Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9258260.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      One_Direction_(Band)
  Relationship:
      Harry_Styles/Louis_Tomlinson, Zayn_Malik/Harry_Styles
  Additional Tags:
      Drug_Use, Underage_Sex, First_Time, Cheating, Bottom_Harry, Immaturity,
      Alternate_Universe
  Series:
      Part 2 of your_eyes_have_their_silence;_larry
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-01-09 Chapters: 1/4 Words: 10787
****** boy ******
by FictitiousFanatisch
Summary
     AU | where harry is a pretentious, troublemaking fifteen year old and
     louis is his sister's best friend who lowkey just wants to fuck him
Notes
     PLAYLIST
     'Boy' by Harrison Brome
     'Show Me' by Alina Baraz
"Come over here,"
Louis watches the boy silently, squeezing his fingers around the loose material
of his trackies. He's sitting with his back against the dresser on the floor of
Harry's bedroom, feeling small beneath the boy's poetic lethargy. Harry's
reclined on his mattress, one arm propping his head up on a pillow as he slips
the blunt end of the cigarette between his lips.
He lets his head loll onto his shoulder and he raises an eyebrow at Louis,
anticipating at least some kind of response. Louis swallows thickly, wiping his
clammy hands on his knees. He's nervous, though he's not sure why. He's the
oldest one in the room.
It feels like he's always known Harry. He practically has; ever since he met
Gemma the first year of primary school. He figured his relationship with his
best friend's little brother would always remain the same - the two of them
fighting over the game controller, planning collaborative pranks against Gemma,
or the three of them sneaking into R rated movies (to which Harry would
threaten to tattle if they refused to take him, but would always end up
spilling the beans anyway when he wet the bed from a nightmare). Louis was daft
to think by the time he returned from his third year at university Harry would
still be that innocent child, desperate to be included in his sister's
misadventures.
Harry makes his own trouble now.
"What," the boy breathes, slipping his fingers along the hem of his black
jumper.
"Nothing," Louis hums, feeling the stubble across his face. He's trying to be
cool and collected, desperately ignoring the heat that's already flourishing in
his belly. He's been having dreams about this - the moment he and Harry
reconnect after so many months of silence. It's been oddly disappointing so
far.
"Then come here," Harry says again, his voice taking on a new tone. His chest
rises and falls slowly as he rakes a free hand through his mop of wayward
curls, top row of teeth pressing against his bottom lip as the cigarette burns
between his fingers.
"Why?" Louis arches a curious brow, leaning his head back against the dresser.
Harry looks at him, pursing his lips.
And Louis should know better than to tease him. Harry's only fifteen, but he's
fearless; he's been asking Gemma about Louis for months anticipating his return
and he can't help feeling flattered. Though he knows it's nothing to be proud
of.
"Because," Harry starts, reaching out to tap the end of the fag against the ash
tray on his window pane.
"You're a little young to be smoking," Louis says before he can stop himself,
feeling suddenly unsettled under the glare Harry shoots him. He feels strangely
like he's been here before - at some frat party, in a dingy bathroom stall of a
bar or in the basement of a sketchy friend's home, giving into peer pressure
like he's still in grade school.
He quickly turns it into a smile, hoping to lighten the tension in the room.
But he's pretty sure Harry can tell he's out of his element. They've known each
other too long.
"Louis," he complains, reverting the older man's attention back to his earlier
request. Louis huffs, shaking his head in disbelief.
He inevitably acquiesces, rising to his feet and venturing the five steady
paces across the room. He sits on the end of Harry's bed, starting when the
younger kicks his feet up into his lap. Louis's eyes furrow unhappily, but then
Harry grins, those big eyes shimmering and that dimple sliding into his left
cheek and he suddenly doesn't care all that much anymore.
"Do you miss me when you're at school?"
"Yeah," he nods. He won't let on just how much. Harry looks pleased with his
response.
He idly scratches at the soft skin of his belly, blowing a trail of smoke from
his lips. And it's moments like these Louis knows he's going to miss the most -
when he's back home kissing some bloke from his dorm, tangling fingers in his
too stringy hair, tasting the staleness of cheap alcohol on the back of his
tongue - he's going to wish he were here tracing the structure of Harry's ankle
bone, the boy's eyes lazy and hooded, lips curling with daunting despondency.
Harry hums lowly, arching his spine, tossing his head to the other side of his
pillow.
"Really?"
"Yep," Louis affirms, sliding his hand up to cup Harry's knee through the rip
in his black jeans. The banal contact with his skin is almost enough.
Harry's eyes trace his features, searching for hidden intent. Louis wishes he
could trust Harry. He would tell the boy all of his secrets if he only asked
the right questions.
"Gemma says you ask about me," Louis says, partially because he wants to
embarrass the kid. He knows about Harry's little crush on him - he's tried his
best not to make a big deal out of it, but ever since the idea crossed his mind
all those months ago, it's all he's been able to think about.
Harry's eyes darken, lips stilling around the end of his fag. Louis twirls his
index finger around a loose thread at the knee of Harry's jeans.
"What does she say," Harry murmurs, trying to sound casual. Louis can't imagine
he wants to be teased about his feelings, so he decides to play along for the
moment.
"Just asking when I'm going to be home... what I've been up to... stuff like
that," Louis breathes, dragging his eyes from the jut of Harry's hips to the
knobs of his collarbone, just visible from the top of his sweater. He looks
incredibly beautiful in this afternoon light, his lips like rose petals,
blushing porcelain skin, emerald eyes devoid of innocence and if Louis weren't
supposed to be babysitting him he would have jumped Harry's bones along time
ago.
He takes the cigarette from between Harry's fingers, nudging it against his own
lips. He knows Harry's only trying to impress him with this new attitude; after
all, he's far too young to know much about anything. For some reason Louis
decides to indulge him - perhaps because he knows they'll have to part ways at
the end of the week. He doesn't want to waste precious time mulling over stupid
observations when Harry makes him burn with such degree of heat.
"Did she tell you I've got a boyfriend," Harry asks coyly, chewing the inside
of his cheek.
Boyfriend.
Louis takes another drag, the smooth strum of nicotine calming his system. It's
almost through now, but he's sure the boy has more hidden in the stash under
his bed.
"Nope," Louis says, passing the fag back to Harry. The boy sucks the last one
in before sitting up and stubbing it out on his ash tray.
"What's his name?"
Harry traces his eyebrow with the pad of his middle finger.
"Zayn,"
Louis feels an unamused smile peeling at the corners of his mouth. Because
bloody of course. He remembers Zayn, Gemma's old bisexual flame from secondary
school. It's a small town, after all. He should be about twenty-two now, if
Louis's memory serves correct.
"What's the poor sod doing these days?" Louis asks, because he doesn't want to
seem disapproving of Harry's relationship, considering the substantiality of
their age gap. And he doesn't want to lose the feeble trust Harry's bestowed
upon him with this information by judging his decision to date the older boy.
And besides, he likes Zayn. They had some laughs with him, once upon a time.
