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And If You Ask Nicely

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Week four and he’s playing with one of Liam’s scarves, or maybe it’s one of the girls’, Louis can’t remember. It’s not one of his, because it’s just boring black. He tries tying it around his head, using it to keep his hair off his forehead while everyone gets set up in front of the camera. His hair probably looks sufficiently stupid to use as a joke piece in the video, but the scarf keeps slipping around, and, yeah, okay, that’ll work even better. He slides it over his eyes and pretends to stumble around like a zombie, arms out in front as he aims himself towards the soft giggles coming from the right and tromps forward. He lands on Niall, who laughs even louder, toppling them both to the floor before he picks himself up again and tries to find someone else to take down.

It’s silly not to be able to see, a bit of a game to pass the time as they wait to do their video diary. He can peek under the edge of the scarf if he strains his eyeballs downward, so it’s not really being blind or anything. Just a joke.

He fixes the cloth from where it’s starting to slip down his face and starts staggering around the room again. Zayn’s on the couch which is to his left, Liam’s standing by the stairs and Harry is, ha, there. Louis walks himself into Harry and their shins collide with the sudden ache of bone on bone, but everything else just feels soft and warm. Harry lets Louis push him backwards, curling into Louis’s outstretched zombie-arms.

“Sorry, mate, couldn’t see,” Louis says, reaching out with his fingers spread wide, deliberately clumsy, to tangle his hands in Harry’s curls.

Harry laughs, but first there’s a quiet wet sound, like Harry’s licking his lips or opening his mouth. Louis can’t see, but they’re so close together that it’s easy to hear, like wearing the scarf has completely negated any semblance of a space bubble that there might have been between the two of them. Or maybe that was the week at a bungalow, or sleeping less than a metre away each night, or spending all day every day together. They’re close.

“Boys,” someone calls from where they’ve finished setting up the camera.

“Are you going to take this off?” Harry asks and then he brushes his fingers across Louis’s cheekbones, just under the bottom scarf, a soft tickle of a touch.

Louis reaches out and catches both Harry’s wrists: an easy grab for the first one because he can still feel Harry’s hand on his face, but somehow he also manages to locate Harry’s other wrist with his first blind reach.

“Don’t be silly,” Louis says. “Of course I’m not taking if off, we’ve got to go make a video.”

“Yeah,” Harry says. His arms go a little heavy, like he’s letting Louis hold up the weight of his hands, but he’s not trying to pull away.

He’s close then and he’s close the whole time they’re making the video. Louis can’t see, but he can feel Harry leaning in beside him as the other boys laugh in the background.

He mostly manages to keep a straight face when Harry slaps him, starts laughing the second time, and then Zayn pulls off the scarf and they’re done for the day.

“Think you’re pretty funny then?” Louis asks once they’re back in the room. It’s been long enough that Harry blinks at him blankly, tilting his head to the side.

Louis only remembered because he’s still got the scarf threaded through his belt loops like a sash, and he pulls it free and throws it to the ground, this brief black billow before it lands in one of several piles of dirty clothes.

“Attacking a man when he can’t see,” Louis says, and then advances across the room.

Harry knows what’s coming, has that silly grin he gets when he’s figured out Louis’s plan, the one that makes it absolutely impossible for Louis to stop.

He reaches over and slaps Harry across the face. It’s not too hard; he lets his wrist go soft and ends up cupping Harry’s cheek more than anything, Harry’s skin hot beneath his palm. Harry’s smile lifts up to meet the fleshy curve of the base of Louis’s thumb. His eyes are closed. Louis squeezes his cheek before pulling his hand away, watching as Harry slowly blinks his eyes open.

Louis bumps his knuckles against Harry’s chin until Harry lifts his head from where it’s dropped forward a little bit.

“But it was twice, wasn’t it?” Louis says. “Fair’s fair.”

He lifts his arm back, pretends to take a huge wind-up, and Harry watches with wide eyes but doesn’t move away. He keeps glancing back and forth between Louis’s hand and his face while Louis pauses with his arm poised, the grand gesture just before the strike. He waits for Harry to flinch away, but he doesn’t. Finally Louis drops his arm in a slow swoop until his hand makes contact with Harry’s cheek, a little harder this time even though it’s still not what it could have been. Just enough to make a noise and send a buzz into the center of Louis’s palm.

