bare skin, and puts his mouth right up behind Louis’ ear. “I like the way your shoulders hunch in a little when you know I’m looking at you but you don’t want to admit it.”

He likes to imagine that he can feel Louis flushing, sometimes, even if he can’t see it, and he’s picturing it right now. Louis only sighs and fumbles around until he’s got their hands linked, and Harry’s the one that puts them on Louis’ bare belly but Louis is the one who lets them stay there.

“This is your one for the day,” Louis says warningly. Harry nods, Louis’ hair tickling his cheek with the motion. “I love you.”

Harry’s smile is probably pretty dumb. “I love you, too,” he says, and pushes himself up just enough that he can catch Louis’ mouth, kiss him a little. It’s a pretty gentle kiss, all told, but it doesn’t matter what type of kiss it is as long as it’s with Louis.

He settles back into place after a few minutes, making sure that they’re still curled together as tight as they can be.

Then it occurs to him. “You’re at least going to let me watch when Liam figures it out, right?”

 

Louis is hovering in the doorway between the bathroom and the bedroom, still naked save for a towel wrapped loosely around his hips. The mark Harry left just below his nipple a couple days ago is already fading. He makes a mental note to get on that as soon as he gets home. It’s no good if Louis’ body isn’t permanently bruised by Harry’s mouth.

After another minute of Louis just staring at him in silence while Harry gets dressed, he has to bite the bullet. “Alright, what is it.”

Louis rakes his fingers through his hair. It doesn’t catch on any tangles so that conditioner that they got must be working. “Do you know what this meeting is about?”

Harry shrugs and decides that the flannel shirt does work over this particular t-shirt, no matter what Louis says. He shrugs it on and is debating whether he should do up any of the buttons, some of the buttons or none of the buttons when he catches Louis’ eye in the mirror.

“Do you know what the meeting is about?” he asks suspiciously, because sometimes if the meeting’s about perfume or make-up or something Louis won’t tell him and then he’ll laugh at the expression on Harry’s face when he comes back.

Louis sighs softly and shrugs a little. “I mean, if I had to hazard a guess, yeah.”

“And?” Harry prompts when he doesn’t add anything else. This is a very strange conversation.

“They’re probably going to tell you that it’s time that you got a new assistant,” Louis says.

Harry’s hands slip off of the buttons. “What?”

Louis shrugs again and crosses the room. He does up the bottom three buttons of the flannel and nods to himself. “I’m surprised that they haven’t said it earlier, actually.”

Harry grabs Louis’ hands before he can slip away again. “I don’t want a new assistant.”

He doesn’t. Louis isn’t perfect, because he’s human and humans make mistakes, but he’s by far the best assistant that Harry has ever had, and Harry isn’t even saying that because he’s also the person who sucks Harry’s cock.

“It’s not about what you want, yeah? It’s about what’s best for your career,” Louis says. Harry just. He can’t. No.

“You’re the best thing for my career,” he says. The look on Louis’ face stops him in his tracks. “Are you. Do you not want to be my assistant anymore? Do you want to do something else? Oh my god. Louis. Why did you never tell me that you want to do something else?”

His heart is pounding. He never even thought to think about Louis not wanting to do this anymore.

Louis laughs, and Harry relaxes a little. If Louis is laughing then he must not want to leave. “No, Harry, that’s not what I was getting at. I just mean that it makes sense, from a business perspective. It’s not exactly a solid business plan to let your top earner’s assistant also be the guy he’s fucking on the regular. I’m pretty sure that’s why all of your other assistants got fired, you know.” He follows it up with a smile and nudges his fingers into Harry’s side.

He’s not mad. He genuinely doesn’t care about how many other people Harry’s slept with, which is good, because there’s a lot of them. But there’s something there that Harry thinks that the management executives have probably also thought, in a less joking manner.

“You’re more than just my assistant,” Harry says.

Louis rolls his eyes and interrupts. “Yes, I know, I’m also your spouse.”

No matter what they’re talking about, Harry can always take a minute out to take offense to the mocking way that Louis uses the word. “You’re going to be my spouse one day,” he says threateningly. “And when that day comes you’re going to be sorry that you made fun of me.”