He's just not sure he wants to entertain the image of Harry with Zayn. He
definitely wasn't the most honorable influence back in the day, but again,
Louis isn't Harry's guardian and who he dates really isn't much of his
business.
"He's dealing," Harry says carelessly, and Louis can't help wondering if he's
doing all this just to push his buttons. It's working.
"Seriously," Louis deadpans, unable to keep from rolling his eyes.
"What?" Harry bites, feeling insecure of Louis's response. The older lad
doesn't mean to make Harry feel judged, but he's never been very good at biting
his tongue.
"You're dating a drug dealer?" Louis laughs, because it sounds just as absurd
when he says it aloud. He wonders if at this point he's supposed to wake up
from this ludicrous dream. Harry folds his arms over his chest.
"Well, if you bothered to call me once in a while, maybe it wouldn't be such a
shock to you," he scoffs.
Louis takes a deep, concentrated breath. Harry's opening up to him, probably
telling him things he could never share with his parents, and here he is on
winter hols, bored and lonely but somehow still unwilling to listen.
"I just... I haven't even wrapped me mind around the thought of you dating, let
alone – Zayn Malik,"
Harry squints at him; he knows Louis is trying to offer some understanding.
"So does that mean you don't have a crush on me anymore?" Louis asks, because
his curiosity has been growing in the past few minutes of their conversation.
Harry bites his bottom lip softly, shrugging. A beat of silence passes before
he speaks again and of course, the subject goes unaddressed.
"I'm hungry. You want to buy me pizza?" He suggests as he swings his legs over
the side of the mattress, padding across the wood floor to his closet.
"If you want," Louis sighs, smoothing out the wrinkles on Harry's duvet.
"Ooh let's go down to that joint we used to eat at for Gemma's birthdays - the
ice cream place," Harry pulls his black sneakers out and laces them up on his
feet, glancing up every now and then to burn Louis with his brunt enthusiasm.
"Alright," Louis hums as he stands, stretching his limbs, cracking his bones.
-
"Mum says I'm not allowed to go over to Niall's house anymore," Harry says just
as he lifts the straw of the root beer float to his lips once more, the cool,
carbonated soda tingling his throat.
"Why is that," Louis asks, nibbling at the crust of his second slice of pizza.
Harry's already eaten four pieces and chugged an entire blue gatorade on the
way here - Louis is surprised he hasn't bursted.
"His mum thinks I'm a bad influence or summat," he shrugs, tossing the tail of
his black scarf over his shoulder. Louis huffs.
"Do you think you're a bad influence?" he asks, genuinely interested in the
boy's thoughts.
"Not really... I mean, Niall's just as bad. He curses more than anyone I know
and mum doesn't ban him from coming over to our house,"
Louis hums.
"She probably just doesn't like me," Harry's tone falls, his eyes darting
across the table as he picks at the metal of his braces. He's never really
known how to deal with people disliking him. He almost always treats everyone
with a relative friendliness and simply cannot wrap his mind around why others
wouldn't return it. But here in this moment, staring at his youth – his unruly
curls, plush, sugar sweet lips, and soft, blameless skin – Louis can see why.
He's dangerous.
"Maybe, but that's just something you gotta learn to deal with," Louis offers,
finishing his third slice of pizza. Harry takes another sip of his dwindling
soda, then grabs his spoon from the table to scoop out the vanilla ice cream
from the bottom instead.
"I know. I don't really care," Harry promises, flicking his fringe out of his
eyes, placing a dollop of ice cream on the flat of his tongue.
Louis traces the black and white checkered flooring of the ice cream parlor
with the toe of his sneaker, desperate to shove the nauseating wave of
nostalgia out of his thoughts. He needs a distraction.
"What time did Gemma say she was coming back?" Louis asks as he slides his
phone out of his jacket pocket, though he's fairly positive Harry will not know
the answer. The boy has a rubbish attention to detail.
'can you come over and look after H ? my mum says i can't leave unless someone
is with him'
Just as Louis thought, Harry's shrugs uselessly. He sighs, staring down at the
blinking cursor of his blank text message. He doesn't want to say anything,
because he doesn't want to cut the string of time he and Harry have to spend
together this evening.
Louis knows unless he asks when she's returning, Gemma will probably be out as
late as possible with her friends in hopes that her responsibility is still
being handled. And with their parents away at relatives' for the next two days,
he really hadn't been anticipating a night of popcorn and superhero movies.
Especially now that Harry's older.
"I want to go somewhere," Harry says then, breaking the silence. He's bored,
and Louis knows he'll bend over backwards if it means he can put the sparkle
back in the boy's eye.
"We are somewhere," Louis teases, because he doesn't mind making Harry squirm.
The boy squints, shaking his head as he takes the final slurp of his beverage,
stands and slides his coat back onto his shoulders.
Louis takes out his wallet, tosses two tenners on the table and stands with
just enough time to follow Harry's blazing trail out of the restaurant. Louis's
car is parked right out front; he presses down the button on the key and it
chirps, headlights flashing.
"We could go visit Zayn," Harry suggests, what might just be the worst
proposition for evening plans. Louis can hardly obtain his disdain.
"Why on earth would we do that," he jokes (sort of) as he tugs open the
driver's side door. Harry grumbles something unintelligible as he seats himself
in the car, yanking the seatbelt on over his torso and leaning over to buckle
it.
"Unless you've got a better idea?" Harry lifts a brow, passing a contemptuous
glance to his senior.
Louis exhales harshly, but he starts the car with the understanding that he
doesn't have much say in the matter.
-
"Hey," Harry murmurs, curling his hand around the back of Zayn's tattooed neck
and sucking a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Louis can hardly believe they've
been in his flat for under a minute and he already feels queasy. The air is
thick and reeks of aerosol and sweat and skunk spray.
He hovers at the entrance awkwardly for seconds and tries to watch without
looking and hear without listening whatever Harry is saying to his boyfriend.
Zayn doesn't look too sketchy and hardly fits the image Louis had fabricated.
He's got a pair of blue jeans on, a black adidas t shirt that hugs his thin
frame, the color complimenting the ink on his arms. He looks established, and
like he's got enough money to feed himself– (nothing like Louis had
conjured up) even if his occupation isn't broadly respectable.
"This is my stepbrother, Louis," Harry says once he finally turns around. "He's
back from uni this week,"
Louis doesn't have time to process the lie before Zayn is nodding, seemingly
recognizing him from their brief acquaintance in secondary school.
"Yeah, I remember," Zayn gives him a terse nod. He must not remember well.
Maybe the weed is finally mucking up his cognitive abilities. Harry wraps his
arm around Zayn's midsection, practically dragging him into the living room.
Louis throws his coat over the back of the couch, following Harry's action.
Zayn sinks back against the armrest, snatching his game controller from between
the cushions and resuming the frozen screen.
