Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4607304.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      One_Direction_(Band)
  Relationship:
      Harry_Styles/Louis_Tomlinson
  Character:
      Louis_Tomlinson, Harry_Styles
  Additional Tags:
      Extremely_Underage, Incest, Parent/Child_Incest, Somnophilia, Non-
      Consensual_Somnophilia, Pedophilia, Explicit_Sexual_Content, Non-
      Consensual_Touching, Non-Consensual_Kissing, Molestation
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-08-19 Words: 5375
****** people like small things ******
by darkly
Summary
     He waits, lets his eyes roam, but keeps his hands to himself. He
     waits until his son is asleep, on the sofa or in bed or on Louis’
     lap, tucked up against him. Only then does he let himself touch,
     because what Harry doesn’t know can’t scar him. He can’t remember it
     if he’s not conscious to the touch.
Notes
     Please read the tags!!! This fic is absolutely brimming with
     pedophilia, non-consensual sexual acts, extreme underage (age of
     Harry not specified, but definitely very much pre-pubescent), and
     father/son incest. If you're uncomfortable with reading any of those
     things, I urge you not to read this.
     This work is 100% fiction and 100% fucked up.
See the end of the work for more notes
Louis is not a monster. He’s not a bad man; he’s a goodman, a good father, a
good son and neighbor and friend. He donates to charity. He likes to make
people laugh. He recycles.
The fact that he likes his son’s prick doesn’t negate all of those things.
It’s an aesthetic thing, he thinks. People like small things, like baby
animals. People think kittens are adorable; they love petting them and making
them purr. It’s a similar sort of feeling, the way he looks at his son’s body,
at one area in particular. All of him is cute, so soft and small, but Louis’
gaze always drifts straight to his tiny little penis, the way it wiggles when
he runs or jumps or squirms away from his daddy’s tickles.
It’s adorable. He wants to pet it, wants to make it purr.
But he’s not a monster. He waits, lets his eyes roam, but keeps his hands to
himself. He waits until his son is asleep, on the sofa or in bed or on Louis’
lap, tucked up against him. Only then does he let himself touch, because what
Harry doesn’t know can’t scar him. He can’t remember it if he’s not conscious
to the touch.
Louis is a good father. He would never hurt Harry, emotionally or physically.
The first time, Harry had been asleep on the sofa next to him, passed out
halfway into a film. At the end of it, Louis had looked over, had seen his
son’s legs splayed. He’d been wearing a little t-shirt and his thin white
pants, the only kind Louis ever bought him because he could see through them a
little bit.
He’d stared for ages, watching his son’s even breathing, the way his little
tummy had risen and fallen with each breath. He’d stared at the tiny little
prick under his pants, tight perky balls under it. He’d been hard under his own
trousers, so hard that his head had started to swim.
And then it hit him, that nothing he did while Harry was asleep could hurt him.
As long as he was gentle, as long as Harry didn’t wake up, it couldn’t be bad.
So he’d moved a shaky hand to his briefs, touching tentatively, and his eyes
had grown wet with tears when his fingers felt it, the soft flesh beneath the
fabric. He’d touched for a while, his fingertips light as they explored his
little balls and his baby cock. It had been torture to pull away, but he’d been
afraid that his intense arousal would push him too far, lower his inhibitions.
He’d needed a wank and he couldn’t chance waking Harry up, so he had forced
himself to remove his hand, to go upstairs and get that same hand around his
own cock.
He came in under thirty seconds, tears rolling down his cheeks as he held onto
the feeling of his fingers trailing over his son’s penis.
He’s done it more since then, as often as possible, but he’s always careful. He
knows his limits, knows when to back off to keep himself from losing control
and waking Harry up. He’d love to see his baby’s pretty green eyes looking at
him as he played with his tiny cock, but he knows that can’t ever happen. That
image is saved for his fantasies, along with many others, for when he’s alone
with his dick in his hand.
