Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10912344.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      One_Direction_(Band)
  Relationship:
      Harry_Styles/Louis_Tomlinson
  Additional Tags:
      Sibling_Incest, Harry_and_louis_are_brothers, blood_related_and
      everything, Sibling_Rivalry, harry_gets_fucked_by_someone_while_louis
      watches_lol, Sexual_Tension, they_also_watch_porn_together, Porn_with
      Feelings, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Fluff, because_who_can't
      write_in_fluff, Boys_In_Love, Snogging, Kissing, these_tags_are_all_over
      the_place, Enemies_to_Lovers, Enemies_to_Friends_to_Lovers, Fingering,
      Anal_Sex, Barebacking, Love/Hate_Relationship, Bottom_Harry, Top_Louis,
      Spanking, Sexual_Frustration, there's_gonna_be_more_don't_worry
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-06-15 Chapters: 1/? Words: 15755
****** slow hands, like sweat drippin' down that dirty laundry ******
by harryslovechild
Summary
     Brothers are supposed to get along. Well, at least civilly. They're
     not supposed to hate each other, have sex and fall in love at the
     same time.
     Or the one where Harry is a slutty smartarse fifteen year old, Louis
     is his snarky older brother, and they don't get along. Until they do.
Notes
     the draft was going to be deleted so before i got to finish this, i
     had to post it! a second chapter now exists though.
     hope you enjoy babes.
See the end of the work for more notes
Harry has never exactly been Louis' favourite. 
Growing up, the boys were the type of brothers who'd flick peas across the
table at each other, who'd draw penises on each other's cheeks, pointing to
their mouths while they slept, and who'd hog the bathrooms whenever one of them
really, really needed to wee. (In the end, most of the time they pissed in the
bushes and blamed it on their cat, Dusty, when their mum complained about the
smell.) If Louis left his bicycle on the front driveway, Harry would steal it
and bring it back home with scratches and dents and then blame the damages on
someone else. If Harry left the door to his room open and unlocked, Louis was
bound to sneak in and steal all of his candy, homework notes—because Harry got
A+ on, like, every assignment ever—and anything valuable he could find. 
Now, after months of seeing no evidence of Harry being a shit brother, Louis'
hairspray, shampoo, conditioner and onesies have been disappearing, and he has
significantly noticed. And, of course, when he searches the entirety of the
house for them, he finds them in Harry's fucking room. 
So when he stomps down the stairs, finding the devil sitting on the couch with
his feet up on an ottoman and a cereal bowl in his lap, lips wrapped around the
spoon sinfully, Louis finds himself even more irritated. 
This is just average, normal sibling rivalry. That's all. 
"Mum, Harry's stealing my things," he says, narrowing his eyes at the boy who
has yet to turn around and look at Louis.  "Again!"
"No I haven't," Harry mumbles, slurping up the milk from his spoon on purpose,
because he knows that Louis hates it, and likes to smirk triumphantly when
Louis gives him a reaction. 
Anne breathes heavily as she adjusts the kettle's temperature, back facing
Louis. Every morning, she makes tea for her sons, and every morning Louis is
eternally grateful. 
"Boys, this is getting old real quickly," she says, shooting Louis a pointed
look. Her hands pour some hot water into a mug for herself, dipping the tea bag
in the liquid thereafter. "You're not children anymore, there's no need to tell
on each other like you are." 
From the couch, he hears Harry snicker into his bowl, searching for little
pieces of Lucky Charms marshmallows to put in his mouth, and Louis really wants
to slap his face. 
"Oh, believe me, mum," he says, breathing deeply to relax the tension in his
chest, along with the burning anger bubbling within him. He wants to cry,
that's how worked up he is getting. "I know.But hear me out. Harry has gone
through my shit, which is not only wrong, but an invasion of privacy, and taken
those things to his room as if he owns them!" 
Don't let him get to you, Louis tells himself, this is what Harry wants. 
"Louis, for God sakes, limit your cuss words," their mum groans. 
Louis tries not to focus on the fact that he only swore once. 
Harry continues watching the telly, face void of any expression, and then
abruptly, he's smiling to himself, lips curled up like he's pleased. And he
probably is; can probably hear Louis huffing and puffing from where he's
standing, finding joy in the negative emotions swarming around his brother.
Louis hates him. 
"Louis just needs to calm his tits," Harry says, drawling his words so slowly
it makes Louis' brain ache, and—oh, yes, Louis definitely hates him. "Always
working himself up over such trivial things." 
"Harry, please," their mum says, her eyebrows furrowing as she looks on at her
two sons, who've now chosen to ignore her presence. 
Keep your loved ones close, keep your enemies closer. 
Their eyes have both locked, heatedly throwing pitchforks and fireballs at one
another in their minds. Neither of them look at her. 
"Look at you, acting all professor–like," Louis says, imitating Harry's same
drawl. Harry has gone still, bowl set on top of his thighs (and when did Harry
get such thick, beautiful thighs, what the fuck) but the smile is still on his
lips, so Louis decides to change things up. Switching his tone to sound proper
posh, he smiles at his little brother in faux happiness. 
"M'name is Harry Styles. Getting A+ grades in school has, for some reason,
turned me into an egotistical arsehole and got my name on Honor Roll. My
brother thinks it might have to do with the fact that I was born a demon."
Harry's smile drops from his face, a scowl replacing it as he furrows his
eyebrows in annoyance. "Some of my favourite things include making others feel
pathetically aware of how ridiculous their existence is for no other reason
than the fact that I'm a terrible person, eating salad over meat because I like
switching from being a carnivore to a herbivore every few days, and eternally
damning everybody around me. Cats are also my favourite animal because they
like to attack others for unexpected reasons just like myself,"he says, voice
nearing a cheery snarl, and Louis watches the way Harry's hand tightens on his
spoon handle, the way that his eyes glare at the telly directly in front of
him. Louis counts it as a win, honestly. "And I like stealing my brother's
things almost every bloody day, too. But, scientifically, that's okay because
it's not fucking illegal." 
"Louis William Tomlinson," Anne gasps, shock evident on her face. She gives him
absolutely no time to even feel guilty about what he's just said—because,
truthfully, maybe he had gone a bit too far—before she's scurrying over to her
oldest son with disappointment on her lips, and in her eyes like blazing
wildfire, and is swiping his car keys out of his pocket. "Apologize to your
brother right now. And do not expect to have your keys back for another month
or so, either, Louis," she says, face contorting into an off, but angry
expression that Louis has never seen on her face. 
And if his heart pangs in his chest a bit, that's Harry's fucking fault. 
Harry is watching them from the corners of his eyes, lips twisting into a smirk
as his eyes dance with amusement. Louis thinks he's going to die. Right after
he murders his brother. 
"Mum," he whines. 
"No, Louis," she says, and the heavy disappointment leaks from her words,
making Louis wince. She picks something up off of the counter, Louis' panic
building in his chest. "Now, if neither you nor Harry are going to apologize,
then I have a non-negotiable proposition for you. Meaning that you are going to
do what I ask of you, or apologizeand make this easy." 
The brothers just look at each other sourly, both of their lips pursed as they
show no sign of doing any apologizing anytime soon, if ever. Anne takes this as
an initiative, inhaling deeply, before she clears her throat to get the boys'
attention. 
"I'm going to give you my keys and some cash, you're going to drive my car to
the mall outside of town, and then you are going to shop for your grandmum's
birthday that's coming up next week," she says, looking at Louis. Harry tries
his hardest not to laugh, but fails and lets out a high pitched squeak. "Do you
understand?" 
Both Louis and Harry eye their mum just then, the smile on Harry's face being
greeted by his stupid dimples, and Louis doesn't think that sounds too bad.
Doesn't mind getting the hell away from Harry or this bloody house. It sounds
fine, until their mum speaks again, throwing the keys and some money at Louis
with a little more force than necessary. 
"You and Harry," she says, crossing her arms. "You're both going. Together."
Harry sets his bowl down on the coffee table abruptly, spoon clattering against
the side. He's gawking, nose flaring as he breathes, and his chest seems to be
moving up and down—practically a mile per minute, Louis isn't even
exaggerating—as he does so. 
"What," he squeaks, eyes looking frightened, and then he pulls out his phone to
start tapping away at it with his teeth grazing his bottom lip. Louis thinks
it's fishy, what with how Harry is looking like he's plotting another date for
his older brother's demise. Stuffing it back in his hoodie pocket, Harry looks
at his mum pleadingly. "I'll just go, please, oh my god. Why does Louis have to
come?"
"What's wrong with me coming?" Louis asks, eyes narrowing, and he doesn't miss
the way Harry's eyes divert to the ground, cheeks flushing a pretty pink. Harry
bites his lip, eyelashes hitting his cheekbones softly, and Louis wants to slap
himself for even noticing this. 
"Nothing," the boy mumbles dejectedly, and their mum nods in response to that. 
"Exactly, nothing," she says, exasperatedly shaking her head. "And you two are
going together whether you boys like it or not—and we all have a very blatant
idea about the answer to that. There is absolutely no negotiation here."
Both boys groan, except Harry's is muffled behind his hands that are placed on
his cheeks, his nose, his eyes, everything. His hands are so fucking big—bigger
than Louis', and he's only fifteen. This isn't fair, at all, at all, at all.
When Harry pulls his hands away, his cheeks are the reddest Louis has ever seen
them; they're more red than the time Harry dressed up as a ladybug for
Halloween, or when Harry painted his cheeks with hot pink paint to look
"cute"—which, technically, isn't red, but that's another story he is never
going to elaborate on—or that night that Louis caught him watching porn on
Louis' laptop. 
He should have spanked him right then and there, made Harry know who was in
charge, and pull on the boy's hair until he was crying into the sheets of his
bed. Instead, Louis ran away, because that was his baby brother—stupid, chubby,
cherub, dimple faced, twelve year old Harry. 
"I can go by myself, mum, oh my god," Harry whines.
"Harry, you're only fifteen," she sighs. "You wouldn't even know how to steer a
wheel if you tried." 
Yeah, Harry, you wouldn't even know how to steer a wheel if you tried, Louis
thinks to himself, almost rolling his eyes, but managing to refrain from doing
so. 