"What are you playing?" Louis hears Harry ask, plopping onto the couch beside
him. He doesn't listen in for the exchange that follows. Instead, he wanders
into Zayn's kitchen, easily finding a glass from the cupboard and helping
himself to water from the tap. His throat is unbelievably dry.
It's only been about ten minutes since they walked in the door when Harry asks.
"Do you have anything for me?"
Louis's ears catch the sentiment even from his distance. He feels his features
pull in disappointment because he knows this is the kind of trouble Harry's
mother wanted to keep him out of in her absence this weekend. That's why she
had Gemma looking after him.
Zayn chuckles lightly, mussing Harry's curls but never removing his focus from
the game. Louis hears gunshots, looks up just in time to watch computerized
blood splatter across the television screen.
"You know I can't just give it to you, Babe," Zayn says, and it sounds like
something they've talked about before. But Louis knows Harry is stubborn, so
he's vaguely familiar with the context of the situation.
"I can pay this time," Harry reluctantly admits, his voice lowering. He doesn't
want Louis to hear.
"Wow, we're actually talking business?" Zayn hums, lovingly. Louis smirks to
himself. Harry sucks the air through his teeth.
"Just let me finish this level and I'll take care of you,"
Harry sits with him for a couple minutes more before he grows bored and stands,
rounding the couch and padding into the kitchen. He takes a seat on a wooden
stool at the island, leaning his elbows on the smooth marble surface. Louis
locks his phone and places it on the counter, folding his hands and focusing
his attention on his supposed stepbrother.
"Zayn's gonna hook us up," he says, as if Louis would come into the home of
Harry's shady boyfriend and not eavesdrop on their conversation.
"Oh yeah? With what?" Louis tries his best to sound genuinely interested and
not like a sarcastic and disapproving mother hen.
"Pot," Harry says bluntly, unable to sense Louis's sarcasm. And Louis wishes
the boy would read between the lines. Because it's less about what's going on
and more about Harry's attitude towards what's going on. Louis himself didn't
start smoking weed until he was at least eighteen, out of his parents control,
and the thought of Harry sneaking around behind his mother's back, hanging here
regularly with his drug dealing boyfriend after school, uniform tie still loose
around his collar and his lips around a bong.
"When did you start smoking weed?" Louis asks, picking a piece of lint out of
Harry's hair.
"I don't know, couple months ago," he answers, tugging the sleeves of his
sweater down over his knuckles.
"Before or after you started dating Zayn?"
Harry smiles. "Before,"
It's then that Louis realizes he probably started dating Zayn because he's a
dealer. Harry has a charming effect on people, likes to play games and giggle
and tease as if it isn't his way of psychologically manipulating them. But Zayn
seems smart about his business and probably knows better than to let the boy
under his skin.
"Is that why you two are dating, then?" Louis wonders, eying Harry's bottom
lip. The boy shakes his head, feigning offense.
"Of course not. Have you looked at him? He's fucking fit,"
Louis half smirks at Harry's declaration, but all in all he just wishes Zayn
would hurry up and finish his silly game so Harry can get what he needs and
they can leave. He sympathizes - Zayn's got a whiny, freeloading, preteen
boyfriend, coursework and bills to pay - but really, Louis just wants to go. He
wants to go far away from everyone in their lives and spend one evening alone
with Harry.
He thinks about telling the boy that, about cupping Harry's warm cheek, tucking
that stray curl behind his ear, leaning close and telling him to say goodbye to
Zayn, his boyfriend -
But the thought is a gentle reminder; he shakes his head and picks up his phone
once more, prepared to pass the remaining time with a running game app.
Zayn finishes after another few minutes, saving his game and leaving it frozen
on the menu screen as he disappears down the hallway. Harry chases after him
like a needy puppy, their voices growing thinner and less decipherable as they
move farther out of earshot. A door closes at the end of the hall, all
conversation drowning in static and Louis pretends not to care about whatever
is happening beyond his sight.
He's always been a little too protective of Harry. Before he went away to
school it was easy to fall into that attitude of belonging; he was Gemma's
bestest friend. Since they were so close, Harry became the brother he never
had. But Louis never saw the situation that way, the way adults like Harry's
mum came to conceptualize the situation. It always felt like he wanted
something more with Harry, and until recently he hadn't been able to figure out
what.
And he knows his desires are unrealistic. He knows Harry doesn't want to live
beside anyone or follow the expectations. He knows Harry can't love in the same
way and that he doesn't want to be tied down. Louis is starting to see him as a
new concept, a vibrant and violent rebirth of a creature so untouchable, so
unattainable that it makes his chest ache. There's a secret, a road untraveled,
a twisted forest or a mountain he could never even aspire to climb.
Harry embodies a pathological complexity: a desperation to be seen and heard, a
stark disdain for adolescence and an obsessive infatuation with his incongruous
idea of adulthood. Louis's temples ache at just the thought of delving into
that wormhole; he's glad he doesn't have to look after Harry for more than just
tonight.
He refocuses his attention on his mind-dulling game app, and ends up breaking a
high score, but can hardly rejoice because when he glances at the digital clock
on the stove behind him, he sees Harry's been gone for twenty minutes. His knee
starts to shake.
Another ten minutes pass before he hears anything. One, unbearably ominous
thumpagainst the drywall.
It's not long after he's worked himself up into a panic that Harry comes
trickling back down the hall and Louis sighs in relief. He would not have been
graced with the task of going down there like a worry-warted, codependent child
looking for his mother. He's supposed to be the oldest and most mature, after
all. It's a pity he has to keep reminding himself of that.
"What took you?" he blurts, before reminding himself to stay composed. He kind
of already knows - Harry's hair is slightly ruffled, eyes glassy and lips dark,
but he doesn't say anything on the matter.
And Harry ignores him anyway, dangling the little plastic sandwich bag of herbs
out in front of him with a dimpled smile. Louis nods and stands, straightens
his back and tucks his phone into his pocket.
When Harry tosses his coat over his shoulders and wraps his scarf around his
neck, Louis catches on that they're leaving. He sighs, one part of him hating
Harry's ability to snap his fingers and send him acting immediately, but the
other part desperately wanting to accept the boy's call and submit to mad
desires.
-
"Zayn taught me," Harry says as Louis fiddles with the dials of the car radio.
He kicks his converse up onto the dashboard, the smiley-faced plastic bag in
his lap crinkling with every movement. He's already pretty good at rolling the
paper, tightly packing the green herbs, using the tip of his tongue to lick and
stick and fold over the edges. If Harry's goal is to impress him, stun him with
his ingenuity, he's succeeding, unfortunately.
Louis brings the silver can of diet coke up to his lips, turning a face at the
taste. It was the only kind they had left in the petrol station, when he'd
stepped in to buy paper, a new pocket lighter and a package of gummy bears
(which Harry finished in a matter of minutes despite Louis's concern for them
sticking in his braces).
"Does Gemma know?" Louis asks.
"Yeah," Harry mutters, "But I don't smoke at home. Mum can smell it from like a
lightyear away,"
Louis lets down half of the windows a crack. He shoulders out of his coat as
Harry places the blunt between his lips, flicking on the lighter and cupping
his hand around the flame. He takes the first hit with practiced ease,
eyelashes fluttering, lungs expanding.