There’s this moment of pressure as Harry leans into it, pushing his face into Louis’s hand, before Louis drops his arm away.

“That’s not exactly fair,” Harry says, but just as Louis has sucked in a breath to start explaining how it’s always fair for him to hit people back, and probably also fair when he starts it because it’s hilarious (and maybe also they asked for it), Harry bends forward and picks up the scarf from the ground.

“You were wearing this,” Harry says. He stretches the scarf between his palms and then circles his hands until he’s got a band of black around each wrist. It’s only staying up because he’s pulling his arms apart enough to keep the scarf tight.

“If you wanted me to blindfold you and hit you, you just had to ask,” Louis says, because it’s either make a joke or reach over to knot the scarf and tie Harry’s hands together properly.

“Thought that’s what I was doing,” Harry says.

“Say please,” Louis says, because he’s not -- it doesn’t feel like they’re joking, but he can’t tell anymore. Everything’s so confused with lights, camera, smile. Be funny, make sure they like you. Harry seems to think he’s funny. Harry seems to like him.

“Please,” Harry says, cheeky, like always. He’s tilting his head forward so that he’s looking up at Louis, smiling enough that his dimples are showing. Like a dare, and like it always is with Harry: easy to get caught up in the game of it all. Like Harry is with everyone. He knows how to smile and get what he wants. Mostly it just makes Louis glad that Harry is on his team, but right now it makes Louis want to set his teeth into something tender. He hesitates.

Harry’s smile lingers and then drops away slowly until it’s just the two of them staring at each other, the thick scarf wound around Harry’s wrists.

“Please,” Harry says again, but it’s muted this time: no smile, no dimples, no tease.

They’ve kissed once before, and Louis doesn’t know if that makes it easier or harder now. They were in the pool at the bungalow, Harry’s pants in a little pile on the deck, Louis’s briefs transparent and clingy in the water. Harry splashed back when Louis shoved water at him, squirmed under Louis’s hands when he tried to push him to the bottom of the pool but stayed close when Louis let him up again. It was difficult not to press together when their bodies were both sinking, legs tangling as they tried to tread water.

Louis bobbed slowly over to the side of the pool, crowding Harry along with him, but when they got close enough to the ledge, Harry clung to Louis’s shoulders instead. Louis held them both up so his hands were occupied when Harry laced his fingers together at the back of Louis’s neck. Harry hitched his legs around Louis’s waist, his cock this hard press of incredible warmth against Louis’s stomach. All of Harry’s skin was warmer than the night chill of the pool, warm and slippery and he sucked on Louis’s tongue when they pressed their open mouths together.

They didn’t talk about it afterwards, and in the tangle of everything else, it didn’t even feel like the most shocking or intimate moment any of them shared together - not after Zayn said he was still a virgin, cradling a throw pillow in his arms and refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Not after Louis tried to talk about his parents’ getting divorced and had to leave the room instead when all his words dried up into a furious prickle at the back of his throat. It was too fast to tell each other so much, but everything is too fast these days. It’s easier instead to keep moving forward at full pelt and hope somehow he stays one step ahead.

“Since you asked nicely,” Louis says.

Harry’s hands move but Louis stills them, untangling the scarf slowly even though it feels like a small disappointment once he’s got it undone.

Harry leaves his hands in front of himself and exhales. Louis can see his shoulders move as he breathes in again, and finally he lets his hands fall back at his sides.

He lifts the scarf and pulls it over Harry’s eyes, standing in front of him and reaching around to knot it at the back. It’s thick, so he’s not too worried about getting it caught in Harry’s hair, just loops it twice into a thick knot that mostly holds it tight across Harry’s face.

Harry chews on his lower lip while Louis works until it’s red and wet, and once Louis’s finished with the knot, he trails his hands down until he’s cupping Harry’s cheeks, closes the rest of the space between their faces and bites Harry’s lip away from him.

