Work Header

never have things for a normal life

Work Text:

It’s still warm, that dusty heat that only thousands of people can kick up in the middle of the night. It’s loud too, a hubbub of chatter and music and noise.

Glastonbury never sleeps.

Niall makes his way through the gates into the hospitality section. Louis had wanted to camp at first, really rough it down in a muddy campsite but Niall knows how horrendous a hangover is when you wake up at the crack of dawn in a boiling tent. Plus, they’d never get a minutes' peace. It hadn’t taken too much to persuade Louis to make the most of their connections and book into one of the posh tents at the edge of the VIP gates.

Louis had arrived with a sleeping bag; his mouth wicked as he had laughed at Niall’s expression when he unrolled it across the floor of their fancy yurt.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Louis had said, kicking it into the corner with a battered rucksack. “It’s for any strays we bring home.”

He’s not expecting him to be here though, the last he had seen him had been his back retreating into the crowd towards the Arcadia. They’d slipped into the pit under lilac skies as Boy George crooned do you really want to love me? Niall had laughed, feeling something flutter in his stomach as Louis had sang it back to him, his face alight with the flashing lights. His hand had circled around Niall’s wrist as he tugged him into the crush of people, all of them singing along. He had wished to kiss him then. Right there in the middle of all those people, while Louis laughed, his eyes shining. It had felt like a bright spot – his face etching into the back of Niall’s eyelids when he closed them.

And then he was gone. Off to find something bigger and brighter across the sprawling festival site. Niall hadn’t minded – he had other people to hang around with, a welcome respite from the way his stomach twisted with each sharp look and bout of warm laughter.

Now, though, Louis’ spread out across Niall’s bed. His muddy feet hanging off the end.

“Oi,” Niall says lightly, ducking his head as he goes through the flaps. It’s hardly camping at all – the ceiling is higher than his head when he’s standing. Louis raises a hand half-heartedly in a wave from the fluffy white duvet he’s wrapped up in. “Shoes off the bed,” Niall tells him, mock stern.

Louis laughs, soft and sleepy but he rears up, reaching for his shoelaces. Niall snorts and goes to help him, tugging at the heel of his shoes until he can throw them off to the side. They’re caked in mud and it comes off in flakes in Niall’s hand where it’s dried.

“How the fuck did you get so dirty?” Niall asks, rubbing his hand against his own jeans.

Louis shrugs again, his shoulder jerking under his jacket. “M’always dirty, aren’t I?”

Niall reaches to help him take off his jeans, the hems just as bad as his shoes. “Can’t disagree there.”

“’m a dirty boy,” Louis says and he’s giving him that look. That look that Niall’d last seen as the sun set over the stage and Louis had been engulfed in the crowd. Something intense in the way his eyes have narrowed.

Louis takes a breath, his tongue coming to wet across his bottom lip. Niall stares at him, feels something shift between them. His heart is hammering in his chest and he wants to just do it. Just lean in and kiss him like he’s been wanting to.

“Are we –“ Niall starts to say but Louis’ already nodding, leaning in to kiss him as Niall stays stooped over him.

Niall sighs into it, his hands pressed either side of Louis’ hips. He’s bent awkwardly at the waist, all his weight pressing into the thin mattress that Louis is sprawled across. The bed is rudimentary, a low frame close to the ground with a soft duvet that feels luxurious after a day walking around a campsite. It the most glamorous camping he’s ever done.

Louis licks into his mouth, as if to remind him that he’s there and Niall’s shaking with the effort it’s taking to keep himself from pressing against him, shifting down until they’re pressed chest to chest, groin to groin.

“You’re getting my bed all dirty,” Niall complains when they break apart because there’s nothing else buzzing in his brain. Just white fuzz that they’re kissing, his mouth deliciously hot and wet already. That and the fact that Louis’ jeans are slightly damp from something and his feet are caked in mud. Niall takes a breath, glancing down at where Louis’ belly is rising as he breathes. “Should take them off.”

He keeps his head ducked. Just in case he’s reading the signals wrong, that he’s pushing it too far. He sees Louis’ hand twitch where it’s resting near his hip and it’s just the sound of their breathing for a moment before Louis reaches for his waistband.

“Thank fuck,” Niall breathes out, his words coming loose and steady. He stands up properly to give them both room, his hand popping his own button. Louis laughs, lifting his hips to wriggle out of his jeans. He looks ridiculous, slithering over the edge of the bed and bringing half the duvet with him but Niall loves it, loves how his hair musses up against the cover, how his shirt is all caught around his chest.

