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Driving to Louis Tomlinson’s house is the last thing Harry expects to be doing on a Friday afternoon - and yet, here he is, only one stoplight away from his street.
He tries to loosen his hands on the steering wheel, but it doesn’t work; his knuckles are still white from how hard he’s gripping it. He stares at the vanilla-scented air freshener hanging from his rear-view mirror, focusing instead on waiting for the light to turn.
In all honesty, he should be surprised that he hasn’t been to Louis’ house before, considering Harry’s been harboring what may well be the world’s biggest crush on him since forever.
Harry’s not exactly out at school - he's only ever had one boyfriend, a brief relationship with a guy that was cute, but boring and, frankly, too scared of Harry. Harry's got enough feminine mannerisms to make people talk, to make them whisper rude names near him in the locker room. And if his mannerisms aren’t enough to start the rumor mill, his painted nails, long curly locks, and rainbow t-shirts definitely are.
Needless to say, when Harry realized he was almost completely in love with the decidedly straight centre forward of the football team, he kept it quiet.
Despite how outwardly confident he seems, he still feels weird about liking other boys sometimes. It can feel almost, like, predatory, and he hates it. The last thing he wants to do is make Louis uncomfortable. Even if, in another more perfect life, Louis somehow did like boys, Harry’s sure he’s absolute lightyears out of his league.
Where Harry is goofy, gangly, and soft, Louis’ confident, compact, and sharp. He’s achingly gorgeous, and wicked smart too, which is just not fair. Harry’s been lucky enough to get all the way to age 18 before he has to suffer through any classes with him.
Louis is put into his English, P.E., and math courses for senior year. As Harry had figured, it’s been a right train wreck thus far. He saw Louis from behind with his shirt off in the locker room during the first week of gym class, which was like a wet dream and a nightmare rolled into one. Harry’s not proud of it, but he actually had to fake a stomach ache that day so he could wank - too raw and fast, but so good - in the boy’s bathroom to the thought of Louis’ muscular back.
Even in English class, Harry has to fight to remain calm and collected. Louis once talked about the symbolism in The Catcher in the Rye for a solid ten minutes and Harry nearly had a heart attack when the teacher asked him what he thought about Louis’ comments.
“It was...um, yeah - it was great. Really good,” He'd ended up stuttering, too mortified to check for Louis’ reaction.
Math is a little easier because it seems like it's the one thing Louis’ not naturally perfect at. He doesn't answer questions a lot, and is confused whenever he's called on. Harry’s unsurprisingly wanked himself raw to this scenario, too - imagining how this would be the perfect opportunity to be Louis’ math tutor and blow him in between algebra equations.
Harry’s not actually good at math, though - just average - so that dream is out of the question. He has to cheat off of his next-door neighbor/deskmate, Liam, every time he wants to actually pass a test.
Honestly, he reckons he could be pretty good at math if 1) it was even the slightest bit interesting and 2) if he tried at all. Mostly, he’s too busy staring at the back of Louis’ head, four rows in front of him.
“He has such a pretty neck. Is that weird, to say a boy has a pretty neck?” He whispers one time to Liam, when Louis is wearing a particularly revealing v-neck top.
“It’s definitely not straight,” Niall, his best mate, mumbles from the desk behind them. Harry kicks him to shut him up.
He wants senior year to be different - wants it to be the year that he finally gets over this stupid crush. He’s going to uni, he needs to decide what he wants to do with his life. Instead, he’s deciding what he wants to do to Louis Tomlinson.
The year’s not a total loss, though - even if much of it is already consumed by a hopeless crush. Harry’s named the head photographer of the yearbook, after toiling away in the layout department for the past three years.
This means Mr. Corden gives him all the big photo assignments, like the featured student sections and the prom court portraits. It also means Harry’s one step closer to being a real photographer, just like his mum.
If Harry could have both of those things - a career as a photographer and Louis Tomlinson in his bed - he’s convinced he could die happy. One out of two, though? Not bad. Not bad at all.
He'd only mildly died when Mr. Corden told him he was assigned to capture the editorial shots of the new captain of the football team.
“The new captain?” He'd asked, confused.
Mr. Corden had nodded. “Yeah - Louis Tomlinson. I’m sure you know him.”
Harry’d been unable to keep the blush out of his cheeks. “A little.”
Mr. Corden had clapped his hands, grinning widely. “Good! Then you’ll get the best shots! Just like you told me - photos of the star students looking like regular kids. It’ll be juxtaposition at its finest, Styles. Get a few of him in his childhood bedroom, next to his poster of Beckham or something. The kids will eat it up. Great editorial work for you to have in your portfolio, too! Very moody and dramatic.”
It’d been hell trying to get the courage to talk to Louis to arrange a time - he’d had only a few days to arrange a meeting time. In the end, he’d chickened out and just Facebooked him.
The conversation was awkward, as he expected, but Louis was genuinely nice and seemed happy to do the project. He even suggested that Harry get to his house right after practice, for the most authentic in-uniform shots.
Harry’d had to jack off for what felt like 48 hours straight before he could stomach the thought of taking photos of Louis Tomlinson, sweaty and post-practice.
The stoplight finally turns green, shaking Harry from his reverie.
He steps too hard on the gas, prompting some angry honking from the little red car ahead of him. Harry cringes and whispers a “sorry, mate” as he turns down the first street on the left, then furrows his brow, searching the house numbers.
357 Sunderland Court is a modest but lovely house, two stories of off-white weathered paint with a delightfully cheery red front door. There’s bright pink and yellow blooms tucked into flower boxes under the windows; the mailbox even has “Tomlinson” painted on the side in white scroll writing. Harry doesn’t have much time to admire everything, though, because his heart drops into his stomach once he sees the empty garage.
The clock reads 4:45 - he’s exactly on time for once. He exhales shakily, trying to be rational about this. High-schoolers - especially extremely talented and busy ones like Louis Tomlinson - need all the free time they can get. So he decides to just wait and not panic.
Mere seconds later, though, he’s scanning the windows of the house, trying not to wonder which one is Louis’ room, as he waits for Niall to pick up his phone.
“...’Lo?” His voice is gruff and sleepy.
“Are you serious, Niall? Did you just wake up from a nap?”
Niall groans on the other line. “Fuck off, Styles. I need my beauty sleep ‘n all that.”
Harry sighs, exasperated. “We’ve been home from school for an hour, for god’s sake…”
Niall knows him too well, though - he can probably hear the panic rising in his voice. “Aren’t ya supposed to be at Tommo’s house? How’re ya holdin’ up?”
Harry leans his forehead against the cool leather of the steering wheel, making an annoyed sound. “There’s no one here, I think? But I’ll feel weird if I go up to the door and knock when there’s no one home. Like, what if his mum is home early? Won’t it be awkward if I have to make small talk with her? Shit, do I look like a stalker, just waiting in my car in his driveway? Oh my god, I totally look like a stalker and he’s probably driving around with his friends laughing at me…”
Niall sighs and interrupts him. “Listen, Styles. Go up and ring the doorbell, and if no one answers, you should just Facebook him or something. I’m sure it’s fine. You’re a great photographer, and you’ll be great at taking his picture. It’s what you do, remember?”
Harry sniffs and forces himself to pause his Stevie Nicks CD. “Yeah, okay. Thanks - you always know what to say.”
