Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9061546.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      One_Direction_(Band)
  Relationship:
      Harry_Styles/Louis_Tomlinson
  Additional Tags:
      Phone_Sex, x-factor_era, baby_boyfriends, Anal_Fingering, Christmas
      Fluff, Mutual_Masturbation, Pining, Canon_Compliant
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-12-26 Words: 5639
****** Christmas Without You ******
by objectlesson
Summary
     It's Christmas Eve and Harry misses Louis so badly he might be going
     little crazy.
Notes
     Merry Christmas everyone! This was of course, inspired by that
     darling Harry twitcam from Christmas Eve 2011, and that quote about
     how Louis wanted to invite Harry and Anne over to for Christmas "as
     he might miss him." The title is from the fabulous Dolly Parton song
     of the same name, which I highly recommend.
     Gift for my wonderful beta and friend Hurdy Gurdy, I love you Jen and
     I hope you have the merriest of holidays. Thank you for following
     this jacuzzi of garbage and loving these teenage fools in love as
     much as I do. See you in the new year!!!!
It’s Christmas Eve.
It’s Christmas Eve, which means it’s also Harry’s boyfriend’s nineteenth
birthday, and Harry is feeling spectacularly sorry for himself because instead
of doing anything properly festive or naughty with aforementioned and newly
nineteen-year-old boyfriend, he’s sitting in his bedroom at home in front of a
space heater, thumbing through his old secondary school diaries and sighing
mournfully.
It’s not like he doesn’t want Louis to have a good birthday, (he does, really,)
it’s just that he would prefer him to be having a good birthday with him,
instead of all the way in Doncaster with his school friends. With his
obnoxiously nice and stupidly pretty ex-girlfriend who very nearly everyone
thinks is still his actual girlfriend, even though that title actually belongs
to Harry, thank you very much.
It’s not as if he really thinks anything is going to happen between Louis and
Hannah, not concretely. Louis has made it clear, time and time again, where his
affections lie. It’s just…he’s feeling really alone and Hannah is so
delightfully blonde and sweet and Louis hasn’t answered any of his texts or
phone calls from the last few hours and Harry just…Harry misses him. He misses
Louis’s explosive laugh and his contagious energy and the soft, coy look he
gives from beneath the fluttering half-mast of his lashes. Harry misses all of
it , so much so his chest and throat are getting increasingly tight with an
anxious sort of insecurity as each passing minute ticks by.
Plus, these diaries he dragged out from the rubbermaid under his bed are
embarrassing. Harry keeps wrinkling his nose up and cringing at every version
of his former self as he thumbs through the careworn pages, reading all about
every girl he’s ever thought he’s been in love with since secondary school.
He’s already skimmed through Paige, Britta, May, Ashley, Holly, and Florence,
and that’s just one composition notebook. There is so much dreadful poetry, so
many mortifying lyrics, all of which is riddled in typos, in revolting cliches
he can hardly believe he ever partook in. “Oh god,” he keeps murmuring through
grit teeth, even though there is no one to hear him but his cat, who is curled
up on the duvet into a black and white pile of fluff, dozing too deeply to hear
him anyway, although her tail does twitch when he groans especially loud. “I
didn’t know…I didn’t know anything, Dusty. I was so dumb,” he tells her. She
doesn’t even look up.
He turns a page, upon which the name Florence Snodgrass is written a number of
times in looping script. There’s a little poem in the middle of it, set apart
from the litany of Florences by a ring of poorly drawn stars and spirals. I
miss you more than words can say, it reads. my heart aches when you are away.
“Ugh!” Harry groans before slamming the composition notebook shut and tossing
it dramatically across the room, where it ricochets off the adjacent wall with
a clatter. Dusty shoots him a highly disgruntled look and hops off the bed,
padding out of the room haughtily. “Sorry,” Harry calls after her, flopping
onto his floor, disgusted with his thirteen year old self who knew nothing of
missing someone more than words could say, who knew nothing about heartache,
about absence.
