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Christmas eve is almost over and Harry is antsy. "How much longer?" he asks his driver, voice forced into a soft cadence. Outwardly controlling his emotions is getting easier and easier, one interview at a time.

The car is hurtling down the road, everything past the tinted window pitch black, the scenery nothing but dark shapes backed by an even darker, moonless sky. Nothing stands out as familiar, the nighttime landscape almost alien as it flies by. It’s made further unrecognisable by the heavy blanket of snow, distorting the houses and trees until their shapes lose all sense and meaning. They could be just about anywhere.

He hasn't been paying attention to road signs, staring instead at the phone clutched in his hands, nervously twisting his rings and checking the time again and again, avoiding Jeremy's knowing smile through the rear view mirror. "Should be there in a couple of minutes."

Harry nods and shifts, restless, and hears the foreign squeak of the leather seat of the rented car, a dark blue BMW instead of his usual silver Mercedes. It's always cloak-and-dagger for when he heads out Louis' way and he's just so sick of it all.

"Thank you," he adds, far too late.

A couple of minutes. He'll be late, but not too late to salvage this. Nothing a bit of grovelling can't fix. That's fine. He'll make it up to Louis.

And still the minutes stretch into hours, while outside old english houses rush past, Christmas lights twinkling mockingly.

Harry chews his lip, eyes sliding to his phone again and he wishes he could somehow turn back time, just for a few hours.

Of course he can't, neither can he blame his tardiness on anyone but himself. Family dinner had started at six, just to accommodate his demanding schedule. Somehow it had dragged on far longer than expected, Gemma making fun of his agitated state the more wine she drank and the later it got. Another 'but you're never home' from his mum and he'd stayed just a few minutes longer.

It's true, of course. He's been home a grand total of sixteen times in the last five years. So he indulged them, hopeless pushover that he is when it comes to family.

Going on two hours now, he's been sitting in the back of this car, hands jittery, heart racing. Thinking up tweets had only distracted him for a bit, favourite ideas saved for future reference. Selecting pictures for instagram had been much the same, nothing but a passing distraction.

Usually a two hour car ride involves endless phone calls with his personal assistant, with friends or with Louis himself. But it's Christmas Eve and everyone is home with their family. Harry hadn't wanted to play stroppy popstar during the holidays.

Not calling Louis was two-fold: first it's his birthday and they have this tradition where they only wish each other a happy birthday in person. It takes a lot of organisation, but they've managed so far, if Harry doesn't somehow fuck it up today. The second is that Harry had been off socialising with friends the last few days and, well. It's nothing new, they both know he tends to forget to text and call regularly.

Harry sighs, jiggles his leg nervously. Driving himself would come in handy right now. At least it would be a valid excuse for his eyes to stick to the road and not stray to the clock every few seconds. But yeah, no cloak-and-dagger shenanigans without management approved help. Just a few days longer now.

He sighs again, sliding down further into the seat, his heart feeling heavy, his mind tired. He ignores it all, lets his eyes drift to the snow covered exterior. The houses appear more familiar now, a neighbourhood he's driven through on several occasions, all filled with memories that ease the tightness clutching at his heart.

The new Poulsten residence is tucked into the quieter outskirts of town, where the houses are huge and the neighbours far away, wide strips of manicured lawn acting as padding between them, long driveways and high garden fences making it all the more private.

The garage door stands open. The snow on the slanted edge of the raised door and the bright fluorescent light spilling onto the driveway read like an accusation.

It's not like he'd expected Louis to ignore the issue, but. Harry bites his lip, not for the first time tonight, and anxiously wipes his clammy hands on his jeans.

While waiting for the garage door to close behind them he gathers up his things. In more morose moments he might call this hiding from any potential onlookers what it actually is. Just, not now. He's about to see Louis again and he's giddy with it, nerves frayed with the knowledge that it'll be both sweet and reprimanding all at once.

Sadly he can't stay long, so he only has his overnight bag, presents for Louis' family, a present for Louis (even though they said they wouldn't buy each other anything), his phone and his journal.

He scrambles out when Jeremy opens his door. By the time he's made it around the front of the car, Louis is already leaning against the doorway to the house, arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

"You are late," he says, voice clipped. "The twins are already in bed. You wouldn't believe the shit I had to listen to because you weren't here."

Harry just nods like an idiot, frozen in his tracks at the sight of Louis. He wonders abstractly if there will ever come a day Louis will not steal his breath away.

He's wearing a loose, red Christmas jumper adorned with a reindeer head across the chest. It's hanging down way past his wrists and he's clutching the excess in his fists. The material is stretched; hem hanging past mid thigh, neckline almost slipping over one shoulder.

Just the other day that jumper had been slung over the chair in the living room after Harry had worn it the entire day, loosening the wool while they tried baking cookies but ended cuddled up in front of the telly instead, Louis bored with eating raw batter.

Heat spreads through his body, warming him right up to his fingertips and multiplying the anxious-happy butterflies in his belly.

The baggy joggers Louis has deemed acceptable evening wear aren't Harry's, but judging by how they fall in billows around his bare feet, they might as well be.


Louis is practically drowning in his clothes yet Harry seems to be the one gasping for breath.

It's difficult to look at Louis, still clearly peeved, while controlling the happy smile forming on his lips, the relief rushing through his body at the mere sight of him.

Because even with only a few days separation Louis clearly missed him, enough to wear a silly Christmas jumper that probably smells of Harry and serves as a reminder of a weekend they'd spent tucked away from the world, phones turned off and only each other for company.

Louis huffs at Harry's smile, still not in the forgiving mood quite yet.

They say their goodbyes to Jeremy and head inside, Harry hanging his coat at the entrance before following Louis to where his family is peering at the telly screen, glassy-eyed, the Christmas dinner not yet cleared away.

Fizzy rubs her stomach and groans softly, like she dearly wishes the portions had been smaller, or less enjoyable.

"Good Christmas dinner, then?" Harry says by way of greeting.

There's surprised faces followed by cheerful greetings from everyone.

"Running late?" Jay doesn't sound accusatory while she hugs him close, warm and familiar. Louis snorts loudly, muttering to himself.

"Sorry," Harry tells her apologetically but she waves him off like it's nothing.

They stay for the obligatory small talk, exchanging Christmas stories and bringing each other up to speed with the people in their lives.

And it's not like Harry doesn't love hearing a rendition of the twins antics over dinner or of the babies' newest achievements, but he can't help checking his watch repeatedly.

Louis just sits there, making no move to pull Harry away, even though he knows there's hardly any time left at all for them to be alone on Louis' birthday.

He's punishing Harry for being late and Harry might call him on the passive aggressive move if he didn't feel like he maybe deserves it, just a little.

He's rescued by Jay, who's always uncomfortably receptive when it comes to Louis and him.

"Now boys, we don't want to bore you here. And you must be tired from the long car ride, love. We'll see you at breakfast, right?" She winks at him conspiratorially.

And yes, his ears start burning because that's his boyfriend's mother and she knows exactly what's about to happen and just... no. He makes himself nod through the embarrassment, hopes she knows he appreciates her stepping in, even if it indirectly references sex he might or might not be having with her first born very soon.

The presents he leaves under the Christmas tree before they head to Louis' bedroom, Louis trailing after him almost listlessly.

Since Louis seldom makes it to his family's home, he got the room next to the study, off in a corner of the house separate from all the other bedrooms. While he keeps some of his things in there it's mainly a guest room, the en suite bathroom and out-of-the-way placement making it ideal for visitors. It's a good arrangement though, as it affords them more privacy, something they both treasure vastly.