He hangs up and finger-combs his long curls in the rear-view mirror for a second before he gives up and goes up to the door, camera bag swinging around his shoulder. Sure enough, there’s no answer when he rings the doorbell. He pulls up Facebook Messenger and types out a quick message.
Hiiii, I’m here but no one’s home. Should I wait? We can reschedule if something came up
He thinks the last part is maybe too eager but he can’t make himself delete it, so he just sends it and sits on Louis’ front porch. Butterflies flutter in his tummy because oh my god, he’s sitting on Louis Tomlinson's porch, and that means that Louis Tomlinson’s bedroom is somewhere in that house - the room where he sleeps, and does homework, and listens to music, and works out and, shit, he probably jerks off there, too.
Harry’s thoughts are interrupted by a ding! - Louis' response.
hey mate, sorry am a bit late, be there in a sec but its prob unlocked so u can let urself in! go up 2 my room if u can! don’t want my little sisters 2 get worried if they see someone they don’t know in the house
Harry exhales shakily and turns to look over his shoulder at the red front door. So Louis wants him to actually go up to his room.
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.
Harry’s anxious and awkward, so he types out another message that's probably unnecessary.
Okay! Which room is yours?
Louis responds a few seconds later.
its upstairs u’ll kno it when u see it haha soz abt the mess
“You’ll know it when you see it”? What the hell does that mean? What if Harry doesn’t know it when he sees it? His heart’s in his throat as he gulps and slowly opens the front door.
The house is beautiful - clearly lived-in, but beautiful. The kitchen is to the left, with high stools and a few colorful kids’ dishes at the counter. There’s a pile of kids' shoes and larger sneakers next to door, so Harry toes off his purple Birkenstocks and leaves them in the heap. He shuts the door behind him and hesitantly walks further into the house, stepping over a teddy bear as he goes.
He doesn’t know if it’s better to stay quiet or call out, but he figures little girls would be more scared of him if they heard him shouting, so he stays silent. He picks his way past toys and couch cushions and crayons as he makes his way toward the staircase visible on the right half of the house. He has to physically force himself not to stop at the fireplace, where the mantle is crowded with framed pictures of Louis through the years.
A blown-up portrait of him in his football uniform, captain’s armband and all, is hanging prominently at the landing. Harry averts his eyes as he climbs the stairs.
With a sigh of relief, he realizes Louis is right - Harry does know his room when he sees it. The surrounding doors are covered with crayon drawings and finger-paintings in a rainbow of colors. One, all in pink, reads “Lottie’s castle! Boys keep OUT!”. The door at the very end of the hall, though, is unmistakably Louis’.
There’s a giant “28” made out of faded black construction paper pasted to the middle of it, surrounded on all sides by pictures of the footie team, magazine cut-outs of famous football players, and booklets from various Oasis albums. Harry’s hand shakes as he turns the knob and steps through the door. It’s...surprisingly, exactly like he pictured it would be.
His eyes immediately focus on Louis’ bed, huge in the middle of the room - probably a king-size mattress. It’s unmade, covered with a tangle of blue sheets in varying shades, and the headboard is sleek black wood. There’s a desk in the corner, covered with homework and pages from a playbook.
His closet stands open in the wall across from the bed, filled with athletic tops and shorts, but also other clothes - softer things that Harry’s never seen Louis in before: cozy sweatpants, worn band shirts, and hoodies.
As Harry enters the room, he notices the old wooden dresser against the wall closest to him, piled with golden trophies from various ages. There’s a huge poster above it of David Beckham, flanked by a smaller one featuring the Arctic Monkeys logo. Harry panics for a second, wondering if he should sit on the bed or if it would be weirder for him to sit at Louis’ desk. He decides it’d definitely be weird for him to stare at all the papers on Louis’ desk and opts to sit on the edge of the bed, nearly tripping over a pair of dirty cleats as he goes.
He stares at the wall for a second before he realizes that - of course - he’s starting to get a little turned on. Oh my god, he’s so embarrassing, he’s sweaty just from sitting on Louis’ bed - so he decides to call Niall again.
“Niall? Help me.”
Niall groans, clearly awoken from his slumber again. “Haz. Relax.”
Harry bites at his thumb nail, chipping his green nail polish. “I can’t - holy shit, I’m in his room, Niall. His bedroom. He’s so straight that he doesn’t think there’s anything weird about us meeting in his room!” Niall grumbles on the other line as Harry chews his lip, staring at the Beckham poster and trying not to focus on the way Beckham's jersey is riding up to expose his toned stomach.
“As usual, you’re overreacting. Ya sound like a right idiot. How long did he say he was gonna be? ...Haz?”
Harry finds that he can’t effectively answer Niall’s question because his gaze has slipped downward, to the bottom of Louis’ dresser, and there’s something under it. Something pink and plastic and girthy and decidedly phallic. Something that has an on/off switch at the end of it.
His eyes dart back up to the Beckham poster, at the way it’s too revealing to just be a sports poster, and then he puts the Beckham poster and The Pink Plastic Thing together and holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, somehow Louis Tomlinson is... maybe gay? Or at the very least likes boys?
Niall’s voice sounds distant on the other line, probably because Harry feels like he’s astral projecting into the fucking sun. “Harry? Haz? Are ya there, buddy?”
Harry’s just staring at Louis’ pink and girthy vibrator with his jaw dropped, and then the world feels like it’s imploding because all of a sudden Louis is loudly opening the front door. Harry panickedly stares at the bedroom door, wondering if he should kick the vibrator further under the dresser or if that would make it obvious that he saw it, because, hell, maybe Louis knows exactly where he left it, and what if he’s weirded out by Harry knowing that he has that?
And oh fuck, oh fuck, there’s footsteps on the stairs and a distinctly Louis voice is calling out, “Hey, are you here? Harry?” and Niall’s still in Harry’s ear going, “Harry, mate? Are ya okay? Who’s yelling?” and Harry just squeaks and hangs up.
He tries to look casual while figuring out how he can possibly get the blush out of his cheeks, and then suddenly Louis "Maybe Likes Boys" Tomlinson is standing in the doorway of his bedroom - because this is Louis’ bedroom, holy god - looking sweaty and golden and fit and fucking illegal. It’s all Harry can do to barely whisper a breathless “hi” before his heart starts beating out of his chest.
Louis grins boyishly, like he’s oblivious that Harry is currently dying one of hundreds of small deaths, and sets his backpack and duffle bag down. He sets his football down, too, because of course he’s carrying a football, too. He’s in his full uniform - headband tucking back his longer locks, tall socks, white shorts and a red-and-white striped Tomlinson jersey with #28 on the back.
Harry would guess his cleats are mixed up in the array of other shoes by the front door, but he doesn’t have any room left in his brain for things that are not “focusing on not getting hard because you’re in Louis Tomlinson’s bedroom with Louis Tomlinson himself and his sex toy”.
“Sorry, mate, I didn’t know practice would go so late. You found the place okay?” Louis pulls his headband off as he speaks, running a hand through his slightly mussed hair.
“I’m. Um. Yeah - it was great. No problem.” Harry’s voice is a bit strained, but shockingly normal for how ruined he feels right about now.
“Listen, thanks for coming all the way out here to take my picture. It means a lot that I got picked for the feature. Honestly, I don’t think I’m really worth all the fuss.”
Louis’ Yorkshire accent is not helping Harry’s cock one bit, but Harry does his best to bite back the nervous arousal and be as professional as physically possible.