The green eyed boy just frowns, looking at his lap where his fingers are
twiddling, and then he's getting up with heavy, yet lethargic, steps. He walks
to the garage door, eyes cast downward at his feet, and then he's calling out
at them with a grumpy grumble. 
"I'll be waiting in the car," he says. And Louis can practically hear Harry's
eyes rolling into the back of his skull. Louis loves it. 
When Louis makes no effort to move and follow Harry, Anne simply points to the
garage door and taps her foot with motherly impatience. In any other
situation—like, a situation where Louis isn't being forced to hang out with his
stupid little brother—he might've found that funny. Now, though, his insides
are just lurching with guilt, and he maybe, sort of feels like throwing up. 
But no way in hell is he going to apologize to Harry. 
"Go," his mum orders, lips tight. 
So he does. Reluctantly and with hard stomps like a little boy, but he does. 
 
 
 
And now, as the brothers sit inside their mum's car, a heavy tension building
up around them, Louis inserts the key to start the car. The sooner they make a
move on, the faster they will be able to get away from each other, and go back
to their bedrooms to wallow in their own shame. 
At least, he bets Harry will do that. Not him, never him. He isn't about to cry
over his little brother. A kid. 
Louis narrows his eyes at the road in front of them, the green grass and pretty
blue and purple flowers growing from in between the cracks of sidewalks, along
with the sunny sky, clashing with the frowns and heated glares on Louis' and
Harry's faces. Louis swears absolutely nothing will make his mood any better. 
And so far, it seems, he's right.
For the next twelve minutes, he spends his time slapping Harry's hands away
from the radio when he tries to switch the channel to the country station,
rolling the window up when Harry gets too hot and tries rolling it down, all
while he listens to his little brother complain about how badly he doesn't want
to be there. 
"Can't believe I'm stuck here with you of all people," Harry mutters, swiping
at his phone absentmindedly. "Oh my god, can I kill myself now?"
Louis attempts to not throttle him, nor do Harry the favour. 
He keeps noticing the way that Harry's eyes flicker to his phone screen, too,
and it is unbelievably annoying. Everything that Harry does is unbelievably
annoying, mind you, but not to this extreme. His little brother seems as if
he's hiding something, something he doesn't want Louis to know about. 
Maybe he really isplanning Louis' assassination. 
Suddenly, Harry's eyes gleam, and they practically glow with tiny, pretty
stars, as he opens his messenger and reads a text. He's tapping at his phone
with a well needed smile right away (that lets Louis breathe a sigh of relief,
not like he'd admit to it, though. But if he's being honest, it was because,
you know, for awhile there, Louis had forgotten whether his brother could even
smile to begin with)and Louis really, really needs to know what he's typing,
who he's texting. 
Why are they soimportant?he asks himself. 
"You know what," Louis says, sighing, hands gripping onto the steering wheel
with sweaty palms. "Neither can I. But can we at least be civil for a few hours
while we're here?" 
"No," Harry says. 
And Louis—well, he tries not to, but as soon as he sees the glimmer of a smile
on his little brother's lips, he's barking out a laugh. Harry, hearing this,
looks down at his lap with flushed cheeks and a forced scowl, but Louis can see
right through it.
"You're a pain in me fucking arse." 
Harry's phone is still open as he seems to wait for something to pop up on it,
his gaze following each notification that he receives like fast, green
lightning bolts. 
"Get off your phone," Louis says, swatting at Harry's mobile and effectively
making the boy frown. 
"How do you know I'm not just recording you on Snapchat and won't put you on my
story, or show mum everything you've been saying to me once we get back home?"
Harry says, holding his phone up and away from his brother's grabby hand.
"Maybe that's what I've been doing this whole time." 
"Oh, please," Louis says, laughing without any sense of humor laced in his
words, and repeats a mantra in his head, saying, you're almost there, Louis,
you're almost there. "As if I have no clue that you're texting your little
girlfriend." 
Harry blushes, eyes darting to Louis' quickly, until they're gone in less than
a second again. 
"Have I caught you, then?" 
"No."
"Are you sure? I can text mum the news and everything. She'd be so pleased." 
"Don't you dare, Lewis."
"Who's stopping me, Harold?" 
The rest of the way there, the music is the only thing keeping the car from
drowning in the tense atmosphere that is between Louis and Harry, and even the
songs sometimes switch to cute, little love songs that make Louis want to
positively puke, because he's sitting beside his enemy—his little devil of a
brother, bless himself—listening to bloody love songs. 
How convenient. 
Maybe Harry hiring an assassin to kill him wouldn't be so bad, after all. 
 
 
 
They've been inside of the mall for about six minutes now, and Harry has
already complained vigorously about wanting food. Harry always wants something,
it seems, and it really strikes a chord with Louis. All of the years with their
mum spoiling the boy have only increased his whining, his little temper
tantrums that Louis wants to smack off his face. 
He wants to smack the smirks off Harry's face, too. The smiles, the snickers,
the dimples, the intense looks, the grumbles, the grumpiness, the whines. Louis
wants to slap Harry's face until he's crying, yank on his hair and grind their
cocks together until Harry is panting little breathy mewls against his lips. 
But. 
This is his brother. And his brother wants food. 
"You can—" he says, stopping as, you can get on your knees for me like a good
little princess and suck my cock, runs through his mind. Stop it, Louis. "You
can use my card, here," he motions, handing the card over to his brother who
looks very, very suspicious. 
"Right," Harry says. 
Louis rolls his eyes. "Leave me be and go get yourself some food."
The younger boy still looks a little skeptical, but his thighs keep rubbing
together, and he looks at his older brother with urgency. Maybe he needs to
wee. "Aren't you getting something, too?" 
"I will."
"Okay," Harry says, nodding, before he starts walking backwards. "I'm just
gonna… head to the loo real fast." 
"Right," Louis replies flatly, flipping through a newspaper he picked up from a
free newspaper stand, bum now sat on a food court bench. 
"Yeah," Harry swallows, turning around after he bumps into someone and mumbles
out, 'sorry, sorry, sorry!' and then he's gone, walking in the direction of the
loo. 
By the time Louis is done flipping through all of the pages of the paper, he
checks his phone and sees that twenty minutes have passed. No one, not even
anyone with irritable bowels, stay in the bathroom to wee for twenty minutes. 
So, unsurprisingly, Louis finds himself walking to the loo about a minute
later. 
There's only the sound of chitter chatter bouncing off the walls that causes
everything to be hard for Louis to hear, but then he walks closer, and—
And he hears fucking moaning. 
His body tells him to move, to open the door, to inspect what's going on, but
as a filthy, guttural whine escapes someone's throat, Louis realizes that it's
Harry's—that the little 'fuck, yes, holy fu–u–cking shit' coming from this
random loo boy's mouth, were probably Harry's. They sounded like his, sounded
like his except for the fact that his voice sounds fucked out and wrecked. 
And, logically, the only thing that Louis deems necessary is the need to open
the door, and then, in a quick flash, he does. 
The sight of a boy—yes, oh my god, it's fucking Harry, alright—being pinned
against the wall while another boy with his trousers around his ankles pins
Harry's delicate, little arms behind his lower back, holding the boy up with
his flexing arms and muscles is all that Louis sees. The guy, he's thrusting
his hips up in between Harry's thighs, his cock slipping in and out of the
boy's hole—his little, baby brother's hole, and oh my god, Louis is watching
his baby brother get fucked—and all that Louis can see are Harry's panicked
eyes looking directly into his, his slacked out jaw, and the heavy sheen of
sweat on Harry's partially revealed stomach. All he can hear, though, are the
sounds of skin slapping skin, some stranger's cock pounding into his brother's
hole as he just takes it and bites his lip and breathes through his nose
deeply, and the cuss words falling from Harry's mouth as he is pushed into the
wall roughly, back slamming against the tile.
Louis doesn't know if they both see him. Thinks that maybe they don't, until
the guy notices Harry staring at something beside them, and chances a look in
Louis' direction. Grabbing Harry's hips, he angles his cock perfectly, right up
against Harry's prostate, and the boy practically screams, but the stranger's
slender hand comes up to muffle Harry's pretty moans just in time. 
"Is this your brother, hmm?" the guy asks, fucking into Harry without any
mercy, and Louis' mouth feels abruptly dry, like a stupid, rubbish Sahara
desert. "The one you're always calling out whenever you beg me to fuck you, to
numb the feeling of heartbreak away?"
Harry just nods, eyes glistening with tears and curls bouncing as his angry
looking, beautifully pink cock bobs against his stomach. Some precum has
already formed there, leaving a sticky mess against Harry's navel, and god, if
Louis doesn't want to lick it up and clean Harry's skin with his velvety
tongue. 
But he's frozen. Absolutely frozen. 
"Do you like when he watches you get fucked? I bet you love it, baby—bet you
love the way that you look so much like a cockslut, the look in his eyes making
your cock grow even harder," he grunts. Harry's mouth is now free, and there
are breathy little moans coming out of it now, and Harry's looking at him with
wet, wet eyes. 
"Louis." 
Louis can't breathe.
"He likes it, I can tell, baby. Might even want to be the one touching you,"
the guy growls, biting the junction behind Harry's neck, and then sucks on it
until it elicits a begging whimper from Harry, and—and all Louis feels is his
aching cock in his pants, trapped against his trousers, and the sounds of
Harry's fluttering hole getting pounded into like he's completely filthy are
all he can hear. "Fucking you with his cock," he says, and Harry keeps staring
into Louis' eyes, this shouldn't be legal, "and holding your ass down so he can
spread you open and eat you out until you're sobbing his fucking name." 
Harry keeps nodding, curls at the nape of his neck shining with sweat.
"Nngh, ye-ah, Louis, fuck!" he screams, lips parted, and Louis' heart might be
beating out of his chest. He doesn't even care that they might get caught.
Doesn't care that customers could easily breeze right in here, that janitors
could hear the noises and complain to mall staff. Doesn't care about anything
but the sight of Harry getting devoured and destroyed right in front of him. 
Harry looks close, right on the edge, his eyes shutting delicately as his
pretty pale skin shines wetly and his toes curl. But then there's a hand
grabbing Harry's hair and shoving him off his cock and onto the ground like a
doll, and Harry only looks blissed out. 
