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highway to hell

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When the call connects all Harry can hear at first is the static noise over his car speakers. Then that drops away, leaving an oddly tense silence.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, before Louis can lay into him. Because yes, he’s that late. Not that Louis doesn’t complain if Harry is late by five minutes. But if it’s a special day, like today, their fucking anniversary, he gets eerily quiet, draws in on himself and pushes Harry off the moment he goes in for an apologetic cuddle.

The line is silent, only Louis’ soft breathing filling the inside of Harry’s car, mingling with the crappy music the guy next to him is blasting with all his windows down.

“I’m so sorry babe,” he tries again, looking around at the sea of stationary cars and feeling utterly helpless. “I haven’t moved an inch in minutes.”

There’s a broken off sob from Louis that has Harry’s heart plummeting to the floor of the car. Is he crying? God, if he made Louis cry just because he decided to stay for a bit longer to chat to his friends, Harry will -- well, he isn’t sure, but he’ll definitely have to pay for it somehow.

But the sob is followed by another sound, one Harry knows very well indeed. It’s the same sound he tries to draw out of Louis every time they have sex; a needy, choked-off little whine at the back of his throat, the one that’s always accompanied with flushed cheeks and a heavy-lidded gaze.

“Louis?” Harry questions, his voice breaking as his fingers curl around the steering wheel and his eyes dart around at the bored drivers around him. “Louis, what--”

“I thought I’d get myself ready,” Louis whispers into the phone, his voice, while soft, still unnaturally loud over the speakers, some weird form of surround sound that has Harry’s cock taking an interest immediately. “So that there wouldn’t be any time to waste on prep when you got home.”

There’s a gasp from Louis, followed by a rustle. It sounds like he’s trying to hold the phone between his ear and shoulder. Harry feels himself flush when he realises just why Louis’ hands might be otherwise occupied.

“Been fingering myself for fifteen minutes now. I’m done playing.”

Harry’s mind blanks just imagining Louis getting himself ready for their date tonight, taking his time, one finger after another to draw it out. With Louis it’s always like a switch, the way he’ll tease and flirt and prep for however long he’s in the mood for. But he always, always, reaches that point where he gets himself too worked up. Then he looks at Harry with a wild look in his eyes, like he might very well die if they don’t move on to the actual fucking right away.

When he’s alone -- because Harry is running a con on the other side of the world, or a random crew needed an expert thief and flew Louis in -- then Louis reaches that point much faster. It’s because he doesn’t have Harry to focus on, to distract him from his own need. At least that’s how he explained it last time, when he’d woken Harry up in the middle of the night for a quick -- and mutually beneficial -- Skype call. Harry had hugged the hotel pillow close to him afterwards, watching Louis fall asleep with the call still going, the camera just barely catching the rise and fall of Louis’ chest.

“Babe, I’m --” Harry swallows hard, looking around at the surrounding people again. He accidentally makes eye contact with an older woman, and they both look away quickly and pretend it didn’t happen. “I’m in the car.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, breathless. “And you really should be in me.”

Harry blinks, then blinks again. “I hate you.”

“You’re just jealous you didn’t think of that line first.” There’s some more rustling, then the sound of Louis switching to speaker. That is followed by the very familiar snick of the lube. “And since you’re being a bore, stuck in traffic or whatever, I’ve got my favourite vibrator here.”

It’s almost involuntary, but his nails dig into the steering wheel while his cock hardens just a bit more in his trousers. The tell-tale tenting is now clearly visible and Harry shifts uncomfortably, glancing around quickly. He won’t let go of the steering wheel because that way, disaster lies. Disaster, and public indecency charges.

Instead, his knuckles turn white as he slowly licks his lips. “What are you planning to do?”

Louis huffs. “Will have to fuck myself with it, won't I? Because you’re not here, even though you promised.”

Harry clears his throat, but his voice is still gruff when he says, “just wait a bit more, baby. I’m going to be home really soon. Will take such good care of you.”

Unsurprisingly, Louis just snorts. It’s breathy, probably more than he’d like, but still clearly articulates how much Louis does not believe him right then, because soon is clearly not soon enough for him.

“Have to do everything myself.” There’s more rustling and then the slightest exhalation, the kind of soft sound Louis makes when his eyes fall shut and his mouth opens just as Harry pushes in for the first time.

Harry can just see it; Louis spread out on their bed, his knees having fallen open and his cock lying hard on his taut stomach. His hands stretched down, one holding the end of the vibe while the other one guides the tip. And it will need to, because Louis’ favourite vibrator isn’t small, but rather a thick blue one with six very distinct settings.

“Mmh, fuck yeah,” Louis says in a papery-soft voice. “That feels so good.”

Harry presses his eyes shut, trying to block out the cars - and people -- around him. Louis won’t wait, not now. But he called Harry for a reason, and traffic jam or not, Harry will damn well try his best to give Louis whatever he wants. Always.