He nods over at the trophies on the dresser. “I, uh - I’d beg to differ.”
Louis grins, and Harry’s heart skips a beat. Louis leans against the doorframe. “Thanks, mate. Big honor, I mean it. So where d’you wanna take the photos?”
‘Photos’ in Louis’ mouth comes out as ‘pho’os’, which is possibly the most endearing thing in the world.
Harry swallows thickly. “Um, right here would be fine. It would be perfect, actually.”
Louis cocks his head. “In my bedroom?” He asks, confused, and Harry reddens and scratches at the back of his neck.
“Er - yeah. It’s sort of the, like, aesthetic we’re going for, I guess? Like...a day in the life almost? It’s meant to kind of bring the star athletes back down to earth and make them more, like, relatable to people who don’t play sports. It was my idea.”
It feels like this is the most Harry’s ever talked in his whole life, and he feels so unbelievably nervous at how quiet Louis is so he hastily adds more.
“I don’t know, it’s dumb, really.”
Louis shakes his head. “No, no! That’s...actually really cool, Harry.” He says, and Harry’s eyes practically bug out of his head because Louis Tomlinson - objectively the coolest person on EARTH, let alone at his school - is indeed telling him his idea is cool.
“Really? You think so?” Harry physically can’t edge the excitement out of his voice, and he thinks the dimpled grin on his face is gonna be permanent. Louis shrugs and smiles at him, and Harry’s heart almost stops again.
“Yeah. I like that idea a lot. You came up with that? All by yourself?”
Harry stares down at his socked feet, still smiling like an idiot. “I did, yeah. My mum’s a photographer. She always says that there’s a bigger story behind every picture. So I guess that’s, like, what I’m trying to do.”
Louis nods, looking like he’s maybe even a little impressed, except it’s not physically possible for Louis Tomlinson to be impressed by goofy, uncool Harry Styles.
Harry rushes over to his camera bag because he needs something else to focus on.
“So you have sisters?” He asks casually, trying to steer the conversation toward something easy.
Louis nods. “Yeah. Four of ‘em. Thought they'd be home, but Mum called and said she's got them at my granddad's." He laughs a little. "Lucky you. Don’t have to worry about them tackling you with hugs or anything.”
Harry swallows as he takes out the lens he’ll be using. All he can say is, “Cool. They sound great.”
He can hear the smile in Louis’ voice as he says, “They are.”
Then he claps loudly, because that’s just how confident Louis is. “Where do you want me, then?”
Harry gulps a little, then clears his throat too noisily. “On your bed. It’s fine. I mean - your bed. Um, is fine.”
Louis looks at him a little confused because apparently Harry cannot remember how to speak, but he sits down on his duvet anyway.
Harry takes ages to get the right lens on his camera, what with Louis Tomlinson three feet away on his bed, still in his football uniform and sweaty from practice.
He looks up to find Louis’ eyes on him, but he looks away as soon as Harry catches him staring. Harry doesn’t even know what to do with that information, now that he knows that Louis maybe likes boys, so he averts his eyes in the opposite direction, except that that doesn’t work because now he’s making direct eye contact with Louis’ vibrator under his dresser, so he decides to just stand up, only he does it too quickly and bumps his head very hard on the closet handle.
“Ow, shit!” He moans, sitting back down and holding his head. The springs on Louis’ mattress creak noisily as he jumps up.
“Shit - you okay, Harry?” Louis is kneeling next to him, and his hand is gingerly resting on Harry’s shoulder.
“Oh, god - yeah, ‘m fine, just...need a second.”
Harry squeezes his eyes shut, daring the universe to make this more of a disaster than it already is.
Evidently, the universe is listening because he realizes with a rush of horror that he’s getting hard in his pants. Really hard. Harry's eyes flash open, darting down to his crotch then back up.
He’s seconds away from either jumping out of Louis’ window or running into the street to be hit by oncoming traffic when he feels Louis’ fingers wrap around his bicep.
“Oh,” Louis breathes quietly. Harry doesn’t have to look up to know his eyes are on his crotch.
“Sorry,” Harry mutters, wishing he’d just sink through the floor. “It’s not you, ‘s the... um. The pain,” He says lamely, because it’s not totally a lie but certainly not the truth.
Louis inhales shakily and squeezes Harry’s bicep, which is already questionable, but then - fuck, then he moans softly, and holy shit, oh my god, that’s definitely not a straight noise.
Harry claws together every bit of courage left in his body and turns to face Louis.
Louis’ staring right at his lips, it’s unmistakable.
Just when Harry thinks he could die happily, knowing that Louis has purposely stared at his lips, Louis whispers out, “Can I kiss you?” and Harry’s on top of him.
He kisses him hard, like he’s wanted to for years and years. Miraculously, Louis kisses him back just as hard. Louis pushes him down, onto the floor next to his closet, and mouths over his neck.
“Hey, Harry?” He asks breathily, in between kisses.
Harry makes a choked sound in the back of his throat. “Yeah?”
Louis practically purrs before he whispers, “I like you,” right into Harry’s ear. Harry’s heart is gonna, like, fall out of his ass - that, or he’s gonna wake up from the best dream of his life. And if this is a dream, he’s going to damn well enjoy it before it’s over.
He surges forward and pushes Louis onto his back, kissing at his jaw - the same jawline he’s been admiring from the back of the classroom for years.
“Didn’t - god - didn’t think you liked me. Not like that,” Harry mumbles against his skin. Louis sucks in a sharp breath as Harry bites at his jaw.
“I didn’t think you did, either.”
Harry whines at that, pulling back to look into Louis’ eyes. “Fuck, Louis - I thought you were so out of my league, I didn’t think I could even talk to you.”
Louis looks shocked, then his eyes soften as he presses Harry backwards until he’s sitting against the wall next to his dresser.
This is how Harry dies, he decides - sitting underneath Louis Tomlinson’s Beckham poster, with Louis Tomlinson’s pink vibrator on the floor two feet away from him.
Louis mouths hungrily over his collarbone, yanking the neck of his shirt aside. “God, Harry - I thought you were out of my league. Always so confident and pretty and - fuck…”
Louis climbs into his lap and fits his thigh between Harry’s legs. Harry groans as he brushes against his cock. Louis pulls back, staring down at Harry’s cock from under his eyelashes.
“Just…” His hands brush timidly at Harry’s waistband. “Just wanna touch you a little bit.” He bites his lip, like he’s nervous - but that can’t be, Louis Tomlinson’s never nervous.
He meets Harry’s eyes again. “Can I do that, Harry?”
Harry whispers out a “fuck”, and Louis exhales shakily against his lips.
“Can I touch you there?”
Harry’s nodding so fast he thinks his head is going to pop off his neck. He should probably moan - wants to moan, really bad - but he can’t seem to make any noise because then Louis’ hand is down his pants.
Louis Tomlinson, god among men, has his hand down Harry’s pants, and it’s warm and slightly shaky and sweaty but there.
“Oh, fuck -” Harry whispers in spite of himself, eyes fluttering shut.
Louis splays his free hand over Harry’s lower back. “Shh, s’okay. Does that...feel good?” Louis thumbs over the head of his cock almost experimentally and Harry gasps.
“Oh - yeah, that’s...fuck, that’s amazing.”
Louis looks at him with a breathless grin, then he leans in to sloppily kiss his cheek and Harry thinks he might really keel over dead. Hell, he probably already has, because what else could this be besides heaven?