Harry’s jaw opens immediately as he makes his low, breathy sound. Louis catches his lower lip between his teeth and bites down hard before sliding his tongue into Harry’s mouth. It’s dirty right away, Harry’s wet mouth and eager tongue. Louis only pulls back because he wants to bite Harry’s lip again.

Louis leans back and looks at Harry’s swollen red mouth and flushed cheeks and the thick black scarf covering his eyes. Maybe he’s not meant to still want to slap him in the face, but he does. Harry said please.

He puts his hand pretty close to Harry’s face because then he can hit harder that way, hard enough that Harry’s head twists to the other side with the force of it, even though he straightens his head again right away. Harry can’t see, but it still feels like he’s right there, like maybe they’re even more connected right now.

Louis thinks maybe he could slap him with his other hand this time, but he doesn’t know if he’d be able to aim as well with his left hand, so he doesn’t try. In the end he’s glad he didn’t, because one of Harry’s cheeks is noticeably pinker than the other one, and Louis did that. It’s pink because Louis slapped him. He makes a noise the second time, like has Louis slapped the last of the air out of his lungs.

“There’s a love,” Louis says. “Two for two.” Because even if it’s not still again, at least there’s an out if Harry wants it.

But Harry frowns like he can’t remember what Louis is talking about. He leaves his hands hanging limp at his sides. Says, “I want to take off my clothes.”

Louis laughs softly. “What a shocker.”

“Louis,” Harry whines. He looks better in a blindfold than anyone has the right to, and he must know it. Must know Louis will give him anything he wants.

“Alright, alright,” Louis says. He looks around the room, remembering suddenly that it’s shared space, and walks over to double check that the door is closed, slipping a dirty sock over the knob as a last minute thought. There’s a little lock on the handle, nothing that can’t be wiggled open if someone really wanted to get in, but at least the person would have to touch a dirty sock first.

Harry looks a little lost, standing by himself, but he still seems present. He grins, bright and sudden, when Louis tugs up the hem of his shirt. The scarf gets skewed when Louis pulls the t-shirt over Harry’s head. Maybe he should just take it off, but he doesn’t want to.

He fixes the fabric over Harry’s eyes before pulling apart the flies of his jeans, taking them down and Harry’s pants along with them. For all he’s already seen Harry naked, it still feels immense to be the one stripping him bare.

He pushes Harry into his own bed, because that’s the one without the bunk over top, and Harry goes down easily. His thighs part as he pushes himself back on the mattress and Louis stands frozen, stares at Harry’s hard cock for a long moment before he follows after Harry onto the bed.

“Look at how lovely you are,” Louis says, stroking his hand down Harry’s belly.

“You’re not meant to say sweet things to me,” Harry says.

“Sure I am,” Louis says. “I can say anything I want to you.”

“No,” Harry says, grinning a little, like it’s supposed to sound like a joke even though it doesn’t. “You’re meant to say that I’m bad and that you’re going to -- that you’re going to teach me a lesson.”

“Shut up,” Louis says, shoving two fingers into Harry’s mouth, pushing in deep so that Harry’s teeth clench down a little, reflexive, before he works his tongue forward, opens up to make his jaw soft at the back. Louis pushes his fingers in too deep for Harry to be able to suck. He can feel Harry’s tongue working, like he’s trying to lick, but Louis’s pressing down too hard. Harry makes a wet noise, and gags when Louis curls his fingers to scratch over the back of his tongue.

“Anyway, what do you know about what we’re meant to do?” Louis asks, even as pushes his fingers deeper into Harry’s mouth.

He finally pulls them away and Harry licks his lips, swallows, before saying, “I’ve done things.”

“I bet you have,” Louis says.

That sounds like a whole lot of permission, so he reaches for Harry’s cock, holds it in his hand. It twitches in his palm and he reaches his thumb up to rub over the head, a slick circle around and around where Harry’s leaking. Where Harry’s sensitive as fuck, if the way his thighs are jumping is any indication, like his legs want to come off the bed even as he tries to hold still. Louis keeps rubbing until Harry makes a high, broken noise, and then a moment longer because nothing will ever be as much fun as pushing Harry Styles until he gives Louis everything he wants.

