Louis can’t hear anything for a while over the rush of blood to his head. There’s a faint buzzing all around him as he stumbles his way off stage and goes through the whole process of changing and showering and heading to their cars. The tips of his fingers feel like he’s touched lightening. (Harry would laugh at him if he’d said that aloud. Stay young, stay made of lightening, he’d sing, a silly laughter shrieking out of him right after.) If he could hear the tens of people around him right now the only voice he’d pick up on, probably, would be Harry’s blabbering praises over the sound of everyone else. He sounded so good, didn’t he? Amazing! Fucking brilliant! You know I even found him practicing in the shower this morning, seriously! He’s un-fucking-real—
If Louis could hear Harry right now, he’d be red in the face.
His skin is still damp with sweat. The two-and-a-half-minute shower he rushed through backstage did nothing to cool him down or clean him off. He still feels sticky and hot, like his body is on fire and the sun is headed toward him, ready to crash and burn.
Or maybe that’s just Harry pulling him onto his lap in the car. Tinted windows, Niall and Liam, a hotel that should only be 15 minutes away. The blood rush to his head has faded away, but his ears still feel clogged up, like he’d spent too much time in the ocean and all he can hear now is the faint crash of waves, the voices of everyone around him muted.
He needs to stop thinking. He needs to slow down his racing heart.
He needs Harry to stop mouthing at his neck.
If it were up to Harry, the only song on the setlist would be No Control. If Harry had it his way, everyone in the stadium would stand in total silence for an hour and a half while Louis sang completely on his own. If Harry were driving the car right now, they’d’ve been at the hotel ten minutes ago.
Louis wonders how long he’ll be like this; stuck in his post-concert haze. It doesn’t usually last thing long. Usually there’s just a ringing in his ears for a few minutes after and once they’ve left the stadium he’s as good as new, maybe only a little jumpier, slightly hornier.
Right now he can’t remember for the life of him what country they’re in, much less what country they’re supposed to be in next. The weight of Harry’s arms tight around his waist is the only thing keeping him anchored at the moment. If it weren’t for Harry, Louis is almost sure he would be lost up in the skies right now; having flown off somewhere in between his chorus in 18 and Harry’s solo in Strong. He’s only conscious enough to wrap a hand around Harry’s wrist, covering the black anchor with his palm. If he thinks about it, where the rope comes apart on the inside of his own wrist holds Harry’s anchor down.
He doesn’t think about it right now. He’s already thought about it enough in the past to last him a lifetime and a half.
It’s not until he steps foot in their hotel room that Louis’ ears pop and it’s like coming up for air after too many minutes in the sea; like finally landing on the ground after hours in the sky. His glassy vision becomes sharp, the numbness all throughout his muscles leaves at once, and he’s surrounded by nothing.
Nothing and Harry, that is.
“You’re with me, baby?”
Harry kisses his mouth, pulls him further into their room by his wrists. His large hands come to cup Louis’ face and he kisses Louis so softly, little brushes of their lips like they’re still 16. Harry cradles him. He has to tip downward and hold Louis close because that’s how Harry kisses when they’re in for a long night. As Louis’ senses come back to him, that much he figures out quickly. Harry’s going to fucking ruin him tonight.
“Do you know how much I love you?”
Louis doesn’t respond to the mumbled words against his lips. His fists tighten around the ends of Harry’s shirt and he opens his mouth for Harry’s tongue, hopes that enough of an answer.
Harry is fiercely besotted with Louis’ on a bad day. Even on Louis’ worst days Harry will still love him to the ends of the universe and make sure to tell him so, and there are so few of those bad days now. There weren’t many to begin with, but now it feels like there are none at all.
Louis doesn’t think Harry knows how much he loves him back.
“I do, I do know,” hums Harry into his mouth, because apparently that much Louis had said aloud. “And you should probably stop writing it in all those songs for me. S’gonna go straight to my head.”
“It hasn’t already?”
“Not yet. Give me a few more shows and my head won’t be able to fit through the stadium doors because of you.”
Louis pulls his mouth away from Harry. “I love you,” he says, because he’s serious and because he hasn’t been able to stop smiling for weeks now. “I’m going to be writing songs for you until I’m 80 and gray and counting my last days.” He pecks Harry’s lips, lets him tighten his arms around his waist. “You’re my deepest love, baby.”
Harry’s breathing gets heavy under his mouth. He doesn’t speak and Louis knows it’s because his thoughts are running at a thousand kilometers an hour, and that’s fine. He weaves his fingers through damp curls and pulls Harry into him, meets him tongue first.