Louis watches him closely, chewing the inside of his cheek. Harry looks over,
offering a cheeky smile and blowing the smoke in his direction. Louis rolls his
eyes at Harry's juvenility.
"You know, I didn't take my first hit until I was at uni," he mentions, not
exactly sure where he intends to take this conversation, but he's hoping in
vain that Harry, in all of his premature maturity, will be able to handle the
topic he's opening up. (And hopefully won't try to change the subject.)
Harry passes the joint, scratching his knee through the gape in his ripped
jeans.
Louis closes his lips around the end, puffs, his eyes watering as the plume of
toxins meet the roof of his mouth and billows down the back of his throat. He
coughs a bit, pausing to catch his breath. It's been awhile since the last time
he got high with his university buddies. He doesn't really know that much about
weed, but the burn in his lungs feels good, familiar. Harry eyes him, rolling
his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger.
"Been a while?"
Louis clears his throat. "Yeah,"
"Uni sounds so fun. Like, Niall's brother, Greg, is always telling us how wild
the parties are," Harry speaks slowly, reaching his arm across the console.
Louis balks, As if—
"It's not all alcohol and strippers, Haz. You have to write term papers and
study for tests practically every week. You eat on a meal plan and a lot of
times don't have money to do anything or go anywhere. Then you have roommates
who keep you up all night and early lectures and dorm restrictions and you have
to do your own laundry–," Louis forewarns, a little condescendingly as he hands
back the spliff.
Harry waves a dismissive hand.
"I know but still, your mum isn't like, standing over you twenty-four seven.
And I already do my own laundry, you twat,"
Louis laughs, though he's meagerly amused. He can't imagine much is left for
Harry in the social aspects of university life. He's already much worse than
Louis and Gemma were at his age, already smoking and drinking and sucking cock
as his God-given purpose. He'd probably fit right in with Louis's crowd of
sexually hypertonic, comic book nerds and junkies back at school. But he
wouldn't necessarily condone it –
There's something about Harry that still doesn't sit right with him, something
about his aversion for his age, his inability to dwell on adult concepts but
his painfully pungent predisposition toward the common perpetrators of adult
addictions. How Harry can't just like normal fifteen year old boy things like,
superheroes and fast cars and football and violent video games. He's always got
to be trying something risky, doing something dangerous – like he's got some
point to prove.
"You know... your mum is worried about you," Louis starts, finding a good spot
on the windshield to lock his gaze.
He hears Harry scoff and can't help wondering what about that is funny.
"Right," he hums. Louis feels his frown deepen.
"She does. Why do you think when she goes out of town, Gemma still has to
babysit you when you're fifteen years old?" Louis turns to look at him, raising
a brow.
"Because ... she's just – overprotective," Harry explains, exhausting his
limited perception of the situation. He doesn't understand what it feels like
for a mother to have a child, to watch them travel down a particular path and
know that they're getting into all kinds of things before they are mentally and
emotionally equipped to face them.
"She's your mother, Haz. It's her job to be overprotective," Louis huffs,
"Maybe you shouldn't give her such a hard time,"
Something dark passes over Harry's features then, an untold story flickering in
the dark of his eye – but the boy looks away before Louis can call him on it.
And the older man supposes he never stopped to consider that maybe he didn't
know the whole story. Since he'd grown up alongside Gemma, and in some ways
acted as an older brother in Harry's life, he figured he knew all he needed to
draw the inferences. But he and Gemma spent the last few years away at school.
Maybe something happened in that period of time. Maybe things have changed.
Maybe you should mind your own business and stop trying to psychoanalyze him.
Sue him for being a psychology major.
"Whatever," Harry shrugs, trying to smooth over the rigid conclusion of their
conversation. Louis searches his gaze.
"I can't wait to leave home. The day I turn eighteen, I swear I'm getting like,
sixty tattoos," Harry proclaims. Louis just looks at him, shaking his head.
"Do you have any tattoos?" the boy wonders, yanking Louis's wrist over and
shoving at the sleeve of his jumper. The lad sees a splatter of dark ink and
his eyes gleam, mouth twitching in amusement.
"Maybe," Louis shoots, snatching out of his hold. If Harry wants to see, he'll
show him. Later.
"I bet you're covered in skulls and roses under there," Harry grins, poking a
rib through the fabric of his top.
"You're sadly mistaken," Louis sighs.
Harry takes another hit, exhaling freely and Louis is finally starting the feel
it - just below his navel, the hazy heat spreading throughout his abdomen,
traveling up his chest and toward his head.
"I want a sleeve someday," Harry tells him, gauging his response to the idea.
When Louis doesn't reply he adds, "And I might get a septum piercing. I was
looking it up the other day - it'd look sick,"
"Anne would rip it out in a heartbeat... and feel no remorse," Louis warns,
passing a hand through his hair.
"Okay, but she wasn't that mad when I did my ear," Harry touches his ear lobe,
running the pad of his thumb over the diamond stud. Harry got that piercing the
summer he was twelve with the help of his older sister, contact saline and a
sewing needle. Louis doesn't think he'll ever forget the boy's whining in the
days that followed.
"That's only because Gemma took the blame. And because it sort of looks ...
normal," Louis struggles to find the right word. It isn't what he was going for
exactly, but he supposes it'll suffice.
"Zayn said he'd do it for me," Harry assures after a moment, peeking up as if
he knows it'll trigger a reaction out of Louis.
"Jesus Christ, where do you get off," Louis hears himself say, though the sound
of his voice is foreign to his ears, slow and warped like he's floating just a
few meters below the surface.
"What," Harry laughs, passing the joint. Louis looks at it for a long moment
before accepting it, bringing the end up to his mouth once more.
"You'd look like a fuckin' ... bull," Louis tells him, lashes wavering as he
inhales. He feels like he's swimming with kaleidoscope goggles, the other
vehicles in the car park doing cartwheels each time he blinks.
"Maybe that's what I'm going for, arsehole," Harry punches his bicep, snatching
the blunt back.
And it's almost amusing - the way Harry's so desperate to pull a reaction from
Louis. But he knows it's not all about him. Although it's a small town, Harry
knows a lot of people and they all have a lot of different opinions about lots
of different things. So who knows where he gets his silly ideas. Most likely
from people like Zayn, random university idiots still loitering in the village,
kids from school, perfect strangers. It can be refreshing, but only sometimes.
"Wait – ," the boy stops, his eyes falling down to the rollup clutched between
his first two fingers.
"Who's hit is this?"
Louis just stares at him, devoid of any and all emotion as he attempts to
figure out if Harry's serious or not. A long beat of silence elapses before the
grin slowly peels at the corners of his mouth, the hilarity of the situation
tickling his throat from the intensity of Harry's gaze.
"Yours, you bloody idiot," Louis laughs in disbelief, pinching the bridge of
his nose. Harry chuckles drunkenly, nodding.