It’s been three whole days since Harry saw Louis, and he knows it’s absurd, but
he feels like he’s going mad. There’s an actual, dull stab of pain in his chest
every step he takes, a longing so profound it’s physical. He got used to having
Louis so close all the time, to sharing a too-narrow bunk in the X Factor House
before enough contestants left that a whole entire room was freed up and they
could stay there, like proper live-in boyfriends. He got used to falling asleep
under the weight of Louis’s arm, he got used to waking up in the middle of the
night and rolling over to steal sloppy, sleep-warm, perfect kisses from Louis
until they both nodded off again, sharing breath. He got used to getting his
texts returned when they were apart, which was never for very long. But
days…three whole days and counting, was just too much. Especially when it was
Christmas Eve and Louis’s birthday and he was spending it at home with Hannah
instead of him.
Harry even did a twit cam for the fans (fans, they have fans?!) earlier that
night, just because he needed some type of validation in his moments of
weakness, to boost his ego while he was wallowing in a sea of self-pity. But
even that ended up being another way to demonstrate how wildly transparently he
was feeling lovesick and too far away from Louis, this time it was just to
like, hundreds of people. He regretted the whole thing, just like he regrets
ever trying to write about missing someone before he ever truly did.
He’s about to honest to god cry with childish frustration, (he’s sixteen and
it’s nearly midnight and he doesn’t want Christmas Eve to become Christmas
without Louis in his arms or at least on the phone and it’s really easy to
worry about not being good enough when your boyfriend is officially three years
older than you and hanging out with his ex-girlfriend, even if you know it’s
silly and shouldn’t matter,) when his mobile buzzes.
Harry nearly pulls something, he sits up so quickly. He scrambles for his
phone, heart in his throat as he tries desperately and in vain to not get his
hopes up that this is Louis breaking radio silence.
Thankfully, it is Louis. Harry wants to cry again, though this time in
profound, giddy relief.
ahhhh sorry haz :(((( ginger oli stole my phone!!! said i was being rude at my
own birthday party when i was texting you so much earlier. blah. just got it
back. how r u????
Harry reads it over six times, grinning so hugely his cheeks hurt a little.
He’s almost glad Dusty got annoyed enough to ditch him earlier, because she
would surely be judging him now in that distinctly catlike fashion of hers,
glaring at him for smiling so face-splittingly over a single, less than
scandalous text message. He types back as quickly as he can, but before he even
gets out his initial, reactionary miss you so glad you texted me i was getting
worried message, Louis sends another.
actually can i just call u?>> i want 2 hear your voice :)
Harry whines aloud, squeezing his phone to his chest for a moment as if it were
Louis himself and not just a little plastic rectangle through which he can
communicate with him while they’re all these miles apart. It’s embarrassing,
but whatever. Dusty isn’t here anymore to mock him, so.
yess!!!!! plz call, i’m ready wen u r, cant wait :) he texts back before he
vaults into bed, kicking under the covers and snuggling down beneath the duvet,
tingling. His whole body is tight and thrumming in anticipation, his hands
sweaty as he cradles his mobile tightly, waiting.
Thank god, Louis doesn’t make him wait long. The mobile rings and Harry doesn’t
even try to preserve his dignity by letting it carry on for a bit; he answers
on the first buzz, mouth dry over a shaky, elated, “Hello?”
“Hey mate,” Louis says breathlessly, voice a little hoarse like he’s been
smoking or yelling or singing and honestly, he’s probably been doing all three.
Harry aches with longing, irrationally hurt by the fact he wasn’t there to
smell Louis’s cigarettes, scream alongside him, back him up with harmonies.
It’s just…he wants to be there always; he’s in love for the first time and he
wants every little thing.
“Happy birthday,” he singsongs, drawing his knees up tight to his chest and
closing his eyes, voice quiet and a little off key because he’s nervous, even
though he’s not sure why. The distance makes him that way, makes him less
secure in his knowledge that Louis is right here with him, as crazy and stupid
and as reckless with love as Harry is. It’s harder to feel that from him, when
they’re apart like this.
Louis laughs, and static crackles over the line. Even then, it’s such a lovely
sound, that laugh, like sparklers and Champagne and one hundred strings of
Christmas lights all coiled together, warm and glowing. “Aw, thank you Hazza.
Wish you could have been here, s’been an absolutely massive night.”
“Yeah?” Harry asks, throat thick. “S’agood party?”
“Terrific,” Louis says, sounding a little distracted. Harry can hear other
voices, someone yelling wherever Louis is, calling his name and Louis covers
the receiver for a moment to answer, but Harry can hear him anyway, his bright,
cheerful Oi Oi!!! Night Luke see you, mate. A moment of crackling passes, then
the sound of him shifting his mobile back to his ear. “Ugh, Sorry,” he says to
Harry. “There are some last minute stragglers. Won’t get out of me house.”