Sometimes Harry gets overwhelmed really easily. When they were younger it used to happen like clockwork every time Louis so much as held his hand, but now that Harry prides himself in his sexual experience and stamina, he also prides himself in being able to go a little longer with Louis’ teasing before he completely melts under.
It’s not teasing though, Louis doesn’t think. It’s just honesty, but that’s really the same thing for Harry. He gets weak-kneed at the smallest bit of sweet talk and unfortunately for him, Louis has trouble shutting up.
“Let me take you to bed, baby.” Louis meets an out-of-breath Harry’s eyes and brushes his already sweaty fringe. He scratches lightly, Harry humming soft under his touch.
“No, no,” Harry shakes his head. He’s unable to keep his eyes open. (The tables have turned so quickly.) “It’s you—your night,” he shivers, “Need to make you feel good, Lou.”
Louis hums. Yeah, he saw that much coming. “What did you have in mind, my love?”
Harry’s voice is so hoarse, so deep when he speaks, like he’s physically fighting to keep from fucking into Louis right then and there. “Wanna eat you out.” He groans when Louis fists at his hair, but doesn’t stop. “Get you wet. Make you come without touching you.”
“Let you cuff me. Fuck me ‘til my legs give out.”
Louis can feel Harry hard against his abdomen, how much he’s struggling to not rub himself off on Louis as desperately as he wants to. (His baby is better that; his baby knows what’s good for him.) He walks them backward to the bed until the backs of Harry’s knees brush against the crisp white duvet. “What if I wanna eat you out?” he asks.
The only response he gets out of Harry is a pained cry.
“What do you think, baby? Use your words.”
Harry’s hold on his hips is like a death grip. His thumbs dig into the soft flesh and he struggles out, “It’s a long night. Wanna taste you first, please.”
“Yeah?” Harry nods, his worn out curls falling back over his closed eyes when Louis lets go. He’s so beautiful like this, wound tight and so still with nerves that Louis can’t help but admire for a second. “You nicked those cuffs that got thrown on stage, didn’t you?” he asks, even though he knows the answer.
Harry nods again, shameless.
“Those girls that threw it, they probably know exactly what you were planning on doing with them, don’t you think?”
Harry breath hitches. He doesn’t say a word.
“You’re a little minx, aren’t you, love?”
Louis turns them around and crawls backwards onto the bed, pulling Harry down with him. The other boy opens his eyes only to follow Louis’ lead. His green eyes have gone dark, pupils blown wide. His hard-on looks ridiculous against his tight jeans, and Louis doesn’t think they’re going to make it out alive after tonight.
He falls onto his back, cradling Harry’s face in his hands. “You sure you’re good, baby?”
For the first time that night Harry nods his head fervently. A seriousness clouds over his features, the look one he gets only when he knows he’s about to get his mouth on Louis. “M’good, yeah, yeah,” he breathes out.
“I don’t want you to pass out between me legs, you know.”
“If I do it’s only ‘cause I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
Louis pinches his cheek just as a dimple pops. “Cheeky little thing you are.” He spread his legs wide enough for Harry to fit in between and nudges his hips upward, bumping into Harry’s cock, hard against his thigh, and making the other boy wince. “Well. Go on, then,” he motions to the trousers he’s still wearing, the outline of his own half-hard cock just as evident.
Harry needs a second. He grits his teeth – the way that Louis’ always tried to get him not to – and exhales a few deep breaths. He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the floor before making do with Louis’. The second he’s got Louis’ bare skin for his pleasure he latches onto Louis’ collarbone and doesn’t stop until Louis is panting and completely hard, yanking at his hair.
Harry’s mouth is wet on Louis’ bones; his skin; his nipples. He’s a biter, always has been, and Louis has all the bruises and scars to show for it. There’s a mark right underneath Louis’ right nipple from a few days ago in Vienna that Harry mouths on for a good ten minutes, his teeth catching onto Louis’ bud every so often.
He can feel himself wet in his pants, the head of his cock leaking with precome as he waits for Harry to make his way down his body. He’s slow in all of his movements, like he’s easing his mouth and his jaw for what’s in store and trying to calm himself in case he implodes all at once at the first lick. If Louis’ God-given talent is to come completely untouched just from being eaten out, then Harry’s God-given talent is to come completely untouched just from eating Louis out.
Teamwork is a key component in their relationship.