“Perfect. You’re perfect,” Louis murmurs. He works his hand slowly and steadily over Harry, and tears are actually sort of welling up in Harry’s eyes because of how good it feels - so much better than his hand, better than his first boyfriend, better than anything. He leans his head against Louis’ shoulder, buries his face in his neck, and squeezes at his bicep through his jersey. He’s reeling a little because this is a thing he can just do now - touch Louis Tomlinson.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” He mumbles into Louis’ golden skin, still sticky and sweaty from practice. He makes a soft sound as he bucks into Louis’ hand for a moment, then stills his hips and melts into his grip.
“That’s it, love. That’s it. Relax for me.” Louis’ voice is soothing, and his words are so sure and confident. Quiet sounds echo through Louis’ bedroom - mostly Harry’s breath hitching in his throat over and over again as Louis touches him, slow and sweet. It’s mind-numbingly good, so good that Harry wants to live in this moment forever, but his body is whining - the hollow scrape in his belly is begging for more.
“I - shit - wanna be close to you. Closer,” Harry chokes out, feeling small and desperate and fragile. Louis’ hand is on his thigh for a moment before he thinks better of it and just hauls Harry to his feet, pushing him back onto his unmade bed.
Harry’s head is spinning, staring up at the ridiculously endearing glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling, as Louis climbs on top of him. He slots their mouths together again, hot and sweet, and runs his tongue curiously along Harry’s teeth.
Harry moans into the kiss this time - like, a real adult moan - and Louis hums in what sounds like appreciation. He pulls back, panting a little, as he straddles Harry. He’s breathless and pink and blushing and Harry just... he wants to fall in love with him. Louis’ voice is excited and blindingly youthful.
“Do you wanna - ? Because, I’m - I mean...I don’t know if you’ve done…” He trails off, looking embarrassed and suddenly shy, like he doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore.
Harry finally finds his voice then because Louis needs him, needs to be reassured - like Harry did his first time - that his feelings are actually real.
“It’s okay, Louis,” He whispers. He reaches out a shaky hand to press against Louis’ clothed length.
It feels...different. It’s like touching himself, only more intimate somehow because of the way Louis stops breathing for a second. He stares down at Harry’s hand and swallows thickly. Then, Harry thumbs lightly over his cock and he breaks into a choked-off moan.
“Harry, I wanna -”
Harry moves his hand off his cock and fits it around Louis' hip, muscular and thick from years of football.
“I’ve, um, done it before - just once. My last boyfriend,” Harry says, and he’s surprised that his voice doesn’t quaver the way he’s expecting it to. Louis’ hand presses softly against his chest, and Harry realizes with a happy start that he’s not all that nervous anymore - mostly just happy that this is somehow happening.
Louis bites his lip and looks up at the ceiling. “Gonna think ‘m a prude.”
Harry shakes his head wildly, tightening his grip on Louis’ hip. “No. Never.”
Louis gives him that small, shy smile again - the one that makes Harry want to fall in love. “I’ve never done it. Not even with a girl.” Louis opens his mouth to continue, closes it, then opens it again and talks on. “Didn’t even let myself say I was...gay ‘til this year. Sounds stupid. But...fuck, I want so much more than just to say it." A pause. "I, um - I tried, like…” He goes quiet and scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed again.
Harry rubs his thumb reassuringly over his hip. “S’okay, Louis. You can tell me.” He presses gently, mostly because he wants Louis to know he really cares about him. Louis squeezes Harry’s hand and keeps going.
“I, um, got a...like, a vibrator? ‘Cause I wanted to just try it, to see what it’s like.” He breaks into a nervous smile.
“What’d you think?” Harry asks.
“It’s good, it’s just...I don’t know. I’m not really - I feel weird about it, still, about having things there, and I just…” Louis’ brow furrows, like he’s anxious. Harry wants to kiss his forehead until he doesn’t look so worried. Louis seems to realize he’s trailed off and hurriedly adds more. “If you want me to, though, I want to do that for you. I want to...be like that. For you.”
Harry kisses Louis’ hand then because it feels right, it feels like that’s what he should do. “No, no. It’s okay, Louis. If we're gonna - like, I can, um, be on the bottom. Or...I mean, that’s what I did before. I liked it.” A blush rises in his cheeks before he can try to stop it, remembering how it felt to be so full, and wondering how it would feel if the person inside him was Louis.
“I loved it, actually.” He adds, smiling shyly.
Louis blinks down at him. “You’d do that for me? You’d really let me...do that to you?”
Harry nods emphatically. “Yeah. Of course. You want to?”
Louis rolls his eyes, still smiling. “Yeah, Harry. God, yeah. I wanna fuck you. I’ve wanted to for so long.”
Harry’s sick of not touching, then - wants to feel all over Louis. He switches their position, pushing Louis underneath him and pressing his wrists against his sheets playfully. Louis raises his eyebrows, smirking. “Naughty boy.”
Heat flashes through Harry’s body and his heart skips a beat. “Fuck - don’t say that.”
Louis quirks an eyebrow. “What? That you’re a bad boy?” Harry whines brokenly, helpless, and grinds down against Louis. He whines some more when he feels that Louis’ just as hard as he is.
Harry’s mind is a mess of late night memories - jerking off under the covers, thinking about someone whispering in his ear that he’s naughty, that he needs to be spanked and punished. He came twice in a row the first time he let himself think about it - about being that vulnerable and small, about trusting someone that much.
Louis easily frees his wrist from Harry’s lax grip and rubs at his thigh. “Mm...That gets to you, doesn’t it?” Harry can’t really speak, not when those words just came out of Louis’ mouth, so he makes a choked sound and nods.
Louis pets at his thigh again and Harry groans softly. “Those, too? Your thighs?” Harry just nods, eyes screwed shut.
“Sensitive,” Louis muses.
He pats at the front of Harry’s t-shirt with a secretive smile on his face. “Get this off.” Harry quickly complies, tossing his top on the floor. He’s breathless as he stares down at Louis, at how fucking gorgeous he is. It’s unreal that he’s on top of him, that he can feel him hard under his hips. Louis rubs thoughtfully at his own nipple over his jersey, and Harry moans softly because he can’t believe Louis is allowed to just...touch himself like that, without giving Harry any warning.
“Oh,” He moans again as Louis pinches lightly at the nub. Louis rubs Harry’s hip a little with his free hand.
“You’re so fit,” He tells Harry - quietly, privately. This whole thing feels so intimate - this almost-sex-not-quite-but-probably-sex thing they’re doing. It feels so good to let his worries and anxieties melt off of him under Louis’ hands.
“You’re...fuck. You’re sexy,” Harry murmurs back, voice breathy and hushed because he’s so into this, he’s so turned on. This is like flying, like dreaming - he can’t imagine ever wanting to do anything else, or be anywhere else but here.
Louis brings Harry’s hand to his mouth and kisses it softly.
“You really think so?”
Harry nods, probably too eagerly but he can’t bring himself to care about things like that. Louis thumbs over his own nipple again.
“Oh my god - especially when you do that,” Harry pants. Louis lifts his hand to Harry’s chest and - fuck, oh, god - now he’s got his fingers on Harry’s nipples and those are so sensitive, even more sensitive than his thighs and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do until he just does it. Louis pinches lightly at Harry’s left nipple and Harry whines and tosses his head back, arching his back.
