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once like a spark

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The boy has a smile like spring days and iced cake and sweet tea, lips curling up to reveal perfect teeth before he flicks his tongue out to wet his bottom lip like a big hungry cat. His features are pleasant, strong jaw leading into tendons on the side of his neck that flex when he laughs, Adam’s apple bobbing against his throat; wide shoulders and sharp collarbone crowned by the faintest hint of a tattoo peeking out from under his worn tee.

Louis purses his mouth, eyebrows drawn together, but finds it impossible to tear himself away. The boy laughs again, caught in a conversation, hand shooting out in a grand gesture that, if it went just a few inches further, would touch Louis’ nose. He seems unaware, slightly turned away from Louis, focused on a story about dogs told by some tall, lanky guy in a leather jacket that appears older than the guy himself.

Louis watches for a few more moments, waiting for a gap in their conversation, a punchline in the story, but then impatiently glides over, leaning against the counter to flash a smile at the boy. "Can I get you anything else?" he asks and shimmies his hips along to the beat of the music. Zayn is giving him a look from the other end of the bar, frowning slightly at the line of people waiting to get a drink. Louis rolls his eyes and shrugs and turns his attention back to the boy, who ruffles his fringe and gives Louis a little lopsided grin.

“Another Corona? And-” He turns toward his friend who leans in and says, “A G and T for me, darling.” He winks and Louis cocks a brow at him. “And your number, if that’s a thing you do,” the guy continues.

Louis huffs out a laugh and grabs a Corona from under the counter, opening it in a fluid movement, before setting it on the counter. He catches the boy’s eyes before glancing at the guy to say, “It’s not. But one G and T coming right up.” He turns back to the boy and holds his gaze for a moment, smiling a little suggestively, then goes to make the guy’s drink and cashes them both in.

“Hope that was worth it,” Zayn hisses under his breath, squishing a lemon in a glass, when Louis returns to help him work through the orders piling up at this side of the counter.

“Dunno yet,” Louis grumps and takes another few orders, mixing one drink after another, glancing up once in awhile to catch the boy’s eyes. After the rush starts to die down again, Louis finds his way back to the glass rack, picking one at random to polish, and throws the boy a smile from under his lashes, but all the response he gets is the guy in the leather jacket reaching over the counter and gesturing for him to come closer.

“Could I have another?” he says, handing Louis his glass, fingers brushing against Louis’ when Louis takes it. Louis rolls his eyes, but smiles anyway, leaning in, hands perched on the counter.

“Sure, love,” he says and turns to the boy. “And for you? Another Corona?”

The boy hums and Louis meets his eyes; there’s a bit of a glint in them that sends a shiver down Louis’ spine, a rush of delicious excitement. “That’d be great, thank you,” he says with a small smile, his eyes crinkling a little. Louis licks his lips, throat suddenly tight, and feels his cheeks heat up unexpectedly. He uncaps another beer and sets it on the counter, sliding it over, then draws his bottom lip between his teeth to hold in a sound of surprise.

There’s more tattoos poking out from under the boy’s sleeve and his watch when he moves to grab the bottle, and Louis tilts his chin. “Sketchbook, huh?”

The boy grins and takes hold of Louis’ wrist instead of the bottle, turning it in his hand. “Look who’s talking.” He rubs his thumb over the quote marks etched into Louis’ skin and up over the four birds caught in flight.

Louis laughs, but doesn’t pull away, just tilts his brow and leans in closer until he can smell the boy’s aftershave, something deep, earthy and mossy that almost makes his head spin. “Not as bad as yours, sir,” he replies. “Can I have my hand back now? I’ve got to work and all, you know.”

“Of course,” the boy says. “I didn’t mean to keep you.”

He meets Louis’ eyes and Louis ducks his head, unable to keep himself from grinning stupidly. “No? Now I’m a bit disappointed.”

“Oh.” The boy pulls a face, eyebrows drawn together, and takes a swig from his beer. He seems to want to say something, but his friend cuts in again, neck flushed red with alcohol. “Harry,” he says, “flirting with the equipment is rude.” He pushes his quiff back with four fingers. “Don’t worry, love, I’ll keep your virtue safe from this lothario.” He pats the boy’s - Harry’s arm - and smiles cordially at Louis.

“I don’t think I need help with that,” Louis says politely and swallows the insult dancing on the tip of his tongue. He’s got another forty-five minutes to go until his shift is over and a glance at Zayn’s side of the bar tells him that people are already starting to leave, and this is so not worth getting angry about. “Thanks, though,” he says instead but can’t quite keep the venom out of his voice.

