“You’re sure I won’t suffocate you?” Harry peers down at Louis’ face, eyebrows drawn together in worry.
Louis smirks, settling his hands on her thighs. “Well, it’s not like I could complain if you were. And I definitely wouldn’t complain in the first place. I promise, I will thoroughly enjoy myself, H.” He licks his lips, only a little obnoxiously. It can’t hide the lust darkening his blue eyes however.
They’ve been in this position more than once, Louis on his back, spread eagle on their bed with Harry perched over him. Inevitably, she declines Louis’ offer of eating her out this way, wary of crushing him or that she wasn’t groomed or any other number of things that were born out of Harry’s insecurity at being so bare. He’s worn her down through his sheer enthusiasm for eating her out over the past years that she lets him go down on her when his head is pressed against her, but it’s never been enough to get her to straddle him and be on top that way.
Tonight isn’t any different, to Louis’ chagrin. Don’t get him wrong, the sex is fantastic as always - Harry is a vision when she comes - but he really, really wants Harry to let go and ride his face. It’s not exactly a thing you can put on a birthday wish list and Louis isn’t so crass as to write it on the list that stays to the fridge magnet of things they’ve both run out of or want on the next shopping trip.
It doesn’t come up again until Harry’s come home in a huff, tendrils escaping the bun she throws her hair in more days than not. Louis enters the kitchen cautiously, wincing at the loud bang of a pan onto a counter. Harry ignores him, whisking something vigorously in a bowl and not paying any mind to the flecks of green that dot her wrists with the movement. Louis makes an executive decision and pours a glass of Harry’s favorite rose wine before he interrupts the bubble she’s built around herself.
“Babe?” Louis says quietly and Harry spins around. Her mouth is a thin line. “I can handle dinner if you want to go take a bath.” He holds out the wine glass like an offering with a small smile.
Harry deflates the longer he stands there, fighting the urge to wiggle the glass in his hand. She steps toward him and Louis barely has enough time to set the wine down before he’s got an armful of warm girlfriend. Harry presses her face into his neck and Louis holds her tight while she doesn’t cry, eyelashes brushing against his skin as she blinks furiously. He rubs her back and slowly spins them around so Harry’s facing the door to the living room.
“Bath and a glass of wine is just what the doctor ordered,” Louis instructs, pushing her gently out of the room. “Dinner will be ready when you get out and then we’ll see how many times I can make you scream.” He adds an eyebrow waggle for effect and Harry smiles wanly.
“Don’t burn anything, Lou.” Harry detaches herself from his arms and picks up the wine bottle along with the glass on her way out.
Louis does his best; he’s watched Harry cook enough time to know that whatever’s in the bowl is either a marinade or a gravy for after the meat is cooked. He takes his chances and sets the raw beef in the pan once it’s heated, since the bowl’s contents look too thick to be a marinade. The water turns off above his head and Louis knows Harry’s sinking into the water now.
They sear with a nice sizzle and then Louis puts on an oven mitt and slides the pan into the oven Harry’s pre-heated, feeling like he’s on an episode of the cooking competition show Harry likes to watch every so often. He isn’t exactly sure how long it’ll take but takes a guess at fifteen minutes and sets the alarm on his phone.
He sets the table to pass the time, does his best to remember the fancy napkin folding Lottie tried to teach him last month and gives up when the paper towel refuses to stand up on its own. A glass of water at each place and a quick salad of all the vegetables Louis can find in the fridge makes the meal, he thinks.
The timer goes off and Louis pulls the pan out. They smell pretty good, never mind that Louis thinks he might have inhaled a peppercorn when he leaned down.
“You have to let them rest,” Harry startles him and Louis sets the knife down. He was about to check they were cooked enough but apparently not.
She crosses the kitchen in bare feet, wrapped in a silk robe and hair up in a towel. Louis thinks she hasn’t looked more beautiful and tells her as much, catching her hand as she passes him to squeeze it.
“I’ll plate, you sit,” Harry tries to tell him but Louis uses their linked hands to spin her into him and holds tight, rocking them together.
“Teach me your way, Masterchef. What are we eating tonight, like, in the bowl?” Louis gestures best he can with an elbow and a head tilt. “I couldn’t figure it out.”
Harry laughs, bright and walks them over to the counter. “Chimichurri, it’s from Argentina.”
“So fancy tonight in our silk robe and Argentina sauce,” Louis says against her neck.
“Argentinian,” Harry corrects with a grin. She squeezes Louis’ hands tight before letting go and picking up the knife he’d set aside earlier.
They probably make an odd pair, sitting at a kitchen table in a pair of old joggers, a too-large jumper and a silk robe, eating steak and salad as the sun turns everything golden around them for a long moment.
“You wanna talk about it, H?” Louis asks gently when they’re almost done with the meal.