Harry feels like he’s bursting. Like he can’t waste another second stewing in
uncertainty to he jumps into it, he has to. “Lou, do you miss me?”
“Obviously,” Louis says, without missing a beat.
Oh. Harry’s heart stops, just before it speeds up so much it chokes him. “You
still love me?” Harry asks, smiling into his pillow, eyes shut tight.
“Of course, so much,” Louis says, voice high and raspy. “Hold on for one second
mate, m’gonna like actually get upstairs and into me room so I can lock the
door and have proper privacy, ok?”
“Ok,” Harry murmurs, hand spread wide over his chest, so he can feel his heart
thud. “I’ll wait.”
“There’s a lad,” Louis says lightly. Then after a few seconds of awkward
thumping, “Alright. I’m locked away, everyone is gone.”
“Good,” Harry says, letting out a huff of held breath, cheeks hot because he
knows how silly he’s being, he knows, but he can’t even begin to help it.
“M’like…really, seriously, so glad you had a fun night, I just…want you all to
myself now. S’that bad?”
Louis giggles, loose and high like he’s still a little tipsy. “No, I like it.
Is it bad I spent like, the whole last two hours of my party trying to wrestle
my mobile away from Oli? He put it in his pants though, the fucking twat, I
didn’t want to go there. Had to send Stan on a reconnaissance mission to get it
for me, but the whole time, the whole time, was just, like. Thinking about you.
Wanting to talk to you.”
Harry basks in the sincerity of Louis’s voice for a moment, soaking in the way
he’s talking so quietly and truthfully, like he’s half worried someone might
hear and doesn’t want them to because this, here, with Harry, is private.
“Really?” Harry asks, playing with a loose string on his duvet, beaming so
fucking hard it hurts.
“Yes, yes. Really. Obviously,” Louis says. Then, even more quietly, “Wish you
could have been there.”
“Me too,” Harry answers. “But like…Hannah was there. I know she doesn’t hate me
but she doesn’t want to like, hang out either…” Harry mumbles, well aware of
the fact that he’s terrible at disguising the flat, dark tone his voice takes
on every time he talks about Hannah. He likes to pretend he’s comfortable
around her and that she’s the one who harbors petty jealousy issues, but he and
Louis both know that’s absolute rubbish.
“Baby,” Louis says gently, and it makes Harry’s stomach flip over, makes him
miss Louis so fiercely his guts clench in longing. Louis calls him mate or lad
whenever there are people or cameras around, but alone, behind closed doors,
it’s always baby. Harry isn’t quite over how hot and special and unbelievable
that feels. “Have you been like…sitting and worrying about me’n Hannah all
night?”
“No,” Harry half lies. “I’ve been sitting and reading my old embarrassing
diaries, actually. And only worrying a little. Mostly I just miss you.
M’jealous of pretty much anyone who gets to spend time around you, not just
Hannah.”
Louis laughs again, then murmurs a quiet, “Me too. I’m jealous of your mum and
your sister and your cat. S’not fair they get to see you and I don’t.” Harry
can imagine Louis’s pout in such vivid detail right now, the way he sticks out
his soft lower lip and furrows his brow, so perfectly, deceitfully innocent. It
makes him inhale raggedly from his pillow; he knows what it’s like to kiss that
pout, and it’s driving him insane that he doesn’t get to. “You know you’ve got
nothing to worry about,” Louis adds. “About Hannah, I mean. she’s not…I mean. I
don’t know. I’m just so, so yours, Harry. You don’t have to wonder about a
single thing except how you’re going to get rid of me when you finally figure
out you deserve someone better and I won’t let you get a divorce.”
Harry snorts over a sudden burst of ecstatic laughter. “That would never
happen,” he assures Louis. “Cross my heart. There’s no one better.”
“Right, ok, you say that now,” Louis jokes. “Wait until we move in together and
you see my entire enormous action figure collection and find out I sleep with a
different one each night. Wait until you try and eat my cooking, You will be
running for the hills, Harold.”
“Never, Never, Never,” Harry cackles, feeling so insanely bright and lit up all
over. All his prior tightness from waiting on Louis’s texts earlier in the
night has drained from his body, leaving him feeling shaky and limp as he flops
around in bed, dizzy with a pleasant, humming heaviness to his arms and legs.