“Stingy,” the guy says and Louis grits his teeth, exhaling sharply.

“Look,” he starts before he can stop himself, but Harry reaches out and touches his friend’s arm, squeezing, turning to Louis. “I’m sorry,” he says and fumbles two fivers from the pocket of his jeans, leaving them a bit crumpled on the counter. “I think we’ll go.” He turns to his friend, pushing gently. “Come on, Nick, you’re plastered and being rude.”

“Not being rude,” Nick protests, but gets up anyway, stumbling off into the direction of the exit.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says and shrugs, lips pulled together in a pout that Louis would really like to kiss, if he’s being completely honest.

“You’ve said that,” he replies instead and cocks his hip, hand pressed against his waist. Harry’s gaze wanders down his body for a moment before it snaps back up to Louis’ eyes. “It’s Louis,” Louis continues. “In case you were wondering.”

“I was, actually.” Harry grins. He traces his hand over the counter, meeting Louis’ eyes, then takes a step backwards, T-shirt riding up, and pushes his hands into the pockets of his too-tight jeans. “I’ve got to go. Take my troublemaker friend home and make sure he’s alright. See you, Louis.” He over-pronounces it like Lou-eh, all careful around the vowels, and Louis bites his lip, heart skipping a beat, unable to think of anything to say fast enough before Harry turns on his heels and leaves.

“Shit,” he hisses under his breath and leans against the counter at his back, catching Zayn’s eyes. “What, man?” he calls out and Zayn just laughs and throws a wet rag at him, which Louis gracefully evades. He taps a button on the touchscreen of their computer and the music dies down slowly.

“Stop moping like a teen and go and do your job, Lou,” he says and opens the dishwasher, steam floating up into the old ceiling. Louis frowns but swallows down any response he’s got because Zayn’s right.

Half an hour later the last patron, drunk and yawning, finally leaves, and Louis sets the last polished glass in the rack. He drops the rag on the counter, wiping off it off once more, then stuffs it in the laundry basket in the corner.

“I’m tired,” Zayn says with a yawn. He grabs a bottle of scotch and pours two glasses, handing one to Louis. “To your fantastic chat up skills, Lou.”

“Sod off. I just polished those, too,” Louis huffs but grabs the glass anyway, clinking it against Zayn’s before taking a sip and another until his glass is empty. “Another.” He clears his throat and holds his glass out, and Zayn tops them both off again. They repeat - clink, drink, hiss - two or three more times until Louis has to lean against the counter, a little woozy.

“Let’s lock up,” Zayn says. He screws the bottle shut and puts it back while Louis rinses the glasses, head feeling fuzzy and warm. He sighs and leans back, while Zayn closes the register.

The thing is just, even now comfortably tipsy- “He was so fit.”

“What?” Zayn says. He flips the light switch in the corner and bathes the room in darkness except for the small safety light above the exit.

“The boy with the hair,” Louis explains and rolls his eyes. Suddenly all he wants is to lie down and mope by himself. “Whatever. Let’s just go.”

“If he’s prince charming,” Zayn starts and ducks out from under the counter . Louis purses his mouth and tries to climb over it, grabbing Zayn’s hand when Zayn holds it out for it. He barely comes to a halt on his feet, tightly gripping Zayn’s arm for support. “If he’s prince charming,” Zayn begins again. “He’ll be back. I’ve seen the guy he was with before, too.”

“Not talking about this anymore,” Louis snaps. He grabs his hoodie and Zayn follows him outside and locks the door.

“Don’t be a baby.” Zayn pockets the keys and hooks his arm with Louis’, pulling him along. “D’you want to have a pint at mine to mend your broken heart?”

“Don’t have a heart that needs mending.” Louis sighs and lets Zayn drag him, yawning, but suddenly wired again, the cool October night air shaking him awake.

“Are you-” Zayn starts but stops again. “Oh,” he says and lets go of Louis, who stumbles, losing his balance for a moment. “Huh.”

Louis blinks and follows Zayn gaze to the boy - Harry - who’s leaning against a large, black Range Rover, face illuminated by the blue light of his phone’s screen even as he’s watching them approach. Louis disentangles himself from Zayn completely and crosses the few remaining feet between them.