Louis feels a sudden urge of protectiveness within himself, finding his feet
moving slightly towards his brother and the strange boy treating his brother
recklessly. Harry just looks at Louis with wet lips as he sucks on them and
licks them before there's a cock being pushed into Harry's face, against his
pretty, plump lips, and then the boy is fitting all of this boy's cock in his
mouth like a fucking champion. 
"Yeah," is what Louis hears next, Harry's eyes still looking directly into
Louis', "yeah, show him what a good fucking boy you are, how filthy you can be.
Suck my cock just for your brother." When Harry goes to look away from Louis,
the guy slaps Harry's cheek, causing Harry to choke on his cock. "Don't look
away from him unless I tell you to." 
Harry's head bobs up and down, eyelashes fluttering prettily as he hollows his
cheeks and takes the boy's cock to the back of his throat. He's sucking hard,
so hard that Louis can hear the sloppy spit  moving around the cock in his baby
brother's mouth, and can hear how Harry gags on it with tears dripping down his
face, eyes so, so green. 
Harry pops off a moment later, holding the base of the other boy's cock in his
hand, slowly pumping his fist up and down, until he suckles on the head and
kitten licks the slit. Harry's own cock is straining straight against his
navel, the skin there looking glossy, and when Harry takes the cock to the back
of his throat, licking the underside where the vein is, it causes his arse to
get slapped. 
"Get on your hands and knees, baby." 
And Harry listens—he fucking complies eagerly, lips swollen, red and wet with
saliva that's still dripping down his chin, and Louis thinks this is the
prettiest he's ever seen Harry. The smaller boy gets on his knees, the palms of
his hands harshly pressed to the floor, before he feels a long, wet stripe
licking its way up his loose hole, dipping in to tongue fuck him. 
And that's all it takes for Harry to come. His body tenses up, the feeling of
someone's tongue fucking in and out of him and then sucking on the muscle
around it makes him feel properly intoxicated, fucked out and so, so sensitive.
His fingers dig into the tiled floors, turning white as his body convulses and
shakes, toes curling and mouth opening as his eyebrows furrow deeply. 
"Oh–nnngh, shit, shit, shiiit," he moans, eyes opening to look into Louis'
beautiful blue ones as his cock continues to leak come, some dripping onto the
floor and all over his shirt. 
The boy grabs the oversensitive Harry and pushes him onto his bum as gently as
he can, Harry immediately sticking his tongue out to suck on the head of his
cock, and Louis thinks the other boy comes, too, judging by the falter in the
Harry's hollowed cheeks and the stutter of the stranger's hips. He almost
chokes Harry, but Harry looks like he absolutely loves it. 
And then he swallows. 
And if Louis could die right then and there, he thinks he would land himself a
special spot in Heaven. 
And if Louis could die right then and there, he thinks he would want Harry to
be with him. 
And that thought is terrifying. 
Harry's standing up, wiping some come off of his stomach and plopping his
fingers in his mouth innocently as he sucks them clean, and Louis can feel it,
can feel how he's still fucking hard. But then his little brother is pulling
his pants up, blinking doey eyes up at Louis for the first time, and he grins
lazily at his older brother. If it weren't for the flicker of nervousness in
Harry's eyes, Louis would have thought that this meant nothing to Harry—that it
was totally normal to get fucked and come all over yourself in front of your
own brother. But he knows now that Harry's tentative. Cautious. Maybe even
hopeful. 
"Shall we go?" Harry asks, and my god, his voice sounds even raspier than
normal, his throat and adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. Louis really,
really wants to kiss him up against this wall, sweetly and hungrily, and taste
Harry on his brother's tongue. 
Louis doesn't trust his voice, so he just nods breathlessly. 
The stranger then walks up behind Harry, pressing a chaste kiss to the boy's
neck, and Harry just giggles a bit as he blushes and bites his bottom lip
shyly. 
"I'm gonna get going, too, Haz," he's saying, blonde hair and blue eyes shining
underneath the white flourescent lights, and Louis now notices the Irish
accent—which, okay, how did he miss that? 
"Okay, Ni," Harry grins, leaning up to peck the other boy's cheek and give him
a playful noogie. 
"Love you."
"Love you too, Nialler." 
And then he's gone, leaving Harry and Louis alone with their own thoughts. 
Louis really doesn't want to think right now. 
"Who was that?" he asks, stunned silent the second he realizes just how upset
he sounds—how possessive he sounds. 
Harry shivers, bottom lip trembling as he parts his lips to speak. 
"He's—" he starts, looking down, and he inhales shakily. 
Louis feels faint. "Your boyfriend?"
"Oh my god," Harry says. "No, no, no, he's my best mate."  
"Your—" Louis says, "best mate."
Harry looks bemused, whacking Louis' head like he always used to do when they
were younger, and Louis scowls at that. The whack is barely hard enough to hurt
Louis, but Harry's over here having already came, while he ignores the hard
cock still twitching in Louis' trousers. That, that's why he gives Harry a
scowl.
And because he's Satan's son. A demon.
"Yes, Lewis," Harry says, and then grabs Louis' hand hesitantly. "I'm hungry."
Louis rolls his eyes, pulling his hand away from Harry's long, slender fingers,
even though his heart is telling him, no! you want to hold his hand, you've
wanted to touch him this entire time, why are you letting the moment slip past
you?If he sees Harry's small smile slip away, too, then that's just.
Inevitable. 
Harry and Louis—they don't justget along. 
 
 
 
Louis buys a burger and a ceasar salad for Harry as soon as they leave the loo,
and Harry finds himself a spot to eat his food in peace. Where Louis isn't. At
a separate fucking table. 
So if Louis leaves Harry trailing behind him as he walks out the mall doors
alone, an (adorable) little frown on his lips as he nervously bumps into people
and stutters out sincere apologies, then he guesses that makes him the bad
brother, after all, and not Harry. 
Well, sue him. 
 
 
 
He's gone to bed the past few nights uneasy, Louis. The space between Harry's
and his separate beds feeling like a true blessing, despite being able to see
the lit up phone screen from across the room underneath a bunch of covers, even
as Harry has tried to dim the lights. Clearly, though, the covers weren't
opaque enough to hide the lit up screen, no matter what time it was, and for
the past few days Louis has struggled with sleeping.
With sleeping and not waking up to a bright, white light hitting the walls. 
The brothers haven't even tried to talk—well, okay, that's a lie, because Harry
has made very many attempts at trying to win Louis over, to make things less
tense ever since Louis walked in on him shagging his best mate. Louis, on the
other hand, chose to pretend that what he saw didn't happen. 
It hadn't happened. 
So, Harry has hauled himself up in their room, always on his phone, or his
computer. Sometimes he'd be scrolling through Tumblr, and sometimes he'd be
watching Youtube videos—gaming ones, beauty tutorials, pranking channels, all
the like. Which, Louis thought, was quite endearing. 
But, no, this is his evil little brother, Harry. The one who manipulated him
into watching him have sex (not really)—who admitted to moaning Louis, his
brother's, name during said sex (definitely really). 
It's all a fucking mess. A mad, mad mess. 
And tonight, Louis isn't going to particularily try to fall asleep again. These
thoughts in his head, they won't go away. Instead, his plan is to wait it out,
hoping that Harry will choose to go to sleep as quick as possible, but so far,
his hopes and dreams are being crushed. Shredded. Cut up. Wrecked and totally
smashed. (Like Louis wishes he were right now, rather than in the same room as
Harry.) 
He really, really deserves his own room. 
As he lays there in bed, Louis can hear the rustling of covers, the breathy
inhales coming from Harry, and can see the light of a screen hitting the wall.
And even though it's more dim than usual, the shadow reflecting upon the walls
is larger than the last few nights, which make Louis wonder if his brother's on
his computer this time around. 
The sound of some sort of disco music randomly and suddenly blasts through the
room, Harry seeming to frantically press down on the volume keys in an effort
to mute the video as fast as possible judging by the wild sounds of a keyboard
being smashed, and Louis can't help but snort. To himself, of course, right
into his pillow, because that music had sounded like porn music, some sort of
porn music from the eighties or something. And if Harry's been looking up porn
this entire time, well, Louis thinks he could find a little enjoyment in
getting back at the little shithead. 
So he waits until he can only hear the sound of rustling covers, once again,
and Harry breathing softly, before he rolls out of bed like a turtle (he's
really that slow, considering he's on a mission) to tiptoe to the light switch.
He makes the doorknob jiggle a bit—no sound. He opens the doorknob a bit—no
sound. And then, finally, he opens the door and flicks the light switch on—and
Harry fucking jumps, covering his mouth as he screams into his hand, completely
forgetting about his, well. 
His cock is out. Like, properly out of his pants this time, and Louis swears
that he's never regretted pranking someone until now. 
"Holy shit," Harry says.
"Yeah, true," Louis swallows. 
"Fuck you, Lewis," Harry says, again, and he feels the cold rush of the fan
hitting his cock, and it sends trembles down his skin and through his nerve
endings. 
"You're a prick," Louis tells him, completely baffled as to why his brother has
yet to cover himself up. "Cover yourself up," he wrinkles his nose, choosing to
ignore the blatantly obvious annoyance in Harry's eyes. "Be a normal, everyday
person for once in your life." 
Harry just stares at him, face blank. "But I'm not normal."
"No, I know you're not, you're an imp," Louis agrees, legs wobbling, and he
really does need to sit down. So he does, heading back over to his bed as he
talks to his brother. His brother who has his hard cock out, porn still very
blatantly playing on his laptop. This should be weird,he says to himself. Why
the fuck is this not weird? 
Okay, it's maybe a little weird. 
"I'm an imp," Harry blinks, confused, looking at Louis as if he's just grown
another head. "Of all things you want to call me, and you call me a tiny, red,
horned and tailed demon?"
"Uh," Louis says. He doesn't know what Harry wants him to say. "Yeah?" 
"Why not a siren?" 
"You can't sing," Louis reasons. 
Harry shakes his head, fluttering his eyelashes at Louis as he blinks and then
sticks out his tongue. "Can so."
"Okay," Louis starts, looking directly at his brother with challenging eyes.
Harry narrows his own eyes at the older boy. "Sing for me, then."
"For you?" Harry scoffs, leaning against the wall, and his dick is still
out—and how has he not gone soft by now? "Please."