Louis immediately heads over to the fireplace and starts lighting it. He must have set it up earlier, because the logs are all meticulously arranged over a bed of twigs, firestarter flaring up in green blue flames before burning orange and getting the kindling going.

And Harry feels like an absolute heel.

Louis didn't lock the door, either, and more than the accusatory words earlier or the stony silence now, that's what causes Harry's stomach to clench. He twists the lock himself, tries to come up with a way to rectify the situation before it strikes midnight.

Louis lights a candle, cinnamon flavoured, and it tightens the knot in Harry's stomach further. Louis doesn't like scented candles, Harry is the one always nagging him about that.

But there's no time to feel shitty. He's here now and -- he checks his phone after unceremoniously dumping his stuff by the door -- it's sixteen minutes to midnight. Not much time left.

After Louis checks the fire again, Harry steps closer, pulls him in chest to chest, hugging him close and burying his face in his neck when Louis doesn't protest.

"I'm so, so sorry, Lou. Happy Birthday."

The stretched jumper is beginning to slide down Louis' shoulder, revealing the delicate dip at the base of his throat which Harry kisses almost reverently, lips lingering to feel the strong, solid heartbeat underneath.

Louis sighs and tilts his head. The movement is minimal but an invitation nonetheless, an olive branch Harry is more than willing to accept. He slides his lips up Louis' exposed neck, sucks until the skin turns purple-red. It's a start.

"Come on," Louis says with a slightly roughened voice, pushing Harry back. "Didn't light that fire for nothing."

They arrange some blankets and pillows on the ground, close enough for the fire’s heat to seep into their bones, chase away the cold lingering from the snow outside. Harry sits on the floor and leans against the sofa, Louis between his legs, back to Harry's chest. Their fingers twine and Harry squeezes in thanks.

"I'm not really angry with you," Louis tells him softly. "The situation just sucks."

It does, Harry knows. After all, they are trying to juggle huge amounts of fame and a working relationship alongside their private one. It tends to all blur together, and sometimes there simply aren't enough hours in one day. So they steal a kiss before a meeting or pick up the phone on their nights off. It's their private relationship that usually takes the hit.

Harry slides his free hand up underneath Louis' jumper -- Harry's jumper, whatever -- fingers skimming over soft chest hair until they reach the slightly raised skin of Louis' tattoo, curving just out of sight from the loosened neckline.

"Say it with me," he whispers into Louis' ear.

Louis sighs and grabs Harry's hand through the jumper. "It is what it is," he says and Harry jumps in half way. "I know. I still don't have to like it."

Harry tugs him closer and nuzzles his ear, hand slipping to curl around Louis’ ribs, soft and warm, comforting. "As long as you don't dislike it, that's fine by me."

Louis turns in his arms, side pressed to Harry's chest as he folds himself up small and Harry is at a complete loss of where to place his hands. Louis is almost fragile like this, his side tucked into Harry's chest, his arms wrapped around his knees.

The illusion is shattered when Louis says, "what the fuck does that even mean?"

Harry just smiles and leans in for a proper kiss, where his tongue snakes between Louis' lips, coaxes him into a response. Louis tastes of gravy and scotch and maybe a cigarette before dinner. Mostly, he tastes of Louis.

Louis ends the kiss by pushing Harry back with his elbow. "I've been cooped up inside for the past twenty-four hours. And I think I've been eating for half of them. Tell me about your day."

"Family things mostly. Gemma got drunk and fell asleep on mum's couch. Mum cried a bit when I left, but promised she’s looking forward to the vacation." Louis squeezes his hand. "Few pictures, not much else."

"Yeah?" Louis leans his head on Harry's shoulder and trails his fingertips over Harry's hand. Harry curls it around Louis' drawn up knee in response, watching Louis' smaller fingers glide over his own. "Did some fans find you?"

Harry strokes his other hand down Louis' side, all folded up and tucked in close to his chest. "Doubt it. Just people who wanted a picture with Harry Styles."

Louis bumps his shoulder into him, gives Harry a soft smile. "Don't knock it, I used to be one of those."

Yeah, but back then, Harry Styles was just his name, not his job. It feels like just another brand, nothing more. Certainly not like his at all.

"When we marry, I'm taking your name."

A surprised laugh bubbles up from Louis' throat. "Sure," he says, disbelief colouring his voice. It's not in regards to them marrying one day. Possibly the only person more enamoured with getting married than Harry is Louis himself.

Harry leaves it be. They'll talk about it, soon. But not just yet, not with so much change going on around them; the break and that other, ever looming deadline of their coming out. Now that it's finally being implemented, their nerves are frayed enough as it is, anxious anticipation all around.

Instead they sit huddled against each other for another few moments, watching the fire dance in the grate. It's Christmas Eve and Harry keeps forgetting that, the festive cheer passing him by this year, leaving an oddly empty feeling in its wake, a bitter aftertaste on his tongue.

But sitting here? That's nice, serene even.

But Louis is restless, the energy compressed into his smaller frame forcing him to move, to do something. So it’s no surprise when he breaks the silence first. "What about my present, eh?”

Harry's forehead connects with the bony part of Louis’ shoulder, the groan that escapes more dramatic than it should be.

That's their other little birthday tradition. One amazing orgasm. It started right after they began dating, when they still celebrated every month of being together, when the concept of years had been daunting, when everything was exciting and shiny and new. Harry loves this tradition in particular, seeing as some of his fondest -- and hottest -- memories originate from it.

However, that doesn't excuse this blatant fishing. "Always the romantic."

Louis grins, a glint in his eye and Harry can't help himself, leans in for another kiss.

Briefly Louis lets him, then pulls Harry's head back, hand fisted in his hair. There’s a displeased sound deep in Louis’ throat when he encounters the bun, nimble fingers removing Harry's hairband to card through the now-loose strands. A small, happy noise slips past Louis' lips as he tucks Harry's hair behind his ear and ruffles the top. Harry smiles, prepared to let it grow more if it leaves behind such a contented expression on Louis' face.

Louis pokes Harry's chest several times to get his attention. "What about that present, then?"

Harry groans. Honestly, Louis is the least subtle person in the universe. "Fine."

Just like that, the gentle mood they'd established vanishes, Louis back to being slightly peeved. "Oh, don't sound too excited about sucking my dick after five days of hardly a phone call, Harold.”

"It's not the dick sucking!" Harry tells him quickly. "It's your ability to make this the least romantic event, ever."

Louis actually looks hurt for a moment before he busies himself with roughly pulling off Harry's shoes. "Whatever. I made a bloody fire, Mr. Romance. There's a scented candle burning. We cuddled, we kissed. Now it's time for my dick in your mouth."

Harry wants to reply, some good comeback he can't think of just yet. But it's clear Louis wants the last word, will insist on it. Anything he says now will rile Louis up more and he doesn't want that.

So he helps pull off his shoes and peel down his socks instead. Together they remove Louis' joggers as well and Harry is pleased and maybe a little smug to see Louis half hard already.

"Don't," he says quickly when Louis grabs the bottom seam of the jumper, arms crossed in front of him. At his confused look Harry whispers, "leave it on?”

“So,” Louis drawls, all calculated smirk and narrowed, searching eyes. He smoothes the jumper down meticulously. Something else flashes in his eyes, something that does not bode well for Harry. “Do you like it because it’s yours or…?”