“Do you want to come?” Louis asks.

Harry moans but leaves his mouth shut, so it’s this humming groan. He flexes his feet, straightening his leg as he arches, his cock bobbing up from where it’s hard and resting on his stomach. His leg bumps against Louis’s knee, a little nudge and then harder when Harry realizes he’s made contact and rocks into him.

“Yeah,” Harry says, his voice quiet compared to how loudly his body is asking for it.

“Now?” Louis asks.

“When you want,” Harry says.

“What if I want to keep you like this all night long?” Louis asks. “Send you downstairs in the morning aching for it.”

“Okay,” Harry says, shaky as his hips rock into the air. “Just please don’t stop touching me.”

Louis reaches up and grabs each of Harry’s nipples, pinching sharply just like he does a million times every day except this time he doesn’t let go.

“Does this count as touching you?” Louis says.

Harry’s biting down on his lower lip but he’ll stop to answer. Louis waits until Harry’s opened his mouth before adding a pulling twist, manages to catch Harry just as he’s starting to speak and turns the word into a low crying sound.

“Yes,” Harry says once he’s caught his breath again. Louis loosens his fingers. Harry’s nipples are hard and a little puffy already and he rubs his palms over them, traces his fingers across Harry’s collarbones before catching his nipples again, using his thumbnail this time. The nail isn’t long so he can still pinch pretty hard, enough that Harry chokes on something that sounds like a laugh.

Louis drops his head to press a kiss between Harry’s pecs, scraping his teeth gently across the skin before flicking his tongue out to taste salt.

“You said to keep touching,” Louis says, his mouth a little muffled by Harry’s skin and for some reason, that’s the first thing that makes him realize how intimately their bodies are pressed together. Louis is still wearing all of his clothes. He’s starting to sweat.

“Mh hm,” Harry says. He doesn’t flinch away but his mouth is pressed together like he knows what’s coming, and maybe he does because he doesn’t startle when Louis sets his teeth into the fleshy bit above Harry’s nipple.

He bites hard, sucking as he draws it out so that he doesn’t get his spit all over Harry’s skin. And because he wants to leave a mark. It feels incredible to have something to set his teeth into, especially with the way it makes Harry murmur wordlessly, like the sounds are coming out but he’s forgotten how to shape them in his mouth.

Louis bites his way across Harry’s chest, sharp and then sharper, testing the sounds he can draw from Harry. The loveliest one comes when Louis sucks Harry’s nipple into his mouth, laves it with his tongue before setting his teeth into the very tip. He’s biting a fraction as hard as he was before but Harry goes crazy with it, his hand thumping on the bed loud enough that Louis reaches down and laces their fingers together. Harry clings to him even as their sweaty palms slip and Louis has to adjust his hold.

Before moving on to his other nipple, he shakes Harry’s fingers away and holds his wrist instead, pressing him down against the bed. Harry touches his free hand to Louis’s elbow like a reminder until Louis catches that wrist as well. With both hands wrapped around Harry’s wrists and his legs hooked over Harry’s legs, it feels like he’s got him pinned to the bed. Even though Harry’s taller, and probably stronger on the days he wants to be, it still feels like he’s trapped under Louis’s hands. Harry’s good at that: making himself fit, convincing people that he belongs. Louis spends a lot of time trying to make himself seem as big as possible, but this is the first time that he feels like he actually has enough inside of himself to fill all that space.

He bites across Harry’s chest until Harry’s jerking at even the lightest touch of Louis’s tongue to his nipples and finally sits back on Harry’s thighs. He releases Harry’s wrists to run his fingertips across the blooming red and purple bruises, realizing suddenly that Harry can’t see them now. He won’t be able to see them until Louis decides to take off the blindfold, and Louis feels so sharply pleased with this that he has to bend over and kiss Harry’s mouth, can’t think of any other way to share his excitement and have it sound like thank you.

He pulls off eventually, squirming back on the bed away from Harry’s red mouth and his red nipples until he’s at Harry’s red cock. He spits on it, which makes Harry gasp almost louder than anything else they’ve done, and then rubs it around with his palm, until his hand slips easily over Harry as he starts jerking him off.