“Work was shit,” Harry says simply. She shrugs, one side of the robe falling nearly down her shoulder. She doesn’t pull it back up. “Not much more to it.”
“But it’s the weekend now,” Louis grins and Harry’s dimple pops out. “Had some thoughts for tonight.”
Harry leans her chin on one hand and makes a ‘go on’ motion with the other. Louis stands from the table, collects their plates and drops them in the sink. Dishes can wait until the morning, because now it’s time to focus on Harry.
“I can make you feel real good,” Louis murmurs, pulling her up from her chair and kissing her. It’s a kiss that goes from slow and sweet to dirty faster than it should but Harry is rolling her hips against him.
“You can come on my face,” Louis says against her collarbone when they’re pressed against the wall outside their bedroom. The door is right there, less than a foot away, but his brain had thought it sounded like a great idea to spend some time kissing along the line of silk and Harry’s chest tattoos.
Louis gets on the bed first, spreading his legs the barest bit and leaving his hands down at his sides. Harry watches him get comfortable as she drops the robe at the end of the bed in a pale blue puddle.
“How is riding you going to have me coming on your face?” Harry questions even as she crawls over him, her hair falling into disarray as she runs a hand through it and dislodges what remains of the day’s bun.
“Not my cock, love.” Louis says with a leer and tongue showing.
Harry frowns and Louis sets his hands on her waist, thumb rubbing the scalloped edge of her lace knickers.
“I promise, if you don’t like it in the first sixty seconds, you can ride me. Or do whatever you want, H. Tonight’s all about you and making you feel good.”
“That’s most nights,” Harry points out wryly.
“What can I say?” Louis urges her closer to his mouth with a hand on her ass. “I like to please.”
“You do it very well,” she says, settling her knees next to his head. “And you’re sure this is okay?”
“I’m asking for it,” Louis reminds her. “One minute or your money back if you’re not having fun.” He slides one hand from her back to her thigh, urging her up so her cunt is over his mouth. Louis blows air over the damp patch on the lace, licking his lips when she shivers.
Harry hovers above him, a tease of pink flesh and wet need. Louis’ mouth waters.
“Hold onto the headboard, babe,” he instructs softly, not wanting to interrupt the hush that’s fallen over the room. His lips nearly brush her hot skin, paler in the moonlight and against her black knickers. Harry sighs above him and it becomes louder when Louis lifts his head to lick across the black lace that doesn’t do much at all to disguise how turned on she is. He does it again and then pulls back, resting his head on the pillow. If he spends the entire night straining to reach, he’s going to end up with a very sore neck. Besides, the point of tonight is that Harry’s going to let go and trust in herself, trust that Louis won’t be killed between her thighs and will give her one hell of an orgasm. Or maybe two, since Louis knows if he keeps licking in her after the first, the second one will follow on its heels.
He tucks the idea away and gets back to it, grasping Harry’s thighs and pulling her closer to his face. He licks across the lace again, amazed it’s soft against his tongue. Harry rocks against him when he presses into her, lace and tongue and wet.
“Oh, okay,” Harry breathes. “Yeah, this is good.” Louis tries not to laugh but when he finally does, Harry’s body shakes in the best way.
He nudges the panties aside with his nose after a long minute or maybe it’s three, time isn’t exactly important when Harry’s glistening above him and moaning so prettily. He shifts his grip on her thighs, the pads of his fingers digging in at the edge of her tiger tattoo. The headboard creaks as Harry leans on it, hovering above his face just out of reach.
“Are you trying to tease me?” Louis asks, stroking the soft skin of her thigh. He can just see Harry’s green eyes through the curtain of long brown curls.
“No,” Harry admits. “But it’s a great bonus alongside not wanting to kill you.”
“You’re not going to kill me babe, I promise.” Louis says, turning his head to kiss her thigh. He nips at the soft skin gently, then works on a sucking a bruise for their eyes only.
Louis leans back once he’s satisfied with the dark purple color against her pale skin, not to breathe but to ask a question. “Can I tear these, babe?” He’s learned over the years with Harry that she’s very particular about certain articles of clothing - lacy knickers and suede boots, usually. It took Niall two weeks to get a smile out of her after he accidentally spilled half a pint on her boots last year.
“They’re Agent Provocateur, I’d prefer you didn’t.” Harry answers and swings a leg over his body. She rolls off the bed and pushes the lace down, kicking it backwards with a pop of a foot. Louis grins at her, shameless about staring.
“C’mere, gorgeous.” Louis calls. “I wasn’t done with you.”
Harry gives a blinding grin and crawls back up his body. They kiss, Harry not minding that Louis’ mouth is wet from her. He peppers kisses across her jaw line as she grinds down, smearing wet across his thigh.
Instead of holding onto the headboard this time, Harry reaches down and tangles her long fingers in his hair, guiding Louis’ mouth to her. Louis smiles against her, sucking her clit before letting his tongue circle the bud again and again. He does this with varying speed, flicking the point of his tongue just to hear her gasp.