Harry shrugs, runs his hand up the back of Louis’ thigh, until the wool scrunches around his wrist. “‘S hot,” he mumbles and moves closer, lips against Louis' neck.

Louis pushes him back and unbuttons Harry's shirt slowly instead, muttering, "only three buttons. Honestly, Harold," under his breath while using the movement to keep Harry at arms length.

Harry doesn't elaborate and Louis looks at him sharply. “And?”

When he's slow to answer Louis flicks his nipple, hard.

“Dunno,” he grits out through clenched teeth, trying desperately not to moan. “You look sort of. Gentle? Soft. I don't know." He wants to say fragile, but Louis hates that. "But then there’s your legs peeking out and you’re not wearing anything underneath and it’s mine and…”

Louis raises and eyebrow. "The jumper?"

Harry pulls him closer with his fingers digging in roughly. "That, too."

Louis smiles sharply, because at least they're both equally into this, a perfect fit. "Sure didn't feel like yours over the last few days." He pinches Harry's nipple, pressing his fingers together slowly and increasing the pressure until Harry’s eyes water from the pain. He can't help it, moans brokenly. Louis' answer is a satisfied smirk. It darkens before he adds, "what with you being so busy with everyone but me."

Harry slides his hands underneath the wool again and digs them into Louis' hips. He wants the skin there to bruise, wants Louis to look at the marks tomorrow and see how much he belongs to Harry, read the truth right off his skin. He wants a matching set, just like their tattoos, wants to ache with the ghost of Louis' touch.

Louis flinches and Harry frowns. It dawns on him almost immediately and he removes his right hand, pats Louis' leg instead. "Still sore?"

Louis shrugs. "Just a bit."

Harry wants to push, wants to bend Louis over and pull up the jumper. He won't, of course, but the need is there and he revels in suppressing it. "Can I see? Please?"

Louis nods, twists around and pulling up the jumper, perfect bum bared for Harry's eyes. Perfect bum and the new, darker lines above his left arse cheek. Harry looks at the swirls uncomprehending. He'd expected several things when Louis had teased him with the new tattoo, never actually telling him what it was.

"That's not a penguin."

Louis laughs and lets the jumper drop. He turns around smirking at Harry like there's nothing more entertaining than Harry's flabbergasted look. Harry reaches out, fingers curving over Louis' arse cheek.

"D'you like it?"

Harry nods, squeezes tighter as he pulls Louis in, whispers right into his grinning mouth, "love it. Love you. Always."

"You could always get a matching one," Louis rasps, pressing closer. He slides his hand along the crease of Harry's torso and leg, underneath a laurel leaf. Harry's cock twitches. “Right here."

Harry nods, vaguely aware they will line up like so many of their tattoos. They just need to be in the right position.

"Okay," he says and squeezes again, “yeah okay. Lets.” The freshly-inked skin must smart because Louis flinches again. He just hardens his grip when Louis doesn't tell him to stop, watches Louis' eyes dilate further in the dim firelight. "God, we're so fucked up," he says as Louis groans, pressing closer under Harry's ministrations.

Louis must agree because they kiss filthily after that, all tongue and open mouths and clanking teeth. Harry gets a little lost in it, forgets to breathe. Disorientation combined with Louis are nothing new and Harry lets it be, stops thinking and gets lost in Louis.

A sharp hot flash of pain radiates from his lip when Louis gets a little rough, Harry's only response is to buck up and groan. His head hits the sofa, neck stretched invitingly and Louis complies, relentless in his ministrations of Harry's jaw, his neck, his collarbone, nipping everywhere with sharp little teeth that sting so good. "I'm sorry, Lou," Harry chokes out desperately, pulling Louis down against his erection. "Sorry I didn't call more, I should have."

"Damn right," Louis says and he sounds oddly small. He must notice it too because he pokes at the fresh marks on Harry's neck intently. "You can make it up to me."

Harry nods, completely out of it but very much on board. He'd do anything for Louis, the farce that is their public relationship a testament to that.

Louis leans in, bites his earlobe of all things. The use of so much teeth is unusual, Louis must feel particularly needy, so Harry stretches his neck further to give him a chance to get it out of his system.

Instead of the little stings he expects, small hands cup his face, a thumb swiping over his lip. Louis pulls back to watch and Harry immediately relaxes under his eyes, body completely boneless like a marionette with its cut strings. He blinks up lazily, watches Louis' tongue drag over his bottom lip, his thumb mirroring the movement on Harry's.

"Want you to suck me, yeah? Make it good."

Harry nods immediately, desperate breath of air escaping his lungs. He swallows. "Yeah, will make it so good babe. Promise."

"Think you can handle it? I'll let you do all the work."

Harry nods again, because he'd uproot a nation for this boy, his boy, never mind get a crick in his neck during a blow job.

"You sure? Still make it as good as when I fuck your mouth?"

Harry groans, wrapping both arms around Louis and pulling him closer. "Anything for you, love," he rasps into Louis' ear. "You know that."

It seems good enough for Louis, who crawls onto the little two-seater Harry is leaning against. It's cramped but he manages to make it look comfortable when he settles in on his back, feet planted firmly on the floor, thighs spread invitingly.

With a craned neck Louis drags his gaze up Harry's body, slow and deliberate, leaving behind burning skin and a deep itch that has Harry swaying where he's sat. When their eyes finally meet, Louis' eyebrow lifts, challenge evident in the soft arch.

And god help him, but Harry is utterly incapable of backing out of Louis' challenges.

And how can he not give Louis whatever he wants when the firelight is dancing over his features like that? Licking his cheekbones and accentuating the natural glint in his eyes. It transforms him into something else, something timeless, ethereal and stunning.

Mine, Harry thinks. But it's true, has been since he was sixteen, and it's a source of pride. Somehow, he managed to snag this boy. This wonderful, glorious boy full of life and love and adventure. The one who gives him direction, a purpose. His other half. His compass.

Harry shakes himself out of his foggy thoughts, gaze returning to the artful sprawl of Louis' legs.

He inches closer. The floor under his knees is soft thanks to the blanket they spread out, but the stiff material of his skinnies rubs against his swollen dick uncomfortably. Their tightness already confining at the best of times, it's like a vice now, uncomfortable to the point of pain. He reaches down, hoping for some relief.

Before he even reaches the button, Louis' foot stops him. Harry's fingers wrap around the ankle, smooth and lovely. He thumbs at the rogue tattoo before he kisses the bony part of the ankle, nips playfully while searching Louis' eyes in question.

"No touching yourself," Louis says, while his own hand wraps around his cock. He gives himself a couple of languid tugs. "Concentrate on me."

Harry pushes out his bottom lip in a sullen pout. "Can multitask."

Louis shakes his head and slides down further, Christmas jumper bunching underneath where he's now proper jerking off. "'S not about you," he counters, voice going breathy.

And okay, Louis knows just how to distract him. Harry's mouth waters at the mere thought of his lips stretched wide, accommodating Louis' girth as it slides over his tongue, cockhead dragging against the roof of his mouth, pushing into his throat.

And Louis is always so vocal, quick to praise and groan until Harry's ears are burning red and the fire in his stomach spreads to the very edges of his being.

Eager now, his hips slot seamlessly into the cradle of Louis' thighs, his own need growing distant as he drags his ring-clad fingers up Louis' legs. The muscles underneath jump slightly and Harry smiles to himself in utter satisfaction at eliciting that simple response.