It’s not until Harry has taken Louis’ trousers off and started nuzzling into the coarse hair deep under Louis’ belly that he begins to squirm, his breathing airy and his moans nothing short of filthy and needy. He keeps his vice-like grip on Harry’s hair, trying his best to push Harry lower and lower, but that’s the thing about being with someone bigger – and not that Louis will ever admit it aloud, but also stronger – than you. Louis can never really physically force Harry to do anything.
That’s not to say that Louis doesn’t still have Harry in the palm of his hands, though. All it takes is one quiet beg, a soft little, “Baby,” to get Harry to freeze in all his movements.
“Lou—fuck,” he bites down on the bare meat of Louis’ thigh, burying his face there. His thumbs have gone back to their fierce hold on Louis’ hips. “You can’t use that voice on me.”
Louis knows how to get what he wants out of Harry and because Harry never really wants anything more than to be good to Louis – to be good for Louis – Louis nudges Harry away a few inches and shimmies out of his pants. “I want you to make me feel good,” he says in that same voice that Harry so adamantly refuses to let him use in public, mostly for Harry’s own health. “Taste me.”
“I hate you,” Harry scathes, but his mouth moves in between Louis’ cheeks before he can even blink.
Harry’s tongue goes flat at Louis’ entrance, his hands quickly manhandling Louis’ legs to throw them over his shoulders. He settles flat on his stomach and buries himself deep between Louis’ legs until Louis’ almost sure there’s no way Harry could possibly still be breathing if he weren’t mouthing at this rim so fervently.
Louis hasn’t been eaten out in so long, not for at least a few months. He could say he’d forgotten how good it feels, but he hasn’t. He could never, even with a gun at his head, forget how good Harry’s mouth feels on every inch of his body; how warm his tongue always is, how wet his mouth gets. Harry licks and licks until Louis can feel saliva dripping between his cheeks and his skin is on fire.
His thighs go tight around Harry, crossing at his ankles to pull him even closer. (Harry really can’t get any closer.) “Fuck me, baby, please,” he begs, nudging his hips upward and pushing down on Harry’s face.
Harry opens his mouth wide and sucks at Louis’ entrance, moving his hands to pull Louis’ cheeks apart. He squeezes tight around the meat of Louis’ bottom and forces Louis to fuck down on his tongue. Louis goes weak when Harry enters him, his thighs quivering, eyes pooling up. The small tip of Harry’s tongue kitten licking around his rim, fucking in and out mercilessly is just enough to get Louis whimpering, wishing there were words to describe how good Harry makes him feel so he could put them in song, sing them on stage.
“Harry, Harry—baby, stop, stop. Please,” Louis tries to wriggle himself out of Harry’s hold. He wants to punch himself in the face for doing so, but he can’t do this. “I don’t wanna come, please, H—”
He cuts off when Harry finally removes his mouth, a long string of saliva pulling apart, and sits up, Louis’ legs slipping off his shoulders. His voice is even deeper when he kisses Louis’ knee and asks, “You okay?”
“Come here,” Louis pulls his sloppy, sweaty, wet boy up to his mouth against better reasoning and kisses him. “I wanna wait,” he gasps, in between tasting himself on Harry’s tongue, “I can wait, promise, just wanna fuck you first, baby. Don’t wanna come until I’m inside you.”
There’s something about kissing Harry that clears up Louis’ head for the second time that night, something about the slow glide of Harry’s tongue that helps Louis come out of his jelly-boned haze and back to his senses.
Harry shivers on top of him, another pained noise escaping his mouth and swallowed up by Louis’. “Wanted to make you come twice tonight,” he whines, “Was gonna suck you off.”
Harry sighs, like he’s disappointed, but Louis knows he’s giving in. “You’re lucky I like it when you come twice as hard inside of me.” Harry pecks him on the mouth once, twice, before flipping onto his back and removing all of his clothing to get completely naked. “Otherwise I’d be very unhappy with you right now. You know I don’t like being interrupted when I’m eating you out.”
The grin that takes over Louis’ face is nothing short of completely filthy and completely in love. “You’re very diligent with your work ethic, I know.” He crawls on top of Harry’s sweat-damp body, hovering above him on his palms, “It’s a shame you’re gonna be all tied up now, isn’t it?” He noses his way up Harry’s neck and whispers in his ear, “But that’s how you like it, hm? When you lay here and I use you? Isn’t that right, love?” Louis kisses his earlobe before wrapping his lips around the small fleshy meat, remembering when Harry had first gotten his ears pierced and how hard he’d come just from Louis nibbling at this ears like this. “Where’d you put the handcuffs, baby?”
Harry takes his time responding. “In your bag.”