“Louis - Louis, Louis,” He whines, voice small and desperate.
Louis grins at Harry’s reaction. “Whoa. Those are sensitive.”
Harry sniffs and bites his lip, barely able to speak with Louis rubbing steadily at his nipple. “Fuck - you have no idea. I’ve - ungh - come before, just from t-touching them.”
Louis’ voice is teasing. “Naughty.”
Harry keens, tumbling too fast toward the edge because Louis’ got his fingers on his nipple and the word “naughty” in his mouth and it’s so much - every fantasy Harry’s ever had, come to life.
“Louis - close - I wanna - I wanna --” He whines, voice choked off as Louis thumbs too hard over his nipple. He’s gonna come in his pants before they even get to have proper sex, like he’s got no self-control or something.
“Louis, I’m - oh my god,” He pants, hips twitching a little as he teeters on the edge. Louis immediately takes his hand off of his chest, concern creasing his brow.
“Shit, sorry - didn’t think you were that close.” Harry doesn’t speak because he’s falling back down the mountain, he has to get through the ache of non-release before he’s able to realize how sweet it’ll be when it finally hits him.
Louis’ voice is hesitant, almost spooked, probably because Harry’s face looks absolutely wrecked. “You okay, love?” Love.
“God - yeah, I’m...I’m okay. Just - was so close,” Harry mumbles back, sweat prickling at the nape of his neck. Louis puts a hand on his shoulder, serious now.
“You wanna stop? We can stop, we don’t have to -” Harry shakes his head, cutting him off.
“No. No, it’s...it’s good like this. I like it like this. Getting close and not coming.”
“Whoa. You do?”
Harry smiles nervously, still a little shy about letting this part of himself see the light. “Yeah. ‘S like, um…” He thinks for a moment, then grins wider as he remembers the way he described it once. “It’s... sweet torture.”
Louis’ eyes widen in surprise and...something else. Something that makes his mouth form an “o”, his lips pretty pink against the slight blush rising in his cheeks.
“Sweet torture,” He repeats, breathless.
His hips twitch under Harry, the hard outline of his cock pushing against him.
“That’s so hot, Harry. You’re so hot, oh my god…” Louis presses his palms to his eyes, a dopey smile of disbelief on his face that matches Harry’s.
“I can’t believe this is happening.”
They say it at the same time, their words twisting into one.
“Um.”
“Wow.”
“That was…”
“Wow.”
They’re quiet for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes. Then -
“Can I kiss you again?”
“Please.”
It’s not long before Harry’s groaning into the kiss, an aching heat burning in the pit of his stomach. He grinds down against Louis, huffing his breath out in one loud exhale. Harry fusses, because what he wants is right there - so close he could touch it, but he doesn’t know how to get it in his hands. It feels like they’re just dancing around it, and he just wishes sex was easy instead of equal parts awkward and amazing.
“I don’t, like. I don’t know how to...get to the sex. From here to - to the, like, real sex.” Harry’s words are quiet; not embarrassed, just admitting the truth. “My boyfriend did it for me. Got us to...like, the actual fucking. Last time, I mean,” He adds, because he doesn’t know how to take them from kissing to something more.
Louis chews on his lip for a moment, thinking about it because he’s a virgin, he doesn’t know how to do this, either.
He seems to get an idea because he suddenly meets Harry’s eyes looking excited and intrigued.
“Can I...I wanna take care of you. Can I try something?”
Harry nods quickly. He’d let Louis try anything with him - anything he wants. Louis bites his lip again, then his face grows serious. His eyes slip halfway shut, and his mouth straightens into an aloof line. He looks to the side like he’s displeased with something, then back up at Harry - and, fuck, that means that the thing he’s disappointed in is Harry.
“Have you been a brat, love?” The words sound so confident and sure in Louis’ mouth that Harry’s moaning before he can think to stop himself.
“Oh my god,” He cries out, plaintive and desperate.
“Well? Have you been a bratty boy?” Louis prompts, quirking an eyebrow. Harry almost doesn’t know what to say, he’s so overwhelmed. The number of times he’s pictured this in his head - finally being like this for someone - let alone the number of times he’s pictured it happening with Louis Tomlinson...
“Yeah,” Harry breathes, whisper-quiet.
“Mm. Naughty baby. Can’t get away with acting like that.” Louis clicks his tongue disappointedly.
“Oh,” Harry whines, hands fisting restlessly at the front of Louis’ jersey.
“You gonna fuck me for that?” Harry mumbles, and Louis smirks devilishly.
“Yeah. Think I...want you to ride me.”
A pause; Harry’s world implodes a hundred times in front of his eyes.
“Can you do that for me, darling?” Louis prompts, but his eyes are kinder because he’s really asking.
“Yes, I wanna.”
Louis hooks his fingers in Harry’s waistband. “So eager,” He hums as he eyes Harry’s pants, his cock tenting the front of them obscenely.
He narrows his eyes, a smile playing at his lips. “You’re wet, love.”
Harry’s eyes practically roll back in his head as Louis thumbs lightly over the damp spot his pre-come has left in his pants.
“For me?” Louis coos, cocking his head to the side thoughtfully.
“All for you,” Harry breathes, bucking slightly into Louis’ hand. Louis stares up at him with wonder in his eyes, like he’s awed by everything, too.
“Stand up, honey,” He murmurs, so Harry climbs off of him on shaky legs to stand next to the bed. “Here?” He asks, because he doesn’t yet know how much talking is too much or not enough. Louis nods, his smile so warm it settles into Harry’s chest and spreads down to his fingertips.
“Just...I wanna do this for you.” Louis’ fingers are soft and insistent on Harry’s hips, gripping the fabric of Harry’s sweats and pulling them slowly down.
He watches as Harry’s body is revealed to him - the slender curve of his thighs, dusted with fine hairs; his knees that are somehow really, really pretty; the milky expanse of his calves; the thin tuck of his ankles. Louis lifts his gaze back upward, lingering at Harry's crotch, to meet his eyes.
“So beautiful,” He whispers, and Harry can tell how much he means it.
Harry wants to see Louis naked, too, wants to get his shorts off. They’re still stained with green from the football pitch.
“Louis, can you - wanna see your thighs, god,” Harry mumbles, barely making any sense. Louis smirks and stands, too, moving so close to him that Harry thinks he’ll just fall into Louis Tomlinson’s orbit and never leave.
He presses a kiss, sweet and gentle, to Harry’s neck and pulls back to leave Harry shivering.
“Wouldn’t normally. Not for bad boys. But maybe if you ask nicely…” He teases, hands snaking around Harry’s waist. Harry sighs plaintively, a whine and a thank-you in one wordless breath.
“Gonna make me beg?” He whispers. Louis just leans forward to kiss softly at his neck again, then starts to suck at the skin there. He finds Harry’s hands and brings them to the waistband of his shorts, guiding his thumbs under the elastic.
He stops sucking, and pulls back to murmur into his neck. “Depends on how bad you want to see.”
Harry wants to - more badly than he’s ever wanted anything in his life, probably. So he begs.
“Please, Louis. Please, please. ‘M sorry I was...naughty...but, god, I wanna see you. You’re so hot, so sexy. Just wanna see you. Don’t even have to let me touch, not if you don’t wanna. But please just let me see, please, please, please.”