“Hey, Harry, right?” he starts, pushing his fingers through his fringe, a nervous habit. “Did you forget something? Should I ask Zayn for the keys?”

“Oh.” Harry shakes his head and pockets his phone, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He’s tall, taller than Louis thought he’d be when he checked him out at the bar, a few inches even though he’s leaning against his car. “No, it’s alright. I’ve got everything.”

Louis licks his lips and hesitantly turns back to look at Zayn, unsure what to say, but Zayn calls out, “I’m going! Bye, Lou!” He’s grinning, waving, and vanishes down the street. Louis clears his throat and turns back to Harry whose face is a confusing mix between confident, unsure and something entirely different.

“Did- did you get your friend home safely?” Louis asks.

“Nick? Yes.” Harry shakes his fringe into his face and pushes it back again, leaving it in a worse state than before. It makes Louis want to touch it and fuss with it and make it right again, fingers itching. Harry sighs. “I’m sorry for. You know. He’s not always like that. Just a moody drunk.”

Louis laughs, then catches himself, his voice bouncing off the walls around him. He winces and shrugs. “It’s fine. I work at a pub, I’m basically used to this.”

“Still.” Harry scratches his head and grins at Louis. “I was going to offer you a lift home for your troubles.” He pushes his bottom lip out in the tiniest hint of a pout, letting it morph into a grin, teeth flashing.

“My troubles, huh.” Louis looks up at him, any last bit of tiredness falling off. “You must think I was quite troubled if you’re coming back for me this late.”

Harry shifts a little, pushing away from the car, and straightens up, sliding his hand over his chest to let it rest above his heart. “Gentleman at heart. My reputation depends on this. I think.” He grins again, charming and easy and boyish.

“Reputation,” Louis echoes and tries not to stare too obviously. “Really?”

Harry laughs and shakes head. “I’ve got to admit, this sounded a lot better in my head.” He’s still got that boyish look on his face that drives Louis a little mad and makes him want to grab the collar of Harry’s jacket and pull him down for a kiss.

“I wasn’t saying no,” he says instead. “Yet.”

“Yet?” Harry’s brows shoot up. “Are you going to? Because if you are, I can start over and try to go for ‘mysterious lad with rough voice’. I might even have a leather jacket in the back of my car.”

Louis stares and looks down, laughing; he bites his lip to stop himself and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I like the lift home’ version better,” he admits and finally meets Harry’s eyes.

Harry makes a sound of relief and takes a step, suddenly closing what little’s left of personal space between them. “Yeah? Because I was worried you wouldn’t say yes at all. Nick kept going on about how you were shooting me looks but-” He rolls his shoulders and his hand finds Louis’ neck and Louis arches into the touch, breath speeding up.

“Was he?” he manages. “Sure seemed to want to chat me up himself.”

“Actually.” Harry leans down, his breath ghosting over Louis’ lips. “‘s why I drove him home. Not all that much into sharing.”

Louis swallows tightly, going on his tiptoes, back curved. “Thought you wouldn’t go for ‘rough voiced and mysterious’ after all?”

Harry shakes his head, laughs small and nudges his nose against Louis’. “I’m not. This is all me.”

His eyes are dark and Louis reaches up to steady himself against Harry’s shoulder, a shiver finding its way down his spine making him exhale sharply. “Good,” he squeezes out hoarsely and pushes himself up more until he can press his lips against Harry’s. An arm finds its way around his middle, pulling him against Harry’s chest, and Harry kisses into his mouth, wet and careful and soft, nipping at Louis’ lips on the way. He faintly tastes like Red Bull, but mostly like peppermint, as though he’s just brushed his teeth because he knew he was going to be kissing Louis soon. The thought makes Louis smile into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut finally, and he opens up, head tilted back, and pushes his tongue back against Harry’s, allowing him to keep the lead.

Oddly, it doesn’t feel like a first kiss; no clicking teeth or too sharp bites, they fall into each other like they’ve kissed before. When Louis pulls away, he’s out of breath and his face feels hot and red, and Harry’s mouth is pink.

“So,” he says and nips at Louis’ bottom lip, fingers digging into the short hair at the back of Louis’ head. “I suppose I ought to take you home.”

Louis smiles, can’t help it, and offers the hint of a shrug. “I suppose. Or I ought to take you home.”

“Mmh,” Harry hums and pulls back a little. “Well, I’m the one with the car.”