Harry’s huge in his hand and almost unbelievably hard, like maybe he’s close already, so Louis slows his hand and makes each stroke count. Harry pushes up to meet him, not enough that he’s actually fucking Louis’s hand, but little rocking motions like he can’t help himself. He’s silent for long moments as he holds his breath before sucking in air noisily. Sometimes it sounds like he’s going to say something, but each time he starts, Louis slows his hand and Harry cuts himself off.

Louis reaches up and rubs two fingers over one of Harry’s swollen nipples, rolling the tight little point back and forth until Harry makes a long, hah, sound and Louis moves his hand to rub over his side instead, soothing. He circles his other thumb around the head of Harry’s cock in counterpoint until Harry’s squirming helplessly and making these noises that sound like they’ve been kicked from the bottom of his gut.

Louis pulls his hand away long enough to spit into his palm and starts stroking the shaft again, bracing himself on the bed as he works over Harry, still slow but with an even rhythm. Harry’s so hard that Louis almost loses his grip on him each time Harry’s cock twitches, so he holds onto the base of Harry’s cock with his other hand, his thumb pressed to the thin skin just above his balls.

“Louis,” Harry says, suddenly trending towards coherent. “Stop, please, I’m going to come.”

Louis slows his hand, squeezes almost as hard as he can, and drags his hand all the way up the length of Harry’s cock in this terrible tug that has Harry writhing on the bed before he finally lets go.

“Oh,” Harry says and his voice breaks enough that it sounds like a sob. His whole body shivers, toes curled, fists digging into the mattress, before finally he stills.

Louis trails his fingers across Harry’s rib cage and watches as his skin breaks out in goosebumps.

“You don’t want to come?” Louis asks and then catches Harry’s nipple in a long, hard pinch. He pulls his hand back, wiggles the nipple between his fingers until Harry gasps.

“You first,” Harry grits out, because Louis still hasn’t let go.

“I’m okay,” Louis says.

“Please, I want to make you come,” Harry says, sounding more desperate now that he has before, even when he was seconds away from coming, even when Louis was hurting him.

“After,” Louis says, because he’s not even thinking about his own dick right now. Right now it feels like it would be just as satisfying to make Harry shake for it and eventually bring him off than it would to have his own orgasm. Like Harry’s a new toy that Louis absolutely, positively does not want to stop playing with.

Harry says, “Louis,” and even under the blindfold Louis can see the way his face crumbles. “Please? Don’t you like this? It’s not weird. Please, I’m not--”

“Babe,” Louis says in his very warmest voice, “of course I like it.”

He picks up Harry’s hand off the bed and presses it to where his cock is hard, tenting in his trousers. It feels like the dirtiest thing he’s done yet, holding Harry’s hand against his aching dick.

“Yeah,” Harry groans, his fingers curling against Louis’s length.

Harry’s thumb seems to have found the tiny spot where Louis has leaked through his trousers and he rubs at it, this maddening pressure against the head of Louis’s cock that’s dulled by the thick fabric of his jeans.

“Do you want me to suck you?” Harry asks, his mouth falling open like he can already taste it.

“Do you know how to suck cock?” Louis asks.

“Yeah,” Harry says.

“Really?” Louis asks, and something in his voice must give him away because Harry starts to sit up, even more eager now.

“Whatever you want,” Harry says.

“Such a charmer,” Louis says.

Harry says, “Please,” his stomach tense as he freezes just before he’s fully sat up, like he’s not going to move until Louis says it’s okay. Every time Harry says please, it takes them a little further down the rabbit hole. Louis’s usually not one for doing as he’s told, even when people ask nicely, but he’ll make an exception for Harry.

“Are you going to get on your knees then?” Louis asks.

Harry nearly faceplants as he tries to scramble off the bed but Louis catches his elbow just in time. Harry goes easily to the floor, folding up on his knees and waiting while Louis sits himself at the edge of the bed.

“You’ve done this before?” Louis asks again, even though he has no logical reason for why this would be where he draws the line in the sand. Harry’s the youngest, but they’re all young, and that doesn’t seem to matter much these days. They still have to put on a good show. He just wants to make sure that the only ways he hurts Harry are on purpose.