Louis huffs. "You look like such a creep."

Harry's hands close over his hips, hidden out of sight by the bunched-up wool and he tries to be mindful of Louis' new tattoo. He wonders if the marks he tried to leave are already showing. It's unlikely, since Louis' doesn't bruise easily. He presses down at that, thumbs digging into hipbones to ease the frown conjured by that displeasing thought. "I see that's not keeping you from wanking yourself."

And of course Louis makes a show of it then, arches and moans, thumb circling the exposed head. "Have to take care of everything myself these days."

Something like jealousy rushes through him, a need to prove himself bubbling up immediately. "No," he rasps and jerks Louis’ an inch lower, just to be an arse.

Then he hunches down, mouth invitingly close to Louis' cock. He looks at Louis intently, waits.

Louis' hand stops moving, precome pearling out the slit lazily and Harry moans at the mere sight of it, the thought of that velvet softness sliding over his lips, the taste on his tongue.

He doesn't dare move when Louis cock is guided against his parted lips, the tip bounced against them until his mouth is sticky with it. He looks up pleadingly then, opens his mouth wider in blatant invitation.

"Fuck." Louis shudders, and pushes his cock forward. Harry immediately readjusts so it slides into his mouth, lips tingling as he groans eagerly.

Louis removes his hand and uses it to gently card his fingers through Harry's hair instead, brushing the loose strands out of his eyes. "'S all you now."

Harry nods slightly.

He wants to make this good, suck Louis until he loosens up completely, until his worries are gone. He pulls back with teasing suction until the head pops free, watches it land on the red jumper underneath. He circles the base with one big hand and brings the wet tip back against his bottom lip. He drags his eyes upward, catching Louis' heated gaze. “Happy birthday,” he murmurs and takes him deep.

Louis groans, the sound not played up this time, and it's music to his ears. He chases it, opens his mouth wider and lets some spit run out. Then he tightens his lips and pushes down, easier now due to the makeshift lube.

Before he’s all the way there, he feels Louis against the back of his throat, pulls up again, cheeks hollowing, then follows his mouth with his hand, sliding it up from the base and twisting his wrist.

The fingers tangled in his hair pull hard for attention, obedience maybe, before pushing down. Harry groans, lets Louis direct his movement and tries not to shudder each time Louis thrusts up slightly.

Louis clears his throat but it's still wrecked when he finally speaks, "was thinking of this when I wanked last night."

Harry twists his head going down, adding another layer of friction and Louis loves it, curses above him and raising his knees, clamping them against Harry’s shoulders as he slumps further onto the sofa. Harry pulls off, lets more spit dribble onto Louis' cock as he strokes him with a firm grip. "And?"

Louis shrugs, going for nonchalant, but arches when Harry swallows him down again. His whole body seizing up under Harry's ministrations. "Was just thinking of my boy, on his knees for me. Did the job."

Harry hums, builds up a good rhythm, eyes closed, concentrating on the feel instead, on Louis' soft little pants as they drown out the crackling fire behind him, his whole world narrowing down to Louis.

And Louis falls into it immediately, squirming and biting his bottom lip whenever Harry looks up, fingers still tangled in his hair.

Eye contact, there's always so much of it. Harry hasn't had enough comparable relationships to know if it's normal, but Louis assures him it's not. Ever since their first fumbled handjob at the X Factor house, it's been a thing for them, neither embarrassed nor weirded out.

Harry removes his hand, lets Louis' foreskin move up before wiggling his tongue underneath it, slurps loudly while circling the head without once looking away from Louis' burning gaze.

There's a burst of bitter-sweet precome for his efforts, Louis' mouth dropping open while he whines, his fingers scrabbling over whatever they can reach, desperate and panting.

Mouth full of cock, Harry winks at him.

"Shit," Louis hisses. He looks down with awe on his face, fingers tugging hard.

It's a good blowjob, Harry can tell. Still mostly teasing but then Louis' composure hasn't cracked yet. It's not far off, the little frown line of desperation clue enough. But Louis isn't asking for it yet and Harry has learned some self control over the years. And so he pulls back whenever Louis' dick hits his throat, jerks him hard with his hand instead and concentrates on sucking the crown of his cock and tonguing the slit.

He doesn't have to wait long.


Louis grumbles, then pulls Harry’s hand away from the base.

They watch each other expectantly and then, finally, Louis pushes Harry's head down. "Come on," he slurs, "all the way." It's like a win and Harry scrabbles for purchase on Louis' hips, clutching tight when Louis' fingers scratch his scalp as he makes Harry take in more.

It's hot, always fucking is, and he slides one hand over his crotch, squeezes his dick where it's bulging his jeans. It's distracting and Louis makes a displeased noise when he doesn't slip into Harry's throat. "Hands," he demands.

Harry bobs his head in quick apology while defiantly rubbing his own cock some more. Then he slides both hands onto Louis' stomach, resting them there while he swirls his tongue. It should be easy for Louis to hold both of his wrists like that, second hand free to stay tangled in Harry's hair.

Only Louis doesn't like being predictable, even less than being told what to do. So instead, he slips a ring onto Harry's middle finger, the one Louis carries around on a necklace when they're apart. Harry flexes his hand, balls it into a fist in Louis' jumper, feels the edges of the ring dig into his skin, knock against the blue topaz one on his index finger too.

Louis looks at him heatedly, cups Harry's hand with both his smaller ones and brings it to his lips, slips those two ring-clad fingers into his mouth and. Yeah. Okay.

Harry's eyelids flutter when that clever tongue explores his knuckles, slips over the metal bands. It doubles his efforts and he pushes down further, needing more of Louis now, all of him.

Clamping his free hand onto Louis’ thigh, he moves closer and straightens his back. On the next downward push he doesn’t stop, not until the pressure is too much and he pulls back, breathing harshly through his nose and trying not to cough.

His fingers are still in Louis' mouth, wet and warm and wonderful and he tries not to move them at all, tries to keep his hand motionless while Louis slurps, fucking indecent, and coats them with spit, teases him because that's what Louis does best.

After a few moments he bobs his head down all the way again, pushes past the uncomfortable feeling when Louis' dick hits the back of his throat, wills his gag reflex to stop working. He swallows, throat fluttering, and Louis slides in.

He’s so chuffed with the raw sound ripped from Louis’ throat that he stays down longer than he should, starts choking with Louis’ dick still in his throat. He pulls off hurriedly, coughs violently while the last string of spit breaks between his mouth and Louis' skin.

“Fuck,” Louis slurs around Harry's fingers, pulls them free. “You're so fucking brilliant at that. Do it again?”

Heat erupts in his chest. He nods immediately and is about to do just that when Louis stops his movement, guides Harry’s fingers between his spread thighs. Louis repositions, throws his legs over Harry’s shoulders and looks at him intently.

"Want your fingers in me. At least two." He looks at where Harry's other hand is still clenched in the jumper on his stomach and adds, "maybe three or four."

Harry's mind blanks and all he can do is look on helplessly at how Louis lies cramped and folded up on the couch before him, cock wet from Harry’s spit, eyes hooded and cheeks flushed.

His own dick twitches in his jeans, dark stain now clearly visible even through the thick material. He wants to get it out, push into Louis right then and there, feel him stretch, impossibly tight, fuck him rough and hard until they come.

But Louis never would let him, not like this, not when Harry hasn't even deepthroated him properly yet.