He’s lucky in many ways. First, Harry is a heavy sleeper; he’s only stirred a
few times, never woken up from Louis’ gentle touches. Second, Harry hates
sleeping alone. Since he was a toddler, Louis has had to lie down with him at
naptime and at nighttime to get the boy to sleep. It gives him an excuse, a
reason to be in his son’s bed when he falls asleep, gives him an opportunity to
touch. And, third, his son doesn’t like trousers. Sometimes, he even runs
around without his pants on and Louis lets it go for a little bit, long enough
to drink up the visual, to memorise it for his private wanks. Then he reminds
him to at least put on some pants.
He’s a good father, after all, and that’s what good fathers do. Never mind the
fact that, when Harry puts on his little white briefs, they’re nearly
transparent because Louis refuses to buy any other kind.
“Daddy, I don’t want to go to bed,” Harry says grumpily, even as his eyes
droop, toy trucks in his hands.
Louis sighs, shaking his head. “No arguing, baby. It’s after nine. Go brush
your teeth and meet me in bed.”
“Your bed?” Harry asks, perking up.
Every once in a while he lets the boy sleep in his bed, but he tries to keep it
to a minimum. The last time, he’d gotten himself off right there next to his
little boy, rolled far enough away that he’d hoped the vibrations of the bed as
he furiously stroked his cock wouldn’t wake Harry up. It had worked, but he’d
felt guilty afterward, knowing that it might not have. So, he likes having his
own bed to go back to after he’s had a little feel.
“Not tonight,” he answers, petting Harry’s curls. “Maybe this weekend.”
Harry pouts, but he heads into the bathroom to brush his teeth anyway and Louis
goes to settle into Harry’s small bed, taking the side that’s not pushed
against the wall so he can leave after Harry’s fallen asleep. Only a couple of
minutes later, his little boy comes running in, throwing himself onto the bed.
Louis chuckles and pulls him up next to him, pressing him back against the
mattress.
“Silly boy,” he says fondly, rubbing his tummy. He looks lower, of course, but
doesn’t let his gaze linger, sliding it up to Harry’s face instead. “Shirt on
or off?”
“Off!” Harry says, far too loudly for bedtime, and shoots his arms up in the
air.
“Shhh,” Louis hushes, even though he can’t keep himself from smiling. “It’s
bedtime. That means we have to be quiet, right? Time to settle down.”
Harry nods, but he doesn’t reply as Louis peels off his shirt, leaving his
pretty skin bare except for his pants. If he was a bad man, Louis would offer
to take those off, too. He wants to, so badly that it leaves his insides
blazing hot, but he’s not a bad man. Instead, he settles on his side facing his
little boy, and starts rubbing his tummy again.
“Goodnight kiss for sweet dreams,” he whispers, leaning in.
Harry turns his head toward him, puckers up, and happily presses his nice, soft
lips to Louis’. It’s a tradition they have, a kiss at bedtime for sweet dreams
and a kiss in the morning for a good day. They’ve done it ever since Harry got
his first bed and started fretting over sleeping in it alone. Louis taught him
how to kiss, of course, so Harry isn’t surprised when his lips linger, but
Louis pulls away from it after a few seconds, dropping his head and closing his
eyes.
He stops rubbing Harry’s tummy, but keeps his hand there, just because he likes
how it feels, how big his hand is compared to Harry’s small frame. It takes a
little while, but Louis has done this enough times to know when Harry has
fallen asleep. He also knows how long after that to wait before he can move his
hand without worrying about waking him. When it’s finally clear, he props his
head up on his hand and looks down at his son, sighing softly.
As quietly and carefully as possible, he moves the blanket down to Harry’s
thighs, giving himself a nice view of the boy’s little briefs and what’s
underneath them. He used to wait for ages, until he couldn’t stand it any
longer, but now he’s got enough experience with this that he’s not so terrified
of it. So, with a glance up to make sure he’s still sleeping, finding his pink
lips parted around his rhythmic exhales, Louis looks down again, moving his
fingers to where he can see his little prick through the fabric.