He’s panting and whimpering by the end of it, unbelievably turned on. Louis smirks, like he’s deciding if that was good enough, and Harry just wants him to, like, step on him or something. He wants to be fucking eaten alive by Louis Tomlinson.
“You beg so prettily, baby. Love it.” Louis’ voice is impressed, low. He puts his hands on top of Harry’s and guides him to pull his shorts down. They slip to the ground as Harry’s gaze roves over Louis' body, struggling to take every part of him in all at once. He’s, like, stunned at how beautiful he is with his golden-tan footballer’s body. He’s thick, curvy. The soft shapes of Louis’ calves, his ankles, his thighs, his bum, make his head spin. God, Harry wants to look at him forever.
Louis thumbs over Harry’s bottom lip.
“You’re staring, baby,” He teases. Harry grips Louis’ waist too tight.
“Don’t care. Fuck, you’re so...hot. So sexy, oh my god.”
Louis kisses Harry’s neck again, soft and sweet over the place where he sucked a mark, then starts to back him toward the wall. He shoves him up against his dresser, his trophies rattling with the force.
Harry breathes hard as Louis leans in to bump their noses together, exhaling hot against his mouth. They’re both in their briefs now, so close to naked that it’s impossible to hide how much they’re loving this. Harry keens as Louis grabs a handful of his ass through his briefs.
“Can I touch you here? ‘S that okay?”
Harry nods as fast as his neck lets him.
“You can touch me anywhere,” He pants. Louis squeezes his bum roughly, then his fingers creep toward Harry’s hole.
“Here?” He asks, breathless and excited in a way that only a teenager can be.
“Fuck - please, please touch me there,” Harry moans back. Louis shoves his thigh between Harry’s legs, grinding fully against him and showing him how hard he is, too.
“Need you, please. Need you...inside me,” Harry whines, finally telling him what he’s been thinking this whole time. Louis moans, dropping his head to rest against Harry’s shoulder.
“Fuck, Harry - you can’t just say that and expect me to be, like - cool about it, oh my god…” He humps against Harry’s crotch as he talks, making Harry’s jaw drop at the sensation.
“Lou - close again, Louis -” Harry barely chokes out the words, speeding too close to the edge again at just the grinding. Louis whines and pulls back, then breathes slowly like he’s steadying himself, too.
“Me, too - oh,” He groans, and that almost sends Harry too far gone again.
“We gotta - the bed - we gotta get to the…” Harry trails off as Louis suddenly shoves his own fingers into his mouth, hypnotized at the soft sucking sounds he makes.
“Oh,” Harry breathes. “Lips.”
Louis meets his eyes as he sucks, and Harry's hips twitch. Louis pulls his fingers out, slick with spit, and wipes his mouth on the hem of his jersey.
“It’s...it’s how I like it when I open myself up. Is that good?”
Harry nods wildly. “Yeah - yes, please. I like it like that, too.”
Louis raises his eyebrows as he fully presses himself against Harry again. His cock nudges up against Harry’s. He’s back to his cool and collected self, voice teasing again.
“Please, huh? How polite.”
Harry groans and opens his mouth to make a witty comeback so that Louis will call him a brat again, but he finds he can’t actually speak because Louis has his hands on him, on his bare ass this time, down the back of his briefs. Skin to skin, cupping his bum. He can feel where his fingers are slick and wet on one hand.
It’s unfathomable, really - the feeling of Louis’ hands on him, on a place where nobody’s really touched him before. This was the one thing Harry could never properly imagine, when he dreamed about sex. It was easier to pretend that his fingers inside of him were not his own, or his cock in his hand belonged to someone else. He could never fully imagine what it might feel like to have someone’s skin, warm and sweaty, against his own.
Now he understands that this feeling is too good to imagine; it can’t waste its time getting tangled up in daydreams.
Harry’s breathing goes choppy as Louis squeezes his ass, pulling him apart a little so he can inch his wet finger closer to his rim.
“Can I? Here?” He murmurs, and Harry squeezes Louis’ hip.
“Yeah. I want you to so badly.”
Louis exhales shakily, then pets softly at Harry’s rim.
It’s...a lot, to say the least. Harry’s knees almost buckle at the sensation, but Louis pushes closer to him and holds him up.
“I wanted to, Haz. Always wanted to,” He mumbles as he presses against Harry’s hole, dipping slightly in and out. His muscles clench around Louis’ finger reflexively, fluttering.
Harry crumples against Louis’ shoulder, forehead pressed to the rough fabric of his jersey.
“Louis,” He says softly, because he doesn’t really want to say anything else. Louis experimentally slides his finger into him, up to the first knuckle. It goes in easily. Louis gasps a little, happily.
“It’s so...you’re so good, Harry. You take it so much better than I can even take my own fingers - oh my god,” Louis breathes out in a rush.
“Practice,” Harry mutters. He wants to say more, to tell Louis that he’s always imagining his own fingers are Louis’ fingers, that his dildo is Louis’ cock, but Louis begins to ease his finger in and out in a shallow rhythm and Harry loses the ability to speak beyond whines and broken sentences. Louis slides all the way in on one thrust, pulls back to look Harry panickedly in the eyes.
“Good? Still okay?” He asks quickly, and Harry just whines and nods wildly.
“Better - ungh - than just g-good.”
Louis grabs his hips tighter, grinds their lengths together a little as he fucks Harry gently on his finger. Harry moves his hands from Louis’ waist to his ribcage, gripping the taut muscle there as he feels his arm work. The dry heat scraping in the pit of his stomach begs for more, it wants him to be full.
“Another, Louis,” He whispers, and Louis softly presses a second finger to his entrance. Harry thinks about Louis’ cock, about how it’s hard and thick against his own, and Louis makes a surprised sound as Harry’s muscles relax and allow him to slide his second finger fully in.
“You...wow. Two fingers, Haz.” Louis’ voice is full of wonder and awe. “Amazing,” He breathes. Harry hums, pleased, and lifts his head to stare hazily at Louis.
“...’M a good boy now? Am I good?”
Louis breaks into a grin and kisses the tip of his nose, his cheek, his jaw. “So good. So, so good.”
Harry inhales raggedly, swirling his hips a little on Louis’ fingers. “Wanna fuck now. Can we?” Louis groans a little at the words, cock twitching as he withdraws his fingers.
“Yeah, love. Bed?” Harry just responds by walking them backwards, kissing at every part of Louis he can get to - his neck, his eyelid, his collarbone, his mouth, his nipple through his jersey. They fall back onto Louis’ unmade bed together, hands roving curiously over each other.
Louis seems to become acutely aware that he’s still wearing more clothes than Harry, and he starts lifting at the hem of his jersey.
“Sorry, ‘m all sweaty - should’ve got this off a long time ago…” He tugs it over his head with Harry’s help, but Harry stops him from dropping it on the floor.
“Wait. I want to…”
He takes it from Louis, and slides it over his head. It fits more tightly on him in places where it’s loose on Louis - on his shoulders, across his chest. The best part about it, though, is that he can feel Louis inside it - from the dewy sweat still peppering the fabric, to the smell of Louis - raw and biting and so unbelievably boyish. It feels like the “Tomlinson” and “28” written on the back are burning white-hot into Harry’s skin.
Louis looks positively ruined by this, by the sight of Harry in his clothes. He blushes pink and covers his face with his hands, hips starting up a little unconscious rhythm under Harry - fast enough that Harry has to put his hands on Louis’ stomach to keep from being jostled off his lap.