He must have zoned out, does that sometimes, because Louis gets this look in his eyes, waspish, like he’s about to inform Harry his cock won't suck itself.

Before he can, Harry slides his finger between Louis’ cheeks and circles his hole. He stops, eyes wide, fingers gently probing. “You’re wet.”


“Got -- ah. Got myself ready earlier.”


Harry groans, knows exactly how Louis looks when he fingers himself, knows his frustrated whines when he can’t get deep enough. His dick aches and there it is again, that feeling that might be jealousy.


“Did you come? When you fingered yourself open for me?”


Louis squirms, dick jumping the way it always does when Harry gets that tone of voice


“No,” he gasps, trying to push down on Harry’s fingers. “Didn’t really -- I mean. ‘S just a bit of lube.”


Harry growls, leans forward and sucks him back down feverishly. The idea of Louis walking around his family home with lube in his arse makes him desperate for it, his lips tingling while he basically hears his higher brain functions shut down.


Louis arches best he can, shudders and moans while his heels dig into Harry’s back. And Harry concentrates now, pushes down, throat constricting and Louis thrashes about, hips moving in desperate little thrusts. Harry can totally do this. The heat is burning him alive, but he can handle it. He can. For Louis.

Until Louis starts talking. “Your mouth — your," he cups Harry’s cheek, slowly drags his thumb over the seam where his cock disappears between Harry’s lips. Eyes glassy but utterly transfixed, he whispers, “my boy. So fucking pretty for me."

Harry hums in agreement, lost in the feeling of Louis' hard cock sliding over his tongue and the way it causes his throat to ache. The absolutely fucking mesmerising way Louis' eyes burn into him.

His fingers twitch and right. They had a job, too. And so he pushes one in slowly, pleased when it breaks off whatever Louis was about to say next, no doubt designed to distract him some more.

"Nrgh," Louis says instead. That's okay, that's good, Harry can handle that. Even though his mind feels like it's spinning out of control.

He pushes his finger in deep, and sinks his mouth down on Louis' cock again. The angle is all weird and it takes him a moment where he wriggles his finger around like he did the first time he ever fingered Louis. When he does finally graze his prostate, Louis arches beautifully, right into his mouth, making him choke. Harry doesn’t mind, wants more, rubs his fingertip relentlessly against that spot in hopes of getting it.

Broken noises, bitten off snippets of filth fall from Louis' lips and fill the air around them. Harry's dick pulses against his jeans and he wants Louis' cock deeper, faster, giving him more. Everything.

He tucks the second finger in beside the first, tries not to lose his rhythm while doing so. It slides home effortlessly. Harry wonders how many Louis can take before they actually need to get some more lube.

He pushes deep and Louis gasps when Harry's rings graze his sensitive rim, a desperate sound escaping his lips as he slides down further on the couch.

The muscles in Louis thighs clench hard around Harry's head and there's a dull pain where his ears are squashed against his head. He doesn't care, keeps stroking against Louis' prostate without really thrusting his fingers, thumb swiping behind Louis' balls while Harry pushes down again and again, easy now, like taking Louis down his throat is what he's made for.

"Gonna --" Louis sobs above him, hand tightening in his hair, sharp tug to his scalp.

Harry looks up, nodding desperately. He takes him deep, then further, shoving his fingers in far enough for his rings to disappear. He hums, thinks he might need this more than Louis.

Louis fists his hair with both hands, pulls him closer with his legs and arches. Harry can't feel him come because Louis is buried too deep, but Louis clamps down so hard on his fingers he fears they might snap.

Just as sudden as it had started Louis goes boneless, collapses into the cushions. His body practically melts into a contented pile with arms that flop uselessly to his side. He slips his feet from Harry's back and lets them hit the floor carelessly, legs falling open wide.

Harry pulls off his cock first, sputtering for a good long moment and wishing he got more of Louis' taste. His jaw aches, his throat throbs, and Harry loves it, wants more. Louis' hooded eyes track his every movement and he loves that, too.

There's a soft little hiss from Louis when Harry removes his fingers and he leans up for a sloppy kiss as an apology.

"Happy birthday," he whispers against Louis' lips.

"Mmh. You always get so into it," Louis says, voice rough and full of wonder while he strokes his fingers gently over Harry's brow. Strong thighs wrap around Harry’s waist, feet hooked behind his back. A hand on the nape of his neck pulls him closer until Louis' mouth slides along Harry’s cheek, towards his ear. “Love when you put your mouth on me, make it good.”

A flash of pleasure shoots through him and he grinds forward without thinking, catching Louis' gasp when the denim of his jeans rubs over Louis' groin. In one smooth motion, Louis unhooks his legs and slides them between their bodies, knees resting defensively against Harry's chest, legs forming a barrier to protect his sensitive dick.

Harry pouts.

Louis just grins mischievously, flicks Harry's bottom lip softly. He gets distracted by it, often does, rubs his thumb over it with slow focus. Harry knows his mouth is red and puffy and probably looks obscene right now, slicked wet with spit and raw from sucking cock. He enjoys looking like this for Louis though, so he holds still, revelling in the look of concentration he's getting.

"Pretty," Louis says huskily.

Harry slides his fingers over Louis' knees and leans in closer, tries to find something to rub against. "Pretty hard, yeah."

Louis laughs, a sharp little sound. "Well," he says and pushes his thumb just past the opening of Harry’s lips, runs the pad over the soft inner side. Harry's dick jumps against his trousers, so turned on he's dizzy. "Then we'll have to see to it that you come. Wanna switch places so I can return the favour? ‘S bloody brilliant if I'm honest."

Harry thinks about lying folded up on the tiny couch, Louis' fingers in his arse and mouth around his cock. He moans, nods desperately.

"Give me words," Louis admonished softly, slipping his thumb free and ghosting it over Harry’s cheekbone instead.

"Yes," Harry pleads easily. "Yes, want that."

Louis nods and gets up, his back turned. He stretches, long and languorous, arms over his head until the Christmas jumper rides up, over the swell of his bare arse. The insides of his thighs are still shiny with spit and lube.

Harry can't help himself, reaches out and cups one arse cheek. It fits perfectly, just more than a handful. Harry squeezes the fingers spanning the warm flesh, pulls until he can see Louis' wet little hole.

"Shit," he mutters, biting his lower lip. His thumb stroking over it once, twice.

Louis looks at him over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. "Wanna fuck me instead?"

Harry thrusts up against nothing and manages to nod.

"Okay," Louis agrees easily. He sounds so unaffected and usually it would bother Harry, spur him to do something about it. Now all he does is rub his thumb up and down, mesmerised, too turned on to hold a single coherent thought. "As your Christmas present?"

"What?" Harry nods anyway, because sure, whatever. Who cares about semantics, when his thumb is still on Louis’ hole, firm pressure now, about to slip in and --

Louis steps away, their contact broken when he turns to face him slowly, thoughtful expression on his face. Harry's hands settle uselessly in his lap, shaking slightly from arousal.

"You can fuck me," Louis tells him in a tone that's really anything but placating. "Right after I get my Christmas present. You did leave me waiting tonight, so I think it's only fair that I get mine first."

Harry doesn't mention the bloody amazing blowjob of five fucking seconds ago, knows it won't do any good. And now that Louis brought it up, Harry's in the mood to hold him down, give him a good, hard seeing-to. Clearly, Louis isn't in the mood to let him, though. Harry whines, presses the heel of his palm against his straining cock again. "O -- ah. Okay. What do you want?"