It’s so soft, so fleshy, that it makes Louis’ spine tingle. It’s the littlest
thing, shorter than Louis’ thumb, more skin than meat to it. Biting down on his
shaking bottom lip, he skims his fingers over it, wanting so much more. He
wants to feel it without the barrier of fabric. He wants to put it in his
mouth, just taste it a little bit. He wants to slide his own cock over it,
wants to come right against it, see it glistening with all that wetness.
He wants a lot of things, but doing those things are out of the question. Harry
would know if he did those things, he would wake up and see his daddy playing
with him. He’d feel it and he’d probably be scared and Louis can’t let that
happen. He doesn’t even know if he’d be able to stop.
So, he touches his son’s little cock through his briefs, plays with his balls,
and lets himself leak in his trousers before he leaves silently, goes into his
own bedroom and fucks his fist. It’s quick, always is, and then he’s asleep,
dreaming about taking his son in other ways, bad ways.
Goodnight kiss for sweet dreams: it’s not just for Harry.
-
On Friday night, Louis agrees to let Harry sleep in his bed. He tells him to
brush his teeth, as usual, and he heads into his room. He’s already half-hard
just from the tickle fight they’d had before he’d announced that it was
bedtime. Harry had been on his lap, giggling and squirming, and Louis’ eyes had
been glued to his briefs, watching his little prick wiggle with his movements.
He hadn’t touched, though. He’s a good father.
He’s settled into bed in a pair of pyjama bottoms, no shirt due to the summer
heat, when Harry runs into the room, grinning. Louis barely notes the grin
before he realises his son is completely naked. His chest constricts as he
stares, watching Harry crawl up onto the bed, his little prick exposed.
It makes him feel a little dizzy and more than a little hard, his sweet boy’s
body on display for him. He has to clench his hands at his sides just to make
sure he doesn’t do anything bad.
“Baby, where are your pants?” he asks, trying desperately to sound casual.
Harry actually stops, looking down at his body. “Oh,” he says, like he hadn’t
realised. “I guess I forgot them when I went pee.”
Louis never did understand Harry’s little quirk of taking his pants off
completely to wee. He doesn’t know where he picked it up from and he’s thought
about trying to teach him how to keep them on, just pull his penis out to wee,
but he knows he can’t handle that. He’d want to do it himself, reach into his
tiny little briefs and touch his baby cock, play with it.
Harry settles in next to him anyway, his naked little body curling up under
Louis’ arm, and Louis drops it. He rubs Harry’s back, doesn’t let his hand
drift too far down, and closes his eyes, giving himself a moment to catch his
breath.
“Goodnight kiss for sweet dreams,” Harry reminds him, pouting.
When Louis opens his eyes and looks at his son, his pretty baby boy, he makes a
wish that he’ll never grow up, that he’ll stay this small and sweet forever.
“Of course,” he says, then leans in, kissing Harry’s little lips. He brings a
hand up to cup the boy’s chin, to hold him there as he kisses him, and he can
feel his cock leaking wet inside his pants already.
He’s thrilled when Harry falls asleep quickly, his pretty body loose and floppy
where he’s sprawled on his back. They’ve only got a sheet on the bed since it’s
been so warm all day, but even that is pushed down around Harry’s ankles. He’s
completely bare, completely unconscious, and Louis is completely delirious with
how badly he wants to touch him.
He’s never done it like this, though, never touched that beautiful little cock,
skin on skin. Harry’s always had his pants on when Louis’ touched him before;
he’s never felt it skin on skin.
He knows he’s going to, probably knew as soon as Harry ran into the room, but
he holds off as long as he can. He touches his stomach, even grazes his
fingertips over the boy’s little nipples, but his eyes keep darting down, to
what he most wants his hand on. So, when his will wears out, he slowly moves
his hand, shaky like the first time he dared to touch his baby’s prick through
his pants.