They spend the next few minutes spouting idiotic revelations and dumbfounded
nonsense, Louis poking Harry's dimple every time he smiles and Harry laughing
so hard his stomach start to cramp.
Louis can't remember the last time he had this much fun.
And then Harry asks again.
"Come here," he says, his eyes hooded, the tips of his fingers trapping the
nearly burnt out blunt. Louis runs a hand over the front of his trousers, his
heart fluttering in his chest.
He leans over without another thought, slipping fingers around Harry's throat,
brushing his thumb against his pulse. Harry takes a deep breath, attempting to
divulge the insanity of Louis's gaze.
"You're so... ugly," Louis smirks, unable to fathom how aesthetically appeasing
Harry's metal smile is. He tugs at Louis's collar with his free hand, wrinkling
the material in his fist.
"Fuck you... you– you know you think I'm hot," Harry snarls, eyes foggy, but
his intentions crystal clear. Louis caresses his chin, thumbing at the softness
of his lower lip.
"Never," he slowly inhales, peering into Harry's darkened pupils. It's the
first time he's looked nervous at all today. Then Harry looks down between
them, a breath hitching in his throat.
"Relax," Louis tells him, swiping the tip of his tongue against his lower lip.
Harry nods, looking mesmerized as Louis slides the spliff from his fingers,
easily taking the last dreg into his lungs.
Harry stays silent as Louis holds the smoke in his chest, flicking the end of
the paper out through the window before cupping Harry's jaw, using his tongue
to part his lips before breathing into him. The smoke spills down Harry's neck,
warming his throat and freeing his mind as it's trapped between their pulse
thundering chests.
Harry's cheeks flush, eyes glistening with unshed tears, his lips staying
parted even after Louis pulls away. His eyelids open slowly and Louis can't
help but lose whatever is left of himself in the swell of his pupils. Louis
repositions his hand to cup the side of Harry's neck, twisting his body so that
he and Harry are both fitting - rather awkwardly - in the passenger seat. But
he's high and Harry is high, and unless either of them complains, right now, he
doesn't foresee himself leaving Harry's personal space.
Louis looks at him for a moment to assess his response to what he just did (and
really, the blush that spreads down Harry's neck should mitigate any doubts).
But Harry does not speak, and doesn't move, aside from the gentle thud thud of
his heartbeat, the up and down of his shoulders as he breathes.
Louis brushes a hand over the swell of Harry's ruddy cheek. He wants this to be
sure, and deliberate. So he leans forward just a fraction, searching Harry's
eyes for any lingering hesitation before he lifts his chin and melts their lips
together. It's soft and slow, but in its own way, intoxicating. Harry kisses
back weakly, as if he's unsure and testing the waters. Louis pulls back, eyes
hooded as he circles both hands around Harry's throat and attaches their lips
once more, sinking his tongue against the roof of the boy's mouth.
Harry moans softly, the vibration of his vocal chords resonating against
Louis's skull. He pushes their mouths together hungrily after that, tilting
Harry's jaw to alter the angle of the kiss, welcoming his poison. Harry pushes
his fingers up the hem of Louis's sweater, feeling his skin. 
"... Y'taste good," Louis mumbles against the corner of Harry's mouth,
fingering the soft curls at the back of his neck.
"Shud'up," Harry hums, scraping his nails against the small of Louis's back to
get his attention. He draws him back in sweetly, upper lip tingling with a
spark of static. Harry startles, but smiles into the kiss; Louis pinches his
dimple fondly.
He doesn't think he could put words to the feeling exploding in his belly when
he touches his lips to Harry, when his nostrils are accosted by the boy's sweet
but lavish scent, the flowery lotions and sandalwood cologne he wears to mask
the nicotine. It's pure euphoria, feeling the heat of his body so close, like
lighting to his shivering spine. Louis shudders with arousal when Harry gently
sucks on his tongue, resting his head back against the foggy window and
smearing the condensation.
Louis's brain simply can't decide what to focus on with all of the stimulants
at once confounding his senses. Harry pushes his chest up into Louis, skating
his hand across the older man's skin under the fabric of his shirt and finally
settling it on the curve of his spine. Louis flicks his tongue out against
Harry's braces, tangling a hand in his silky curls. He can feel the
exhilaration burrowing deep in his bones. He's never been this turned on in his
entire life.
He licks into Harry's mouth with a wet sound, humming in pleasure as the boy
desperately rocks his hips into his, hoping for some kind of friction against
the bulge in his jeans. It sparks another message along Louis's nerve endings,
but it takes awhile for him to receive it.
"Louis," Harry gasps as Louis rolls his hips against him. His voice is growing
tinny and his breaths are speeding in anticipation and Louis knows what he
wants to do, but he doesn't think he can do it like this: crammed in the
passenger seat of his hotboxed car, the taste of the herb still fresh on his
mouth, clumsy limbs knocking into doors and windows as the local radio station
plays shitty dj remixes. He finds Harry's hand moving across his skin, loops
his fingers around the boy's wrist and tugs it away from his body. He doesn't
want to rush the removal of their clothes, and certainly doesn't want to
remember hooking up with Harry in his car.
Not yet,he thinks, get him on a bed.
"What time is it?" Louis asks, sucking one final kiss against Harry's bottom
lip before craning his neck in the direction of the radio. Harry just whimpers,
arching up. He's awkwardly crushed between the window and Louis's heavy form.
"I don't know," Harry huffs in irritation as Louis turns, feeling around for
his phone in the cup holders. Harry locks his fingers behind Louis's neck, a
feeble attempt to keep him from leaving the embrace.
"It's almost ten," Louis mutters, trying not to get distracted by Harry nudging
his lips against his neck.
"So?" Harry mumbles.
"We should get back,"
Harry scowls at that, a soft whine building in the back of his throat.
"Shh," Louis presses lips against his temple as he scoops Harry's hands off of
him. The boy's breath staggers out, defeatedly.
And then Louis's warmth disappears, leaving Harry in the corner as he stumbles
back across the console and safely into the driver's seat.
Harry looks a bit angry, but absolutely ravishing nonetheless with the collar
of his jumper askew and exposing his left shoulder, his lips dark and swollen,
eyes bleary and unable to focus with the chemicals dancing in his system. He
takes a long moment to sit up, readjust his top and pull his seatbelt over his
torso. Every shift reminds him of the stiffness in his pants and he cups
himself with a grimace, looking thoroughly embarrassed.
Louis has to bite back a moan at the sight. Everything about the boy is
painfully sordid and it's not fair the way one look can make him lose all
inhibition. He has to keep reminding himself why he came back over here to
begin with.
He turns up the heat to clear the fog from the windshield, eyes lingering
unnecessarily long on the glowing dashboard gauges. Harry fails to discreetly
palm himself through his tight jeans, and Louis tries not to stare too
obviously as he fiddles with the dials of the radio.