“Gimme a hand,” Louis says, jeans tangled around his knees. Niall leaves his own jeans and tugs at the waistband, dragging them down Louis’ calves. They’re tight, getting caught around the elastic of Louis’ socks. Louis laughs harder, flopping back across the bed as Niall finally whips them off over Louis’ ankles and sends them flying to the other side of the tent, socks and all. It leaves Louis spread in front of him, his legs naked.

He’s not exactly sure what to do next. Louis glances up at him and Niall holds his gaze for a moment, both of them breathing heavy. “I can –“ Niall starts to say but it feels more natural just to get to his knees and press up against the edge of the bed between Louis’ splayed legs.

Louis grunts, his fingers flexing against his belly like he doesn’t know where to touch first. Louis’ t-shirt has ridden up slightly so Niall can see his bellybutton, the thin trail of hair disappearing down into his waistband.

“This ok?” Niall asks shakily, lifting a hand to press against Louis’ calf. His knee jumps at the touch but then he relaxes, his leg sliding an inch across the floor so Niall can cup his hand under his knee. He feels warm there, a damp sweat already gathering. Niall feels fuzzy, the day’s drinking catching up to him. His ears are still ringing from being side stage and he can’t focus on anything apart from the quiet of their tent and how outside just seems loud.

“Yeah,” Louis says and when Niall glances up again he can see the way he’s stretching back, lifting one hand up over his head so he can fist his fingers around the thin pillow.

“Yeah,” Niall echoes, leaning to press his lips to the softness of Louis’ belly. He hears him gasp, the hand beside his hip reaching up. It hovers for a moment, in the air right beside Niall’s ear before his fingers slide into Niall’s hair.

Niall breathes out against Louis’ stomach, feeling his nails rake over his scalp. He takes a moment to press a hand against the soft, warm bulge of Louis’ dick over his boxers.

It feels strange in the dim of the tent. Their movements tight and precise, too well practised. He’s so aware of how that they’re not really in private at all. It’s busy outside, the lights of the bar filtering through the thin canvas of Niall’s fancy tent making everything shadowy. There’s the sound a loud laugh, bright chatter, the tramp of wellie boots outside as people stray close to their tent. Someone’s singing a Florence song, an echo of a few hours earlier.

Niall peels Louis’ boxers down, urging his hips up so he can pull them down over his arse. Louis follows his hands, settling back down onto the bed quietly. Niall’s never known him to be this quiet and it’s unnerving, he’d expected him to be running his mouth. Niall thumbs over the head of his dick. He’s half hard already and Niall squeezes gently around him, rubbing his thumb over his foreskin. Louis sighs from up above but doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t urge him on.

It’s easy to take him into his mouth, suck carefully around the head of his dick. Louis’ thighs tense and Niall spreads them to give himself more room, sliding his elbow along the firm line of his leg and catching against his leg hair.

“Shit,” Louis finally says, his voice cracking. Niall’s not sure if it’s just rough from the day or if it’s because Niall’s sucking him down, letting Louis stretch out his mouth.

He smells like clean sweat and skin. It’s soft, like Niall’s bedsheets when he hasn’t changed them in a while. Something familiar in how musky it is. There’s something sharp there too – something about how he’s been wearing his jeans all day and out in the rain. Niall wants to press his nose to Louis’ belly and breathe him in.

“You’re good at this,” Louis says and Niall tries not to laugh around his dick. He sounds so surprised. Louis groans again, his hips flexing slowly as if he’s about to thrust up into the heat of Niall’s mouth. Niall pulls back, presses his thumb to the sharp ridge of his hipbone in warning. He doesn’t want any of that.

Louis grunts out a reply, his hand flopping down onto the duvet again. “Sorry,” he says and breathes out, slow.

Niall doesn’t say anything, just suckles around the head of his dick, his tongue wet. Louis tastes sharp of pre-come, his dick hard where Niall has his hand wrapped. He takes him down again – once he’s sure that Louis won’t buck up into his mouth – sucks messily until his jaw begins to ache.

“Uhhh,” Louis says and Niall pulls back, opening his eyes to glance up at him. He blinks, feels where he’s starting to tear up. Louis ducks his chin towards his chest, stares at him through heavy lidded eyes. “Up.”

“Up?” Niall says once he’s pulled off. His mouth feels strangely empty. He runs his tongue over his teeth, takes in how it feels foreign. Louis drops his jaw, his mouth opening.

“Wanna kiss you,” Louis tells him, his tongue coming out against to lick over his bottom lip. Niall nods, pushing up off the floor. He’s hard, pressing against the half open zipper of his jeans. He feels hot and sweaty and dirty – he could do with a shower but Louis’ the same so it doesn’t feel like it matters.

Louis meets him halfway, his hand coming up to press against the front of Niall’s jeans.