Louis may really, really want to hear Harry's voice now, and whether Harry had
been lying about being able to properly sing well or not, it's shameful to
admit that Louis knows he'd listen to Harry until the end. No matter how ear
wrenching or siren causing or ambulance calling the singing might be.
Literally, really. "To me, then." 
Harry simply shakes his head. "No, c'mere," he says, making grabby hands at
Louis from across the distance there is between their beds. Louis looks blankly
at him, making no effort to move. "C'mere and I'll show you."
"Show me what?" Louis says, and Harry grins with intent, but stays silent
otherwise.
Until he's not silent anymore, and his hands are grabby again. "C'mere,
Lewis." 
"Are you going to rob me?" Louis asks, eyes narrowing further. "Take my clothes
and money, and leave me on this road stranded, like I mean nothing to you?" 
Harry snorts. "It's not me, it's you." 
"You're not even saying that correctly, Harold." 
"I know exactly what I'm saying. Now, c'mere, arsehole," Harry whines, at last
feeling some sort of shame about exposing himself so well in front of his
sibling, his family, because then he's hiking the blanket up a bit so it's up
to his belly button. Louis can still see that Harry's hard, though, and it's
really playing with his head.
Louis gets up, walking over to his brother's bed with suspiciously narrowed
eyes, feeling like he's made a mistake when Harry grins up at him, licks his
bottom like a fucking creep, and then pats the bed. Right beside him. To
Harry's right. 
He wants Louis to sit beside him, with the computer playing muted porn in the
background and the other boy's hard dick being only hidden by a blanket or
two—he really has no qualms about this. Harry never seems to have any qualms. 
But then a hint of something sparkles in his brother's eyes, and Louis sits
down anyway, like what the fuck. 
"Okay, I'm here," he says, looking right at Harry with dusted pink cheeks. 
"Are you wearing blush?" 
"No, you absolute menace," Louis whines, shoving Harry into the wall with more
force than needed, but well, that's not his fault. Except it kind of is. 
"Sorry," Harry tells him, and Louis thinks he's genuinely apologizing—for once
in their lives, maybe they will find a resolution—so Louis narrows his eyes in
even more suspicion than before. "But," Harry says, the smirk playing at his
lips making his dimples appear thorough and thorough, "you know, you seem like
you'd be a makeup wearing twink, anyway, so I wouldn't put it past you to want
to look desirable."
Louis glares. "Desirable."
Harry just nods, half grin on his face as his eyes flash everything and
anything to do with amusement. They're bright and inviting, no matter the
brotherly banter they're currently having, and then the younger boy is biting
his lip nervously. 
"Desirable," Harry repeats, pulling his laptop into his lap, before he looks
Louis up and down, something unknown flickering in his green eyes. "What kind
of porn do you watch?" 
It takes everything for Louis not to splutter, and if he had a glass of milk,
it surely would have shot right out of his nose then and there. 
"What kind of porn do I like?" he asks incredulously. 
"I believe that is exactly what I've just said, yes," Harry says, opening the
search bar as he readies himself to type something. "Straight, lesbian, gay?
You into BDSM," Harry pauses, thinking some more, "oooh, or maybe you've a
daddy fetish?" 
Louis wrinkles his nose, revolted, absolutely revolted. "I think you mean kink,
Harold. No way in all of Hell would I have a thing for my father." 
"Oh my god, Lewis, stop taking everything so seriously, you're ruining the
moment," Harry rolls his eyes with an annoyed moan that Louis thinks is awfully
dramatic—also thinking about what his brother has just said, because what
moment?—and then says, "Tell me a kink you've never shared with anybody before,
one that you're embarrassed about." 
"Why should I tell you?" Louis huffs through his nose, pretending like he
doesn't feel the faint touch of his little brother's fingertips tracing
patterns in his skin. 
"Because I'm your innocent—"
"Hold up, I'll have to stop you there, you shitehead—" 
"—baby brother," Harry continues, smacking the older boy's cheek forcefully and
making him groan, teeth grazing his gums in an uncomfortable way. "Which means
I deserve to know everything about you." 
Louis only stares. For a moment, he wonders if he should glare again, but
thinks better of it as Harry's hand faux innocently plays with Louis' fringe,
eyes almost threatening to rip his hair out. 
"Chip chop, haven't got all night, have we?" Harry says, nose up in the air
with stubborn persistence while he tugs on Louis' hair, making the other boy
yelp. 
"Oh my god, watch it, kid," Louis is saying, earning another hard pull to his
hair, and he finally relents. "Okay, okay, fine. I usually watch gay—stop
fucking smirking at me, you demon child, it's not that surprising—"
"You're annoyingly rambling and I deem it highly unnecessary," Harry drawls,
looking bored, but Louis can see right through his rubbish acting.
"Shut up, Harry," he groans, covering his face with his hands in embarrassment.
"Okay, like, sometimes I like watching a girl on her own, you know?" He's
blushing, and Harry seems to notice because he won't quit smirking.
"Bet you're into girls being called daddy," Harry says, and he's blatantly
taking the piss, but it just.
It shoots a humiliated pain through the older brother's chest, because oh my
god, this is so embarrassing. 
"Ew, no," Louis says, cheeks feeling hotter than ever. "I've never really
thought about a daddy kink," he admits pathetically, so Harry takes that as a
challenge. 
He's turning away to type something into the search bar, and Louis notices
they're now staring at a bunch of gay porn videos. They're brothers, Harry's
cock is still bulging from underneath the covers of the younger boy's bed, and
they are going to watch porn together. 
"Sit back," the boy says, eyeing Louis with uncertainty, before pressing the
play button, "relax, and enjoy the show." 
"What show, this isn't a cartoon," Louis croaks. 
In response, Harry just glides his hand up Louis' skin, causing the older boy
to pant and pant and pant—can he even breathe?—until his fingertips are splayed
across his thigh. They sit there delicately, only twitching a bit as the video
begins, and then all Louis can see are two boys on the computer screen. 
They're young: both have brown hair, but one of them has curls that resemble
Harry's so well that it makes Louis' toes almost curl, and their eyes look like
a mixture of deep sea blue and heavenly golden green as they look at each other
shyly, and. 
And the one boy, his body is lanky—pudgy, yet still so lanky that it's making
Louis' brain feel foggy—and he's taking off his shirt to reveal pink nipples
that turn hard the moment they hit room temperature. There's a neverending
landscape of the boy's pale skin, too, the way that his kiss swollen, red lips
contrast against his porcelain body, and if he hadn't known any better, Louis
might've guessed that he was wearing lipstick. The baggy khakis he's wearing
remind Louis of the few years Harry had spent dressing in baggy jeans that fell
past his waistline, hoodies three sizes too big for him and always, always, a
grey beanie to finish the whole—uh, fashion trend—off. Everything about this
boy, this pornstar, looks like Harry. 
Harry. 
Harry planned this. 
"Your mouth's open rather invitingly," the younger boy is saying, eyes watching
the screen as his throat bobs around the swallow of his saliva. Louis hopes,
swears to God, that his brother is kidding, that he's not teasing him on
purpose. "Wait until it gets to the best part, we've only seen the foreplay, so
far." 
"Sure," Louis croaks again, eyes quickly flashing to Harry's as they both look
at each other. But Louis looks down, only feeling his baby brother's stare on
him for a second longer, and he's chancing a look at the now enthralled Harry. 
He's got his tongue out, licking his lip, biting it with the intention of
making it bleed it seems, because Harry's soon whimpering and grinding his
thighs together as his hand squeezes the flesh of Louis' thigh. His eyes,
they're watching as the boys on the screen start to kiss, snog, whatever, until
the one is pinning the other to the bed with passion and force and hunger, and
Louis might have a heart attack. 
The boy kisses down the other's bare stomach, sucking lovebites into his
hipbones and around his lower torso, and without notice, the boy's trousers and
pants are being lowered to show his painful looking cock slapping against his
stomach. They just keep snogging, tongues dancing together like a wild forest
fire that spreads and spreads across fields and fields, and this time the
forest fire is happening inside of Louis—spreading down his chest into his
lower abdomen, his cock, his arms and legs like his nerves are alight, and he
feels his lips tingle with something similar to need. 
"Harry," he finds himself saying. The younger boy doesn't say anything, but his
hand must've snuck over to his cock sometime before that, because he's biting
his lip, hooded eyes watching the laptop screen as he palms his cock through
the rough fabric of the duvet. 
And then Harry looks at Louis, lips parted, pupils completely dilated, and he's
saying, "I can show you my singing now—I can, oh my god, I wanna show you."
Louis' brain almost short circuits. This is so wrong. So, so wrong. What if
someone walks in on them? 
"How're you going to show me?" he asks, hand reaching out to hold onto the arm
Harry's using to grind against his cock. "There's no, like, guitar or piano or
instrument here, yeah?" 
And Harry keeps shaking his head, mumbling little, 'no, no, no's that play over
in the older boy's brain like a skipping record. "Acapella," Harry says,
looking at his brother earnestly, and he looks like he really wants to do
something. 
Louis has no clue what's going on as it is, so when Harry turns the volume up
on the computer so the boys' moans reverberate around the room and throws a leg
over his brother's waist to straddle him, Louis loses the ability to breathe. 
"Background music, check," Harry mumbles, fiddling with Louis' shirt, and this
is the time that Louis should tell him to get off, to tell him that they're
brothers and that this isn't socially acceptable, but then he realizes that
Harry's hard cock is grinding against his stomach and the boys' mouth is open
as he throws his head back. Reveling in the friction. Absolutely basking in the
pleasure, like Louis is the sun appearing after so long without any sunshine.
"Now, just," Harry gasps, "just move against me and make me sing." 
He knows it then, too, that Harry wants Louis to make him moan—to make him
share all kinds of noises with his older brother, all while listening to the
sounds of skin slapping skin and wet kisses coming from Harry's laptop. And he
wants to move, Louis wants more than anything to just move, but Harry's then
pulling Louis' shirt off so that he can suck on the older boy's nipples. 
He practically squeaks, hand coming up to pull on Harry's hair for some
leverage and control, and all he can think is, this is wrong, this is so, so
fucking wrong, before Harry bites down on the sensitive bud and looks up at him
with innocent green eyes—and it's then that Louis knows he's truly, sincerely
and genuinely fucked. 