Louis tilts his head and allows his hands to find Harry’s hips, his belly, squeezing, feeling his muscles tighten under his fingers. He’s buzzing already, excitement and anticipation pooling hotly in his stomach. “And I’m the one who lives a mere ten minutes from here. By foot.”

Harry’s hand slides up Louis’ skull, fingers pressing in slightly, massaging, and he curves his lips into half a smile. “That’s- yeah, I reckon that’s got me convinced.”

“Thought so.” Louis smiles back and pummels him against the car, tiptoeing to kiss him again; he slides his hand up and digs it into Harry’s thick curls while he licks into his mouth, groaning when Harry doesn’t budge but kisses back hard, hungrily.

“Do you wanna walk, then?” Harry asks between kisses and Louis grunts and presses their mouths together again, head spinning, hot.

“Don’t be silly,” he manages a moment later. “I’m freezing my arse off.”

Harry laughs and pulls away, framing Louis’ hip with one hand, keeping him steadily at a distance. “That’d be a pity.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Don’t go getting cocky, boy.”

“Cocky?” Harry’s hand wanders from Louis’ hip to rest just above his arse, squeezing for a split second, until Louis pushes into his touch and demands, “Can we go?” If their banter continues any longer, he’ll end up asking to suck Harry’s cock on the two minute ride to his flat, and he’d really rather not this end up as a mere car fuck. “Harry.”

“My name,” Harry quips, but takes a step back to let Louis climb into the car. He dances around to the other side, making a goofy face at Louis through the windscreen, and gets in, too. “You give me directions?”

“Yup,” Louis says; he fastens his seatbelt and shifts a bit, catching Harry looking at him. His eyes are very, very green for a few seconds until the light in the car goes off when Harry starts the engine. “Pretty good at directions,” Louis adds.

“Giving or taking?” Harry flashes him another look and leans back over his seat, shoulder against the backrest as he cranes his neck for a better view while he pulls out of the parking spot. He still easily reaches the steering wheel, muscles in his neck flexing, and Louis holds his breath, then swallows it down tightly.

“You'll have to find out, won't you?" He doesn’t manage to sound nearly as confident as he’d aimed for and sucks at his cheek, burying into his hoodie, faking a shiver.

“I think I’ve got an idea,” Harry says. “But I’ll have to test that theory later on.” He turns on the heating and Louis snorts and looks at him from the corner of his eyes. He directs him down the street and around the block and helps him look for a parking spot right in front of Louis’ flat.

“Well,” Harry says when he switches off the engine and Louis undoes his seatbelt. “Good night?” He grins, the corners of his mouth catching into dimples as if he couldn’t be any more perfect.

“Oh shut it,” Louis laughs and pushes at his chest.

“Shut it and-?” Harry asks innocently, eyes wide.

Louis can’t help but roll his eyes, feeling a bit of the tension from the short drive roll off him again; it was weird, for a moment there he got scared, but now that Harry’s smiling at him again, taunting him, teasing, Louis feels less under scrutiny and more like he’s back in the game. “Shut it and see me to my door. Who knows what peril lies ahead.”

“Alright then.” Harry gets out of the car and Louis follows suit, shivering in the cold night air. “If you insist.” Harry smiles at him and Louis digs his keys out of his pockets, turning around, and walks backwards up the stairs to his flat.

“I do insist.” He beckons Harry closer and quickly unlocks the door to let them both in.

Harry’s face changes from playful to something else that sends a spark of arousal down Louis’ spine. “Should I check for monsters under your bed?” he asks and takes off his shoes, nudging them into line with Louis’ while Louis closes the door, body thrumming.

“What’s next?” Louis asks. “The postman-line?” He leans against the door, smiling, and barely holds back a surprised gasp when Harry presses against him, hand on Louis’ waist, fingers curling over it. He’s warm and solid, smiling, and gently knocks his forehead against Louis’. He presses his thumbs into Louis’ stomach, rubbing, and Louis arches up, lips parting involuntarily.

“Really? You need more cheesy chat-up lines?” Harry brushes his lips over Louis’ and lifts him up closer until Louis feels almost intoxicated from the lack of space between them.

“No,” he croaks. “I’m good, thanks love.” He tilts his head a little, but this time it’s Harry who presses in to seal their mouths together. It’s almost gentle until Louis makes a tiny noise in the back of his throat, unable to hold it in; gentle until it changes from exploring to rough and Louis digs his fingers into Harry’s shoulders because Harry’s hands find his arse and lift him up while his hips press between Louis’ thighs, keeping him in place between the door and his body.