With a hard swallow and a deep breath, he slips his fingers over the flesh,
nearly coming in his trousers at the first touch. He’s so fucking pretty like
this, all laid out and uncovered, like he’s inviting Louis to touch him
wherever, like every inch of his skin is for his daddy. His curls are messy
around his head when Louis glances up to be sure that he hasn’t woken up, his
face so peaceful.
Louis turns back to his prick then, exploring the soft little member with the
gentlest touch he can manage. He grazes his fingertips over his balls, too, and
feels a thrill when he sees Harry’s body twitch in his sleep, like he’s being
tickled.
This is the kind of tickling Louis likes best.
He gets curious, though, and decides that this might be his only opportunity to
play with his son’s tiny cock like this, without clothes in the way. So, he
takes it between his thumb and index finger, keeps his grip gentle, and pulls
down on the skin, watching his little cockhead peek out from under the
foreskin. His breath goes ragged then and he tries not to move, not to make a
noise as he moves his fingers up and down, just a little.
It goes just the slightest bit stiff under his careful strokes, not really hard
but chubbing up enough for Louis to feel it. He feels wild, out of control as
he stares at the head of it, appearing and disappearing beneath the foreskin.
His mouth is watering with how badly he wants to lick it, just hold it in his
mouth for a minute. He convinces himself that Harry won’t wake up, that it’ll
be okay if he just puts his lips on him once, and that’s when he knows he needs
to stop.
He takes his hand away, shaking all over with how turned on he is, how hard and
desperate he feels. Before he touches himself, though, he slips his fingers
into his mouth to taste the transfer of his son’s skin. He mostly tastes his
own fingers, but he pretends anyway, sucks lightly at his fingers and imagines
it’s Harry’s little cock instead.
He has to get out of bed and go into the bathroom to get himself off, too
worried about what he’ll do if he stays in bed while he does it. When he’s
finished, he goes back to bed, finds Harry in the same exact position, and
settles on his side, facing away from him. He’ll never fall asleep with his
son’s body spread out in front of him.
Even without looking, it takes forever for him to settle down enough to finally
fall asleep.
-
In the morning, he wakes up before Harry and looks at him for a while. He’s
twisted a little, body curled in enough that Louis couldn’t get at his prick if
he wanted to, but not so much that he can’t see it. Unfortunately, he’s also
got a good view of the boy’s little bum, too, and Louis will always like his
prick best, but his bum does come a close second. Louis has had dreams of
finding Harry sleeping on his stomach, legs spread wide, and pressing his face
right between his cheeks, licking at his baby hole.
When Harry finally stirs, he frowns for a moment, eyes still closed, and he
stretches out his body, giving Louis a nice little show. He woke up with his
trousers tented and he hasn’t gone even a little bit soft while looking at
Harry, so he’s already a little flushed when Harry stretches flat on his back,
letting Louis see all of his little bits that had been hidden.
“Morning, baby,” Louis sees, dropping a hand to Harry’s stomach and petting at
it.
Harry looks up, meeting Louis’ gaze, and smiles, like he’s just remembered
where he is. He’s got the prettiest smile, the prettiest everything. “Good
morning, daddy,” he says, wiggling under Louis’ hand. “Kiss for a good day,” he
prompts, puckering his lips.
Louis’ skin is hot and his cock as throbbing as he leans down, capturing his
son’s lips. He lingers like always, but his head is spinning and his face is on
fire and he wants so much, wants just a little bit more. So, when he would
usually pull away, he pushes in just a bit more, kissing Harry again with lax
lips. He breathes against him, kisses a third time, and fourth, and feels dizzy
as Harry makes a little squeaky noise beneath him.
“What’re you doing, daddy?” he asks, his tone curious.
Louis snaps back to reality then, pulling away from Harry’s baby lips that he’d
been kissing like an adult lover. He’s had practice shrugging things off,
though, so he grins through his arousal. “Lots of morning kisses for an extra
good day,” he says, then kisses Harry’s nose to top it off.
“Really?” Harry asks, his eyes lighting up. “Can I have one more, then, for an
extraextra good day?”