"Oh my god," Harry says, kissing up and down the expanse of Louis' chest,
biting the skin around his collarbones. His lips trail up Louis' neck, so plump
and delicious feeling that Louis almost loses control, throws the boy against
the wall and snogs him until Harry struggles to breathe, to catch his breath.
"Oh my god, you need to make me—make me sing for you, Louis." 
Louis' hand reaches up to grab Harry's wrist before he can pull down or unzip
his older brother's jeans, gulping dryly when he sees Harry's blown eyes,
desperation in them and on his parted lips—so beautiful, so soft looking. Harry
gives him a questioning look, eyes curious and eyebrows furrowing to the bridge
of his nose, but he also looks like he wants to beg Louis for something.
Something more. 
"Yeah?" Louis asks, and the curls bounce against Harry's neck and forehead with
the enthusiasm he seems to have put into nodding, but the boy hasn't made any
effort to move whatsoever since the older boy first gripped his wrist. "How do
you want me?" 
"I wan'—" Harry stumbles, lips quivering and eyes absolutely filled with
undescribable lust. His voice sounds thick with arousal, too, slurring his
words like he's plastered and forming the words around his pink, pink, pink
lips. He looks absolutely filthy. Like the boy you can only admire from afar,
but never touch, and now he's in Louis' lap and wants Louis to finally touch
him. "Wan' you to suck lovebites on m'thighs. That makes me come untouched
sometimes, an' I make pretty noises." 
Louis traces shapes into Harry's hips, making the smaller boy rut into Louis'
body for something to relieve him, to help with his cock that's probably been
untouched for too long now and let out deep, breathy whimpers. 
"Pretty noises, hey?" 
Harry nods, looking so little—like a little boy, innocent to the world yet
mature and grown up in a way that makes Louis want to taste him until the boy's
skin is raw from biting and sucking, and his lips tingle painfully after they
kiss bruisingly. Wants to take every boy before who've touched his little
brother and erase the permanent markings of their lips on the boy's skin, until
all that's left are Louis' lips, teeth, tongue and mouth creating new memories
on his skin like an artsy, creatively painted landscape. Wants only his touch
to create faint silhouettes that never disappear from Harry's skin. 
And for a moment, all he can think is, mine, mine, mine, as he gives into
everything he's told himself he's against, biting the shell of Harry's earlobe
until his little brother whines low in his throat. 
"You're," Louis growls, climbing on top of the boy, and he hears the video
playing in the background, the boy bouncing on the other boy's cock moaning
out, Daddy. "Mine," he says, hands running over Harry's petite little body, the
younger boy watching him with a slack jaw and glossy eyes. 
"Yes, yes, yes," Harry babbles. Louis' heart soars. "Yours, baby, yours. I've
been yours this whole time, you've just been so, so stupid." 
Louis holds the boy down, restricting his movement so he can't grind his hips
up into Louis' anymore, and stares at Harry's pretty lips like they're the
world's most magnificent masterpiece. And, really, they are. 
They really, really are. 
"I'm only stupid," he grits out, digging his teeth into Harry's neck harshly,
and he isn't even worried about hurting the boy at this point, he just wants to
erase everybody who has touched Harry from the boy's skin, to finally give in
to the temptation of wanting his pretty, angel faced, big eyed little
brother. Whom he's supposed to hate, but is currently brushing their hard cocks
together on their way to getting naked at some point in time, and well, fuck
logic, really. "Because we're related, you know," he says, and Harry whimpers
so loud that Louis has to cover his mouth. "And because you never leave my shit
alone." 
Harry looks like he wants to say something, but Louis' hand is stopping him
from doing so, and for a second the older boy contemplates letting his brother
speak. Harry ruts again, eyes begging and begging for Louis to do something,
and Louis can feel the boy's twitching cock against his stomach, right where
his shirt has rode up. 
"You're always going through my stuff, trying to piss me off," Louis says.
"There's never a time that you don't try to piss me off. You relish in it,
don't you?"
When Harry doesn't nod or shake his head, or even do anything, Louis removes
his hand from the boy's mouth so he can speak. 
"No, no," Harry says, shaking his head now, "god—no, you jus' act all high and
mighty all the time an' it's so, so infuriating. Every time you come close, I
can never tell if I want you to snog my face off, to suck me off or to slap my
skin until it's red and raw." Louis' breath almost hitches, but he catches
himself, grabbing Harry's jaw tightly so that the boy has to look at him as he
says, "I hate you so much, Louis, but then you come around an' look absolutely
amazing—" Harry chokes on the raspy laugh building in his throat. "Gorgeous.
An' it makes me want you in ways that I should be disgusted by." 
He—Louis doesn't process everything that Harry's saying, only focusing on how
his little brother looks so vulnerable admitting these things, and. Gorgeous.
Amazing. Harry's complimenting him—
"But 'm not," Harry says, shaking his head, and Louis' grip on his face loosens
slightly. "Because you're the reason I can't date people. You're the reason I
struggle feeling attraction to anybody, 'cause when there's you who exists, it
makes everything all the more impossible. You're the reason that I wake up
every mornin' an' cry because you're so confusing, Louis, I don't get you." 
Louis doesn't want Harry to cry. For the first time, he doesn't want to see
Harry crying, so he looks away and holds back the emotional whimper he almost
lets out. 
"You're more confusing," Louis swallows, but Harry keeps looking at him with
these eyes that scream, please listen to me. 
"No," Harry says, the finality in his voice strong, "'m not, 'cause you've
always left me hangin' when we were kids—leavin' me behind to fuck off with
your mates, stealin' my scooter when I had no other way to get to school, and
what about the time tha' you put makeup on me, telling me I looked pretty, only
to snap a photo and post it to the internet?"
"And you—still," Louis asks, heart fluttering in his chest with heavy,
liquidated guilt, "liked me?" 
"I still loved you," Harry whispers, searching with his own eyes for something,
some sort of spark, residing in Louis' blue ones. "And I always will. 'M your
brother, and you're the wanker I get to call m'own, of course I love you," he
mumbles grumpily, but the slickness of Harry's precum sliding against Louis'
tummy lets Louis know that his baby brother, he's—he's not mad—and that he's
still hard and horny and willing. 
"I—" Harry watches him, eyes glossy with tears, and god, he looks tiny, half
his age. "I don't know what to say, Harry." 
Harry just breathes shakily, pressing their chests together so that their
heartbeats mingle and practically nervously intertwine. 
"Jus'—just tell me that you love me," Harry pleads. "Tell me that you love me,
too, that all of the shit we've gone through hasn't just been because we hate
each other completely, I—" Harry's holding Louis' hips down against his own
now, and Louis breathes heavily into his brother's neck, hot air sending
quivers down the younger boy's body and making him whine out a, Louis. "I still
hate you, fuck, 'm always going to despise you," he continues, fluttering his
eyes shut, and then Louis bites down on his neck hard, "but loving someone 's
never easy, you know, and even though 've never told you that I love you till
now, please tell me you saw something." 
Louis' throat feels blocked, like he's gasping for air and all of his saliva
has dried up, leaving him to choke on his own tongue, but then he's gasping for
air, literally, and tugging on Harry's hair. His blue eyes find Harry's,
shining black and emerald, and then he wipes a stray tear from the boy's cheek
that's fallen near the corner of Harry's lips. 
"Something?" he asks, brushing his thumb against Harry's bottom lip as they
look at each other. Harry just stares up at him with wide, innocent eyes and
cherry lips, and Louis wants. 
He wants to kiss him. 
"Something," Harry agrees, eyelids swooping out like he's sleepy. A sleepy
kitten, he is. A sleepy kitten who Louis wants to wreck. "Something that made
you second guess if we really hated each other." 
Louis really doesn't know what to say to that, so he just leans in, lips
brushing against Harry's lazily, delicately, as tender as can be, like his baby
brother is a fragile little flower whom he needs to care for—that Louis'
purpose is to help him grow.
(And in some ways, that's always been true.)
"Please kiss me," Harry pleads. 
"I love you," Louis whispers, feeling like Harry's voice is music to his ears,
their lips brushing against each other's as he speaks softly, and he can't stop
himself from speaking again. "I love you, Harry. I love you, I love you, I love
you."
Harry's eyes fog up, his tears blocking his vision, before he blinks and grabs
Louis' head to pull him in. 
"No," Harry says. "No, no, no." 
"Yes, yes, yes," Louis argues, watching as his little brother shakes his head,
and that's all it takes for him to slam their lips together, heart spinning in
his chest and making him feel absolutely insane. 
Harry's hands apply pressure to Louis' hips, kneading the flesh there, and it
feels so good and relaxing and all he can smell is Harry—the apple cinnamon
oatmeal scent from earlier that night lingering on his clothes, the mango
passion shampoo pulling into Louis' senses when Harry tilts his head just
right, and the cologne Harry's sprayed on himself smelling so delicious and
beautiful that it makes Louis' chest feel pained, so, so pained—and everything
suddenly feels bloody magnified. 
Harry licks into his mouth, lips sliding against Louis' languidly, angling
their bodies so that their shirts ride up their stomachs as they move together.
They're in such a vulnerable position—it's so emotional, and he's kissing his
brother, oh my god, what is he doing?But he can't stop, won't stop, especially
after Harry wraps his legs around his waist and uses his velvety tongue to
taste every inch of Louis' mouth. 
It's sloppy, it's messy, but it's also heated to the point where the two boys
can't keep their hands from roaming each other's bodies. 
"No," Harry whimpers, gliding his lips with Louis', and then their tongues wrap
around each other slickly, and the boy whines into Louis' mouth. "No," he says
again,  biting Louis' lip. "No, no, no." 
Louis pulls back, fearing that Harry wants to get away—which wouldn't make much
sense, because he's kissing back, he's kissing back like he craves it. 
"You feel so good," Harry gasps, shaking his head and leaning in to kiss the
older boy again. "So, so good. But you don't love me," he mumbles against his
lips, and Louis thinks that Harry tastes like lollipops and cotton candy and
jelly beans, and something sour. 