He feels warm, too, and electric, and it doesn’t take much to get him half hard
on most days, and then with Louis’s voice on the other line…well. He rubs his
palm down to his waistband, pressing his thickening cock into his stomach.
“Lou,” he says, voice low. “Just talking to you, like even just like this,
about nothing? It makes me get hard.”
There’s a moment of loaded silence before Harry hears Louis’s sharp inhalation,
the smallest gasp. “Oh,” Louis says, sounding like all the air got knocked out
of him. Harry marvels at that, that he has the power to do something like that
to Louis, even over the phone. “Fuck,” Louis breathes. “Really? You..like you
are right now?”
“Not totally hard, but like. Half. If I touched myself, I would be,” Harry
explains.
“Jesus,” Louis hisses, voice nothing but a wrecked, barely there whisper. “I
wish I could do that for you. Get you there.”
“If you were here though, you wouldn’t even need you to touch me to get me
hard. I get hard just lying next to you. Just watching you move,” Harry says,
feeling emboldened by the way Louis’s breath has picked up, rustling on the
other line, each inhalation a shallow scrape. The last few days they’ve talked
plenty but there have always been other people around while they called each
other, friends and family bustling in and out for the holidays and making it
impossible to do anything other than flirt over text. But hearing Louis say
these things, in his perfect, sexy voice, was different than reading it on the
screen of his mobile. This is the first time Harry has actually been alone in
bed with Louis on the phone, and he feels a little wild with it, like he could
do anything, take this anywhere. He rubs his palm over the front of his
joggers, feeling himself twitch and thicken up. He listens hard for the way
Louis’s breath catches, the way he swallows, body responding to it so quickly
because he’s made for Louis, this is who he is.
“Fuck Harry, how do you do this,” Louis murmurs. “You make me feel…fuck. Like.
So fast,” Louis coughs then, a short, embarrassed huff. For a boy who is
constantly making rude, innuendo laden jokes, Louis is actually far less
comfortable talking when he and Harry are fooling around; he’s usually
dumbstruck and quiet and breathless with awe, too stunned and overwhelmed to
say anything, really, until it’s over. Harry loves it, loves getting up in his
ear and murmuring filth, making Louis squirm in dual discomfort and arousal. He
clears his throat, making a fist around his cock through the slippery material
of his joggers. “Are you hard?” he asks.
Louis swears. “God, yes.” Then, after a few beats. “Are you like, totally
alone? With your door locked?”
“Mhm,” Harry says. “I’m in my bed.”
“I want to be in your bed,” Louis whines. “I’ve…like every night since we’ve
been apart, the only way I can fall asleep is if I pretend you’re with me.” The
raw truth of it sends a spike of sensation through Harry’s chest, and before he
can say me too, me too, l put a throw pillow behind me and pretend it’s you,
Louis adds, “I’ve wanked every night thinking of you, too. I hope that’s like,
not weird.”
“Fuck, no, me too,” Harry says breathlessly, getting his hand under his
waistband so he can properly touch himself, draw his fingers featherlight over
the head of his cock to feel the beading moisture there, slick and so hot. He
thinks about the way Louis’s cock feels, the way it’s smaller and fits so good
in his hand as a result, the way he gets so wet, the musky flavor of it making
Harry’s mouth fill up with saliva every time. His own cock twitches, pulsing
pre-cum out onto his fingers and Harry hisses, smearing it over the tip self
indulgently. “What do you think about? Like when you come?”
“God,” Louis groans and it comes out so ruined Harry is sure he’s touching
himself, pulling his cock and thinking about Harry, and it’s so incredibly
thrilling it makes Harry fuck up into the tight ring of his fist, lifting his
hips off the mattress. “Your mouth,” Louis says then, so quiet Harry almost
misses it. “I get off imagining your mouth on me, how good you suck me,” he
explains. “I think about everything, really, your skin and how you kiss and
pulling your hair but like…your mouth is so amazing, Harry. Could fuck it
forever.”
Harry is shocked, so shocked his stomach plummets. This is a lot, so much
dirtier and crasser than he’s used to coming from Louis, Louis who whimpers his
way through sex and calls Harry posh words like beautiful, like lovely. Saying
he could fuck his mouth forever. “Fuck, god, Louis,” Harry breathes, really
jacking himself off in earnest how, hand moving quick and desperate. “You want
to fuck my mouth? You think about it when we’re apart?”