“Fuck,” Louis breathes; Harry pulls away and trails his lips over Louis’ chin, neck, ghosting over his pulse until Louis thinks his heart has actually turned into a hummingbird, fluttering against his ribcage. Harry squeezes his arse again, sucking into his skin, and Louis almost knocks his head against the door, tilting it back to give him better access to his neck. “Bedroom,” he croaks and tightens his thighs around Harry’s hips, locking his ankles. “Down the hall, to the left.”

Harry laughs roughly but moves, knocking the hallstand over, stumbling a few steps into the half-darkness. Louis manages to hit the light switch on the way, pushing at Harry’s shoulder to guide him in the right direction, and dives in to lick into his mouth, kissing him hungrily. His back hits a doorframe and then the wall and Harry is laughing into his mouth, but kissing back enthusiastically.

They make it into Louis’ bedroom, where Harry switches the lights on, and Louis’ world tips upside down for a moment when Harry dumps him on the bed and starts shedding his clothes, hopping on one foot as he takes off his socks. Louis pushes himself up on his elbows and watches - Harry’s hair in his face, fingers fumbling with the buttons on his jeans, the collar of his T-shirt pulled down to reveal more of his tattoos - and sits up.

“Come here,” he says with a smile and Harry stops tugging at his clothes to meet Louis’ eyes. He takes a step closer and Louis slides his hands over Harry’s and undoes his jeans, heart racing. He shifts, kneeling, and gathers a shaky breath, suddenly nervous again, then takes Harry’s hand in his and kisses his wrist, watching his face, and shuffles a little closer. Harry’s pulse is racing through his skin against Louis’ lips, tangible, and knowing that Harry feels the same, just as nervous maybe, makes something come loose in Louis.

“Can I blow you?” he blurts out and Harry nods quickly, licking his lips. His hand finds the back of Louis’ head - starting to be a habit - rubbing lightly until Louis leans in. “I wanted to blow you in the car,” he continues, babbling, but can’t get himself to stop. He fumbles the last button on Harry’s fly open, feeling his cock fill against his fingers through the fabric of his briefs, and rubs the flat of his palm over it.

“Fuck, Louis,” Harry laughs out, voice rough; he pushes up against Louis’ hand and draws him in closer, fingers tugging at Louis’ hair. Ah, Louis thinks, but stops thinking again rather quickly when Harry uses his free hand to push down his pants, wrapping it around his cock. He gives himself two, three fast strokes until he’s fully hard, foreskin moving over the wet tip, and Louis feels his mouth water. “I’ve wanted you to blow me in the car,” Harry says and Louis looks up, feeling his eyes widen. He sets to answer but Harry pulls him in and nudges his cock against Louis’ mouth, a not so subtle hint that makes Louis’ eyes flutter shut. He inhales sharply and parts his lips, flicking his tongue out for a first taste. It floods his senses, mossy, salty, and he moans and allows Harry to push in.

“Can we do it like this?” Harry asks and Louis nods before he understands what Harry means. “God-” Harry makes another sound and Louis winces a little when he grips his hair more tightly, but opens up automatically for Harry to thrust in further, Harry’s hand wrapped tightly around the base of his cock. He looks up and sucks, groaning, breathing quickly through his nose.

“Thought so-” Harry grunts, pulls out and rocks back in; Louis tilts his head back, shifting, sitting back against his heels, and relaxes his mouth, his tongue pressed flatly against the underside of Harry’s cock. Harry’s not pushing it, but he’s not being gentle either, hips snapping as he works himself in and out of Louis’ mouth, the circle of his fist meeting Louis’ lips once and again. It sends shivers down Louis’ spine, hot, makes him grow hard in his jeans. He hollows his cheeks and keep his gaze steady, watching Harry’s face, and moans when Harry pulls out with a popping sound. He lets go of his cock and wipes his thumb over Louis’ bottom lip, his skin a little rough, and Louis presses his tongue out to lap at it, only very distantly wondering what it is that Harry does with his hands, why they’re so rough-soft, big.

“You like that?” Harry asks; it’s only partly dirty talk; Louis can hear actual curiosity in his voice, a bit of wonder, and he nods and sucks at the tip of Harry’s thumb before pulling off again.