"I do," Louis argues, kissing back until Harry's chin angles up so that he can
tilt his head and press tiny, tiny kisses to the corner of Harry's lips. "I
love you a lot. So much." 
"You don't," Harry says, voice straining, and Louis tries to kiss him so that
he can show that, yes, yes, I love you more than all of the stars in the
fucking galaxy but have always been so blinded by everything to see that you
were everything I wanted, but Harry pulls away to look into his brother's eyes.
"You don't, an' I want you to fuck me like you don't. Fuck me like you hate me,
Louis," he demands, cheeks flushed and stained with dried tears, his eyes
bloodshot and curls a sweaty mess against his forehead. 
And—and okay, Louis can definitely do that. 
"Oh m'god—" Harry whines, eyes shutting and thighs trembling when he feels
Louis begin to knead them. "Yes, yes, touch me harder, Louis." 
And abruptly, Louis' brain collapses in on itself and all he can see is Harry
on all fours, his perky little arse up in the air as he squirms underneath
Louis' gaze and his pretty hole flutters from the hot breath Louis breathes on
him as he rests his face in the crack of Harry's arse—and he sees how compliant
Harry can be, feels how tight yet stretched around Louis' fingers he is as
Louis' fingers slickly pump in and out of his hole, and he wants that, needs
that, oh god.
And that's all it takes for the eldest of the brothers to move backwards and
sink down to the end of the bed. He wraps his legs around Harry's body, and his
small hands trail down Harry's legs as he listens to the baby boy's breath
hitch. Louis can see each tremble, each nonexistant sound that peeps through
Harry's mouth but comes out silent instead; sees how his hands try and grab
onto Louis' hair but find nothing there to hold onto, that it makes him huff
and puff, and he really hates Harry for being so brilliantly beautiful.
Looking into the younger boy's eyes, Louis then latches his mouth onto Harry's
inner thigh and grazes his teeth up, up, up, until his breath is hovering over
his little brother's balls, and his teeth are nibbling on the soft flesh there
as if Harry is his dessert. 
"Louis, jus'—jus' fuck me, I can't take this," he groans, hips bucking a bit,
and Louis realizes he needs to hold the boy down. "I can't, I can't—" 
"Can't take what?" Louis growls innocently, and then he's slapping Harry's
thigh, making the boy squirm as the flesh jiggles and he cries out a mantra of,
'Louis, Louis, Louis, please'. 
"This," Harry says, and he sounds ruined. Louis thinks he might write that
down, mark down the date and time for when Harry actually let Louis ruin him.
"I can't—"
"Can't what, princess?" Louis soothes, making Harry preen at the nickname with
lazy blinks and a sweet bite to his pretty bottom lip, before he slaps Harry's
other thigh and relishes in the sound of his baby brother's gasps. 
"Not—not having your cock inside of me," Harry says, cherry lips parted like a
fucking sin. Louis' brushes his hair from Harry's face after leaning closer to
him, thinks that Harry is the prettiest boy he's ever seen as he smiles softly
at him, and Harry seems to preen at that judging by the way his head nuzzles
into his brother's touch. It's then that he takes notice to the way that Harry
looks absolutely fucked out, and if he didn't know any better, didn't cause the
boy to be so wrecked and all for him, he might think his brother was
obliteratedly drunk.
"Want you to fuck me raw, wanna feel it tomorrow an' the next day an' the next.
Want mum to see and think I hurt myself, when 's really her other son who
fucked me, pounded my arse till I cried and cried for his cock, at how good it
felt when it hit the one spot inside 'f me that made my toes curl," Harry
babbles, hands pressed to his older brother's chest, and Louis feels the slip
of their skin to skin contact due to how sweaty Harry's palms are. 
"Yeah?" Louis smiles, nose nuzzling into Harry's hair, and he can't believe he
finds it so hard to just be rough with this boy—this breathtaking, absolutely
breathtaking, boy.
Harry whimpers, eyes closed. "Talk dirty t'me," he begs. "Please." 
So Louis listens, pressing a chaste but sweet kiss to Harry's damp forehead,
putting his fingers into his little brother's mouth as if to tell him, suck on
them for me, right after. And when Harry does, he hollows his cheeks, lips
wrapping around Louis' fingers as he bobs his head sloppily, coating Louis'
fingers in so much saliva that has Louis almost hearing how desperate Harry—how
desperate he is for something more. 
For him. 
And Louis can't take it anymore. He pulls his fingers out of Harry's mouth, the
suction sound filling the otherwise quiet room, and then he's leaning in to
breathe hotly against the boy's ear.
"Yeah? Yeah, Harry, that's what you want? Wanna be a filthy whore for me?" he
asks, loving the way that he can feel the enthusiastic nod Harry gives him.
"You want me to pound you into the mattress? Make you my good little boy, leave
you sobbing into the sheets after you've came and my cock keeps fucking into
your little hole?" 
"Yes," Harry moans, lips parting slickly. 
Louis' finger parts Harry's cheeks, and the boy just flushes cutely and huffs
grumpily in response as he prods at Harry's hole with a turtle-like pace. Harry
keeps squirming impatiently, and it makes Louis bite his lip to stifle a
giggle. To stifle the abrupt, unnecessary fondness he's feeling right now. 
"Gonna finger fuck you now," Louis tells him, kissing him sweetly on the lips,
and Harry eagerly leans into the touch with a tender, content little sigh. 
"Please," Harry mumbles against Louis' mouth. 
"And then," he whispers, lips brushing against the smaller boy's with so much
softness, Harry thinks his knees might go weak. "—and then you're going to ride
me." 
Harry looks up at him just then, eyes dark, breathing in little hitches of air
that Louis notices match the rapid heartbeat in his brother's chest. His lips
look plump and pouty, the slight sheen of saliva reflecting off of the lighting
above the two of them, and Louis just wants to snog him till he isn't able to
taste anything other than Louis. 
"Yeah?" Harry asks, biting that pretty little bottom lip of his, making the
older boy close his eyes to pretend that his baby brother isn't looking up at
him as if he is thriving on Louis' words—isn't bucking his hips up into the air
like a slut, and this boy is absolutely going to kill him. "'M gonna ride your
cock jus' right, Lou," he whispers, pupils dilating even more. "An' I'm gonna
fucking love it. Gonna love the feeling of your cock inside of me." 
Harry just silently nods to himself, enthusiastic, ready, before Louis
reluctantly diverts his attention and starts to rummage through Harry's bedside
drawer. Without having to ask the younger boy, he finds a bottle of lube and
spreads some of it over his fingers, tossing the closed bottle on the bed next
to them. 
"I bet you will," Louis says, eyelashes fluttering against Harry's thighs as he
leaves tiny kisses on the inner areas of Harry's skin. He hears Harry
whimpering and moaning at the same bloody time, beautiful eyes taking in the
picture of Louis like this, as if he's mentally snapping a photo. As if he's
trying not to forget this ever, but to remember it forever. "Bet you've had wet
dreams about this, too, haven't you?" he asks, peppering more kisses on his
baby brother's thighs, letting his teeth lightly graze the skin as he nibbles
on it. 
Harry keeps moaning so filthy, and at the sound of him getting extra loud,
Louis slaps Harry's thigh and leans back down to suck on the boy's thighs. The
skin there is so, so sensitive, and it keeps making Harry whine out Louis'
name—so, after he's sucked bruises into Harry's skin, red and purple, left
teeth marks and red marks over Harry's thick, milky white thighs, he blows cool
air on the love bites and pulls back just as the younger boy bites back a
choked out moan. His hands reach for Louis' hair, for his hands, for anything,
but Louis pushes him back down the second Harry sits up. 
It's a bit hard, what with Harry's gorgeous, bitten thighs right there in front
of him, the boy's pink, pink, pink lips parting as he breathes shallow breaths
into the atmosphere of the room, but Louis manages. And then he's moving
himself so he's at the end of the bed where Harry's legs lay, splayed out and
open, and Louis struggles so hard not to groan, quite pathetically, at the view
he's getting front row seats to see. 
"Up," Louis says, patting the boy's thigh gently with lubed up fingers, but
Harry looks like he wants Louis to slap him there, for God sakes. "On your
tummy, angel. Lay over my lap with your bum up a bit." 
Harry complies, swallowing thickly. He scrambles to get himself on his
brother's lap, and Louis thinks he looks like a baby deer unable to so much as
walk its first steps properly. And it's so endearing, oh god, it really is, and
Louis knows for sure now that he's gone bonkers. 
But the second that Harry is sitting in his lap, smooth, porcelain skin pressed
against Louis and his bum raised slightly for Louis, he knows none of that
matters, anyway. So he takes it upon himself to massage at Harry's arse,
kneading the flesh, and then he hears Harry whimpering, can feel him pleading
Louis to just touch him already, and then—and then he's spanking the boy with
one hand, hard, harshly, the sound of rough skin to skin contact slamming
against the four walls of the room and making the bed creak. 
"Lou," Harry moans—but it's so raspy and low that it almost makes his voice
crack—and bites down on his bottom lip until he can taste the blood on his
tongue. He lets out another choked up whimper when Louis brings his hand down
to smack Harry's arse again, the skin turning a flushed pink from Louis' small
hand, and arches his back for a better angle.
"Mm?" Louis says, parting Harry's cheeks roughly, and then he's slipping his
wet, sloppy finger into the boy's puckered hole. It's so tight, and he briefly
wonders if Harry does this too often, or maybe not at all, but those thoughts
disappear as soon as he begins to pump his fingers in and out of the boy,
hearing how much Harry is enjoying this. Enjoying his older brother finger
fucking him, how fucking dirty he's being. 
"Call me—" Harry chokes on the words, "call me angel. Again. Or, or
sweetheart," he says, voice verging on another whimper that sounds fucking
desperate. "Love—love when you treat me like a whore and talk to me so sweetly
at the same time," the boy tells him, eyes earnest as he dips his head to look
back at the older boy, before he's blurting out, "Every time you treat me like
you hate me, I—it turns me on so much, Lou." 
And right after he hears those words, hears the confession that sends chills
down his spine to the bottom of his toes, Louis slips another finger into Harry
harshly and without any warning signs, scissoring him open and curling the
digits as he tries to find the sweet spot he knows will have Harry crying. When
he finally does, he just knows it, because then Harry's fucking screaming so
brokenly into the duvet, fingers reaching up to scratch at and dig into his
arm, nibbling his wrist with mean bites until he's close to tearing up and
thrusting his arse back onto Louis' fingers. 