“Pretty sure that I’m never going to be sorry for making fun of you, love,” Louis says cheerfully. He lets Harry draw him into a hug and start walking them backwards towards the bed. He really doesn’t have time for this - technically he has to leave in ten minutes to get to the meeting - but they have to finish this conversation first. Harry’s not going to walk into that unprepared. They need to decide what they’re going to do right now and put up an united front.

The bed is where all their serious discussions take place. Harry thinks that that’s probably not very adult of them, but, well, other adults aren’t faced with Louis Tomlinson’s arse every day either, so he’s pretty sure that he can’t be blamed.

“But seriously,” Harry says, once he’s got them situated properly, “you don’t actually want to leave, right? Because I want you to do whatever you want to do.”

The thought of doing this without Louis seems unfathomable. It’s silly, because technically Harry has been doing this without Louis longer than he’s been doing it with him, but the thought of going back to that makes him a little bit upset, he’s not going to lie.

“No, I mean, maybe one day I’ll want to do something else, but right now it’s more like a vacation than an actual job. I get to hang out with three of my best friends every day and travel the world. Plus I guess there’s you too.”

Harry presses a kiss behind Louis’ ear. Louis doesn’t say I love you like normal people, at least not to Harry. He’ll say it at least three times a day to each of the boys, tells Lux he loves her in a giggly, high pitched voice all the time, tells his family whenever he goes to hang up a phone call, but Harry has to work it out of him. An insult is a love declaration, coming from Louis.

Of course, Harry coaxes it out of him at least once a day, but that’s just semantics.

“Realistically, though,” Louis continues. He links their fingers together on his belly. “It’s not surprising that they’d assume that I was slacking off a little because we’re in a relationship.”

“I wish you would slack off,” Harry says. “If you slacked off maybe I’d get my dick sucked more.”

Louis’ elbow catches him in the ribs hard. Harry groans and crumples forward, resting his forehead against Louis’ back. “You get your dick sucked plenty,” Louis says.

“You’re the hardest working person that I know,” Harry says. He wants to spin Louis around and tell him to his face, but he’s so comfortable right here.

Well. Minus his jeans, anyway. “I want you with me until I’m old and gray. You’re not even my assistant, really. You’re the thing that keeps me together while we’re on tour. If I didn’t have you with me I’d probably just curl up into a little ball and cry all day.”

He’s only exaggerating a little. He plans on having Louis with him forever if Louis isn’t opposed. He could do it without Louis, probably, but why would he want to do that when instead he could be the person who goes with Harry everywhere. Every celebrity gets something that they get a pass on, right? Something that people think is a little weird but no one says anything about? Louis is that.

He’s the best at kicking Harry’s arse into gear, too. He’s even better than Harry’s mum is, and that’s saying something.

“You gonna tell your management company that?” Louis asks, a little challengingly.

“I’m gonna tell them that you’re my thing and I’m going to quit if they don’t let me have you,” Harry says.

Louis elbows him again. “Not a thing.”

“No, you’re the thing that I get a pass on,” Harry explains fumblingly. It sounds bad outside of his head.

Louis only sighs and slumps back into Harry’s chest, though. He must understand what Harry means, because he’s not slapping various parts of his body. “Are you sure?” he presses.

It’s not hard to lean back into the pillows, so that’s what Harry does. He’s going to be really late for his meeting, but they’ll have to live. Louis is tense again, like he knows that Harry is about to say something sappy.

He really should have seen that coming. “I could live in the tiniest little bachelor flat with you, broke and unemployed, and I would be happy,” Harry says carefully. Louis likes to pretend like he doesn’t like to hear about how much Harry loves him, and if Harry does it too blatantly when he’s not in the mood he gets slapped in the dick.

“I know that,” Louis says, only a little grouchily. Harry wiggles his fingers on Louis’ stomach, reveling in the feeling of his bare skin, fresh from his shower.

If only they had time to fuck. That would be really nice right now. “Is it weirdly co-dependent if I said that I don’t want to do this without you?” Harry asks eventually.

“Yes. Having space is normal and healthy,” Louis says, monotone.

Harry bites back a laugh. “Yesterday you got so twitchy from not seeing Zayn in three days that you drove over to see him at two in the morning.”

“Space between you and me,” Louis enunciates. He struggles half-heartedly, wiggling around in Harry’s grasp.

It doesn’t really help the whole not having time to have sex situation. “I’m just saying, I don’t think that this is exactly a situation that you can consider normal.”