Louis crosses his arms and taps his chin, jumper riding high but still covering everything, effortlessly teasing. The stance highlights his legs. His gorgeous, shapely legs which feel so good wrapped around Harry's hips, or better yet, thrown over his shoulders.

And even through all the frustration, he's still so fucking much in love with Louis. The extent surely is unhealthy. So in love, he'll totally go along with Louis' hairsplitting idea and likely die of a too hard dick.

He's so bloody whipped, enjoys every second of it.

"I could suck you the same, only you wouldn't be allowed to come?" Louis says thoughtfully. He pushes Harry back against the sofa again, still down on the floor. Louis climbs into his lap, straddles him easily and crowds in close. He cants his pelvis so his bum is right over Harry’s straining erection. "Or I could fuck you?"

Harry grabs Louis' hips through the jumper and holds on for dear life when Louis grinds down against him. He wants to say something, he thinks, can't remember what. Instead he sobs into Louis' neck, gets his collarbone wet with damp panting breaths and teeth that try to close around something, anything, to keep in the desperate whimpers.

Louis holds the back of his head gently, like he's trying to calm him, and whispers softly in his ear, "bent over the back of the couch, maybe? Slam against your prostate until I come, and you don't. Would you like that?"

Harry shakes his head. When he's busy with Louis it's not so bad, his mind able to concentrate on making Louis feel good, on watching him enjoy it. But like this, with his need high and Louis making it worse -- it's driving Harry insane, the words ripped from him without any higher brain function involved. "No. Louis, please, wanna come. 'M so hard. Let me fuck you." He noses Louis’ neck desperately, clutches him closer and grinds up mindlessly. “I'll make it so good, I swear. Or fuck me, but no more teasing. You decide, just -- please I have to come, I --”

Louis cuts off his babbling with a slow kiss. "Hush babe, I'm trying to think. That was a rhetorical question."

Louis rocks his hips from side to side absentmindedly. Apparently, the friction isn't driving him completely insane. Not like Harry, who's losing his mind from having Louis’ in his lap, grinding down, wiggling about. It’s all so unfair, Harry wants to cry.

Louis' legs tighten around him in excitement when another idea strikes. "Oh, we could sixty-nine? Haven't done that since. Hm. The AMA's?"

Harry throws his head back onto the seat cushions and shudders, fingers digging into Louis' hips and thrusting up roughly, quick hard jabs that have him close to coming within seconds.

Louis scowls. "Stop that."

Harry's hand shoots up, fingers wrapping tightly around Louis' jaw. There's surprise for just a second before Louis looks at him straight on, expression unreadable while the firelight paints flickering shadows on his face.

They stare at each other without blinking for several long seconds, the room oddly silent, a distant dog barking, easily ignored in favour of their breathing; Louis steady and deep, Harry erratic and shallow. Then, Harry's hand slips down Louis' chest, fingers curling desperately in the wool, rings glinting while his head thumps back onto the sofa.

"You're a fucking nutter."

Harry doesn't reply, doesn't even raise his head. He'd suspected it, yet still flinches when his nipple gets a hard twist, sharp pinpricks of pain shooting outwards. He sucks his bottom lip, tries to stifle the pained whimper. Only this time, there's a direct connection to his cock. It twitches under the tight denim and Harry bucks so violently Louis is almost knocked off his lap.

"Oh honestly!" Louis sounds proper peeved now. Harry doesn't care. "This won't do, it's no fun to play with you like this. You'll just cream your pants and then where will we be?"

Harry screws his eyes shut for a blissful moment. "In orgasm-land?"

Louis nips his chin while slipping a hand over Harry’s bulge, hot and perfect. "Yeah, but you promised me mine first."

In one terribly graceful movement Louis raises to a standing position. It strains Louis’ thigh muscles and Harry’s dick alike.

And having Louis' body pressed against him had been torturous, sure, but Harry can't help feel the cold seep in where Louis had pressed against him. He cups his erection, his eyes slipping shut, but it's just not the same. Before he can unfasten the button of his jeans, Louis' muffled voice interrupts him. "You should eat me out."

Harry's eyes slam open and he almost gives himself whiplash. Louis' voice is muffled because -- oh god. His torso and face are resting on the sofa, his knees on the floor, spreading wider while getting comfortable; perfect, jumper-covered arse on display.

Harry's stomach surges when Louis turns his face, when he reaches back and slowly pulls the jumper to pool at the small of his back, bare arse on display.

It's unashamed, utterly gorgeous and it takes Harry all of a second to scramble up behind him. His hands grab on tight to Louis' arse, a wistful thought spared for the lovely contrast his rings make on the pale skin. He digs his fingers deep, delighted by the way Louis feels.

Things like soulmates and destiny, they talk of it sometimes. But when Harry’s hands are on Louis’ bum, he swears they were made this big just to cup him so perfectly. Louis might laugh at him, call him a sap, but he's also the first to push Harry's hand down further when they're snuggled close or making out lazily.

Louis groans when Harry's ministrations get rougher, practically kneading the flesh, pulling it apart just for a look, pressing it together for the feel of it.

Harry could do this for hours, he really could. The ache in his dick no longer at the forefront of his mind, too occupied with the little shivers wracking Louis' body at the rough ministrations. He doesn't complain, just lies there, draped over the couch for Harry to look at, to touch, to make feel good.

But Louis is desperate for it now, always is when he's about to get eaten out. His fingers tangle in Harry’s hair and with a solid grip, pull him forward. Harry goes, spreads Louis' cheeks for easy access.

He aims and spits before leaning in, spreading the wetness around with his tongue. Once properly slicked up, Harry's focus switches. He drags his tongue teasingly slow over Louis' hole, pressing the flat of it against the wrinkled skin. It wrenches a guttural little groan from Louis' throat, accompanied by a desperate hip jerk.

Harry circles his tongue slowly, almost lazily, squeezing Louis’ arse and pushing closer until a deep moan shakes Louis’ energy-coiled frame.

It's amazing the way Louis both submits and doesn't, the way he gets so desperate for Harry, how he demands it at the same time. It makes Harry grin and he bites Louis’ bum cheek before kissing the skin lovingly.

He slips back into place and opens his mouth wider, hardens his tongue and stabs it forward in wet little jerks that breach Louis for merely a second but have him sobbing into the cushions in no time, a broken stream of groans and utter filth falling from his lips while he shamelessly grinds Harry's face further into his arse.

Louis goes, well, Louis goes wanton when he gets eaten out. Control and self awareness are a big thing for him during normal hours, and he gets embarrassed when he's perceived as less than perfectly in control. He might follow it up with an insult, but Harry still knows it's Louis' little insecurities that surface.

But the moment Harry's tongue is in his arse, Louis lets go completely. Throat raw from moaning within moments, hips rutting against the couch like no one's watching. No one but Harry. It's heady to see him let go like this, see him trust Harry enough to take over, take the lead and make it good.

And Harry does, uses every trick he knows to have Louis unravel under his tongue. He loves it too, loves Louis, presses closer and licks in deeper until he's all the way in, hears Louis' muffled shout and feels him tightening around his tongue. Harry forms his lips into a perfect O and starts sucking, too, moving his tongue back and pushing forward again, all the while making sure to keep his lips sealed and the pressure from the suction up.

Louis absolutely loses it, pushing back while yanking on Harry's hair, thrashing around and rutting forward desperately. He lets go of a strangled scream whenever Harry does something particularly well and Harry does is again, wants Louis to fall apart under his tongue.