Louis grins, scrambling to his knees and leans down over Harry. “How about a
hundred more?” he asks playfully, dipping down to press a series of pecks to
the boy’s lips, then all over his face. “Kiss you all over just to make sure.”
It’s playful and fun and it has Harry giggling, squirming under him as he
kisses down his chest, his arms, his stomach. He realises too late what a bad
idea this was, how close he is to what he wants most, more than anything. It’s
too late and for a second he tries to play it off like he’s just giving him
more kisses, like nothing’s changed. His breath hitches as he slides down
between Harry’s legs, kisses the insides of his thighs, and then focuses on his
prick, right in front of him.
Harry is still giggling when Louis, too desperate to stop himself, presses his
lips to his son’s penis. He thinks he can still pretend it’s just playing
around, slipping down to kiss each of his tiny balls, but in an instant his
mind is gone, washed out with the fog of his arousal. He breathes out shakily,
drags his lips against his son’s prick and kisses again, slow and soft.
Harry’s giggles falter and he brings his legs up to curl away from Louis’ lips,
but Louis lifts his hands, grips his thighs gently, and pulls him open again.
“Daddy?” Harry asks after a few seconds of Louis mouthing at his pretty little
cock. Louis barely hears it, knows he’s lost control. He’s a bad man now, he
knows he is, but he’s not hurting Harry. He wouldn’t, wouldn’t ever hurt his
baby boy.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, parts his lips, and gets his tongue on his son’s
prick, tasting his soft flesh. Harry shudders at that, but he doesn’t try to
get away.
“Daddy, why are you doing that?”
Louis can’t answer, can’t do anything but take his baby boy into his mouth,
hold his little cock between his lips and taste taste taste. “I’m so sorry,” he
whispers again, letting the soft member slips out of his mouth before he slurps
it in again, sucks on it gently.
He could die like this, he thinks. He could die with his tiny baby boy’s tiny
baby cock in his mouth, so soft on his tongue, and that would be okay. Harry is
still under him, totally silent, and Louis should notice how odd that is, but
his brain is too occupied. He closes his eyes, nuzzles at Harry’s groin, and
sucks his sweet little cock like it’s candy. It’s only after a few minutes have
passed and Harry speaks up again that he’s aware of anything else.
“Daddy,” he says again, his voice whispered. “Are you almost done?”
Louis snaps his eyes open, looks up at where Harry is looking nervously down at
him, uncomfortable, maybe even scared. He’s off of him in a second, pulling
away from his prick, his little boy’s expression making him realise how fucked
up that was, what a bad father he is.
“Oh, god, baby, I’m so sorry,” he says, moving up to wrap Harry in his arms, to
hold him. “I’m so sorry I scared you, Harry, I never want you to be afraid of
me.”
“’M not scared,” Harry mumbles, and the way he shuffles closer, pressing his
face against Louis’ chest confirms that he must not be. But he sounds shaken,
probably so confused.
“I got carried away, I’m sorry, I just like kissing you so much,” he rambles
softly, closing his eyes as he holds his son to his chest. “Love- love your
body so much, baby.”
Harry doesn’t reply to that, so Louis holds him in silence, even rocking him a
bit like when he was a baby. He’s still shamefully hard as a rock and, even
with everything that’s happened, the lingering taste of his son’s cock on his
tongue is making his own cock throb with need. He feels lightheaded, like he
might pass out if he doesn’t come soon.
“Can I just run to the bathroom, love? Just for a few minutes?”
Harry’s response is instant, his little arms holding onto Louis tighter. “No,
don’t go,” he says, fingernails digging into Louis’ side.
He wishes he could say the pain was taking his mind off of his erection, but it
has the opposite effect, making him choke back a groan. “Alright, okay,” he
whispers, rubbing Harry’s back. He stares at the ceiling and begs his dick to
calm down, but he has no such luck. He waits a few minutes, hoping against
hope, but Harry’s face is buried against his chest, his soft little puffs of
breath spilling right out against his nipple, and Louis is hopeless.