“Do you like it?” he asks, his head falling forward to rest on the steering wheel. He continues in the same intent whisper. “Like it when I slide into you, all slow and steady at first?”

“Yeah,” Louis mumbles, his voice hitching. “Yeah, love that. Make me feel so full.”

Harry smiles, loves Louis’ honesty in these situations. “Always push in all the way on the first thrust, just the way you like it.”

“Yeah,” Louis mumbles, his voice trailing off in such a way that Harry just knows he’s pushed the vibe in all the way, like Harry described.

And that’s good, that’s perfect, because that means he’s in the mood to follow Harry’s commands, which in turn leaves Harry free to concentrate on Louis fully.

“What do I always do then, once I’m pressed up right against you?”

“You tease me.”

The grin is immediate and Harry even shakes his head. “That’s not true. What do I do next?”

It takes a moment because Louis clearly doesn’t want to answer. “You kiss me for fucking ages.”

“Mmh. And?”

“And while you do that,” Louis says, snippy now because he clearly wants Harry to get a move on, “you make sure your cock presses against my prostate. Because you like to fucking tease me.”

God, he really does. With Louis getting all angry and blotchy and huffy, nipping at Harry’s bottom lip to spur him on, cupping his bum to pull him closer. But Harry never gives in because he knows holding out will be worth it.

Like when Louis starts moving under him, desperate for friction, canting his hips and pushing closer while huffing out frustrated breaths when it’s not enough, never enough.

“Put the vibe on the first setting, but don’t move it.”

“No,” Louis whines immediately. But then, there’s a telltale buzzing sound filling the inside of Harry’s car. If he were in bed with Louis now, he’d kiss him as a reward.

Louis likes pretty much all of the settings besides number four, a series of intense pulses that Harry himself quite enjoys. There’s also the last one, number six, which they’ve concluded must be broken. It buzzes once or twice randomly, between long stretches of doing absolutely jack-shit. So four and six are out, but Louis loves number three, a fast, deep and constant vibration that makes his entire body go pliant because he can’t concentrate on anything else.

“You on your back?” Harry takes that relatively tame question to glance around, because yes, he’s still stuck in a sea of unmoving cars even if his mind is somewhere else entirely.

There’s a grunt from Louis, which Harry takes as a yes. “Going to turn you over then, baby. Put a pillow under your hips. Don’t take the vibe out though, that stays right where it is.”

“Harry,” Louis whines and fuck if it isn’t the prettiest sound, ever. Harry’s cock agrees and he can’t help it, has to reach down and press the palm of his hand against the bulge. “Can’t.”

Harry shudders, pulls his hand back up to grip the steering wheel almost violently. “‘Course you can, baby. Want you to have something to rub against when I start fucking you.”

Louis shifts, whining whenever the vibrator hits a sensitive spot, but eventually his voice comes -- closer now and out of breath. “‘Kay.”

“Yeah?” Harry draws out the word, imagining Louis on their bed, bum up and his favourite toy buried all the way to the hilt. “Roll your hips.”

Louis does, judging by the choked off sound. “Feel you when I do that.”

“Good,” Harry says, rubbing at the taut denim over his cock in earnest. The very next second he snatches his hand back up to the wheel. He can’t even remember letting go and he darts around a nervous glance, making eye contact with the same woman as before. That definitely needs to stop happening.

“Harry I -- please move.”

He closes his eyes again, imagines Louis desperately rutting against the pillow while the toy pulses rhythmically, his face sweaty and body desperate for friction.

“Just a bit, then. Going to pull out very slowly, push back just as slow.”

There’s a beat, and then Louis whines.

“Again?” he asks, almost immediately.

“Yeah baby. Want you to make that pretty sound for me again.”

And Louis does, over and over again. It falls out of rhythm when Harry makes him change to setting two, his breath coming faster, the sound bouncing off of every corner of the car.

There’s movement suddenly, the cars in line all starting up simultaneously. Harry groans, mentally apologising to his own dick as he drives a couple of feet, coming back to a stop almost immediately.

Fucking traffic, he’s going to buy a helicopter.

“Stop!” he says suddenly, when Louis’ breathing takes on that airy tone right before he’s about to come. The whining and grumbling go right to his cock, because it means Louis actually did stop and that’s just -- fuck.

“I’m close,” Louis half-grumbles, half-whines. “Why’d you stop? Move.”

Harry shifts, wants to wrap his hand around his cock and knows he can’t. “Not just yet baby. Want you to do something for me.”


Harry closes his eyes slowly and bites down on his bottom lip. “Ride me.”

There’s silence, only Louis’ sharp intake of breath heard over the speakers. He’s probably biting his lip, too. He always does when he’s about to climb on top of Harry, loves nothing more than to sink down and move his hips furiously while his nails dig into Harry’s chest.