Eventually he can see well enough to safely maneuver out of the parking lot and
back onto the main road, but he still has to blink several times to focus on
which one of the three roads are going to get them back home.
-
When they get to Harry's place, Gemma's car still isn't in the driveway. Before
Louis can even open the door, Harry is gripping his neck, standing on the tips
of his toes, pushing him back and sliding his tongue past Louis's lips.
"I want you so bad," Harry whispers, breath warm and tickling his upper lip.
Louis pushes the door open, drawing Harry inside by the back of his arm.
"Slow down," Louis says, hoping to convey some austerity to a blazed fifteen
year old, laughing and stumbling over his own untied sneakers.
He tries his best not to worry that Harry's elder sis might come home at any
time and catch them like this. He doesn't want to know how angry Gemma might
get if she found out Louis was encouraging her little brother's mad antics. If
she even got angry about that sort of thing.
But the house is cool and quiet and eases the heat of Louis's sweat slick
forehead, calming his anxieties if only just a bit. However, he can't escape
the blossom of heat in his pelvis, the desire boiling in his bone marrow.
"Let me– lemme touch you," Harry begs, his eyelids wavering in ecstasy as Louis
resists the urgency to roll his hips against him. The bed is just a few paces
away –
"Jesus, can I at least close the front door?" Louis grumbles, one hand against
Harry's shoulder and the other hooked around the door. Harry pulls back for
merely a second, but it's enough time for Louis to close the door, lock it
back, and elude Harry's grasp in the direction of his bedroom.
Harry huffs, but chases after him.
"You can fuck me, if you want," he quickly kicks his off shoes when they enter
the room, lifting the hem of his jumper over his head and tossing it onto the
floor. Louis feels his dick twitch at the sound of Harry's saying that
sentence, his throat constricting around words he knows he's not worthy to
express.
"Yeah? Do you have lube?" Louis asks, giving Harry's dresser a once over. He
sees lotion, cologne, a hairbrush and a bottle of red nail varnish.
"Yes," Harry bites his lip, tugging at the drawstring of Louis's pants to lure
him toward the mattress. Those eyes are glazed over, eyebrows quirked with that
same mischief and Louis can't stop himself from circling his hands around
Harry's smooth neck and closing the distance between their lips in a harsh,
bruising kiss.
"Condoms?" Louis breaks them apart again, trying to be responsible. (Someone
has to.) Harry nibbles a finger coyly, sitting down on his bed.
"Don't need it," he says, scooting back against the duvet. The older boy
frowns, but crawls on top of Harry, his knees sinking into the soft mattress.
"I haven't, um," he starts, noticing Louis's confusion, "... with anyone,"
Realization hits like another wave of petrifying intoxication, sending a chill
through his bloodstream. He drags his lips down Harry's neck.
"Yeah? You'd let me?" Louis feels his smile move across Harry's bare chest. The
boy's skin is so soft, so warm and so innocent and he can't wait another moment
to feel more of it. Harry's hand runs up the back of Louis's head, slipping
through the soft roots.
"Only you," Harry admits, watching Louis pop the button of his jeans, dragging
the zipper down. Louis kisses down Harry's belly, nuzzling the incredibly pure,
porcelain flesh. Louis lifts Harry's hips over his thighs, reaching around,
gripping the waist of his skinny jeans and tearing them down his thighs. Harry
arches up to assist the process.
Once the battle against Harry's skin tight jeans has been won and he's pitched
them over the edge of the bed, Louis raises his own top and sends it toward the
floor as well, flicking his messy fringe out of his face.
"I knew it," Harry notes as Louis's tattoos come into view. He's still floating
on the high - it probably won't wear off until tomorrow - so he doesn't react
as sharply to details as he might have. He traces the ink on Louis forearm with
his fingers, dusting his lips over the string of words beneath Louis's
collarbones. Louis hums fondly before pulling him back down and sliding their
mouths together.
After a bit, Louis finally gets out of his trousers, kicking them to the end of
the bed. Harry's stomach quivers with hard, hasty breaths and Louis mouths
across his jaw, thumbing at his bottom lip in hopes to calm his nerves. One
hand feels down between their bodies, brushing over the front of Harry's pants.
They cling beautifully to his hips, erection digging into the inside of his
thigh and Louis simply can't help himself anymore; he glides his fingers under
the elastic waistband of Harry's pants, yanking them down his legs, peeling
them off his feet. Harry inhales sharply when the cool air of the room hits his
wet cock. Louis smiles at him, throwing his pants frivolously to the floor.
"I think about this sometimes," Harry murmurs, tossing his head back against
his pillows, baring his pale neck. Louis doesn't exactly remember at which
point tonight he lost all impulse control, but he immediately dives forward and
scrapes his teeth along Harry's jugular, leaving a couple red marks in the
corner of his jaw. Harry looks as if he wants to say something more, a thought
passing over his features, but when Louis leans up, his lips stay sealed.
Louis fits his hand around the underside of Harry's knee, fingers digging into
the pudgy flesh of his thigh as he lifts Harry's leg over hip and he grinds
against him, the friction between their bodies burning fierce stars behind
Louis's eyelids.
"I think about you touching me," Harry says breathlessly as he sits up on his
elbows. Louis hums, kissing the crook of Harry's neck as he closes fingers
around Harry's cock, thumbing over the tip.
"Like this?" Louis wonders, letting his teeth sink against Harry's shoulder as
he starts moving his hand, squeezing the base lightly, circling the tip before
again descending. Harry sucks in a sharp breath, his head falling weakly
against the mattress. Another bead of precome blurts from the tip, dribbling
down Harry's shaft and Louis uses it to smoothen the glide.
"Fuck...do that again," Harry shivers when Louis bites at his nipple as he
tightens his grip around him, dragging his thumb through the slick tip. Harry
then closes both of his hands around Louis with a quick glimpse up for his
approval. He starts jerking him in that same manner - slow and steady,
confident, but hesitant.
Harry searches his gaze, biting his bottom lip as he twists his hold, pinching
his grip around the base. Louis can't really focus on the fact that Harry's
fingers are moving around his dick because he knows if he lets himself get
comfortable with the thought, let his body get used to riding the waves of
pleasure - he's going to come. And then Harry moves his hands up Louis's length
in tandem, determined to make him feel that same crippling euphoria.
"Lube," Louis says, rubbing the little v just under Harry's cock. Harry
shudders, taking a long moment to process Louis's request. He reluctantly
removes one hand from Louis to reach under his pillow, shoving the bottle
blindly into Louis chest. He smiles, using his jaw to pry open Harry's mouth
and slip his tongue inside.
He leans away to open the bottle, nudging the boy's thighs apart and on impulse
- Harry grabs his wrist. He looks unsure, but doesn't say anything.
Louis nods in understanding, dipping down, bumping his nose against the boy's
throat. He brushes his knuckles against Harry's lower stomach, soothing over
those qualms. He remembers his first time, the ache of insecurity in his tummy
before he finally submit to his primitive lust. He wants nothing more than to
share that with Harry.