Louis jumps off the bed and grabs them along with their to-go bottle of lube quickly. “How do you want this?” he asks from the foot of the bed, running his fingers over the fuzzy material of the handcuffs. They’re not quite as good as the ones they’ve got at home, but they’re soft and dingy enough that they won’t hurt Harry’s wrists and Louis shouldn’t have any trouble picking them open.
With his eyes half-lidded, Harry shrugs. “Whatever you want. Make me work for it.”
Harry nods. He looks like a vixen against the crisp white sheets around him, hands roaming up and down his naked chest, flicking at his own nipples and wincing. Louis’ going to spend so fucking long mouthing at them, hopefully long enough to keep Harry thick and bruised for at least the next show.
“How should I prep you then? Hands or mouth?”
With one hand busy pinching his left nipple, Harry meets him with an incredulous look in his eyes. “Are you asking rhetorically or do you really think I’m going to say no to your mouth?”
“Figured you wouldn’t really care as long as you got to come.” Louis kneels on the mattress and crawls over. “Guess I was wrong?”
“It’s like you don’t know me at all.”
Louis leans down to kiss the sarcasm out of him. His fringe flops down and it tickles Harry’s nose, making him giggle breathily.
Dimples cratered deep in his cheeks, he pushes Louis off of him and flips over, folds himself over on his knees, holding his wrists together patiently behind his back and presenting himself. Louis’ brain short-circuits for a minute as he stares. He loves Harry’s body so much; how well-groomed and soft he keeps himself, muscles flexing with every move and skin always the prettiest rose color when he gets worked up. His thoughts are interrupted when Harry moves to press his cheek against the bed and meets Louis’ eyes. He nudges Louis’ knee with his toes until he looks at him.
“Gonna tie me up or what?”
Louis raises an eyebrow but grabs the lube and handcuffs. “Is your plan just to get all the cheek fucked out of you tonight or what?”
“That’s what I was aiming for, yeah.”
Louis kisses the insides of his wrists, nosing at his pulse point and caressing the sensitive skin with this thumbs before he ties the handcuffs around Harry. “This okay?”
Harry’s chest sags against the mattress as he sighs with content. “S’perfect. Eat me out now please.”
Louis delivers a rough slap to Harry’s right cheek instead. He doesn’t give Harry a chance to respond before he’s slapping the other side and then grabbing the soft flesh in both hands right where his red imprints have marked him up.
As he buries his face deep between Harry’s cheeks he listens to Harry’s airy calls of his name in favor of breathing properly. He thinks about how Harry had danced on stage tonight; the rose he held in his mouth, the stupid fucking blow-up doll he’d danced with, how he’d gotten the entire stadium to moan along with him. He replays Harry’s voice singing the song Louis’d written for him, his little twist in the words so faux sneaky, like he’d actually expected no one to catch onto it. Harry does shit like that without really thinking about it beforehand, his brain filter-less on stage. Everything is spontaneous with Harry.
His beauty is a wonder on the stage. Harry thrives off the attention, was born to perform through adrenaline rushes. The way he moves, the swivel of his hips, how often he forgets their fans aren’t all as old as he thinks they are – they’re all part of what makes Harry such a pleasure to watch. He’s a performer and God, does he live up to expectations.
Louis doesn’t know how much time passes, his mouth so used to this position that he blanks out sometimes. He has a strong jaw and an even stronger tongue and if Harry’s hips fucking down on his tongue is any sign to go by, he’s doing pretty okay.
He inhales a much needed deep breath. Harry’s scent – sweat, skin, sharp and heady – is so intoxicating. Louis’ toes curl against the sheets. He licks around Harry’s smooth, pink rim and ducks down, lapping his tongue down the entire length of Harry’s crack and then lower, lower, until he can press his tongue against the underside of Harry’s balls. Harry lets out a sharp cry at the sensation, his entire body wound tight and ready to pop, but Louis is relentless. He thinks of how eagerly Harry had put his mouth to work just moments ago and he knows he can’t stop here.
Louis kisses his way back up, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses on the insides of Harry’s cheeks until he reaches the small of his back. He needs to catch his breath, but he also needs to pick his pace up a little so he doesn’t come just like this. His own cock is furiously red and neglected against his hip and it doesn’t help that he can see the wet patch on the sheets where Harry’s precome has dripped in a weak attempt by Harry to get some friction.
“Doing good baby?” Louis asks as he slicks up two of his fingers.
Harry’s biting down on a pillow, his eyes clenched shut, but he makes a noise of affirmation nonetheless.