His cheeks burn and his lip quivers as he says, “Sweetheart, I- I need to do
something and I need you to keep your eyes closed for me, okay?”
“Why?” Harry asks and, if possible, he grips Louis tighter.
“Don’t want to scare you again,” Louis explains, squeezing his own eyes shut.
Harry’s leg is right next to his aching cock where it’s tenting his pyjama
bottoms obscenely. His hands are trembling with how badly he needs to touch it.
“Everything’s fine, I’ve got you. Just need to-” He doesn’t know how to finish
the sentence, so he doesn’t, moving his hand to squeeze his dick through his
bottoms. The touch is a massive relief, but it also makes it all feel more
urgent.
His right arm is wrapped around Harry, holding him close, leaving only his left
hand free to touch himself. Harry doesn’t speak up again and Louis can’t wait
any longer, so he pushes his waistband down, letting his dick slap against his
belly. It’s red and sloppy wet and he wraps his fist around it as fast as he
can, starts pulling. Bu with his left hand he’s completely uncoordinated. He
can tell quickly that it won’t work.
“What are you doing?” Harry asks in a small voice, his lips moving so close to
Louis’ nipple. “Are you hurt?”
“No, sweetheart, no,” Louis says quickly, softly, trying to put him at ease.
“It’s like- you know when you really need a wee? It’s like that kind of hurt,
just- pressure.” He fumbles with his hand, trying to get a good grip, but it
doesn’t feel right. As hard as he is, he can’t come like this. So, before Harry
can ask another question, Louis tilts his head down and says, “Baby, I need to
move you a little.”
“You said you wouldn’t go,” Harry whimpers.
“I’m not,” he answers immediately, then starts to twist his body. “Here, just
lie down for me. That’s good, I’m right here, not going anywhere.” As he gets
Harry on his back, he stays close, hovering over him and holding him like that,
as much as he can with his right hand slipping between them to wrap around his
cock. He buries his face in Harry’s little shoulder and sighs at the contact.
The way Harry still holds onto him, still clings to him as he strokes his cock
between them makes Louis’ head spin yet again. He dares to kiss his neck where
his face is pressed, telling himself that it’s just comfort when he knows that
his motivations are much more selfish.
“Are you gonna wee on me?” Harry asks, his tone still worried, still quiet.
Louis pulls back enough to look down at him, sees his pretty eyes darting down
between them where Louis is still wanking. “No, baby, not gonna wee,” he says,
breathing heavily. His gaze flicks down to Harry’s lips and he needs them so
badly that it makes tears prick his eyes. “Could you- could you be the best
little boy ever and let daddy give you another kiss?”
Harry looks up at him and Louis can see the uncertainty in his eyes, the
confusion and the fear. “Where?” he asks, his voice shaking.
It makes Louis want to cry, makes him feel like the monster he was so sure that
he wasn’t. “Just your lips,” he says, already leaning in. “Just want to kiss
you pretty lips.” It’s not entirely true; he’d love to slip down and get his
mouth on his prick again, to come with his son’s sweet little cock between his
lips, but he can’t scare Harry like that again.
On the other hand, he realises, Harry is already scared.
“Daddy,” he whimpers into Louis’ lips, like he doesn’t understand what’s going
on.
Louis shifts, pushes Harry’s little legs apart and settles between them,
keeping his hand moving over his cock. “Love you so, so much, Harry,” he
mutters, sloppily kissing his son as he pants against his mouth.
And then he curves his spine enough, gets just the right angle to nudge the wet
tip of his cock against Harry’s baby prick, wanks right up against him with a
choked sob.
“Good boy, almost done,” he rasps breathlessly, sliding his cock over Harry’s
tiny one, his orgasm building quickly. “Love you, love you, love you,” he
chants, slips away from Harry’s lips, and comes right against his little prick.
He shudders with it, fucking into his fist as he gets his little boy wet with
his come. The feeling wracks through him, his vision going spotty, and he rides
it out, pulls the last of his release from his dick. He pulls his hand away
then, his muscles twitching, and it takes a long moment of catching his breath
to realise that Harry is crying softly below him.