“Loads,” Harry says. And then, “Twice. It still counts.”

“I know,” Louis says, and doesn’t stop Harry when he reaches blindly for Louis’s zip.

“Have you?” Harry asks as he eases Louis’s cock out of his underwear.

“More than twice,” Louis says, which is true, but not by much.

Harry goes for Louis’s cock tongue first. He holds Louis’s thigh with one hand, the base of his cock with the other and slowly leans forward. He makes glancing contact with the head of Louis’s cock against his chin before he ducks down and lines up properly, sucks hard right away, fast, trying to get more and more. It’s the opposite of how Louis was wanking him, this blur of motion and sensation as Harry works for it, clearly trying to make it good for Louis even as he’s clumsy in his eagerness.

Louis thinks that he could fuck Harry’s mouth or he could hold off for a really long time or he could pull away and feed his dick back to Harry in his own time, but right now it’s just as good to grip the edge of the mattress and watch as Harry works over him. The scarf is still thick across his eyes, black against the pink of his cheeks and shiny red curve of his lips stretching around Louis’s cock. Harry goes down too far and gags, and Louis feels hot all over. He’s getting close and he chases after it, listening to the wet, choking sounds Harry makes, watching the way spit has started to dribble down Harry’s chin.

“I’m going to come,” Louis says, breathier than he’d like to be, but still able to get the words off. “You want to, um, to pull off?”

Harry doesn’t, and Louis comes in his mouth. It seems like he has trouble swallowing it all, which makes Louis’s cock twitch, another long jolt that has his toes curling, because it’s good, it’s so good, it’s too much and finally he pushes Harry away. Harry wipes at his face with the back of his hand, and stays kneeling on the floor, naked except for the blindfold. Louis tucks his cock away and just like that he’s dressed again, as if nothing even happened, except he’s sweating enough to make his t-shirt stick to his back.

He pulls Harry up by his wrists and Harry stumbles forward until he lands in Louis’s lap, straddling him. It’s awkward because Harry is bigger but Louis pushes back on the bed until it feels like neither of them are going to fall off and holds on with both hands pressed to Harry’s lower back. Harry tucks his head into Louis’s neck, pressing small kisses to the skin, so gentle as he hunches in on himself and tries to fit into Louis’s space.

He kisses soft enough that it won’t leave a mark even when Louis brings one hand between them and starts wanking him. He mostly works over the head of Harry’s cock where he’s leaking and Louis’s hand can slide easily, because he can’t figure out how to get his hand wet without pushing Harry away. Harry starts shaking almost immediately and, except for that, he goes totally still, his mouth unmoving as he tries to muffle his sounds in Louis’s skin.

He lifts his head just before he comes, enough of a warning that Louis could stop again if he wanted to, but instead he picks up speed and pulls Harry through it. Harry’s whole body heaves with the force of his orgasm, his cock spurting everywhere between them. He sucks in these great shuddering breaths as Louis jerks him through the last of it, and is still shaking when Louis finally eases off his cock. Louis keeps holding him, dropping his own head to rest against Harry’s shoulder. He breathes into Harry’s neck and waits as Harry settles.

“I’m going to take off the scarf now,” Louis says. He rubs his hand up Harry’s back and Harry shivers. He doesn’t give up his grip on Louis’s shoulders, but tilts his head back enough that Louis can pull the scarf away before he buries his face in Louis’s neck again.

“What a sweetheart,” Louis says. Now that the scarf isn’t in the way, he can comb through Harry’s hair, sorting the curls with his fingertips. He rubs his palm over the back of Harry’s neck, and Harry sighs, going boneless in Louis’s lap.

“Thanks, Lou,” Harry says, his voice raw and grumbly. “I’ll move soon, I promise.”

“That’s okay,” Louis says. “You’re good here.”

“I’m going to put your legs to sleep,” Harry says, making a heroic effort to lift his head, even though clearly he doesn’t want to dislodge Louis’s petting fingers.

“Stay,” Louis says, and when that doesn’t work, he presses his mouth into the soft skin where Harry’s shoulder curves into his neck and whispers, “Please.”