“You’re doing so well darling,” Louis assures him. He kisses the curve of Harry’s spine and the clenched fists that sit there as he begins to rub at his entrance with his fingers. “You’re gonna be good for me and not come until I’m inside you, aren’t you love?” He circles his thumb around the small hole, feeling Harry flutter with nerves against him. His baby is so soft. “So good to me,” he hums against Harry’s salty skin. They’re the last words he says before his mouth becomes occupied once more.
This time Louis fucks his entire tongue inside, making sure to stretch Harry open and get him wet. The velvety insides of Harry are like a second home for Louis’ mouth and fuck, Louis is homesick. He revels in Harry’s taste on his tongue, his body burning in the heat that Harry radiates onto him, and he fucks into Harry until the boy underneath him is shaking, panting against the sheets and clenching tight around his tongue. When Louis slides a finger in Harry squeezes even harder, pulls the digit in deeper and cries for more more more, please, more.
Louis almost doesn’t want to, but instinct kicks in and he finds Harry’s spot much quicker than either of them could have anticipated. He brushes the tip of his finger around the bundle of nerves and licks around Harry’s entrance, teeth nibbling at the sides of his cheeks and wishing he hadn’t shaved because fuck, Harry would have been bright fucking red right now with beardburn otherwise.
Louis makes a note to let his facial hair grow out for another few days at the very least.
By the time Louis gets his second finger in Harry’s fists have unclenched against his lower back as he stretches his fingers out. Louis looks up from underneath his lashes and catches sight of the muscles in Harry’s arms flexing, almost like he’s trying to grab onto something – Louis’ hair, probably. A lesser man would have given in and started fucking the boy already, but Louis is better than that. He shrugs it off and goes back to scissoring Harry wide like he’s supposed to and when he’s sure he’s good, he pulls his slick and slippery fingers out and busies his hand with massaging at Harry’s balls as his mouth takes complete control.
He gets Harry so fucking wet. He can feel sweat and saliva from his nose down to his chin, and it’s fucking brilliant. Louis never minds getting dirty in bed – the dirtier the better – but there’s something about eating Harry out that gets his heart racing like nothing else. The few boys he’d hooked up with before Harry had come into the picture had never even mentioned rimming and Louis thinks of that as a blessing, almost, because he can’t even imagine having ever eaten someone else out now that he knows what it’s like to have Harry; to have the taste of Harry on his tongue imprinted permanently in his memory. Nothing will ever compare to the way he has Harry right now, so completely.
He doesn’t know if it’s five minutes or fifteen minutes or fifty hours later, but at some point Louis’ jaw begins to ache and he registers the sound of Harry sniffling and he thinks, Yeah, okay, he’s ready to fuck his boy now.
He grabs his shirt by the corner of the bed and wipes his face clean before stretching over Harry’s shaky, folded up body, careful not to put too much pressure on his taught arms. “How’re you feeling, baby?” He kisses the back of Harry’s neck, brushing his damp fringe from his face. Harry’s cheeks are tear-stained, skin a blotchy red color and lips bitten and bruised red. If Louis didn’t already know that this is exactly how Harry wants to feel in bed, he’d probably be pulling the handcuffs off and cradling Harry in his arms right now – but he knows Harry, is the thing. (Even if he does have to remind himself that this gets Harry off like nothing else.) “You wanna sit up for me, love?”
The small nod that he gets out of Harry is enough for him.
Louis helps Harry up, the other boy practically a dead weight in his arms. He moves all the hair away from his face, replacing them with soft kisses and moves them so that his back is against his headboard, Harry sitting on his lap. “You sure you’re with me?” he asks again, only half worried about how the fuck Harry’s supposed to ride his dick safely when he can barely keep his eyes open.
“Kiss me,” are the only words that come out of Harry’s mouth instead.
It’s a true testament to how fucking deeply Louis loves this boy that he doesn’t even think twice about doing just as he’s told. Not that he’s complaining, or anything, because Harry’s mouth is as soft as it ever is, so loose and slow with his movements that Louis forgets this mush of puddy in his arms was eating him out barely an hour prior.
He kisses Harry until Harry begins to properly kiss him back, picking up his pace and beginning to rut against his stomach.
“Better?” Louis asks, pulling at Harry’s plush lower lip with his sharp teeth.
“So much,” Harry sighs, “So fucking good, Lou, thank you.” He opens his eyes, a deep, almost playful smile on his lips, and manages somehow to rise to his knees as Louis fists a hand around his slicked up cock and guides him. “Gonna ride you like my life depends on it, Tomlinson.”
“Mhm.” He circles his hole around the tip of Louis’ cock, precome getting him even more wet as he rubs Louis’ cock in between his cheeks. He winces when it catches at his entrance, but the spike in his breath is enough to get him to stop fucking around and to start fucking down.