Louis twists until he’s curled up in Harry’s lap with his side against Harry’s chest. The towel slips free in the process, leaving him completely naked.

So not helping the sex situation.

“You’re saying that you’re gonna fight to keep me,” Louis says. He’s keeping his eyes trained on his hands, tangled together in his lap. He looks so small that Harry has to kiss him, fingers tilting his jaw up for easier access.

Understanding how Louis’ mouth is everything that Harry’s ever wanted will never be easy, but Harry strives for it every day. Maybe then he’d finally be able to take a stand against all the slaps.

Probably not, because there doesn’t seem to be a scenario in which Louis will part with them, but. It’s nice in theory. In practice maybe not so much. Harry’s been Stockholmed into liking them a little.

“You’re going to be so late for your meeting,” Louis murmurs when the kiss breaks. Harry licks his own lip and looks down, to where Louis is shifting his thighs like he’s consciously trying not to rub them together in order to get some friction on his cock.

What Harry wouldn’t give to see that right now. “Another fifteen minutes isn’t going to hurt,” he says. He can’t be expected to just ignore the way that Louis’ cock is lying half hard between his legs now that he’s seen it, can he?

Louis scoffs. “When has it ever only taken us fifteen minutes? I’m pretty sure that you don’t even know the meaning of a quickie.”

Um, why would Harry ever want to have a quickie when he could spend half an hour eating Louis out and feeling him fall apart on his tongue before he even fingered him? That seems really dumb.

He doesn’t get a chance to voice this thought before Louis is slapping him on the cheek. “Shut up,” Louis orders.

“I didn’t even say anything,” Harry protests.

“Your cock is saying something,” Louis retorts.

“Why does the word cock sound so good coming out of your mouth?” Harry wonders, tracing over the line of Louis’ hip.

“Looks good going into my mouth, too,” Louis says, and wiggles his eyebrows so ridiculously that Harry has to laugh.

Then he gets back to the matter at hand. “Lemme put it in your mouth.”

Louis snorts and uses his flailing elbows trick until he’s levered himself out of Harry’s lap. Harry really hates that trick. “You’re late for your meeting,” Louis says, brushing the invisible lint off of his invisible pants.

Being late for his meeting does absolutely nothing to change the fact that Louis is half hard from sitting in Harry’s lap and talking about cock. Maybe Harry should just quit and they could live the rest of their lives from this bedroom. He’s got the finances to fund it.

A pair of jeans hits him right in the face before he can delve too deep into that fantasy. “Get dressed,” Louis orders, and Harry heaves a great big dramatic sigh before shoving himself up off of the bed.

After all, the sooner he gets through this meeting the sooner he gets to come home and hopefully get his cock sucked.

 

By the time he makes it to the office, he’s only fifteen minutes late, which is well within the reasonable time frame for pop star divas, he thinks.

And he’s about to become the biggest pop star diva ever.

He strides into the room and tosses a copy of his contract down onto the table. He didn’t have a stapler in the car so the pages go fluttering all over the place, but it makes for a pretty good entrance, if Harry does say so himself.

“If you try to fire Louis I’m going to buy out my contract and take the rest of the boys with me,” he announces to the room at large.

Simon has his usual bored face on. “You do realize that this meeting is about the damage control that we’ve had to do because of your relationship?”

Harry lifts his chin a little higher. “Louis stays or I go. It’s pretty simple.”

Simon’s eye roll is shockingly apathetic. Zayn could learn a thing or two. “We brought you here to discuss how you would like to announce your relationship to the world.”

Harry’s heart nearly stops in his chest.

This is unexpected. Amazing, but unexpected. It’s not like they weren’t going to do it anyway, because they haven’t been hiding it - although clearly all the videos floating around of them kissing isn’t enough to convince the general public - but Harry was kind of expecting to do it without talking to their management at all.

Contrary to popular belief, there isn’t actually a relationship clause in his contract. He can date whoever he wants, whenever he wants and for however he wants. He’s gone along with PR stunts in the past, but that was his own choice. Nobody forced him to.

That being said, he was just going to announce it randomly over Twitter or at a show or something, and then hold Louis’ hand every time they stepped foot outside, whether Louis liked it or not.

“So you don’t want to try to make him go away?” Harry clarifies, only a little suspiciously. They watched The Da Vinci Code yesterday and the conspiracy theories are still stuck in his head.