“Oh, god, sweetheart,” he says, feeling a swell of self-loathing wash over him
as he shuffles to lie down by Harry’s side, pulling his small body to his
chest. “It’s okay, see? All finished. Shit, I’m so sorry, baby, I’m- I’m all
done and you did so well and we can just forget it, okay?”
He apologises about a hundred more times before Harry’s tears subside and he
finally pulls away from Louis’ chest. “Can we watch a film?” he asks, his face
red and wet, his voice quivering.
“Of course we can,” Louis answers, his heart panging at the look of Harry’s
face. “And I’ll make you whatever you’d like for breakfast, anything you want.”
Harry nods, wiping at his nose, and when Louis goes to get up, he realises that
his come is still streaked over Harry’s belly, his prick and balls. He
hesitates, gulping as he looks at it, and he can’t believe that he’s still so
turned on by it.
“I’ll- I’ll get something to clean you up,” he says, nodding at the mess on
Harry’s groin. “Or do you just want to take a shower?”
“Shower,” Harry answers too quickly. “I’ll do it myself.”
Louis feels a wave of sadness roll through him, but he nods. “Alright, come
down after and we’ll have breakfast and watch a film.”
When Harry does come downstairs, he’s clean and wearing more clothes than he’s
worn around the house in ages. Usually he runs around in pants, maybe a t-
shirt, but he’s actually got on trousers now and Louis feels his heart thud
when he sees it.
He makes them breakfast and, when they settle onto the sofa for a film, he’s
pleased to see that Harry isn’t completely avoiding him. He curls up right
against Louis’ side and, halfway through the film, it actually feels almost
normal again.
It’s normal except for the fact that when Louis closes his eyes, his thoughts
go straight to him mouthing at his son’s little cock, sucking and licking at
it. He shakes the thoughts away though.
He had his moment. It can’t happen again.
-
It takes less than a week for his urges to come back stronger than ever. Harry
is back to wearing only pants the next day and Louis tries so hard not to
stare, but it’s like now that’s he’s had a taste, he wants it all the time.
They’re watching telly and it’s past Harry’s bedtime, but he’s sitting so nice
on Louis’ lap, his back pressed to Louis’ chest, legs hooked outside of Louis’.
He’s wearing those same thin pants and Louis hasn’t looked away from the little
lump of his prick under the material in nearly an hour.
“It’s past your bedtime,” he says, his voice startling quiet to his own ears.
“No, please,” Harry pouts, “the show isn’t over yet.”
It’s not over because it just started a few minutes ago, but Louis doesn’t
actually want him to go to bed anyway. “If you want to stay up, you need to do
something for me.”
“What?” Harry asks, craning his head back to look at Louis.
Louis licks his lips, lets his gaze trail from his son’s briefs to his face,
then back again. “Take off your pants, baby. You can stay up if you do that for
me.”
Harry’s eyes flicker with doubt, but after thinking for a moment he hesitantly
agrees and reaches down to slip his pants off, letting them fall to the side.
“Good boy,” Louis mumbles, pulling him back against his chest, how he’d been
before. He spreads his own legs, making Harry’s spread wider, and he rubs his
tummy, eyes on the prettiest little cock in the world.
He just looks for a bit before he’s siding his hand down, touching it, playing
with it. Harry is silent, cheeks pink and head hung, but Louis kisses his
temple, tells him how beautiful he is, how much he likes this, how much he
loves him.
When he finally takes his son to bed after touching his tiny baby cock for a
half hour, Louis gets his own cock out, right there, and shows Harry how to
touch him, too. He gets that little hand around him, uses it to stroke himself,
and he comes so fast that it’s disorienting.
As he comes down from it, he admits it to himself: he’s a monster. Maybe he was
all along.
When he gives Harry a goodnight kiss for sweet dreams, he realises that the
nightmares he’s trying to ward off are probably going to be filled with him
now.
End Notes
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