"Such a naughty boy," Louis says, pounding the boy's hole as hard as he can,
hitting that same, special spot, leaving Harry with an open salivating mouth,
slacked out jaw and furrowed eyebrows as he gets pushed further and further
into the mattress with every thrust of Louis' fingers. "Such a naughty boy, yet
you're being such an angel, too, aren't you?" 
Harry moans in reply—and he's agreeing, Louis can hear it in his voice—eyes
closed as his brother continues to fuck him with his fingers. And then the
older boy is adding another one, and another one, until the wet feeling of his
fingers slamming into Harry like this, opening him up for his big brother's
cock is making Harry clench the sheets with balled up hands. 
And Louis knows the boy's close—knows his baby boy is going to come—so he
removes his fingers and notices how Harry's tongue swipes out to lick his lips
while his eyes pop open.
"I—" Harry tries, but his head is swimming, like it's swarming with a bundle of
bees. "Why'd you stop, oh my god," he complains, huffing cutely, and that earns
him another spanking. Louis brings his hand down and slaps the skin there,
watches as Harry's eyebrows furrow and he scratches at the sheets. "Okay—fuck,
okay, 'm sorry, Daddy. Jus' don't stop, like, keep doing that," he says, voice
small and young. 
Louis thinks his brain might have had shock treatment just now, hearing little,
flushed Harry beneath him call him fucking Daddy. He loves it—yeah, he
definitely loves it. Loves the way the boy seems eager to please Louis and be
good for him. 
Something inside of him snaps. Harry's such a child. 
"We don't wanna have to give you a proper lesson on manners, do we?" Louis asks
roughly, hoisting the boy up so he can sit down right in front of him. Harry's
pretty blown eyes stare at him curiously, excited. "A beautiful boy like you
can't even tell Daddy please, how fucking dreadful." 
"Oh my god—" Harry swallows, breath coming out in hitches. "Oh my g—Daddy,
please, please, need you spanking me while you fuck me, please," he pleads,
eyeing Louis' body as he bites his lip.
And then Louis' slapping Harry's face, the boy's head falling to the side as he
looks back up at Louis with so much hunger and—fuck. His green eyes look so
innocent, eyelashes fanning his porcelain skin, and he's calling him Daddy. He
doesn't ever want to see anyone else like this. Wants only Harry to be his
baby, and the way he takes the sting against his cheek, licking his lips and
biting them, Louis thinks he sees the same thing in Harry's eyes. 
"Don't tell me what to do."
"'M sorry, 'm so sorry, Daddy," Harry babbles, eyes glossy with unshed tears.
"Can I please kiss you?" 
Louis reaches for the bottle of lube and passes it to an attentive Harry, the
boy watching every movement he makes. 
"Rub this all over my cock so you can ride me, baby," he says, nibbling on
Harry's ear and letting his hot breath cascade over his neck like the touch of
a ghost. "And then you can kiss me." 
So Harry just nods, eyes glossy as he sniffles, but he's smiling and he looks
so damn happy that it makes Louis' heart swell. (And why is it that he's never
really seen Harry happy before? Truly, truly happy?) 
The younger boy takes the bottle and uncaps it, only to squirt some into his
palm and rub it on his hand. Slowly, he closes the bottle and sets it beside
the two of them, leaning down slightly so he's on his knees. 
Biting his lip, Harry looks up at his brother looking for approval, and as soon
as he gets it, his hand wraps around Louis' cock—and it's cold, so cold it
makes Louis tremble and shiver and breathe out a quiet 'fuck', but then Harry's
fingers are closing over the girth of his cock, warming it up as he palms and
slicks the lube over it with just the right amount of pressure. 
Even after Louis' cock feels slicked up enough, Harry continues to pump his
hand up and down, leaning his head down so he can press a little kiss to the
head of his brother's cock and tongue the slit carefully, slowly. 
"Tastes like strawberry banana, Daddy," Harry tells him, doe eyes looking
innocent as he continues to mouth around Louis' cock. "Wanna have it in m'mouth
s'bad, too." 
"Not—not yet," Louis says, momentarily having his previous emotions overtaken
by the pleasure of Harry's lips and tongue all over his cock. "Ride me first.
Get on my lap, Haz." 
The nickname makes Harry's heart flutter, and then he's wrapping his legs
around his older brother's waist, bum planted right against Louis' groin. 
"Please." Harry's begging now, how dare he. "Please, please, please." 
"Fuuuck," Louis moans, hands digging into Harry's pudgy little hips. "No, baby,
I—"
Harry's eyelashes just flutter prettily as he interrupts him, still rutting his
hips against Louis. "Daddy." 
"Shit, Harry, jesus—c'mon," the older boy urges, encouraging the boy to do
something, to sink down on his cock like he's been meaning to for the whole
night. "C'mon and fuck yourself on my cock, angel, it'll feel so—" He presses a
kiss to the boy's arm, gentle and sensitive and loving, making Harry tremble.
"—it'll feel so good." 
Harry lets out an "mmm" and a little whimper, then throws his head over his
shoulder, bites his lip and looks down at where his bum sits on Louis' crotch.
His hand shyly wraps around Louis, placing the head of Louis' cock against his
hole, teasingly pressing it in and out. 
And he's doing it while he looks at his older brother—smirking, thighs
squeezing together as he lets out a squeak, but smirking nonetheless. And Louis
wants to scream and slap him because there's that same smirk that always
infuriates him—but he also wants to choke him with his cock and pound him into
the mattress or up against a door until that door rattles and, oh god, makes
everyone fucking hear them, but also also wants to kiss Harry's cherry red lips
and cuddle him and take him to the cinema and hold hands in public and—
What the fuck. 
So Louis grabs Harry's hips, pressing his cock up into the smaller boy with a
single thrust, and that's all it takes before Harry is falling forward against
his brother's tan skin, his chest, breathing heavy and hot. Louis' cock nudges
past the rim, feeling lightheaded enough to pass out, so he just lets his head
fall back as he listens to the breathy whines coming from Harry. 
"Never thought," Harry gasps, snapping his hips down with a single thrust, and
then his bum is flush against Louis' waist, his cock buried inside of the
younger boy beautifully. "Never thought I'd see the day where you'd willingly
be fucking me." 
"What," Louis growls, watching as Harry breathes before nodding his head a
little at Louis. "Do ya think about this a lot, then?"
"Yes, yes, yes," Harry exhales, lifting his arse up until the head of Louis'
cock is all that's inside of him. "Always thinking 'bout you when I wank," he
bites his lip, and then slams back down with so much force that both him and
Louis let out surprised whimpers.
"F–fuuuck, oh my god," Harry gasps, now bouncing on his brother's cock like
he's been made to do this—like he was born to do this. 
Louis can feel the sweat beading on his forehead, can feel his fringe sticking
to his forehead wetly, and all he can hear is skin slapping against skin.
"Yeah? Who's making you feel good, sweetheart?" 
"My—" Harry chokes, groaning extra loud as he does little figure eights on the
other boy's cock, and then the tip of it nudges Harry's prostate. "Shit,
shit—m'Daddy. Right there, right there, fuck me right there, baby, oh my god." 
"Mmmhm," Louis breathes, thrusting his hips up for a better angle, and
relishing in the sound of Harry's half moan, half scream that vibrates against
Louis' skin when he falls forward on his chest limply. "So naughty, aren't
you?" 
And then Harry is looking at him as he fucks himself onto Louis' cock—eyelashes
brushing skin, lips parted and looking like sweetness and fruit and sugar,
pupils blown black—and absolutely gasps. It's almost a hiccup, too, but then a
tear drops down his face and Louis reaches his hand down to swipe his thumb
over his little brother's cheekbone. 
"'M so naughty," Harry whimpers. "So naughty and 've thought about fucking you
on the couch while mum sleeps in the mornings, like, so much. You've no idea
how many times—"
Louis almost gasps, almost. 
"God," Harry says, whining pathetically loud the second Louis snaps his hips up
and pounds Harry's hole fast and hard, the bed creaking and shaking almost
violently. "Tell me you've. Tell me you've wanted me, too." 
"Always noticed your lips," Louis says. "So beautiful, your lips are perfect,
sweetheart." 
Harry fawns over that, eyes watering as he works himself onto Louis' cock, eyes
falling shut each time it hits his prostate and lips falling open as it slides
in and out of him. But there's a little smile on the boy's face, tears dripping
down his cheeks, and Louis wipes one that's falling near Harry's lip with his
thumb again. 
"And your thighs are so gorgeous," Louis continues, holding the boy's hips. He
slides his hands down the boy's thighs just then, quivering involuntarily as
Harry keeps bouncing and moaning and shaking, and squeezes the flesh there. 
"You're gorgeous," Harry tells him earnestly, bottom lip in his mouth as he
nibbles on it, before letting it go. His body trembles, choking on his words
now. "C'mon, c'mon, Daddy, spank me," he urges, moving Louis' hands to his bum
with pure need. 
So the older boy does. He brings his hand up before bringing it back down to
smack Harry's pretty little bum as the boy rides him. He thinks the sight is
even more pretty, watching his cock slip in and out of his baby brother's hole,
stretching him open and hitting his prostate. Harry moans loudly at that, and
Louis has to slap his hand over Harry's mouth because he's being so fucking
loud, god, Harry, be quiet, but when his eyes look into the other boy's, Harry
seems to understand. 
He removes his hand and Harry licks his pouty swollen, red lips, swallowing
thickly, and smacks the boy's arse again so hard that the sound reverberates
against the walls of the room. 
"Slut. Fucking cockslut," Louis grinds out, teeth clenching as he fucks up into
his brother and watches his jaw fall slack, head thrown back filthily. 
It's quick, how fast it takes Harry to start uncontrollably fidgeting, unable
to figure out where to put his hands or where to touch Louis, body shining with
sweat and hard cock against his stomach bobbing. Louis swears he sees the boy's
cock twitch, and then Harry is grabbing onto Louis' hair hard and pulling. 
"Close, Daddy," he pants out, breathing erotic and breathy at the same time.