“Harry, if we ever tried to make him go away he’d kick up an even bigger fuss than you would,” Simon sighs, but there’s that tiny little smile tugging at the corners of his lips, the same one that everyone gets when they don’t want to admit to exactly how much they really do like Louis.

Harry gets it a lot. “’s my boy.”

Simon’s sigh is entirely heartfelt, this time. “Alright, so the first rule is that those words do not come out of your mouth within presence of anyone with a camera.”

That’s entirely unfair. If Harry doesn’t say it then how will people know?

“We’ll present your options in a couple of days, but if you want to let the world know about your relationship we’re behind you,” Simon says, and Harry’s eyes absolutely don’t burn. There’s no reason for that, after all - they’ve never been told that they couldn’t be out, and just because the world seems to have forgotten that Harry’s bi doesn’t mean that they never knew.

Still. Soon they’ll be able to kiss in public without worrying about anyone snapping photos of them. They probably won’t, because Louis has arbitrary and ever-changing limits about how much PDA he’s willing to engage in, but they can.

It’s shaping up to be a pretty good fucking day. All of this, plus Harry’s going to go home and get his cock sucked by his boy. Best day ever.

 

Harry’s not pouting. He’s not. He’s just lying in his bunk, waiting for sleep to hit him. That absolutely doesn’t count as pouting, no matter if he and Louis are fighting and Louis hasn’t talked to him in nearly three hours. That’s nothing to pout over, right? Right. Louis instigates a fight every other day.

Granted, most of the time it’s about who gets to have the last of the milk, but that doesn’t make it not a fight. Harry just thinks that he should be able to have the last of the milk every so often, instead of Louis always getting it.

If Harry plays his cards right Louis will always share his bowl of cereal, though, and that’s something.

That’s enough, actually. Harry rolls out of bed, landing rather painfully on his knees, and pushes himself to his feet so he can stagger in the general direction of Louis’ voice. He feels kind of like a zombie, sluggish and tired, but he can’t sleep until Louis talks to him.

He knows that Louis knows when he walks into the room, but Louis refuses to even look at him, gesturing wildly with his hands as he talks to Liam. And he says that Harry’s bad for that.

“Lou,” Harry says. Louis’ body posture doesn’t change even in the slightest, but Harry knows that means that he’s listening, even as he keeps talking.

“Baby,” Harry tries, inching a couple steps closer. That makes Louis tense, just for a second before he’s spinning around and closing the last few feet between them.

If this were a different relationship it might be reasonable to expect a kiss, or even for Louis to start yelling in his face. Instead, Louis slaps him, because that’s Louis’ way of dealing with things.

Harry would be lying if he said that he tried to defend himself against it.

It’s not a hard slap, anyway. It’s probably the most gentle of all the slaps Louis has given him in the last week. Harry catches Louis’ hand as he goes to slip away, pulling them together, uncaring of the fact that Liam’s still in the room, conversation on hold.

“I’m still mad at you,” Louis announces, like he thinks that there’s any way that Harry’s missed that.

“Mad enough that you’re not going to come to bed just to spite me?” Harry asks, keeping his voice low. Liam doesn’t care how intimate they are, as long as they’re not actually fucking in front of him, but there’s a system to get Louis to stop being mad at him. It starts with a soft voice and ends with making him come.

What. Most of their arguments are about milk, alright.

“I’m thinking about it,” Louis says, only a little haughtily, but he lets Harry fit their hips together anyway.

“You know you’re never going to able to sleep if you stay out here all night,” Harry says, sliding his hands around to rest on the dip of Louis’ spine, over his shirt. His fingers itch to slip underneath the fabric, stroke over Louis’ skin, maybe finger him until he’s a whimpering mess.

It wouldn’t take long.

No,” Liam says suddenly, sharply. Harry glances over at him, raising an eyebrow. “If you fuck on the bus, Harry, I swear to god - ”

“We’re not going to fuck,” Harry says, already dragging Louis back to the bunks.

Louis raises an eyebrow of his own. “Dragging me like you want to fuck,” he says, clambering into their bunk when Harry gives him an encouraging pat on the bum, lingering a little because it’s Louis’ bum.

“Just because I want to fuck doesn’t mean that we’re going to,” Harry says, climbing in after him and drawing the curtain. It doesn’t give them much privacy, but it’s enough. Liam’s still in the back, Zayn’s a heavy sleeper, and Niall’s probably got his headphones on.