Instead Harry pulls back and it's unclear who's panting more, Louis or him. But the whining, the dirty little thrusts, that's all Louis.

Almost magnetically, his eyes are drawn back to Louis, to where Harry's still holding him open with both hands, to where his spit slick hole is twitching, clenching around nothing.

Without warning Harry pushes in two fingers, just to hear the noise Louis makes, crooks them and smiles at the broken off whine when he brushes over his prostate. He teases him with his rings, lets them slide inside only to pull them back out slowly, hear the hitch in Louis' voice. He leans over Louis, waits for Louis' hand to slip out of his hair so he can blanket him fully and whisper in his ear.

"You're so gorgeous it hurts. Perfect, perfect Louis." He twists his fingers for another little whimper, kisses the side of his face before pulling his fingers free. "My Louis."

Louis looks at him with wide-blown pupils, his bottom lip bitten raw, sweat at the nape of his neck and curling the short hair into damp little ringlets. He looks so incredibly fuckable that Harry ruts against his arse, rubs his straining cock against him. Louis just closes his eyes and moans, arching his back.

Harry thinks if he pushes it now, Louis will give up on his plan and let Harry fuck him. All he'd have to do is reach down and push down his pants and slide his cock home. And fuck, Harry wants that, wants that tight heat.

"Let me fuck you like this, babe?" Harry ruts forward harder, spurred by Louis’ high little moans, the way he flinches at the rough fabric of Harry's jeans against his arse. "Will make it so good. Fuck you hard and deep, just how you like. Have you moaning my name in no time."

"Harry," Louis moans, pressing his face into the sofa.

"Just like that baby, yeah."

For a moment he thinks he's got Louis convinced, thinks he's won, ready to pry his jeans down.

"No," Louis says, voice desperately unsure. "Keep going."

Harry sighs audibly, landing on hard smack on Louis' arse. It's more for the way it jiggles than anything and Louis must know that, doesn't even say anything. It still blooms warm and red by the time Harry falls back onto his haunches and gently pries apart Louis' arse cheeks again.

He picks up right where he left off, tonguing in deep and using his lips as well, fingers gliding over the skin of Louis' bum, pulling him open further. Harry groans when Louis slips his fingers back into his hair, not demanding now, just looking for an anchor.

His jaw starts aching from the strain, but it's a faint pain, made almost completely irrelevant by Louis' mumbled encouragements and tiny, high pitched sobs, his whole body shuddering deliciously. Instead Harry picks up the pace, pausing only to pull back for air, teasing with his fingers before diving right back.

And then, the pressure on his head changes, reverses, because suddenly Louis isn't pulling him closer but pushing him away, muscles in his lower back spasming while he's rutting against the couch, his hole squeezing tightly.

Harry's own need slams back into him at that, all at once and it's like hitting a wall. He's so hard it's actually painful and he isn't at all sure how any fucking is supposed to happen because he'll come the moment they'll open his jeans.

After a quick squeeze to Louis' bum, he lets go to grind the heel of his palm hard against his dick again, the pressure relieving the brain numbing arousal for just a bit.

Enough for Harry to ask in a gravely voice, "why'd you stop me?"

Louis doesn't move, bent over and panting into the couch, muscles still twitching and Harry wonders if he missed it somehow, if Louis came without him noticing.

Louis' mouth is hanging open, his breaths heavy. He fists the upholstery and squeezes his eyes shut, tries desperately to get himself back under control.

After a few more breaths he sits up and looks at Harry. Whatever brief respite Harry's palm had afforded him is shot all to hell because Louis looks -- he's flushed and sweaty, his eyes glassy and a wild, a desperate look in them. And he definitely hasn't come, cock tenting the front of the jumper proudly.

They lock gazes and Harry falls, into the moment, into Louis. Right here he has everything he ever wanted, everything he'll ever need and maybe he shouldn't feel so sappy after eating out his boyfriend, but nothing will ever convince him of that.

Louis is visibly struggling for control and it's fucking hot, enough for another spurt of precome to dribble out of Harry's near constantly leaking cock. Distantly Harry wonders if he looks just as wrecked, if his cheeks have the same high red flush and whether his hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat, a wild look in his eyes.

What he does know is there's spit and probably lube all around his mouth, and he drags his thumb over the worst of it, pops it into his mouth. Something snaps inside Louis, who narrows his eyes. "Change of plans," he says and gives Harry's chest a rough push.

He goes down hard, elbow hitting the ground awkwardly but Louis is there, mumbling a distracted sorry and helping him find a more comfortable position.

Nimble fingers undo his trousers and Harry almost shouts when Louis pulls down the zipper quickly, the tight embrace finally lifted.

There's such a fierce, desperate look on Louis' face, Harry is almost taken aback.

"If you come before you're even inside me," he says roughly while shoving one hand in to circle the base of Harry's flushed cock, rolling down his jeans with the other, "I swear to god, I will murder you."

"Louis," Harry moans out.

Louis shoots him a dark look and tightens the grip on Harry's cock. "Don't. Come."

Harry shakes his head helplessly, eventually managing to assist Louis in removing his jeans. He'd thought wearing no pants for Louis today would be a nice surprise but they're both so far gone it hardly registers.

Louis grabs for Harry's hand and switches it with his own. The makeshift cockring might not bring any relief, but at least he's not coming on the spot.

Louis is looking at him spread out on the floor, the firelight doing wonderful things to his high cheek bones and glinting eyes. He seems deep in contemplative thought, while his dick just tents that fucking Christmas jumper.

Harry is probably ruined for the festive season completely, will have to stay home for every December to come because he'll just be popping wood whenever he sees someone wearing anything remotely similar, conditioned solely by this night.

Once he realises what Louis is debating though, his mind focuses back on the important things. His free hand encircles Louis' wrist, right over the rope. "Facing me," Harry says. "Wanna see you."

The thing is, Louis riding him with his back turned is sort of a religious experience. Because Harry can see exactly how his cock is splitting Louis open, gets to watch that perfect arse rise and fall, sees it grinding against his hips. Louis makes sure to lean forward, too, just for the extra show and because it makes Harry absolutely lose his mind. But right now, he's turned on as much as he'll ever be. Instead he wants to see that concentrated little frown Louis gets when he's fucking himself on Harry's dick, the way he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth when the stretch is particularly good.

Louis nods any swings his leg over Harry's hips to straddle him. The jumper is long enough to get tangled around Harry's dick and he cries out, fingers tightening desperately.

Louis looks at him, almost apologetically and rucks the fabric up under his arms to avoid further mishaps.

Harry breathes again, lets go of his bottom lip. It's a wonder he hasn't accidentally bitten through it.

Impatience fuels each of Louis' movements now, and he's digging through his discarded joggers while cursing under his breath. He extracts a small bottle of lube and reaches behind himself after fiddling it open and squeezing some out. Slick fingers encircle Harry's dick and he gets two straightforward, almost clinical strokes before Louis is lining him up.

The jumper has fallen down again and Louis gathers it in his free hand, tucks the wool under his chin. Then his hand is on Harry's abs for balance, the other one still behind him to guide Harry's dick. Harry would help, but he's far too mesmerised when Louis gets like this, all demanding and focused.

Louis is all kinds of amazingly bendable, proven when he leans down for a quick kiss without dislodging his hands.

"No coming before me, okay?"

It's not really a command, more of a question laced with so much desperation that Harry just has to comply. He nods.