"Spank me again, keep doing it, keep doing it." 
Louis brings his hand back down and slaps the flesh, kneading it as soon as
Harry's skin starts turning bright pink—and as beautiful as it is, seeing the
boy like this, he swears he doesn't think truly hurting the boy is something he
wants to do. 
Harry's wrist is in his mouth, teeth grazing and nipping at the bone there, and
his jaw tightens as he presses his teeth into the skin harder than Louis ever
thought had been possible and groans brokenly. He realizes then that Harry
loves the pain, absolutely loves it, and Louis thinks it's the single, most
breathtaking sight he's ever seen.
"Never want—" He smacks the boy's arse again, loving the way he makes Harry
sound desperate and so horny by just that. "To stop seeing you like this." 
Harry shakes his head, feeling heat coil up in his belly, and swears he sees
stars and a night sky and a fucking galaxy in his eyes.
"Don't have to stop," he says, eyes searching Louis', and that's all it takes
before the older boy snaps his hips up and claws at Harry's arse roughly with
his nails, and feels a familiar tightening in his lower abdomen. "Waited too
long." 
"Ye–ah," Louis croaks, hips stuttering while Harry just keeps riding him. Oh my
god, he doesn't think he's going to last, and that's when Harry's hole clenches
around Louis' cock, toes curling and thighs quivering with so much beauty that
it makes Louis' heart feel pained and stabbed and held tightly with a fist that
won't let go—how can someone be so beautiful, how—and then Harry's coming. 
Untouched. He's coming untouched. 
Come spurts out of his cock, his hand flying to pump himself through his orgasm
as he moans broken, little, Louis, Louis, Louis's.His eyes roll to the back of
his head, mouth slack, tongue dipping out to lick his dry lips and swallow down
the lack of saliva in his mouth, and then he's mumbling a raspy, "Daddy, daddy,
fuck me." 
Harry's voice, the fact that he's calling Louis his Daddy, and the tight heat
he feels as he continues to fuck himself on Louis' cock all mingle together,
and he has no idea which one sets him off—but then Louis can feel his whole
body tensing, his movements pausing momentarily and hips coming to a stop, and
within the next second, he's unexpectedly, without warning, coming inside of
the boy currently sitting on his cock. 
Harry looks at his brother softly, bouncing slowly on his cock despite being
oversensitive now, biting his lip with so much pressure Louis thinks his lip
might start to bleed. He helps Louis ride through his own orgasm, reaching out
to grab the older boy's hand to lace their fingers together, and breathes
shakily as he feels Louis' come dripping out of his hole when the boy pulls out
a second later. 
Louis' head drops to Harry's shoulder, not caring that they're sticking to each
other with sweat, and squeezes Harry's hand. 
Louis swallows, eyes shut. "Well."
Harry laughs, smiling dopily at the boy now almost in his arms. "Well," he
teases. "That was quite… fun." 
"Nuh uh, that was wrong," Louis mumbles, heart beating in his chest, but Harry
feels his smile pressed into his skin, so everything seems to be okay. 
"Can't change back time now," Harry tells him, loving the way that Louis pulls
himself up to stare directly into his eyes, and he thinks for a moment he can
see something gentle in Louis' eyes. 
"Do you—" Louis starts, but stops as if he's caught himself running over bad
territory. 
The younger boy just grins, eyes sleepy as they blink with leisure and his
other hand brushes against his brother's waist. "It's okay, Lou, relax." 
Louis sends him an annoyed glare. "You relax." 
Giggling—he can't stop himself, he can't—Harry flicks the older boy's face and
smirks when he sees even more irritation in his cerulean eyes. 
"Whatever," Louis says, looking away from Harry's eyes. "Was just going to ask
if you're still involved with that, that boy you know." 
Harry sends him a confused puppy dog face, and Louis swears it's on purpose.
That the little shit is doing that to make himself explain, and Louis tries to
be mad, tries so hard, but can't. 
He couldn't even be mad at Harry whilst fucking him, or let loose all the pent
up anger he's had towards him all of his life. What makes him think he'll be
able to properly hate the boy now? 
"Your best mate," he says flatly, using his fingers as quotation marks.  
Harry just smiles cheekily.
"I always pretended he was you, anyway. Now I don't need to." 
 
 
 
 
"What are you doing, Harry?" 
The boy's hand is currently in the fruit bowl, poking straws into the damaged
fruit as his tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth. He startles when he
hears Louis' voice, though, whipping his head to look at his older brother
whilst his hands drop to his sides. 
"Dunno," he says, raising his nose. The arrogance, Louis thinks. "What's it
look like?"
"It looks like you're murdering fruit with a straw," Louis says, eyebrow
raised. Yeah, he's judging the younger boy, sue him.
"I'm stabbing a peach," Harry rolls his eyes, the green in them twinkling. "Not
murdering, there's a difference." 
"Stabbing leads to murder, you arsehole." 
Louis tries really hard, he really does, but his voice still manages to come
out as a croak. Ever since the night before, Louis was pretty sure waking up
and seeing Harry would no longer consist of constant arguments and potential
fist fights. But now, now, he can sense that he'd been wrong. 
(The only thing he can really feel as being off is the mischief in his little
brother's eyes has gotten more pronounced. More prominent. Like he's ready to
absolutely humiliate Louis now that he's gotten the advantage of having
something against the older boy. 
Once again, sue him. Louis thought maybe his brother would soften up.
Overnight, because that is possible, but.
But whatever.) 
Harry notices. He fucking notices, because soon there's a smirk on his lips
that Louis wants to—wants to smack off. Or kiss away. Really hard, like, proper
snogging. God, their mum is literally in the other room right now. Bloody
hell. 
"Loulou's always gotta be right. Right, I forgot, sorry," Harry says flatly,
going back to stabbing the fruit as if his brother hadn't just scared the ever
lasting shit out of him prior to that. 
"I hate you—" 
"That's hot," Harry interrupts, leaning back in his chair while his eyes rake
up Louis' disheveled clothes and hair. "Makes sense, because so are you." 
Louis swears his face has never burned so much in his life, but then he feels
his cheeks heat up more as Harry obviously checks him out. Checks him out.
Fucking looks him up and down like he's a piece of meat.
You literally shagged last night, what are you so freaked out about, mate? he
asks himself, running a hand through his fringe. 
No longer wanting to look at Harry's cheeky grin or those damned filthy
glances, Louis spins around to head outside and pick himself up a morning
drink. Fuck that he's still in his pyjamas, no one really pays attention to
that anyway. 
"Bye," Harry calls after him, sounding like he's eating something now. Which is
probably the case, because Louis hears a fridge door shut loudly. "Pick me up
some cinnamon rolls on your way back." 
"No," Louis glares, picking up his shoes to slide them on.
"Louis," their mum suddenly yells, and the sounds of something malfunctioning
come from the opposite room fill his hears to the brim. "Baby, are you going
somewhere?" 
He hears Harry snicker. "Baby, are you going somewhere?" he mocks quietly, and
Louis has never wanted to hate the boy more than he does now. 
Except he can't. All he can do is want to attack Harry and pin him to the
kitchen island while he licks into the other boy's pretty little mouth. And
then knock him to his knees so he can suck Louis off until he's coming all over
Harry's lips. 
"Yeah," he tells her, sighing. "I was planning on it, yeah." 
"Well I need your help, sweetie. I've tried to call the repair man so he should
be here in a short while, but he isn't picking up. Just—keep watch on Harry,
will you?" she says, ignoring the 'heeeeyyy' said boy shoots her way. "He's one
step away from murdering all the food in our house."
"Don't we all know," Louis mumbles under his breath, stumbling on his feet a
bit. "Yeah, sure mum, what do you need help with?" 
"I'll just need to go see Ed so he can come fix this damned machine," she
sighs, walking out to where Louis is standing and leans against the door frame.
"My phone's not working." 
Louis' eyebrows furrow. "What? Why?" 
"I don't know, Lou, seems like everything in this house is breaking," she says.
Louis catches her eye just as she sighs again and says, "Even my two sons'
relationship." 
Louis really doesn't know what to say to that, so he just runs to her and gives
her a kiss on the cheek before he glides through the door. 
"On it, mum, I'll do it," he calls, slamming the door shut. He really couldn't
care any less about the neighbour's gawking stares. 
Damn old, grumpy neighbours. 
The door suddenly opens. "Are you sure, sweetie?" his mum asks, concern etched
on her face. 
"Yeah," he smiles. "Don't worry about it, I've got it covered." 
Reluctantly, she smiles and shuts the door with a wave. 
As soon as he sits down in the car seat, he readjusts the radio station and
turns the vehicle on by stepping on the breaks. Then, he whips his phone out,
rolls his eyes and opens his and Harry's text conversations. 
Supper's ready boo and turn the fucking music down harold. youre so
annoying and Ok mommy :') all come to life on his screen. Instead of scrolling
up any farther, because really, all these words are going to do is cause Louis
annoyance, he taps out another reply with another eye roll. 
He doesn't know why he does it. But he does. And maybe he should be kicking
himself in the arse, but he's not going to. 
Hey, hurry up and get in the car if you're going to come see Eddy
The response is instant. How can I come without you touching me, boo? Xx
Okay, on my way ;)
And then he sees the boy on the doorstep, giving Louis a big dopey grin—and
Louis is trying to ignore the sparkle in his eyes that reminds him of apple
cider or their family's apple detergent that lingers to Harry's clothes like a
parasite that never leaves, but it's so hard—and then Harry is walking to the
vehicle with bare feet, his sneakers in hand, and hops into the car seat with a
smirk. 
"Fancy meeting you here," he drawls. 
Louis simply locks the door and puts the car in reverse, almost knocking Harry
into the window. 
"Don't push it," Louis grumbles through grit teeth, heart absentmindely
fluttering in his chest. "Or I'll abandon you on the street somewhere." 
Rather than replying, the younger boy lets his fingers crawl toward Louis'
thigh, splaying his big hand on top. It's warm, it's warm, warm, warm, and it's
oh so close to Louis' dick. 
"You wouldn't," Harry grins. 
And then he turns the volume of the radio up high, H.O.L.Y playing through the
speakers and—
God, Louis hates country music. 
End Notes
     kudos and comments are my fav friends x :)
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!