He’s getting into the rhythm now, eyes closed and just concentrating on the smell, the taste of his girl. Harry’s moans turn into quiet whimpers, a sign that Louis is doing something really right. That’s why it’s a surprise when Harry wraps a hand around his cock.
His hips jerk up, not enough to dislodge Harry kneeling above him but enough of a surprise that her hand in his hair tightens on the wrong side of the pain/pleasure line. Louis hisses out a breath and Harry pets apologetically at his head. Her other hand jerks him slowly, not enough pressure to truly work him into an orgasm but it does remind Louis that his cock has been hard well over a half hour at this point, and ignored.
“You were doing something,” Harry reminds him with a laugh in her voice. She’s let go of his hair now to balance herself, the hand not stroking him pressing against his stomach muscles. It tilts her hips up, making it easier for Louis to lick long lines up and down her center.
“Oh, yes.” Harry gasps out, nails scratching lightly over his stomach when she curls her hand.
Louis hums against her cunt in response, flicking his tongue over her clit before sealing his mouth over her and sucking. Harry cries out and Louis does it again before pressing his tongue in, thrusting in counterpoint to Harry’s hand on his cock.
She figures out what he’s doing quick enough, though he continues with his tongue even when her hand falters and stays loosely gripping his cock. Louis doesn’t mind, because this is all about Harry.
Harry puts more of her weight on the hand on his stomach and rocks her hips with Louis’ motions. Louis does his best to keep his hips still and lets Harry ride his face. She grinds down, rubbing herself over Louis’ pointed tongue.
Louis reaches up to palm a breast, rolling the nipple between two fingers and pulling slightly. Harry comes with a full-body shudder, green eyes fluttering closed. She smears wet down Louis’ chin as her chest heaves; Louis tightens his other hand on her waist and keeps her above him, going back to licking large circles.
“Lou,” Harry gasps when he doesn’t stop and grazes her swollen labia with his teeth.
Louis hums and Harry emits a noise that he’s tempted to call a shriek. Louis hums again, definitely not to the tune of the song Harry wrote for both of them. He tilts his head to suck her clit, rolling his tongue in circles around the bundle of nerves gently.
Harry comes for a second time with a wordless cry and Louis pushes his head down into the pillow underneath him, breaking away from his place between her thighs.
Louis definitely isn’t panting for breath, but the air in their bedroom is certainly sweet. He’s not sure how much of that is due to Harry, who’s covering his lips and chin and part of his cheek when she tumbled off him a minute ago.
They both lay on the bed, silent until Harry reaches over and grasps Louis’ cock. He had managed to forget how hard he was, lost in the scent and wet of Harry, focused solely on her. Her long fingers wrapped around him, stroking slowly but not enough to do anything other than have even more precome drip onto his stomach.
Louis bucks his hips up. “Wasn’t I kind to you? This is how you repay me?” Harry smiles and wipes her hand off on his chest. Louis watches as she puts her hair up in a bun and his head drops back to the pillow when Harry leans down to wrap her lips around his cock.
It’s over embarrassingly quickly, not even enough time for Harry to deep throat. She splutters, come dripping out of her mouth.
She wipes it off with the back of her hand and rasps in an imitation of Louis not five minutes earlier, “This is how you repay me?”
“Sorry, love.” Louis grins unrepentantly. He gives himself another minute just to lay there and feel the satisfied glow in his bones of a good orgasm and giving Harry what seemed like two really good ones, then he rolls off the bed to go wash his chest off.
Harry follows not a half-minute later, using the toilet but not bothering to shut the door. Louis rolls his eyes at her when blue meets green in the mirror. Harry smirks.
They both finish their nightly routine and head back to bed, Harry curling up against Louis’ bare chest. Louis presses a kiss to a pale shoulder blade before he opens his mouth.
“You enjoyed yourself, right?” Louis tells himself it’s not insecurity making him ask.
Harry murmurs sleepily and rolls around to face him.
“The two orgasms weren’t enough? It’s hard to fake those when I’m sitting on you, I’d suspect.”
“You’ve faked them before?” Louis is only a little hurt.
Harry rolls her eyes and slaps his chest. “Not with you.” Louis preens and Harry twists his nipple between two painted nails. Louis would be proud of the move straight from his own playbook if it didn’t make his body jerk in surprise.
Harry laughs in his face, too loud for the late hour. “But yes, the sex was good and you didn’t die. I might wake up you that way, could be fun.”
Louis squawks about actual suffocation and pulls her closer against him at the same time.
Harry turns again so they’re proper spooning. No matter that she’s actually taller than him, Harry is always the little spoon. Louis spits a curl from his mouth and closes his eyes. He drifts off with Harry snoring lightly in front of him.