Louis looks down between them where Harry's cock is standing at attention, flushed a deep red with a clear string of precome dripping down onto his belly.

And Louis half-mumbles, half-sings, "should've put a ring on it."

And Harry laughs, because Louis did not.

"If that's a proposal it su --" His sentence quickly turns into cursing when Louis starts sinking down.

A long, breathy moan escapes Louis and Harry has to tighten the fingers encircling his own cock. Any non-sexy thoughts might help but it's practically impossible with Louis mewling on top of him, screwing his body down, thighs shaking and jumper once again tucked under his chin. It should look absolutely ridiculous but it's really not, and Harry has real concerns of coming and ruining the fun prematurely.

Finally, finally, Louis is seated on his cock, bum pressing into Harry's hand where it's still circling his dick. He has absolutely no plan of letting go.

Louis wriggles around a bit. "At the very first opportunity, I'm buying you a cock ring for the road. One you'll tie to your bag or to your journal or your phone. Wear it on a fucking string around your neck for all i care, but you'll always have with you."

There's so much to say to that, ranging from 'people will know' to 'that won't be necessary seeing as I won't survive this'.

Instead he sobs out a desperate, "yeah -- yeah okay."

Louis nods, like it's a done deal. Then he lifts up and Harry abruptly forgets how to breathe. When Louis sinks back down, it's like a punch to Harry's gut, only instead of pain, pleasure erupts.

There's a loud, desperate keening noise that's just a tad too loud for a house still occupied by other people. Harry bites his free fist and the noise stops.

Louis repeats the lift-hover-drop, faster this time, his insides dragging over Harry torturously. On the third repeat, Harry thrusts up gently in time, only to frustrate himself when his fingers restrict the movement.

Biting his lip hard and with Louis' ever watchful gaze on him, he removes his hand and pulls it out from between their bodies.

"Good?" Louis mumbles, the jumper still tucked under his chin.

Harry pulls it free, then tucks it between Louis' stomach and dripping cock. He just stares for a long moment while Louis picks up the pace above him, hard dick bobbing, holding the jumper in place. Harry puts his palms on the material over Louis' hips, tries to place his thumbs parallel to Louis' gorgeous cock for the pretty picture it makes. He wants this framed on the walls, as his phone's background, on his instagram.

"Best Christmas present ever," Harry slurs, thrusting up.

Louis chokes out a laugh, pinching Harry's nipple before entwining their fingers of both hands and using the grip to push himself up. Harry places his elbows on the ground to provide better leverage. Anything to keep up Louis' perfect, perfect rhythm.

Louis is an absolute vision, lithe and gorgeous. While Harry wants to see his body, see his abs work when he pulls up, see his pecs twitch when he pushes their hands together, the jumper still has it's appeal.

Louis is looking at him without seeing, too focused on not breaking stride. He closes his eyes and throws his head back, hips stuttering and chasing his orgasm now. With the firelight playing over his skin he's so beautiful it's almost painful.

When Louis starts biting his lip, Harry knows it's his cue.

He untangles his right hand and wraps it around Louis' bobbing cock. There's enough precome for an easy slide, and Harry times it so he hits the base when Louis sits up, squeezes hard for the second Louis holds himself suspended, then slides up the shaft when Louis sits down.

Louis starts babbling almost immediately, 'love your cock in me' and 'love your hands on me' and 'love you love you love you'.

Without warning, he leans back, fingers grabbing onto Harry's shins. Instead of lifting his body with his thighs, he uses his bum and stomach muscles to push up. When he sinks down like that, he cries out, 'fuck, fuck, fuck' spilling from his lips when Harry's dick presses just so inside him.

It doesn't take long after that, just a few strokes more. Then Louis arches, body frozen, and then he's coming all over the red Christmas jumper in pearly white streaks. He clenches around Harry who cries out, throbbing and wild with the feel of Louis orgasming on his cock.

With two quick upward jabs Harry follows, coming deep inside Louis' arse, filling him while Louis just clenches around him harder.

Louis almost collapses backwards, Harry just managing to divert his fall by pulling him forward. He lands on Harry's chest and even though it makes catching his breath that much harder, Harry hugs him close.

They breathe against each other for long moments and Harry can feel Louis' erratic heartbeat, the sweat and wool and come between them.

Louis chuckles breathily, "we're getting rather good at that."

Harry laughs weakly in return. "Practice does make perfect."

Louis nuzzles his neck, licks away the sweat before latching onto his skin and sucking intently. In response, Harry grabs his hips and grinds up into him. They both moan, too sensitive.

"You know what that does to me," Harry says by way of an excuse.

Louis gives up on sucking, bites his skin instead. "Yeah," he says, grinding down onto Harry's slowly softening dick. "You aren't the only one who gets off on lovebites."

"Hiatus," Harry says softly while tilting his head back. "No one's gonna see."

Louis clenches around Harry's dick as he leans in and goes to work on Harry's skin, sucking hard and rough on one spot before pulling back to look at it. Once he's satisfied, he moves on to the next. Harry lets him, stops counting after the one placed right over his collarbone, concentrates on the feeling of Louis on top of him instead, trying not to move, to dislodge Harry's cock.

Harry doesn't like anything inside him once they're done. He's far too sensitive then, gets turned on again so easily, something Louis has exploited on several prior occasions.

But Louis doesn't mind, loves Harry to stay inside of him for as long as possible, once even long enough for Harry to get hard again, right there, inside Louis. They should do that again, he thinks while stroking up Louis' back under the jumper. He slides it up further, wants it off now, wants Louis skin on his.

Louis helps pull it off and throws it in a far corner. The movement proves too much and they both wince when Harry's softening cock slips out, Louis wincing again shortly after when Harry's come follows.

"Should've kept my Christmas present. Should've made you eat me out now, clean up your mess."

Harry's dick gives a feeble twitch which has Louis grinning into his chest.

"Give me a couple of minutes and I will."

Louis leans up to press their lips together. "I love you."

"For the upcoming felching?"

"Yeah. You might still have some other redeeming qualities, too, I don't know."

Harry wraps him up in his arms to keep him still, one hand naturally finding it's way to Louis' bum. Harry can't help himself, runs a finger over Louis's hole, smears his own come around. He really isn't at all opposed to eating Louis out again.

He stops when Louis winces, palming his arse instead, closing his eyes and burying his nose in Louis' hair.

They quiet down for some time, before Harry suddenly remembers to say, "I love you, too."

Louis gives a little start, like he'd already begun drifting off. He pats Harry's chest fondly. "Good. That's good."

Harry stays there for another moment, then moves out from under Louis to get a towel from the bathroom. He holds one corner under the faucet to get it soaked with warm water while looking at himself in the mirror. He stretches his neck, smiles at the lovebites scattering down one side, from under his ear to the curve of his shoulder.

His legs are like jelly and he wobbles his way back to Louis, who is mostly asleep. Gently, Harry drags the towel over his wet thighs and listens to him mumble something. After cleaning him thoroughly, he gets him up, Louis just awake enough to help with the short walk over to the bed where he crawls under the covers with a happy groan.

Harry checks on the fire, looks at the candle for a long, long moment before blowing it out and crawling into bed with Louis, pulling the comforter over them both.

Tomorrow, they have the whole day off and nothing planned. If they want, they can stay in bed the entire time. They have a few things planned after that, big things, exciting and frightening all at once.

But the future, and Louis, look bright and perfect.