“Take a pillow, one of the big ones. Want you to straddle it. Then I want you to switch to the third setting.”

“Oh…” Louis says, quietly, like he hadn’t really thought of it at all.

All further sounds are muffled, like he’s accidentally covered the phone while moving around on their bed.

By the time he’s recovered the phone, Harry has driven a bit further, can see the exit up ahead, the cars crawling along slowly but finally moving regardless.

“Harry --” Louis whispers, choked off and desperate.

“Come on then. Back and forth, just how you like it.”

“Can’t -- I. It’s too much.”

Harry thinks the steering wheel might break under his grip. “I know how much you like to ride me. Show me now, let me hear you.”

“Harry --” Louis tries again, cut short by his own sharp inhalation of breath. There’s just the sound of movement and then Louis’ whispered, “oh my god.”

“Tell me,” Harry urges as he finally, finally takes the exit, moving at walking pace now, at least.

“Feel you so deep when I push back,” Louis chokes out. “And then my cock rubs against the pillow when I rock forward.”

Harry nods and nearly breaks the indicator when his hand slips, numb from where he’d been clutching the wheel. “Told you you’d like it.”

“Yeah,” Louis murmurs, distracted and out of breath.

“Always know, don’t I?”

“Always make me feel so good. Harry, you -- fuck. Perfect.”

The slowest driver on the fucking planet is currently in front of Harry. He glances down at his crotch, Louis’ desperate little moans all around him. He isn’t even surprised to see the wet patch, feels like his cock might actually break his trousers, he’s so hard.

“Going to fuck you so hard when I get home, you have no idea baby,” he promises.

“About to come,” Louis says, gulping down air desperately while his whole body shudders audibly.

Harry takes the next left, just so he isn’t stuck behind that sloth of a driver. Honestly. “You can come whenever you want,” he says, harshly, as he ignores the orange of a traffic light, speeds up instead. “But once you do, you’re going to change the setting on that vibrator to six. And you’re going to leave it where it is and wait for me right there. Understood?”

Louis whines, but Harry can hear him nodding. Next thing a high, desperate groan escapes his throat, chased by Harry’s name, only half enunciated, as he comes.

There’s another sound, some rustling and then --

“Fuck!” Harry says, emphatically, as the dial tone fills the car before the call disconnects completely. Harry takes another corner, probably too fast but luckily there’s no one around. He isn’t far now, their place only streets away.

He makes himself drive slower, just under the speed limit, and it has to be to most difficult thing he’s ever done. But their neighbours have views on speeding, have views on everything and they can’t blow their cover just because Harry is too horny or because Louis came after riding a pillow with a vibrator shoved up his arse and Harry telling him what to do.

They can’t.


They shouldn’t, at least.

Harry nods and smiles at Layla, their next door neighbour and all-round power mum of three. She gives him a funny look and he realises what he thought was a smile is more of a grimace, really.

There’s his driveway, with five-year old Luke’s bike parked right in the center of it.


Usually Harry gets out, smiling, and gently nudges it aside. Today, he parks on the street.

That’s frowned upon, too, but so is running over your neighbour’s bike, so really, this is the lesser of two evils.

Striding up the driveway with a noticeable erection is probably Not Done, either. Judging by Marge’s appreciative glance over the fence, though, it’s far less of a problem than anything else.

Well, Marge can go fuck herself. Literally.

The front door slams shut behind him and Harry hardly notices, takes the stairs two at a time while already shrugging out of his shirt. By the time he’s reached their bedroom he’s naked from the waist up and his shoes and socks lie somewhere behind him.

He pauses with his hands on the front of his trousers, because for a moment he no longer feels the blinding need, that insane urge to get to Louis.

Because Louis is there, still astride the pillow, his eyes lidded. A heavy shudder wracks his tired body as the vibrator -- as if on cue -- pulses. Louis moans, sounding overstimulated and helpless.

That need suddenly slams back into Harry, all at once and more ferocious than before. He’s by the bed in two steps, another has him out of his clothes completely. He crawls onto the bed, running his hand up Louis’ flank and listening to him moan pitifully.

But then Louis, with an effort, pries open his eyes. He looks at Harry blearily for just a moment, like he doesn’t quite believe he’s real.

“I hate you,” Louis says weakly and Harry laughs, knows exactly what Louis means by that.

He grasps the vibrator and pulls it free, chucking it to the floor without even turning it off first. He’s distracted by the lube that immediately starts running out of Louis’ hole and down his thigh.

Harry can’t help himself, has to touch Louis’ stretched skin. “I really fucking hate you,” Louis sobs out, before he completely loses his voice when Harry sinks into him smoothly.

“I know,” Harry says, kissing Louis’ neck as he pulls out slowly, intent on setting a quick rhythm. “I love you too.”