“Really?” Louis asks, amusement lacing his voice. “I seem to remember a certain shower this morning that involved a whole lot of wanting to fuck.”

Harry arranges all of their combined limbs into the optimal sleeping position, curling up tight against Louis’ back. “If we fucked every time I wanted to you’d have been bent over on stage last night.”

“Ooh, kinky,” Louis says mockingly, wiggling in Harry’s hold a little, and Harry’s chest burns with just how much he loves this boy, even when he’s being ridiculous and refusing to talk to him because Harry used the last of the cereal.

Sometimes they fight about cereal, too.

“You’re not mad at me anymore, right?” Harry asks suddenly, tightening his arms around Louis’ stomach.

“Depends on whether you’re planning on making me tea in the morning,” Louis says thoughtfully, letting Harry tangle their fingers together.

“I make you tea every morning,” Harry grumbles, and Louis squirms again, abruptly. He kicks at the blankets until he’s got enough room to move, and then sits down on Harry’s hips, all warm and heavy.

Harry’s already re-thinking his promise that they wouldn’t have sex. They’ve had bunk sex before, and it sucks, but sex with Louis is kind of like pizza - even bad pizza is still pizza, and even cramped sex in the tour bus bunk is still sex with Louis.

Plus there’s the fact that sex with Louis is never anything less than spectacular.

“I guess I can forgive you,” Louis says, which is invitation enough for Harry to put his hands on Louis’ sides, just above his hips. He always fits into Harry’s hands so perfectly, and the only way this would be better is if he was in the prime sleeping position, so Harry rolls him into it, making sure that there’s not even an inch of space between their bodies.

There’s quiet for a minute, Louis small and warm in his arms, the sound of his breathing, slowing gradually as he drifts off to sleep.

“Hey,” Harry says suddenly, nudging his nose up behind Louis’ ear. Louis makes a vaguely inquiring noise, one that suggests that he’s more asleep than anything. “I love you.”

Louis groans. “I fucking hate you.”

Harry hides his smile in Louis’ hair. Louis remains stubbornly silent, limp in his grip, for so long that he starts thinking that he might not actually say it back. It wouldn’t be the first time - the last time Harry had used the last of the tea he wouldn’t say it for three days.

Then, after Harry’s let his eyes close and his breathing get soft and slow, Louis mutters, “I love you,” like he thinks that Harry’s actually asleep.

Harry wants to kiss him. Louis is too close to sleep to appreciate that, though, so Harry just presses his mouth to the back of Louis’ head and lets the sound of his breathing lull him to sleep.

 

“You ready to do this?” Louis asks, straightening Harry’s collar and flicking a piece of lint off of his shoulder. Harry’s hands itch to do the same, to find something about Louis that needs to be straightened out, but Louis looks perfect and the only thing Harry’s going to do if he touches him is muss him up.

He looks calm and collected, Louis, like he’s not five minutes away from stepping out into a throng of screaming fans on Harry’s arm so that he can be shown off like he’s eye candy.

“Ready,” Harry says, even if he wants ten more minutes to freak out a little. He doesn’t even really know what he’s freaking out about - there’s a good chunk of their fanbase that already believes that he’s dating his PA, they’ve made absolutely no attempt to hide their relationship up until now, and this is only the first of countless events that he’s going to have Louis on his arm for.

Maybe he’s freaking out a little because he can already hear the bullshit that Louis is going to have to put up with from the media.

Louis just looks at him, eyebrows arched a little. “Just come here and kiss me, you bloody twit,” he says eventually. Harry spends about two and a half seconds thinking about insisting that he doesn’t really need to kiss Louis in order to feel better, but doing that would mean passing up an opportunity to kiss Louis, and he’s a firm believer in never passing up that kind of opportunity.

Their mouths meet easily, warm and slick, and it’s not a very long kiss, nor is it particularly heated, but it succeeds in calming the butterflies in his stomach.

They pull apart just in time for the door to swing open, Paul’s head poking in. “Ready?” he asks, and Harry still isn’t a hundred percent sure of that, but Louis’ already pulling him towards the door, grip firm and sure on Harry’s hand, and Harry does what he always does.

He follows.