“Oh my god, oh my god - fuck, you’re wearing my...oh my god,” He moans, still humping Harry.
“You really like that,” Harry observes quietly, and Louis lets out a strangled whine.
“You look so good in my clothes, holy fuck -” Louis groans, hips grinding upward with more pressure. Heat bubbles in Harry’s stomach as Louis ruts against him, and he struggles to tamp it down.
“Louis - we’re supposed to - I wanna ride you, I -” He pants, breath coming in short gasps. Louis whimpers and scrubs his hands over his face.
“Oh my god, gonna ride me in my fucking jersey, oh my god -”
Harry grins and moves his hands to Louis’ chest. “Lou - ’s it okay? Can we still…?” Louis honestly looks like he might just come in his pants - could probably get Harry to, too, if he keeps humping him like this.
“Stop with the - stop grinding on me, ‘m gonna come,” Harry whines, but he can’t keep the smile out of his voice. It feels so good, so right, to be this happy while he’s this hard.
Louis struggles to stop his hips, then peeks between his fingers up at Harry. He practically squeaks, letting his hands fall away from his face.
“You look so hot, Harry. You’re so beautiful.” Harry grins dopily, heart beating out of his chest at the praise.
“Can you kiss me?” Louis adds, smiling. Harry complies gladly, leaning down and fitting their mouths together. They kiss, deep and slow, until Harry’s head is spinning and heat is rushing through his body again.
“Louis - please - oh, god - please fuck me,” He whines out, so far gone this time that he thinks he’s gonna actually lose it if Louis doesn’t tell him what he wants to hear.
Thankfully, Louis delivers perfectly.
“I’d love to, bad boy.”
Harry keens, high in his throat, and rolls off of Louis onto his back so that he can get his briefs off. Louis props himself up on his elbow to watch, eyes growing wide as Harry’s cock snaps wetly up to his belly, the tip still hidden by Louis’ jersey. Louis reaches out a shaky hand to lift up the hem of it, exposing the head of Harry’s cock.
“Oh my god. Pretty cock,” He whispers, awed. Harry blushes straight down to his fingertips as another bead of pre-come bubbles from the tip, just from Louis’ eyes on him.
“Can I see yours?” He asks, breathless.
Louis doesn’t say anything, just shoves his briefs down to his ankles. Harry never thought he’d think of a cock as beautiful, but that’s what Louis’ is. Gorgeous, actually. He’s smaller than Harry, but quite a bit thicker. He curves up to his tummy, dripping and beautifully nestled in a dark patch of hair. Harry doesn’t even realize he’s touching him until his fingers are ghosting lightly up Louis’ shaft. Louis gasps, eyes fluttering shut. He’s hard - really, really hard. Harry just...wants him inside of him.
“Louis...lube?”
Louis doesn’t answer. When Harry raises his head to see why, he finds Louis biting on his own wrist. Harry smiles, dimple popping out.
“You like it when I touch you there?” He asks, his own voice more seductive and confident than he’s ever heard it. Louis just groans.
“Dresser. Top drawer.”
Harry follows the instructions, rolling off the bed and pulling open the drawer. It’s filled with mostly socks and underwear, but there’s a glint of foil in the back corner. He digs past a few pairs of football socks, then comes up victorious with a packet of lube. It’s nestled on top of a worn magazine cut-out of David Beckham, modeling for Calvin Klein. Harry can’t help himself, pulling it out to inspect it.
“Guess you really like Beck -”
He stops short when he turns over the image to find something else stuck to it. It's Harry’s picture, neatly cut out from last year’s yearbook.
“Holy shit,” He says softly. He can hear the bed shift behind him, squeaking as Louis sits up quickly.
“Harry - it’s not what it looks like, I -” Louis begins quickly, panicked and clearly embarrassed.
Harry turns toward him, grinning shyly. “Thought I was weird for wanking to your yearbook picture.”
Louis sighs, relieved, and falls back onto his bed. “So fit, Harry. Christ, you’re so fit. Couldn’t help myself.”
Harry shoves the pictures back in the drawer, returning to the bed with the lube because the real Louis Tomlinson is lying there, waiting for Harry to ride him - and that’s a billion times better than some yearbook picture. He bends to kiss Louis’ knee, the inside of his gorgeous thigh, the seam of his hip.
“God. Can’t believe I’m doing this with you,” He mumbles. Louis looks down at him and they share a breathless grin before Louis’ cock interrupts them by pulsing out another bubble of pre-come. Harry tears the packet of lube open with his teeth, squeezing a bit of it onto his fingers. He pets softly at his own hole for a moment before moving his fingers to work wetly up Louis’ cock, slicking him up.
“Cold,” Louis says through gritted teeth. Harry works his thumb through the slick.
“Not for long.”
He gathers the pre-come at Louis’ tip, mixing it with the lube and working it down over him.
“God, you’re good at that,” Louis chokes out, his hand finding Harry’s thigh. Harry sucks in a breath at the contact.
“Those’re sensitive, remember?”
Louis pets softly at the skin there. “I remember. Naughty to think I’d forget.”
Something in Harry’s belly squeezes at that word, makes his hand work over Louis more quickly.
“Fuck, I want you in me. So bad,” He confesses, salivating a little as he pulls back to stare at Louis’ cock.
“Naughty words for a naughty boy,” Louis muses, voice more sure and confident now. “C’mon, love. Want you now.”
Harry’s heart is still beating out of his chest as he straddles Louis. He presses one hand to Louis’ hip for leverage, then pets softly at his hole again with the other. Louis pulls his jersey up to expose Harry’s cock.
“Wanna watch,” He murmurs. Harry reaches tentatively behind him to grip the base of Louis’ cock, then nudges the head against his hole. He feels made for this, every time he does it - made to have something inside him, filling him up, whether it’s fingers, or cocks, or plugs, or toys. He feels like he's made to be full.
Louis gasps as Harry slides his tip inside him, gradually pressing down as he takes him in. It’s slow for both of their sakes, each praying they can last long enough. Louis lets out little whines as Harry sinks down, breathing through the achingly good burn of it all. They just stare at each other once Harry’s fully seated in his lap, entranced by how entwined they are. Louis thumbs over Harry’s bottom lip.
“Good?” He asks, voice hoarse and choked. Harry can only nod, overwhelmed by just how good it is.
He inhales shakily, then exhales more calmly as his muscles relax around Louis.
“Move...can I move now?” Harry ventures, because he remembers that it’s even better once they get into a rhythm.
“God, yes,” Louis groans, so Harry does. He starts by just moving his hips up and down in tiny motions to loosen himself up. Soft gasps mix with the slide of skin on skin. Harry’s jaw drops as he starts to take more of Louis, moving faster. He grinds back on him, crying out as Louis brushes at his prostate.
“Louis - Lou, Lou, Lou -” Somewhere along the line, “Louis” became “Lou” - probably because Harry can’t physically say his entire name when he feels this good inside him, and, god, “Lou” sounds so right. Louis moans brokenly.
“Wanna help, Haz - let me help.” Harry catches his breath as Louis brings his hands up to cup his ass, thumbing at the hem of his jersey. He squeezes his bum, holding him still, then starts to buck his hips up.
Harry’s eyes flutter shut, mouth falling open in a silent moan. Louis whimpers, uh uh uh-ing as he drives into Harry. Where Harry was made to be full, Louis seems to be made to fill. It’s unbelievable - so hot, so fast, so right. They’re on fire together.