Despite all the effort that Louis had put into eating him out and scissoring him open for God knows however fucking long, Harry is still tight as ever around him. He clenches with every inch of his life as he slides down Louis’ cock at what feels like barely a millimeter at time.
Louis' hands come to hold Harry down, his fingers digging deep crescent moons in the soft handles of meat, Harry’s skin burning hot against his own. He doesn’t know how much longer passes before Harry is finally nestled on his cock, his straining thighs splayed wide and hugging Louis’.
“Jesus, shit. When’s the last time we fucked?” Harry pants out, managing only one word at a time in between each exhale, “Have you always been this big?”
“We fucked in the bath right before you left for New York,” Louis reminds him through gritted teeth. Harry is much too tight and delicious around his dick right now for him to be discussing previous out-of-country trips. “Could we maybe not talk about that right now, though?”
“Yeah, yeah, ‘course,” Harry says as he throws his head back and begins to swivel his hips.
He starts with slow, small circles, like he’s prepping himself for the long haul, and makes his way up to wider figure eights as Louis latches onto his neck, biting down but never sucking quite hard enough to leave a mark. He already knows what blouse Harry’s selected for the next show and just because they’ve been on a roll, he decides not to jinx themselves right now with too many public hickies.
They can work back up to that again some other time.
“You feel so fucking good, Lou.” Harry’s arms twitch like he wants to wrap them around Louis' neck before he realizes that he can’t; a natural reflex of his that he can’t seem to stop when he’s riding Louis. Instead he moves closer and begins to bounce a little, trying to get as close as possible to Louis.
With their chests pressed flush together Louis can feel Harry’s racing heart against his own. It’s mesmerizing, the vision of Harry before him; curls so long and wild, skin painted in a thin sheen of sweat, every muscle in his body flexing in harmony as he starts to bounce higher and fuck down deeper, panting Louis’ name through it all. This beautiful, beautiful wonder of a boy who makes him feel infinite in every aspect of his life. Louis’ love for him is endless.
“I love you so much,” babbles Harry, like he’s reading Louis’ mind. “I love—love you,” he whimpers softly, “So much. So fucking much Lou, oh my God—” His voice cracks when Louis snaps his hips upward, not that he means to. It takes every ounce of self-control in him to not continue; to let Harry go at his pleasantly slow rate as if they aren’t both a breath away from coming.
“You know,” Harry opens his eyes, kisses Louis’ forehead, “When you—when you sang tonight. Fuck. I was so—I was so fucking proud of you, Lou. You’re so wonderful, baby, m’so lucky to call you mine.”
Louis’ heart is leaping so fast in his chest he feels like he could vomit right now.
“Harry,” he grits out, “If you don’t shut the fuck up right now I’m not going to last a second longer and you’re going to end up having to make yourself come all on your own.”
He only half expects the laugh that bubbles out of Harry. “I still mean it,” Harry continues as his hips move faster and faster and Louis can see his legs shaking with every bounce, “Every word. You make me so proud to be yours.”
Louis decides to give up any façade of self-control that he had in favor of fisting a tight hand around Harry’s hair and fucking into him mercilessly, until Harry is incapable of stringing together any words at all. Their bodies move in a way that’s half instinctive and half a product of years of practice; years of irresistible love.
Harry’s scent is sharp and sweet when Louis nuzzles deep behind his ear, leaving kisses and inhaling the vanilla fragrance of his body wash, so thin and worn away that Louis would miss it if he hadn’t already memorized the scent of it after all these years. The pull deep in his belly grows every time Harry clenches around him, their skin slapping together at a constant rate and Louis panting against Harry’s ear to keep his orgasm away.
He can’t speak for Harry, though. He can feel Harry ready to lose it, his body moving frantically and without precision now; the only thing on his mind to make sure Louis’ cock hits his prostate every time he fucks down. He gets needy when he’s this close—needy and equally desperate. If his hands were free they’d be cling onto Louis like a vice, eyes pooled up with tears and begging Louis to please, please, make him come.
Harry uses that voice on him right now, is more insistent with it because his hands are tied up. Every breath he pants is Louis’ name, his face buried deep into the crook of Louis’ neck and his hips rutting against Louis’ chest, trapping Harry’s cock between them for the sake of friction. He is all-encompassing right now and Louis knows that his only chance at getting his final wish for the night lies in letting Harry come right now.
So he does.