 

Louis’ set to meet them on the red carpet with the girls and their parents, so that the four of them could arrive together, and the drive feels weird the entire way. Normally they’d have Louis with them, somewhere in the car, supposedly telling them where they’re supposed to go and what they’re supposed to do when they get out but really telling them how much they all suck.

They make their way down the carpet haltingly, stopping every few feet to take pictures and shake hands and give awkward hugs over the barrier before they get moved along, trying to get to as many people as possible. It’s pretty all encompassing, all told, but Harry’s thoughts always, inevitably drift back to Louis and how he’s holding up.

He’s probably holding up better than Harry, the bastard.

It’s not supposed to be a big thing when they hit the family and friends portion of the evening, and it’s not, really - Harry has no idea how it happens, but their fingers end up tangled together while Harry talks to an interviewer.

It takes a few minutes for anyone to even notice.

The interviewer’s voice noticeably falters when she does notice. She’s from E!, or something like that, and hopefully she’ll get a pay raise after she finishes this piece.

As long as it’s not twisted weirdly, that is.

“And who’s this you have with you?” she asks, regaining her confidence and all but thrusting the microphone into Louis’ face.

Louis doesn’t even blink. “Louis Tomlinson,” he says easily, like this isn’t going to make the front page of every news outlet in London.

“Louis Tomlinson,” the interviewer repeats. “Is this your first date?”

She’s pretty brazen about it, all confidence, but Harry supposes that she has to be, in her line of work.

Louis fixes a thoughtful look onto his face that Harry makes a mental note to kill him for later. “It might be our first nice date,” he says. The only hint that he’s even the tiniest bit nervous is in the shake of his fingers when he goes to scratch at his jaw, still covered in stubble because he’d refused to shave.

It’d probably feel prickly against Harry’s mouth. It had this morning, anyway.

“Hey, what about that time I took you to Rosso’s?” Harry protests. He’s got his voice back now, at least.

“I guess that was a nice date,” Louis sighs, rolling his eyes upwards like he’s being gracious by admitting that Harry takes him to nice places.

Harry’s about to respond with something that will undoubtedly get them both into shit later when the interviewer cuts him off. “So how long have you two been together?”

“About a year,” Louis says vaguely as the same time as Harry says, “Eleven and a half months.”

“Been counting down the days, huh,” Louis says, smirking up at Harry from beside him. Harry probably should be looking at the interviewer, or at least at the camera, but how could he be doing that when he’s got all of this at his side.

“Gonna get you a nice anniversary present,” Harry agrees. His voice starts dropping without his brain’s explicit permission, and he’ll probably get in shit for that too.

“Yeah? Some nice cufflinks or summat?” Louis asks. He’s practically begging to be kissed, the way he’s looking at Harry, eyes big and blue like he’s the most innocent thing on the face of the Earth.

He’s so fucking not.

Harry’s entirely too aware of the camera trained on his face, so he doesn’t say what he wants to say, which is handcuffs, maybe, to stop you from wanking while I’m eating you out.

He makes to kiss the stupid smirk right off of Louis’ face, leaning in slowly enough that their faces won’t bash together and end up on a fail video on Youtube.

So of course Louis ducks him and pats his chest once, saying something about meeting him in a few minutes before disappearing.

Harry sighs and turns back to the interviewer. “Lover’s spat?” she asks, eyes sparkling.

“No, he’s just,” Harry gestures vaguely, “like that.”

 

Louis avoids him for the next three interviews. Harry doesn’t know what he’s doing, or where he’s gone, but his increasingly dramatic eye conversations with Paul must have gotten somewhere because Louis shows up in time for the Sugarscape interview, only a little bit out of breath, hair mussed and cheeks just a shade pinker.

Naturally, Harry’s immediately suspicious.

Unfortunately, the only thing he has time to do is to narrow his eyes a little before giving the camera a bright smile and focusing all of his attention on the interviewer, a pretty blonde thing who’s even tinier than Louis. They let her wear flats, and Harry approves. No point in pretending like they all aren’t going to tower over her anyway.

“So who is this you’ve brought with you?” she asks almost immediately, zeroing in on Louis with no time wasted.

Harry approves of that, too. No point in bringing his insanely hot significant other to events like these if he isn’t going to take some of the pressure off of Harry.

“This is my boyfriend, Louis,” Harry says immediately, not even giving Louis a chance to derail the interview like he has the last one. Normally he’s all for derailing an interview, but this is important.