Louis cups his calf, lifting Harry's ankle so it sits on his shoulder. The boy
swallows thickly, watching as he snaps open the cap and squeezes a generous
amount of the glossy substance onto his fingers. He reaches down between
Harry's cleft, rubbing the lubricant against his opening. Louis pays close
attention to Harry's expression as he slips that first finger into him,
pressing up to his knuckle before gliding out, then back in.
"Good?" Louis checks, placing his other hand around Harry's cock, pumping
slowly. Harry nods.
Louis sinks a second finger in, gently scissoring them both apart. Harry stills
for a moment, and Louis makes sure to give him enough time to adjust to the
intrusion before offering anything more. He waits for Harry's signal before
fitting a third finger in, knowing Harry will need the most time to grow
accustomed to this stretch. Louis wouldn't consider himself massive, but he's
definitely not little and he knows from experience that he's going to cause
Harry some discomfort at first.
And Louis knows Harry isn't innocent, but the thought - of Harry saving
himself, rejecting his boyfriends and ex-boyfriends and casual hook-ups because
he didn't want to lose his virginity to someone he didn't trust, to someone who
wasn't Louis -makes his chest ache and his mouth dry because he can't stop
thinking about how much he adores Harry for it. This is Harry's first time
doing it like this, and he's doing it with me.
It's a tremendous amount of responsibility.
"I think you're ready," Louis says, dragging his fingers out of him with a
soft, wet sound, giving Harry's cock one final squeeze.
"Flip over for me," he says, carefully lowering Harry's leg, then collecting
the bottle of slick from the where he'd tossed it on the duvet.
Harry looks at him, his face pulled with an unreadable expression.
"Unless you want to be on top?" Louis suggests, noticing his hesitation.
"Um, can I?" Harry asks, because this is pretty much the only thing he doesn't
feel confident enough in to decide. Louis wants him to be comfortable though,
and he knows it's often easier for one to control what they feel from the top.
"Yeah sure, whatever you want," Louis assures, only now realizing he might not
have taken the necessary time to establish that Harry could talk and tell him
how he was feeling, if he wasn't happy with something. But this has been rushed
and desperate from the start, the both of them scrabbling at each other's
clothes, jaded by the small details.
"I want to make this good for you, Babe,"
Louis trades his place, positioning a pillow just above his shoulders so his
neck is adequately supported. Harry climbs onto his belly, straddling his hips.
Louis squirts a large amount of lube into his hand, reaching behind Harry,
smoothing his knuckles along the dip of his spine as the other wraps around his
length, stroking a few times to alleviate the tension and coat his length with
the slick.
Harry's trembling. It's his first time after all, and in his mind there are
plenty of reasons to be scared. But Louis knows he'll be perfect.
"Just breathe, yeah?" Louis simpers, curling his fingers around the crown of
his cock, positioning it in Harry's opening. He hopes he's used enough lube.
Harry nods once, a stray curl falling out against his forehead when he braces
his hands against Louis's chest.
Louis exhales as he applies a small amount of pressure, slipping just the head
past Harry's entrance. The boy makes a soft sound in his throat, but he doesn't
tell Louis to stop.
"Need you to sit down for me, Haz," Louis instructs, drawing circles into the
small of his back.
"... slowly,"
"Okay," Harry obeys and starts to lower his hips, thighs quivering on either
side of him. It's a herculean effort for Louis to remain still.
The feeling of Harry taking more of him, his cock slipping further and further
inside – sends another coil of arousal through Louis, the electrifying heat
radiating between their needy forms. He could thrive with the pleasure pounding
in his chest, throbbing in his pelvis, coursing like fire in his veins.
It takes a while but eventually, Harry is able to fully seat himself on Louis's
cock, arse resting against his hips. It's another couple minutes before Harry
feels fully adjusted with all of his length inside, and Louis makes sure to
kiss him, bite his neck and stroke his cock to distract him from any lingering
discomfort.
"I'm ready," Harry finally says, leaning over to capture Louis's lips in
another soft, wet kiss. Louis smiles against him, lightly scratching his nails
along the base of Harry's spine.
"You move first," Louis tells him, urging him to sit up and first familiarize
himself with the feeling.
"Keep touching me," Harry says, running his fingers over Louis's chest, using
him for leverage as he lifts his hips up, then sinks back down.
"Oh - fuck just like that, Babe," Louis shakily encourages, rolling his hips up
each time Harry eases back down. Harry bites his lip in concentration, grinding
back slowly at first, unsure of his motions.
"Keep going," Louis grunts, taking in the blush that bleeds down Harry's neck
and chest when they're able to establish a rhythm, slow on the upstroke,
quicker on the down. He's already sweating profusely; he worries his body is
too hot and his senses are too numb to subdue his orgasm for very long. He
distracts himself from the pleasure by focusing on Harry, experimenting with
the angle of his hips, nudging Harry a bit further up or back to see if he can
find the boy's spot.
"How's that feel," he mumbles, looping his index finger around Harry's
erection, teasing the wet pink tip every now and then because he doesn't want
to push him too far and make him come too quickly. Louis knows he can make him
feel even better. He rocks his hips forward, folding his hand over the back of
Harry's neck, gaining leverage.
"Okay," Harry says, his lips pulled in concentration. Louis keeps trying, 
tugging at his cock so he doesn't lose the feeling. He lowers his hips,
dragging Harry forward with a hand just below the square of his jaw, the other
teasing circles around Harry's erection. Harry straightens his spine, his ribs
expanding beautifully as he pushes back, sitting down just as Louis arches up –
"Oh... oh, shit," Harry stammers, clawing at Louis's chest. Louis peers up,
digging his teeth into his bottom lip excitedly.
"There?" Louis asks, thrusting up once as he runs his thumb along the underside
of Harry's cock, smearing the mess of precome as it spills from the tip. He's
getting so messy, so hot because of him, and it's amazing.
"Yeah, right... oh," Harry gasps, unable to conclude his own string of
thoughts. Louis moans as Harry works back against him, soon relentless to
stimulate his prostate with the head of Louis's dick. Which – he's certainly
not complaining.
The boy starts moving with purpose after that, hips rolling forward then back,
catching his spot with each downward motion. Louis grips Harry's waist,
convinced he can help fuck him down harder on his cock. The angle is good and
Harry's drowning in it, filling the static of the room with short, breathy
whines. Every time Harry moves another jolt of pleasure blooms just below
Louis's naval, the tightness of him swallowing Louis's length, smooth walls
rubbing along the wet, sensitive head. It's a cauterizing heat, clouding his
already hazy senses, making it damn near impossible for him to express himself
beyond shudders and gasps.
Harry's forehead is glistening with sweat, brows knitting together as he chases
the heat swelling in his pelvis. Louis arches up, burying his cock further in
the boy, holding him down and grinding up against his spot before pulling down.
Harry falls forward, his elbows wobbling, thighs trembling. He's getting tired,
getting close -
"Come here," Louis tells him this time, carding his fingers over Harry's back,
fitting his hand around the back of his neck. Harry looks at him, his face
exuding that same paralyzing beauty, even when he's high, feverish and
desperate to come.