He doesn’t wrap his hands around Harry’s cock like he normally would—no, he instead wraps one around Harry’s waist and holds him close, encourages him to fuck against his belly as much as he needs to. All it really takes is a few thrusts upward, sucking down hard with purpose around the bruised nubs of Harry’s nipples, and a tight fist in his hair to get him to come.
“My love,” echoes into Harry’s mouth as Louis kisses him through his orgasm.
The hardest part about fucking Harry is always getting himself to not come right then and there when Harry does. Harry is so beautiful at every moment of his day, but when he climaxes he is visionary. Ethereal. His mouth drops open and he lets out the most lovely moans, like something straight out of the heavens. The deep scrunch of his eyes and the red of his wet mouth, the taut peak of his body before he sags, the delicious warmth of his come as it paints both of their chests. Louis is convinced that there is no wonder in this world quite as beautiful as Harry Styles falling apart for him.
That’s what makes not coming so bloody difficult. Louis doesn’t know how he manages to wait long enough for Harry to come off his orgasm, but somehow he does. Somehow he survives the long moments in between Harry coming and Harry finally blinking awake, returning to consciousness. His long lashes fan against his cheeks and he is heavenly; the most beautiful boy Louis could ever think to exist in the entire history of the human race.
A wide, dopey grin spreads across Harry’s mouth as he slowly comes to, barely registering Louis’ rock hard cock still in his arse. “You wanna fuck my mouth, don’t you?” he asks knowingly, a little giggle escaping him.
Louis’ eyes fall to the thick red of Harry’s mouth, having already experienced once tonight its warmth and wonder. “Are you asking me rhetorically or do you really think I’d say no to your mouth?” Louis repeats the exact words Harry had used on him.
Harry rolls his eyes. “You want me on my back or on my knees? Never mind, here,” he winces as he pulls off Louis’ cock, legs like jelly as he turns around, “Get these off and then cuff me back up against the headboard.”
Louis blinks once, twice, forty-five times before his dick twitches and he snaps back into focus. “Yeah, yeah. Shit, alright, okay, gimme a sec.” He jumps off the bed one last time, his dick slapping against his belly, and ruffles through Harry’s toiletries bag. He comes back with a bobby pin and a nail filer and picks the hand cuffs open in no more than seven seconds. It takes even less time to get Harry on his back and stretching his arms above his head, always so eager to please. As Louis ties Harry’s wrists back up and loops the cuffs through one of the beams in the headboard, he feels the heavy weight of Harry’s eyes on his cock the entire time.
Louis has to force himself to not look, to not meet those deep greens, because if he does he’s completely fucked; would probably end up coming all over Harry’s face at just a single glance.
Which. Doesn’t sound like the worst idea, but still. Louis is a man on a mission and he is going to fuck Harry’s mouth if it’s the last fucking thing he does.
He gets on his knees and positions himself high up on Harry’s chest, his thighs brushing against the underside of Harry’s arms. “Ready?” he asks, keeping his eyes on Harry’s mouth determinedly.
Harry opens his mouth wide and nods, his lips already so fucking bruised. Fuck, Louis’ going to last a good four seconds before he comes, but those’ll still probably be the best four seconds of his life, he reasons.
“Fuck me,” Harry pushes.
Louis takes a deep breath and steadies himself. He wraps a hand around the base of his cock. A part of him is almost terrified of this, of how good Harry makes him feel all the fucking time. It’s so overwhelming, so breathtaking. The few seconds that it takes for the head of Louis’ deep red cock to meet the slick slide of Harry’s deep red lips are the longest moments of Louis’ life. He has to bite down on his lip, every nerve-ending in his body screaming with alarm as Harry mouths at his cockhead, gets it slippery wet with his tongue all over, tasting him eagerly.
As he opens his mouth up for him, Louis begins to slide down, feeding his cock into Harry’s hot, inviting mouth. It’s not quite as tight as Harry’s arse, but it’s just as wet, just as engulfing. It’s so much worse because Harry is entirely in control like this, despite being underneath him and getting his mouth stuffed with Louis’ cock. It’s his wet heat that drives Louis’ mad; that gets him to start moving his hips. It’s Harry who opens his throat for Louis’ cock and takes him down, tears tracking his cheeks and the muscles in his arms red and painful as he strains against the handcuffs.
He’s so fucking good to Louis; so fucking good for Louis. Harry’s selflessness in bed, how hot he gets when being used, the fact that all he wants is to please, please, please; to be good for Louis—it makes Louis dizzy with adoration. He watches himself fuck into Harry’s mouth and the sight is so fucking dirty, so unlike the bashful, lanky boy that stumbled into the toilets all those years ago.