“Yeah.” He sits back and wiggles out of his hoodie and T-shirt, dropping both on the floor. “I like it more in the nude, though.” He gives Harry a cheeky grin and tugs his jeans and pants down all the way until Harry can step out of them. His cock bobs up stiffly against his stomach, and Louis stares when Harry shrugs off his cardigan and T-shirt, his mouth falling open.

Harry’s riddled in tattoos, so many Louis’ eyes can’t keep up; a birdcage on his flank, his left arm a mixture of scribbles, small and big tattoos leading into an equally marked shoulder and collarbone. Harry reaches out and draws him up to work at Louis’ jeans, pecs shifting under his skin, shoulders moving; Louis moans and presses an open mouthed kiss against one of the swallows perched high on Harry’s chest, scrapes his teeth and draws a satisfying sound of arousal from Harry’s mouth.

Louis,” Harry hisses, “jeans, nudity, come on-” He futilely jerks at Louis’ trousers, making another sound, and Louis lies back and shifts his hips up. Harry pulls his jeans off and crawls on top of him, body heavy, their cocks aligned; he rocks down and Louis moans, finding his mouth again. They kiss, open mouthed, wet, lips barely touching, until it’s only their moans and breaths mixing, and Louis whispers hoarsely, “I want to suck you again, let me suck you again-”

“You too,” Harry breathes against his mouth; he shifts off of Louis’ and onto his back, but grabs Louis’ shoulder and pulls him along. “You on top.” He spreads his thighs a little, cock, balls heavy between them, perfectly dark pink and harder than before even, and Louis lets out a little laugh, giving his own erection a squeeze before he leans down and takes Harry’s cock back in, rolling his sac between his fingers gently. He squeaks when Harry smacks his arse and pulls him on top, making him shift and sit against Harry’s face, and he’s worried for a moment until Harry sucks the tip of his cock between his lips and works it against his tongue, slapping his bum again as if to tell him to keep going.

He moans and starts sucking again, moving his hand from Harry’s balls to the base of his erection, bobbing his head quickly, trying to keep still. He can feel the pressure building, stomach tight already, and moans loudly around Harry at the feel of Harry’s teeth scraping gently over his sensitive head. He speeds up, finding a rhythm, but suddenly has to pull off, gasping because Harry presses a dry finger against his hole, rubbing along the rim.

“Harry-” Harry laughs and slides his hands up Louis’ thighs to his cheeks, before he spreads him open. His tongue is wet, soft against Louis’ balls at first, then his taint, teasing, and Louis holds his breath and tries not to swallow his tongue. “Knew it,” Harry murmurs, barely audibly, and finally presses his tongue against Louis’ rim, making him squirm. He licks at it gently, then more quickly, his nose nudging between Louis’ cheeks.

“Oh shit,” Louis groans and drops his forehead against Harry’s thigh, hips rocking; it’s so much, and still not enough, and he moans again, trying to ride back against Harry’s tongue. He feels the tip press into him and squeezes his eyes shut, feels Harry spread him open more and push in further, lick into him, wet noises and heavy breathing mixing with Louis’ own whimpers. “Please-” he manages and bites down on his fist, almost sobbing when Harry finally worms a finger into him, moving it quickly in and out in time with the flicks of his tongue.

His own breathing fills his ears, blood rushing, and there’s sweat trickling down his neck, forehead, hand aching where he’s biting down. Harry pulls out and circles around Louis’ hole with his tongue, once, twice, until Louis feels his thighs starting to shake. He whimpers and tenses for a moment, but Harry pulls away; he pushes at Louis’ hips until Louis gets it, head dizzy, and rolls off him and onto his back. He can feel his heart beating through his chest, fast and painful, his cock hard against his stomach, leaving wet tracks as he moves. Harry looks at him for a few moments, his mouth wet, face as red as Louis’ feels, and moves to sit between Louis’ thighs, apparently satisfied with his work.

He kisses Louis’ neck, hands sliding up Louis’ hips, and whispers, “Lube?” His fingers dig in and Louis curves up against him, needing to touch more skin, needing to feel him closer; he buries his hands in Harry’s hair and presses his nose against his ear, moaning a little. “Top drawer. Condoms, too.”

“Thanks, babe,” Harry mouths and kisses his cheek before climbing over him. His hips sway before Louis’ face for a moment while he rummages in the nightstand and Louis leans up and bites at his hipbone, receiving a squeak and a laugh in answer.

“You’ve got some nerve,” Harry says when he sits back, grinning and dropping the bottle of lube and a condom next to Louis’ thigh.