Harry leans forward, lips parting, tongue sliding into Louis's mouth. Louis
pulls back and nips at his bottom lip, eyes tracing his delicate features.
"I'm close," he whispers, rolling up into him, biting at his throat. He can't
see or feel anything past Harry's sweltering heat, his body flush against him,
soothing, smothering.
Harry's muscles must be sore, because after another minute of rocking back
against him he slows, Adam's apple dipping, resurfacing as he intakes oxygen.
But Louis keeps him moving, pushing one hand up under Harry's knee and the
other around his throat, tipping him back against the mattress.
Harry writhes beneath the maddening torridity, flattening his chest into
Louis's. And Louis takes no prisoners - thrusting his hips with only one goal
in mind- the orgasm gradually building in his belly, curling in his blood.
"Oh God, fuck–," Harry gasps as Louis starts pummeling his prostate, holding
his leg against his chest with a hand around his knee, his hips rolling in an
unfathomable pace. Harry slides his fingers through the soft hairs at the base
of Louis's head, lips parting around a feeling that surpasses the english
vocabulary.
Harry sobs brokenly, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes and Louis
kisses them away tenderly, chasing the taste of salt water on the seam of his
lips. He watches Harry's features change as the  pleasure floods his senses,
his forehead pinching, eyelids drifting shut to focus on how good he feels.
"Gonna come for me?" Louis wonders, wrapping his other hand around Harry's
cock, sliding his knuckles through the mess of precome on his tummy. Harry's
hand skates across Louis shoulder blades, drawing him in closer, nudging him
deeper.
Harry nods, wrapping his other arm around Louis's neck. It tips him forward
just a fraction, but it's enough to get Harry's lips crushed against his. The
boy licks deep into his mouth, tangling their tongues, bottom lip shining with
their swapped saliva when he retreats. Louis plants kisses across his jugular,
pitching his hips forward, tightening the loop of his fingers around Harry's
slick, engorged head.
Harry cries out when Louis's knuckles start moving; he pinches the head,
dragging his hand down to the base, then back up. His hips undulate to the same
painful tempo - not too fast, but simply not fast enough to send either of them
into orgasm. The springs of Harry's twin bed groan in protest, the air filling
with chopped, labored breaths and the soft slap of their skin colliding.
"God, I - fuck...Ican't," Harry's eyes dilate, muscles spasming in the slow and
torturous approach of his climax. Louis feels his hole clench around his girth,
and his hips stutter against him. Harry's voice is like music to Louis's ears
in this moment, high and unsteady and still a little bit scared.
"'Can't' what, Babe?" he teases, breathless. Harry doesn't respond, and Louis
is proud to have finally figured out that a good dicking is the key to making
the boy speechless. Harry's eyes slowly slide back into his head, his fingers
pressing hard into Louis's skin, clawing down the muscles of his back.
And Louis doesn't stop, though his muscles are sore and his back aches, because
he's determined to bring Harry to his peak. He quickens the motions of his
wrist, hips slamming into Harry's bum as the heat devours all else. He touches
his lips to Harry's one last time, swallowing the boy's restless sounds.
"I'm... oh, I'm–" Harry's features twist up, his lips parting weakly around
Louis's name. Without another thought, Harry throws his head back, arching his
spine as he comes, spilling warm and wet over Louis's knuckles. The man moans
against Harry's soft neck, sinking his teeth into his flesh as his thrusts get
shorter, no longer calculated for Harry's pleasure but now solely for his own.
He untangles the hand from around Harry's cock, lets him shudder through the
aftershocks as he folds the boy in half and sheaths his cock entirely in his
heat. Every nerve in his body is tingling with his encroaching peak, hurling
him fast toward sweet, satisfying relief.
It's only about another minute before he feels the pleasure bursting in his
belly, the static forming patterns behind his eyes. Harry stares up at him, his
chest still quickly rising and descending with transitory breath. He moves the
tip of his tongue across his lower lip, smoothing his palms down Louis's chest.
And it's not the pressure between Louis's hips or the smoldering heat in his
chest that tips him over the edge –
It's Harry, laying there with lazy, hooded eyes, his knees pressing into his
chest, come smeared across his belly. Louis bites his lip hard, grinding into
Harry until it finally consumes him, his muscles tensing, endorphins exploding
and stars flashing on the walls and ceiling. Louis comes hard, his whole body
quaking as he pulses into Harry, face buried in the boy's shoulder.
It takes a moment for his senses to return. He can feel Harry beneath him, his
body still quavering, his release cooling uncomfortably on his skin. Louis
leans up after a long beat of silence, pushing his thumb over Harry's lips. The
boy's eyes flip open and he smiles, but looks exhausted.
"Y'alright?" Louis mumbles against his chin as he carefully glides out of him,
one hand around the base of his softening length. Harry stretches his arms
above his head, nodding slowly, glassy eyes following his movement.
"Want me to clean you up?" Louis asks, brushing his lips against Harry's. The
boy is quiet for a minute, mulling over his words.
"I can do it," Harry insists, but he doesn't move a muscle. And Louis is
content to revel in his presence for the rest of time, burying his nose in
Harry's curls, mapping out Harry's smooth, pale skin. The scent of his shampoo
is sweet, like mango and coconut.
"Gemma's probably gonna be home soon," Louis hears himself say after a while.
He can't read quite make out Harry's bedside clock, but he's certain it's
almost midnight.
Louis regrets saying anything almost immediately because Harry hums in
affirmation, sits up, pushes out of his hold and plants his feet on the floor.
Louis rolls onto his side, watching Harry's bare bum as he ambles out of the
bedroom and into the hall. Louis hears the faucet running in the bathroom, but
he doesn't register the time that passes before Harry is wandering back into
the room, rummaging through his top dresser drawer. He pulls out a new pair of
briefs and slides them up his legs, throwing Louis a glance over his shoulder.
"What," he asks, raking a hand through his frizzy hair. Louis hides his smile
in the mattress.
"Nothing," he mutters, finally finding a burst of motivation to get up and go
wash off as well. When he returns, he finds Harry tugging a white t shirt over
his head by the window, watching headlights veer by on the street.
"Was I any good?" Louis wonders, curling his arms around Harry's neck and
shoulders, drawing him back against his chest. Harry huffs.
"Yeah," he whispers. Louis kisses the sensitive skin behind his ear.
"Want to watch a movie?" he suggests when Harry stay silent. The boy still
holds his tongue, but turns in Louis's arms, loosening the older's tight
embrace. Louis smirks when he sees Harry's pink cheeks, his throat littered in
colorful bruises and he can't help wondering how Zayn will react when he sees
them.
"Yeah. But I'm picking," Harry declares with a glint in his eye as he eases out
of Louis's grasp. But before he can get to the door, Louis grabs his elbow,
tugs him back against his chest before darting forward and locking their lips.
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