“So much, it’s so distracting, you and your gorgeous mouth are so fucking
distracting, ” Louis says in a rush, voice coming out strangled. “And you…what
do you think about? When you’re coming?”
“I come thinking about blowing you. My absolute favorite thing to wank to, just
imagining your cock in my mouth,” Harry confesses, because it’s the truth.
Nothing gets him harder faster than thinking about sucking Louis, his lips
stretched wide over the girth of him, his jaw aching as he drools over his own
fist, tongue laving all over the tip. He loves the way Louis tastes, he loves
the way he smells, he loves the way he tries not fuck too hard up into Harry’s
throat but always ends up doing it anyway, fisting in his curls and holding him
just right as his hips snap, choking him. He loves every little thing about it.
“I love you,” Louis says, swallowing noisily. “So much. Are you touching
yourself now? Having a wank thinking about sucking me off?”
“Yes, yes. And like…thinking about you thinking about me. I don’t know.
S’fucking hot to know you wank to my mouth,” Harry murmurs, slowing his strokes
on his cock just to feel himself twitch in his palm, his body’s
natural,reflexive reactions to Louis’s voice, Louis’s breath, the heady
knowledge that Louis is hard for him, all the way in Doncaster, a mess in his
own bed from things Harry has said.
“Fuck, I do, I have every night. I…god. I wanked thinking about your mouth even
before I ever got to kiss you, before I even got to feel how good it is. Like
before we were together and we were staying at your house before Spain?
S’always driven me mad. Just. You have the prettiest mouth, Harry,” Louis says,
getting shy and quiet and mumbling at the end and fuck, Harry can picture him
right now, the dusting of pink on his neck he gets when he’s embarrassed
himself.

Harry can’t even respond to this new information, he can’t do anything but
keen wordlessly into his pillow. The thought of Louis getting off to his mouth
before he even got to have it is so unspeakably, devastatingly hot he can
hardly stand it. “Louis,” he wheezes eventually, cock heavy and pulsing in his
hand, so hot to the touch everything is getting sweat-slick in his joggers. “I
wish you could feel me. I’m so, so hard for you right now.”
“I wish I could, too,” Louis hisses. “Fuck, wish I could so bad. Want to put my
mouth all over you.”
“I’m sweating,” Harry admits, thinking about Louis kissing up the inside of his
thigh, licking up the dewy, humid perspiration there.
“Yeah?” Louis asks, then, incredulously, “Wait, are you actually wearing
clothes for once?”
“Joggers and a hoodie, yeah. It was cold in my room,” he explains. “Not
anymore.”
“Will you take everything off?” Louis asks, breath coming out short,
syncopated, in time with the way he’s jerking on his cock. “I want to picture
it, want to see you like that. ”
“Jesus, Louis,” Harry laughs breathlessly. “Yeah, I will. Erm, just hold on for
a second.”
He sets his phone down on his pillow and strips with tremulous hands, shaking
all over in his layer of hot sweat, mind fuzzy over how badly he wants to do
whatever Louis says, spread out naked and touch himself. He pulls his hoodie
over his head and shivers, tossing it onto the floor as his eyes fall upon the
half opened drawer on the bedside table. Inside, there’s a bottle of lube. He
knows, because he bought it in secret two days ago, tired of using his own spit
during his experimental trysts with fingering his ass. It felt pretty good
before, burnt but in a raw, nervy way, but things had been much better with the
lube.
He hadn’t told Louis yet because he had been worried it was too presumptuous or
would put pressure on something they hadn’t talked about much yet, like I got
lube, which means you should probably fuck me and as badly as Harry wants Louis
so fuck him (God, does he want that), he’s also ok with the pace they’re going
at. He doesn’t need anything to change yet, and he wasn’t planning on making a
big deal about the fact he’s been fingering his ass a lot more in the last
three days than he ever has, but that was before he was naked in his own bed,
jerking himself while Louis talked him through it. He’s feeling desperate and
slutty and bold now, like he wants to push those boundaries, he wants more. He
grabs the lube out of his bedside table drawer without another thought, and
picks up his phone with the other hand.
“Miss me?” he asks Louis, who snorts in response.