“Payback,” Louis replies; he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and shifts his legs apart, his gaze wandering from Harry’s flushed neck and chest over his flat stomach and his cock standing stiffly. “For teasing.”

“Oh, you loved that.” Louis looks back up to answer Harry’s smile and watches him lean down and kiss his stomach, his cock, shivering, and finally the inside of his thigh. His fingers find Louis’ hole again, rubbing, and Louis flutters his eyes shut, riding up against them, skin flushing hotly in anticipation everywhere.

“I’ll do-” Harry starts and Louis opens his eyes again to look at him questioningly, biting his tongue to keep himself from snapping at Harry to get on with it. “One? Or two? You were quite tight before.”

Louis feels his face heat up even more and scrunches up his nose. “It’s been a while, and don’t say anything,” he huffs. “Just do two.”

Harry grins at him, mischievous, amused. “And get on with it?” He demonstratively coats three fingers in lube and presses one against Louis’ hole, cold and slick, the tip slipping in easily.

Yes,” Louis hisses and bites down hard on his lip, whining. He feels it push in further, stretch him and fill him, and closes his eyes, breathing fast.

“Impatient-” Harry’s voice is rough again; he presses a second finger into Louis and it stretches him open, painful only for a moment, the sting resonating through his every fibre.

“Yeah-,” he moans and moves his hips a little, meeting Harry’s hand. “Harry, come on-” He does it again until Harry finally starts moving his fingers, slowly pushing them deeper, filling him more and more. Louis cracks his eyes open to watch, Harry’s brows scrunched up in concentration, lips slightly parted, still red, shoulder moving. He looks up to meet Louis’ eyes, gaze intense, and pulls his fingers out and thrusts them back in, ripping a low growl from Louis’ throat. He repeats, faster and faster, the friction easing off after a few seconds, and keeps going pressing in deeper until his hand nudges against Louis’ arse hard with every thrust. Louis whines, another shiver rolling down his spine, and spreads his legs more, heart thumping loudly in his ears.

He feels a third finger ease inside and holds his breath, tensing up shortly, while Harry rubs his thigh soothingly. He urges it deeper, moving slowly, then in tiny thrusts into Louis feels his body accustom and relaxes.

“That’s it.” Harry uncaps the lube again and pumps a little more onto his fingers, out of Louis’ range of sight, and speeds up again. It’s easier now, slick and fast, and Louis croaks out a moan, body going hot. Harry crooks his fingers and brushes over his prostate, once, twice, and Louis grabs hold of his cock, squeezing the base to keep himself from coming.

“I think-” he whines at the same time as Harry pulls his fingers out and says, “I need-” He fumbles for the condom after wiping his fingers on the bedspread, but Louis sits up and snatches it from his hands, quickly ripping it open.

“You’re so hot,” Harry blurts out and pushes his hair from his sweaty forehead, curls in a mess; Louis looks up at him and smiles, feeling needy and urgent; he leans in and kisses a drop of precome from the head of Harry’s cock and rolls the condom down the length of it. He grabs the lube and slicks him up with a few more drops and lies back down, tugging Harry along.

“On your back?” Harry asks and Louis hums, nodding. He pulls his legs up, thighs spread, and Harry lets out a shaky breath and aligns his cock against Louis’ crack. His eyes go dark when he thrusts inside, and Louis whimpers, head falling back. His body adjusts to the width within a moment, well-stretched, and he feels full, filled and stretched, chest incredibly tight, cock twitching against his stomach.

Harry starts moving, his nose pressed against Louis’ neck, dragging out and slowly riding back in, his muscles playing under Louis’ hands on his back. Louis slides a hand to his arse, digging his fingers into a cheek to feel him there, too, and Harry speeds up, snapping his hips faster. Louis holds on tightly, gritting his teeth, and moves against him, trying to keep up, but Harry pulls away and sits back, grabbing Louis’ hips to pull him closer.

“Shit,” Louis groans, half a laugh; Harry’s hands find the underside of his thighs and force them apart, straining Louis’ muscles until he’s spread out, knees almost touching the mattress, Harry’s cock buried so deep and Louis needs- “Fuck-” he tries again, voice breaking at the end. “Fuck me-”

“Yeah-” Harry shoves in again, finding his rhythm from before, his hands tight on Louis’ hips, holding him in places. Louis curves off the bed and grabs for the headboard, crying out when Harry’s cock grazes his prostate again while Harry moans roughly, voice thick, and keeps pumping into him, fingers digging into Louis’ hips, his short nails burning half-moon shapes into Louis’ skin. He feels his body tighten, head going blank, and lets out a sob. He’s so close he can feel it under his skin, so close he can feel the spark in his spine, cock smearing against his stomach, so close his hands feel cold.