“Louis,” Niall says, grinding up shamelessly against the flat of his palm. He doesn’t know why he says it except to vocalise everything in his head. Louis here right in front of him, how soft his hair is, the heat of his cheeks when Niall presses a hand to his face. How he’s been thinking of Louis all day. Right from when Louis arrived at his house this morning with an excited grin through to when they’d stood together, arms pressed against each other and watched James Bay in the late afternoon light.

“I’ve got you,” Louis says, sitting up properly on the edge of the bed. His nose presses against the centre of Niall’s tummy, his breath hot through his thin t-shrit. Niall steadies himself, palms against Louis’ shoulders. He curls his fingers in the seam of his shirt, rubs his thumbs over the warm, rough material of his collar as Louis drags Niall’s jeans and pants down. The scruff on his jaw extends down his neck, a rough patch at the hollow of his throat. It’ll burn when Niall runs his lips over it.

Louis’ hands feel big and warm when they squeeze at his thighs but delicate when they take Niall into his hand, squeezing and twisting a touch too dry around his dick. Fingers stray down, nudge against his balls carefully like Louis’ testing what Niall wants, what he likes. It’s nice. That gentle sniffing out of boundaries that normally feels so awkward when you’re sleeping with someone new for the first time. This feels familiar though, like Louis knows him so well that he shouldn’t have to ask.

Niall shuffles forward, leans more weight against Louis. He gasps, something bright settling at the base of his back where he’s gone all hot. His legs tremble, too shaky to keep him standing for much longer.

“Thought you wanted to kiss,” Niall says, his chest tight. His whole body is tight, his muscles locking up as he starts to feel good all over.

It’s too quiet between them. He wants the laughing back, that easy banter they usually have. He looks down, pulls Louis’ head back gently with a hand in the hair at the nape of his neck. Louis stares up at him, mouth open. Niall wants to kiss him.

Niall leans down, pushes him back onto the bed as he does. Louis sighs into it, spreading out easily across the mattress as Niall presses up against him, the head of his dick catching against the hem of Louis’ t-shirt. Louis kisses him back messily, his coordination off as Niall grinds down against him, just one split second behind Niall’s lead. He tastes of beer and then of nothing at all, mouth wet. Louis lifts his feet off the ground and grunts into his mouth, loud and boyish as he pulls his legs up around Niall’s hips, thighs squeezing.

Niall breathes out of his nose, carefully, as Louis sucks on his tongue. They’ve built up a sloppy rhythm, grinding together as Niall presses them into the sheets, desperate for friction. Niall feels too hot, like his skin is radiating heat. They rub together where Niall’s skin meets Louis, at his shoulder, around his hips. His t-shirt sticks to his back and he wishes he had pulled it off but he can’t now, not when he’s pressed so close to Louis that he doesn’t want to pull away.

It’s not perfect – Niall wishes it suddenly were. They’re too drunk together; their hands clumsy as Niall cups a hand to Louis’ arse and Louis licks across his palm, reaching down to tug them both off. It doesn’t really work, his hand barely finding room to fit around them when they’re pressed so close.

It takes much too long, Niall riding on the build up for what feels like ages, gasping into Louis’ mouth, letting him suck on his tongue, pushing up against Louis’ dick in his fist, his knuckles pressed against his stomach.

And then it feels entirely too short – Louis coming with a loud, abrupt shout in his ear and Niall following after, one jerky pump of Louis’ sticky hand over his dick later. They pant against each other, sharing air as they slowly pull apart and Niall comes down hollowly, like it hardly happened at all.

“I need to clean up,” Louis says against Niall’s chin. He presses his lips there, as if in a kiss. “That’s why I came back. To get a new pair of shoes.”

Niall snorts, rolling onto his back. There’s a waft of cool air over his exposed legs and it cools him down, raises goosepimples that make him shiver. Louis’ hand brushes across his hip as he sits up, his fingers lingering a second too long for it to be an accident.

“We’re heading back out soon,” Louis says to him over his shoulder as if he hasn’t just disappeared from the rest of the group for half an hour. “Apparently there’s a dawn rave down by Pennard Hill.”

Niall watches as he pulls his t-shirt over his head. Dawn seems like a long way off.

“Wherever that is,” Louis mumbles through the fabric. Niall grins up at the canvas ceiling. He’s still fuzzy, a mix of warm beer and having just come. Louis’ smiling at him when he looks away again, his own eyes soft.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Louis says, reaching for his rucksack. Niall lifts a hand, presses it to the warm skin at the base of his back. Louis sits up, throws a fresh t-shirt at him.

“Kiss me under the stars?” Niall asks him with a grin. He means it as a joke but can’t help the little throb of want in his belly when Louis smiles at him.

“Maybe,” he says, tugging on another t-shirt. “If you’re lucky.”