“You should know by now that I miss you always, like every second. So yes, I
missed you.”
“I’m naked,” Harry says cheekily, settling down onto his bed with just the
sheet thrown over his splayed thighs, cock tenting it lewdly. “Also, I wanted
to tell you. Um. I got some lube the other day and I’ve been like. Using it.”
Louis makes a quiet, cut of sound before asking, “To wank?”
“Well yes,” Harry explains, using his thumb to flick open the cap of the lube,
then pressing his mobile between his ear and shoulder to free his other hand
up. “But also, like for. You know.”
Louis is quiet for a few beats, then he gasps, as it dawns on him. “Harry! Are
you…are you fucking yourself?” he asks in a hush. “Like…oh god. With your
fingers?”
Harry giggles, squeezing some lube out onto his hand and heating it up in his
palm before taking his cock and coating it, loving the easy, slick, filthy
slide of his shaft in his lubed up hand. There’s too much of it and it’s messy
but he likes it like that, feeling like everything is wet, like he’s dripping
for Louis. “Yes, I have,” he announces cheekily, grinning. “I’ve been fingering
myself every night, just to see how it feels, how it works.”
“Fuck,” Louis groans. “I have to stop wanking, m’gonna come and I don’t want to
yet but like…that’s so unbelievably hot, Harry. Fuck. How does it feel, do you
like it?” he asks breathlessly, voice so shot and full of air, nothing but
breath, but hunger. Harry feels drunk on it.
“I love it,” Harry says honestly. “Feels really good, weird but like…really
good. And I think of you, think about your cock and it makes it so much
better.”
“Oh my god,” Louis says thickly. “I can’t even…fuck. Are you, um. Doing that
now?”
“No, but I have the lube out,” Harry admits, tonguing at the corner of his
mouth, room hot and humid and silent save for the filthy snick snick sound of
his hand on his cock. “Do you want me to?”
“Yes,” Louis says quickly. “Fuck, please. Want you to so bad. God I’m so, so
hard for you, I’m leaking all over my sheets, you would love it.”
“I do love it,” Harry breathes. “I’d lick it all up, I love it so much,” he
babbles mindlessly, tugging his foreskin up over the head of his cock and
watching pre-cum and lube bubble up dirtily. “Ok, m’gonna put my phone on the
mattress and roll over so I can reach,” he says.
“Fuck,” Louis whines. “I’m dying.”
Harry adjusts himself, rolling over onto his stomach and rutting his cock
against the mattress, squeezing more lube onto his fingers and rubbing it
messily over his hole, which is hot and twitching and needy already; just
talking about this makes Harry want to get filled up. He groans a little as he
rubs his index finger over the fluttering ring of muscle, getting everything
slippery before he pushes it in up to the second knuckle, wincing at the
delicious, filthy burn. “Ugh, Lou, wish it was you touching me, wish you could
see,” he huffs out, voice low and reedy and trembling. “Feels’really good.”
“God, god,” Louis breathes. “You’re doing it? Fucking yourself?”
“Yeah, I have two fingers in,” Harry gasps, nudging his middle finger up
alongside the first, twisting them as deep as he can, which is not very deep at
this angle. There’s the dirty squelch of lube and a crick in his wrist but it
doesn’t matter because Louis is listening to him and Louis is breathless and
ruined because of it, making small, hungry sounds as Harry huffs into the
phone.
“What does it feel like?” Louis asks weakly.
“Um…like a stretch. It kind of hurts but it’s good, it’s like…dirty, and even
though I feel full I don’t feel full enough and I want more. It’s weird, I
can’t describe it but I love it, I love you,” he explains, fucking himself
shallowly, crooking his fingers a little to feel the tight clench of his walls.
“Ugh,” Louis groans, his breath coming out so shallow and uneven and Harry can
hear him wanking, can hear the quick, desperate jerk of his hand over his cock
and it’s making him twitch around his fingers, making his own cock throb and
pulse out onto the sheets obscenely. “No, like…what does it feel like inside
you? What does it feel like around your fingers? I want to know,” Louis asks,
very nearly begging.
“Oh god,” Harry wheezes, realizing what Louis means, why Louis wants to know.