This is something that the world has to know.

The interviewer’s eyebrows arch, but only a little. “He looks an awful lot like your tour manager,” she observes.

“Assistant tour manager,” Louis corrects. Neither of them are quite able to hide their winces.

“And is this a new thing?” she asks.

Harry can already see where this is going, and he doesn’t want to spend another eleven and a half months trying to convince the media of something that anyone with two eyes should be able to see, so he grabs Louis, tips him over just enough to make it really picturesque, and kisses him.

He’s pretty sure that the only reason that Louis allows it is because dick slaps are firmly in the ‘Not Acceptable’ category for the night. As it is, he can practically see the count going up in Louis’ head.

He has to make it worth his while, then, licking in Louis’ mouth firmly, getting a taste of him. He hasn’t had one in so long - nearly two hours - and he definitely deserves it.

They’re both a little flustered by the time they break apart, and it takes the repeated clearing of someone’s throat for Harry to be able to drag his gaze away from Louis’ face, flushed pink and pretty, already promising retribution.

“Still in the honeymoon phase, I see,” the interviewer says wryly, and Harry nearly loses it laughing.

Louis’ fingers go from punishingly tight to relaxed and normal around his, and the rest of the walk down the carpet isn’t easy, per se, because it’s never really easy with thousands of screaming fans and flashes going off around them, but none of that even matters when he has Louis at his side.

 

Louis is standing behind the cameras, mouthing something and pointing dramatically to his wrist, like he’s gesturing to a watch. Harry can’t quite figure out what he’s trying to say, and it’s probably not important anyway, because there’s nothing he enjoys more than fucking with Harry when he’s supposed to be doing something, but he can’t quite tear his eyes away from Louis’ mouth.

“Styles,” Liam says, elbowing him in the ribs. Harry blinks and focuses his attention back to where it should be.

“Sorry?” he asks, flashing a smile complete with dimples. Hopefully it’ll distract everyone from how little attention he was paying

“We were just wondering what the hardest part of touring is,” the interviewer says.

Harry hums and pretends to think about it for a second. It’s a pretty safe bet to assume that the boys have all gone with the typical ‘family and friends’ answer. “I can tell you what I don’t miss,” he says finally, trying to avoid seeking out Louis in the room.

“What’s that?” the interviewer asks with a winning smile. She’s really very pretty.

Not as pretty as Louis, but then no one is. “I don’t miss the slap tally board.”

“No, that’s the best part of touring,” Niall protests.

“It’s only the best part because your name never gets more than five marks,” Harry mutters.

“One time I got six,” Niall protests. “That time that I wouldn’t let him use my phone charger, remember?”

“What’s a slap tally board?” the interviewer interrupts.

There’s a chorus of groans from Harry and Liam. Niall just cackles madly and Zayn sighs long-sufferingly.

“You want to see a photo?” Zayn asks, already fishing his phone out of his pocket. Harry groans and drops his head into his hands. This interview is so not going the way he’d expected it to.

There’s a minute of unintelligble murmuring, and then the interviewer asks, “Why does Harry have so many?”

“Because I have an emotionally crippled partner,” Harry mutters.

He knows it’s a mistake as soon as it’s come out of his mouth, and Louis’ voice floating over to them from his corner confirms it. “That’s another ten for you, you know.”

Harry sighs and resists the urge to bury his face even farther into his hands. “I love you?” he tries.

“Wait, you have a partner?” the interviewer asks, at the same time as a pen nails him right in the head.

Alright. So maybe they’re still having problems convincing people that they’re together, and the way Louis keeps throwing random items at him for the rest of the interview probably doesn’t help, but as soon as it’s over Harry surges to his feet and gets Louis between his body and a wall, and no one says anything about the camera being trained on them the entire time they’re kissing.

It makes for a pretty good clip on the internet, anyway. Harry would be lying if he said that he doesn’t go back and watch it sometimes, when Louis is in London and Harry is somewhere that’s not London.

What. He only gets off to it when Louis doesn’t pick up his phone, alright.

The point is that they’re working on getting everyone to believe that they’re properly together and that they’re going to last, but in the meantime Harry gets to kiss the most gorgeous boy in the world anywhere he wants, whenever he wants.

And he only gets slapped in the face for it immediately afterwards about half the time, so. That’s a win, right?

Who is Harry kidding. It’s the biggest win of his life.