Louis doesn’t know what it is about fucking Harry’s mouth that makes him so bloody emotional, but Jesus Christ, he can’t imagine a world without this idiot choking on his cock right now. He understands why Harry’s eyes are brimming with tears, but it’s inexcusable the way his own get glassy and his nose stuffy, his breathing short just as his orgasm pools low in his groin. Louis loves Harry so much. He loves his mouth and his tongue and his stupid, too-wide nose, his doe-like eyes and his stupid muscles and that loud shriek of his that Liam calls his Louis’ Laugh. He would go to the ends of this earth to hear that laugh even just once in his next lifetime.
He shakes his head and huffs out a breath, sniffling the sappiness away. There’ll be time for that later.
For now, he focuses back on the way his cock hits the back of Harry’s throat and the fat strip of Harry’s tongue that licks the underside of his cock every time he pulls out. His own arms ache with how hard he’s gripping the metal of the headboard. And it doesn’t help to see the wetness of Harry’s mouth and his chin, to know that there’s dried off come painting those abs of his and that his bare feet are curled up against the sheets, waiting for Louis to fill his mouth with his come.
It’s the image of that that pushes Louis over the edge and gets him to finally release deep into the heat of Harry’s mouth. Harry struggles for a moment, choking on the sudden shock, but he takes it like a champ and drinks Louis in like his life depends on it. It’s arguably the longest and hardest Louis’ come in months and every second of it is so fucking worth it, he thinks. The way his body snaps as soon as he comes is unlike any other feeling in the world; the euphoria that fills his bloodstream intoxicating.
Louis is short of breath when he eventually gets himself to pull out, the last bit of his come spraying the corner of Harry’s mouth. He ducks down and licks it up before Harry gets the chance. He ends up kissing Harry for much longer than just one cheeky kiss then, but it’s nowhere near as heavy and needy as their kisses had been just fifteen minutes ago.
Louis grabs the filer and bobby pin to pry Harry open, never once allowing his lips to stop kissing some part of Harry’s body; the corner of his mouth, the swell of his ribs, the insides of his elbows. He throws the cuffs to the floor and shuffles onto his side, bringing Harry’s reddened wrists to his mouth. He kisses and kisses, keeps this touch soft and soothing until Harry has to forcibly remove his hands from Louis’ hold just to get his attention.
“Hey,” he whispers like a secret, the small word swimming across their shared pillow to reach Louis.
“Hi.” Louis’ runs his fingers through Harry’s fringe. His hair is getting so long now, the little baby Tarzan that his Harold is. He hopes Harry keeps pushing off that haircut everyone keeps teasing about for as long as possible. They both enjoy Louis having something to pull during sex. It’s mutual, they’ve discussed it.
“We should do that more often,” Harry says.
The sound of his wrecked voice gets Louis to lower his gaze from Harry’s brunette locks to his green eyes, warm and a soft jade color at the moment. He smiles, a little skip in his heartbeat. “You think anyone would let you on stage if you sounded like this all the time?”
“You would,” Harry argues. He pinches at Louis’ hips teasingly, pulling him in against his chest with a dopey, blissful grin on his face. “You love knowing you did this to my voice.”
Louis kisses the tip of his nose. “Pretty sure that’s just you, baby.”
“Mmm, yes. Probably.”
“You okay with falling asleep like this or you wanna go shower off real quick?” Louis asks. He looks down at their sticky, come-stained bodies. He smiles at the sight of Harry’s long legs tangled between his own, but that’s beside the point. He’s got Harry’s come all dried up on his stomach.
“In a bit, yeah,” Harry closes his eyes and nuzzles further in Louis’ arms. He finds his place hidden deep into the curve of Louis’ neck, his favorite spot to call home, and lets out a long breath. It’s been an endless day.
“I still meant everything I said, you know,” he mumbles into Louis’ skin some time later, when their bodies have melted into each other and deep in the sheets. “You make me so proud to be with you, Lou. You were amazing tonight.”
Louis bites the inside of his cheeks hard enough that he tastes blood. He squeezes his hold around Harry and buries his nose deep into the crown of Harry’s head, where he smells least like vanilla and sweat and most like just pure, unapologetic Harry.
He doesn’t know of anything he could say to Harry to express how grateful he is. How thankful, how mesmerized, how in love he is. On a better day he could, but right now he can’t. No words in the English language do him justice right now; do the endless, deep love that he feels day in and day out for Harry justice.
He kisses Harry’s head and settles for the simplest truth he’s ever known.
“I’ll love you forever.”