“Well. Erm, I’m really hot inside. Like, burning. And tight, way tighter than a
girl, s’like so tight it’s hard to pull my fingers out. And there’s a lot of
lube so s’really wet, wet and hot and really tight and Louis…Louis’m gonna come
for you,” he says desperately, realizing the heat building in his gut is too
much to take, the friction of his sheets against his cock and his fingers in
his ass and Louis’s erratic, hungry breathing on the phone all too much to
take, and he's only sixteen and not good at holding on.
“Fuck, come for me baby, please,” Louis hisses, and then, sudden and so raw,
“Ah, Harry, fuck,” followed by the unmistakable sound of him getting off. His
high, keening whimper, the static from his receiver getting dragged against his
jaw as he shudders to finish. It’s so hot Harry loses it.
His vision whites out and he empties himself all over his bed, humping it
shamelessly, pushing his ass back onto his fingers as he rocks with with the
force of his orgasm. His hole spasms hard around his knuckles, such a filthy,
out of control feeling and it makes him cry out, too loud for this silent house
on Christmas Eve. There he lies in a puddle of come, drooling on his sheets and
mobile, legs spread in disarray, ass still pulsing. He’s a mess and he loves
it, loves knowing that Louis is listening to him panting, that Louis is
probably still pulling on his softening cock, milking himself to the sound of
Harry’s breath.
“God, Harry,” Louis murmurs after a few seconds, voice quiet and awed and
hoarse. “You’re…I’m so in love with you.”
Harry laughs, a little wild and frantic because he’s still tingling all over,
he’s giddy and Louis made him come, even if he’s not here, even from all those
miles away. “I’m…I’m so, so in love with you, too, Louis. Fuck. I came so
hard.”
“Yeah, feel good?” Louis asks, voice high and light and made from sunshine,
even in the middle of the night. “You sounded amazing. I lasted like all of one
minute, and you weren’t even here, can you imagine how pathetic I’ll be when I
actually get my fingers in you? I’ll have to wank before so I don’t like, lose
it immediately.”
“Uhhhhgh,” Harry groans, pulling his fingers out and rolling onto his back, not
even caring that he’s lying in a sticky puddle, that his fingers are puckered
and slick with lube still. His cock twitches, shrinking back into his foreskin
as he kicks under the sheets. “You want to? Finger me, I mean, when we get to
to see each other again? I didn’t want to like, assume—”
“Hazza, just so you know,” Louis says, his voice lilting and teasing in the way
that let’s Harry know his head is cocked, his eyes twinkling brightly. “I want
to do basically everything with you. It’s just a fact.”
Harry wipes himself up half-heartedly with an old sleep shirt he found wadded
up somewhere near his pillow, then tosses it into the hamper, where it doesn’t
quite make it and instead slithers to the floor. “Everything? Even….pee stuff?
Do you want me to pee on you?”
Louis cracks up, the type of wild, helpless laughter that only happens when
he’s had too many red bulls or has just come. “Maybe. I’ll pee in a cup and you
can drink it. Can’t be much worse than that horrible beer you like,” Louis
teases him. “But really, really though. I can’t wait…” he inhales raggedly,
swallowing like he can’t get this out on a dry throat, like it steals his
breath to be be so honest. “I can’t wait to finger you open and fuck you. Think
about it at least as much as I think about your mouth. And you know how much I
think about that.”
“You did mention it a few times,” Harry admits, grinning before the grin turns
into a yawn. “Hey Louis,” he adds. “Happy Birthday.”
“Happy Christmas, actually,” Louis says. “My birthday is officially over, time
for me to step down and give the baby Jesus the birthday pedestal. “
Harry flicks his gaze over to his bedside table, where his digital clock reads
12:26. “Oh!” he says, yawning again, pleasantly wiped out. “It’s been a whole
twenty six minutes. Does that mean wanking on the phone with you was my first
Christmas present?! Probably the best present ever. Really. If I’m honest.”
Louis yawns. “I try,” he says lightly. “To do the whole gift giving thing
right.”
“Gold star for Louis,” Harry murmurs. “Top marks. Ten out of ten.”
“Harold,” Louis says fondly. “M’knackered, but will you stay on the phone with
me? Until I fall asleep? Even though it’s not my birthday anymore?”
“I’ll do anything,” Harry says, pulling back to press a sloppy kiss on the
keyboard of his mobile. “Birthday Boy. Oops. Christmas Boy.”
Harry flicks off the light, snuggling up against his mobile and thinking, I
miss you more than words can say, my heart aches when you’re away.
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