“Harry-” He whines again and Harry’s hand slides off his hip and to his cock, the palm pressed against the underside; he rubs up, deliciously rough, and Louis comes, spurting thickly over his stomach and chest. He feels himself go tight around Harry’s cock, feels the thick curve of it inside him, and hears himself, little ahs, tiny sounds, and then whimpers, his body going from sensitive to sensitised. Harry leans in closer, braced on his hands on either side of Louis’ head, fucking into him hard. He licks into Louis’ mouth and Louis kisses back, breathing moans against his lips, shivering all over, hips jerking in aftershocks or something else with Harry’s cock hitting his prostate again; it almost hurts it’s so intense, but Harry grunts and goes still, muscles taut, hips pumping into Louis’ as he comes. Louis slides his hands over his back, rubbing, heart rate slowing down from almost-giving-out to still-dangerously-fast, and winces when Harry pulls out and collapses on top of him.

He’s warm and heavy and oddly comfortable, his breath tickling Louis’ skin where he kisses Louis’ neck sweetly, and he makes an unhappy noise, when Louis rolls him off, and shifts onto his side, thighs aching.

“Hi,” he says; he reaches out and pushes Harry’s hair back, kisses his nose, the corner of his mouth, and Harry pulls him in, fingers splayed out against the small of Louis’ back. “Careful,” Louis warns but can’t find any strength to even fake a sharp tone. “I will hurt later.”

“Aww,” Harry teases, laughing softly. “Fucked you good and hard, eh?”

“Don’t eh me,” Louis mumbles against Harry’s chest. Their skin is growing sticky, but he doesn’t mind. He’s suddenly tired, exhausted even, and hears himself protest when Harry tries to move away. “Where’re you going?”

“Uhm,” Harry says and pulls away. He points at his flaccid cock and the condom, and Louis feels his face go red again.

“Shower?” he offers and Harry nods. He steals a kiss from Louis before they climb out of bed, and chases him down the hall where he discards the condom. His hair is still a mess and Louis checks in the mirror to see that he’s no better himself - his fringe is all mussed up, sticking to his forehead on one side and standing up on the other.

“C’mon,” Harry says and guides him into the shower stall where Louis turns on the water. They kiss with water in their mouths and dripping down their noses, smiling against each other’s lips; Louis feels like a teenager suddenly, giggly, and wraps his arms around Harry’s middle to hold him close.

“Hey,” Harry says softly, “hey, can I stay over?”

“What?” Louis tilts his head.

“If I promise to make you breakfast?” Harry elaborates and Louis rolls his eyes.

“No, I mean, I would’ve been quite offended if you’d just like, gone home.” He bites his lip, but decides to shut up before he ruins it.

“Great.” Harry grins again, face lighting up. “I can skip school tomorrow.”

“What do you study?” Louis asks, yawning, rubbing his hands over Harry’s back, chest, reaching for the shower gel with one hand. He almost drops it when Harry says, “Uhm, I still go to college. I’ll be nineteen in February.”

He leans back to give Harry an incredulous look. “What?” Harry says and raises a hand in defense. “You’re no older than twenty yourself.”

Louis sniffs and pulls a face. “Twenty-one in December.” He smacks Harry’s arse, then pinches him. “I’ve got a lot to teach you then.”

“Oh.” Harry meets his eyes and Louis holds his gaze, but shrieks when Harry dives down and bites his neck, pressing him against the wall. “We’ll see about that,” he growls, laughter bubbling in his voice. Louis shoves him, giggling, and wrenches the shower door open, Harry on his heels as he speeds back to the bedroom, leaving a wet trail on his floor, hair dripping.

He squeals when Harry catches him around the waist, laughing, and turns in Harry’s arms. “Don’t be disappointed, boy, if I show you a thing or two.” He presses a kiss against Harry’s lips, humming. “When I was your age-”

Harry bites his lip, almost too hard, and mumbles against him, “Do you ever shut up?”

He lets go of Louis, gently trailing his hand over Louis’ waist, and Louis steps away, smoothing his hair back, water dripping down his spine. “Make me,” he says, grinning, heart racing.