If Louis’ whines are any indication, they’re both getting too close too fast, so Harry moans out a, “Lou,” prompting him to slow his thrusts. Louis hitches his hips up lazily after that, long and slow thrusts that feel positively luxurious.
“Oh my god - oh my god,” Harry whines. Then - “Daddy.”
The word just slips out before he can think about it; Louis feels so good inside him, everything he’s ever dreamed of, that he can’t help but let his deepest fantasy see the light. He doesn’t even realize he’s said it until Louis’ hips stop moving.
“Holy shit - holy shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean -” Harry sputters, eyes darting up to check Louis’ expression. Instead of looking mortified or disgusted, he’s got a smirk on his face.
Holy fuck, Harry accidentally just called Louis “Daddy” and, by some absolute fucking miracle, Louis liked it.
“You really are a naughty boy, aren’t you?” He asks, breathless and smirking.
“Oh, fuck -” Harry cries out, grinding down on Louis’ length. Louis looks ridiculously happy, grinning widely as he speaks.
“Daddy wants you to be good, Harry. Can you do that, love? For Daddy?” He thumbs over Harry’s bottom lip, as Harry whines in sheer overwhelm. “Hm? For Daddy?” He repeats.
“Yeah, Daddy,” Harry sighs, hands feeling at any part of Louis he can reach.
“Dear god. ‘M fucking ruined. You ruin me,” He babbles, so far gone.
Then Louis starts rutting into him again, and he’s stunned silent at the sensation.
“Daddy,” He mumbles, because he can’t stop saying it - now that he knows he’s allowed to. “Daddy - you’re so - I’m so -” The heat in his belly is threatening to boil over; he’s so close that he, like, doesn’t even know what to do about.
“Fuck,” Louis curses. “Gonna make me come, Haz.” His rhythm goes sloppy, hips hitching up too fast and too slow all at once.
“Close - oh, god,” He groans. “Where should I - where do you want me to - ?” His eyes are screwed shut with exertion.
“On me, Daddy. My chest. Want you to come on...on me.” And, fuck, that’s new to Harry. He didn’t even know he wanted that before, but now he can’t imagine anything he’d want more.
Louis stops, holds Harry’s hips still as he gently slides out of him. He gets his hand around his slick cock, inhaling sharply, but Harry touches his wrist gently.
“Let me.” Louis makes a soft sound and tosses his arm over his eyes.
“So hot - wearing my jersey, calling me - ungh - calling me Daddy, touching my cock - oh my god, Harry…”
It takes three, four pulls before Louis is spilling over Harry’s fist and painting his chest - the fabric of his jersey - in white ribbons. The sounds he makes as he comes - sweet god, Harry’s never heard anything hotter. He whines and whimpers, soft sounds that are so different in comparison to his brash, loud exterior.
“Oh - oh - oh,” Louis gasps, breath hitching in his throat. He blushes as he comes down, body still twitching as his cock softens in Harry’s hand.
“Fuck,” Harry breathes, totally awed. “You’re, like, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He doesn’t know how he’s even speaking, what with how close to the edge he is. He knows he won’t be able to come unless Louis touches him, though - that’s all he needs, just a touch.
“I’ll come if you touch me - just, fuck -” He gasps as Louis grins hazily up at him.
“Naughty boy,” Louis says as he thumbs over Harry’s wrist. “Ask Daddy for what you want.”
Harry keens, cock twitching. “Please, Daddy - oh, god - please, can you make me come?”
Louis kisses Harry’s hand. “Can’t say no to that.”
The second he gets his fingers wrapped around Harry’s length, Harry’s coming, eyes rolling back in his head. He’s vaguely aware of his thighs shaking, of Louis whispering “That’s it, love. That’s it,” and petting at his thighs to make him come harder because - god, Louis knows they’re sensitive, like, that’s a thing Louis Tomlinson knows about him now.
Come splatters all over the front of Louis’ jersey as Harry’s orgasm washes over him, down into his stomach then back up through his chest, over and over.
He’s whimpering when he gets back down to earth.
“Mm, mm, mm…” Soft sounds, to match the soft pressure of Louis’ hand on his back.
“Good, so good,” Louis murmurs as he helps him lay down next to him. There’s nothing but panting for a few moments, their arms brushing together shyly.
“That was…” Louis starts.
“Wow,” Harry agrees. Louis grins, turning to look at Harry like he’s the luckiest guy in the world. Harry leans forward and presses a kiss to his shoulder.
“Amazing.”
Louis rubs at his eyes, still smiling wide. “I didn’t know it could be like that. Like...that good.”
Harry nods hazily. “Fuck, I know. I didn’t either.” Louis looks at him curiously.
“It wasn’t like that for you before?” Harry shakes his head, tracing a little heart on Louis’ chest.
“It was quick. He didn’t even touch me, like...where you did. Made me do it myself.” Louis looks at him with sad eyes.
Harry takes a breath and continues. “I think he was just scared, really. Wasn’t that bad...It was just sort of, um...lonely. And I didn’t want it to be like that.” Harry feels Louis’ hand on his head, petting his hair softly.
“I’m so sorry, Harry.”
Harry nuzzles into his hand. “S’okay. This was...so perfect, Louis. I mean it.” Louis cuddles closer to him.
“It was perfect for me, too.”
They kiss for a minute, all dry lips, until they’re smiling too wide into each other’s mouths to continue.
“What now?” Harry asks, breathless. Louis pats at the front of Harry’s chest, just above the drying come.
“Gonna have to wash my jersey, I think.”
Harry giggles. “Sorry about that.”
Louis looks up at the ceiling, his smile turning a little breathless and nervous.
“What, Lou?” Louis bites his lip, then looks at Harry. “I don’t mean to be cheesy, with the timing. Or like - too eager, but...d’you think you’d want to, um...maybe go to the spring dance with me? Like, as my date?”
Harry’s heart flutters alongside the butterflies in his stomach. “Yes, Louis - oh my god, yes. A hundred thousand times yes.”
Louis’ face splits into a wide grin. “Really? You will?”
Harry nods, feeling like he’s still in a dream. “Of course.” He squeezes Louis’ arm. “Gonna get me a corsage? A pretty one?”
Louis blushes. “Yeah - ‘course. Has to be beautiful. Like you.”
Harry twines their hands together, like - like a real couple, like they’re boyfriends.
“Are you gonna have a boot- a bou - a bout…?” Harry trails off, confused, and Louis laughs.
“A boutonniere, love? Yeah. I’ll have a boutonniere to match your corsage.” They smile at each other, eyes almost sparkling with happiness, until Louis pats Harry’s chest.
“Let’s get cleaned up, Haz.” Harry’s face falls a little - he just wants to stay here with Louis forever, dried come and all.
Louis puts his hand on his cheek, soft and loving. “I wanna cuddle you proper.”
Two wet washcloths and a pair of Louis’ old pajama pants later, they’re entwined under the covers, shirking their responsibilities like the teenagers they are.
"Can't believe you're real," Louis mutters into Harry's shoulder.
"Can't believe you're real," Harry mumbles back. He gets an idea - laughs a little at the new memory that prompted it.
"Hey, Lou?"
Louis holds him tighter. "Yes, Haz?"
Harry grins as he stretches to whisper in Louis' ear. "I like you, too."